Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Before I went to Germany, I had visions of cuckoo clocks and men dancing around in lederhosen.  When I informed Radek of this, he declared rather vehemently, "This is not Bavaria!  You will not see anyone in these leather trousers."  He then gave me a lecture and told me that my generalization was akin to saying that all Americans wear cowboy hats and ride horses.  It turned out he was right.  I did not see a single cuckoo clock or man in lederhosen during my entire stay in Germany.  A fact I found a tad disappointing.

This meant that there was a lot for me learn about Germany.  After Radek picked me up at the airport and gave me a brief tour of his flat, he had to go to work to do important scientific things that I don't understand.  It turns out that I didn't understand a lot of other things - like how to flush a German toilet.  Allow me to describe my first experience peeing in Germany.  Well, the peeing part was fairly straightforward, but I was pretty excited about the wiping part because Radek had told me about this mythical German 4-ply toilet paper.  Since toilet paper is not available in Mongkol Borei, and I had to drive 20 minutes to Sisophon to buy some, that meant that I ended up rationing my flimsy Cambodian 1 or 2 ply toilet paper.  I would allow myself 6 squares per bathroom visit, unless there were extenuating circumstances.  Sometimes, I used paper towels too, which I ripped in half and then added 4 toilet paper squares, to lend a little more heartiness.  As you can see, there was a lot of thought put into something that never crossed your mind before.  Now, imagine my glee at not only being able to use as much toilet paper as I desired, but with the luxurious softness of thick 4-ply toilet paper.  Aaaahhhh! 

Now, I'll get to the confusing part.  When I stood up, I looked for the flush handle.  I couldn't find one.  Anywhere.  There was no bucket of water with a cup like in Asia, so that meant there must be one.  My eyes wandered up the wall and fell upon a large rectangular button.  Could this possibly be it?  It's so big.  It's on the wall.  There's no label.  What will happen if I press it?  I slowly raised my finger toward it while thinking about the endless consequences of pressing this button.  Maybe it's for a light, or a fan, or an alarm!?  Oh God.  But I have to try it.  I can't just leave my filth floating around in there.  Even cats cover up their crap.  So, I tentatively pressed it...and the toilet flushed.  I expressed relief for the second time within five minutes.

On a side note, German toilets are a little smaller than their American equivalents.  They also have a little less water than most American toilets.  Upon discussing this issue with Radek later, he complained that American toilets had too much water.  He expressed confusion at the reasoning behind this because if you're a guy, and the water is so high, then certain body parts hang down and touch the water, and this is certainly not the kind of water anyone wants touching any part of their body.  Being a female, this thought had never occurred to me, so I was unable to comment.  However, I can assume that it probably depends on who you talk to about this subject.  Most guys likely don't have such an problem, but Radek wears a size 15 shoe, so...

I realize that I just wrote three paragraphs about peeing, and the sad truth is that I could go on and on about this topic.  However, since anyone still actually reading at this point has a look of horror on their face, I will move on.  Now, if cuckoo clocks and lederhosen do not define Germany,  what the hell does?  I went in search of the answer to the question, and I found part of the answer in food.  Typical German cuisine revolves around meat.  There are meatballs, meatloaf, and the famous "meter of meat" that are popular at fairs and festivals.  It's sort of like a really long hot dog that must be bent in half in order to fit inside a bun.  Germans like to top it with curry ketchup or mustard.  I'm not sure if there is regular ketchup in Germany, but there is definitely an abundance of it's curry cousin which is o.k., but not as good as regular ketchup (in my opinion). 

Since I'm a vegetarian, I ended up eating a lot of the other German staples: wonderfully pungent cheese, potatoes in various forms, and pastries.  One day, I ate three pastries and a Belgium pretzel within the span of four hours.  I should be ashamed of this, but I'm not. 

I ate potato pancakes twice and was surprised to discover that Germans consider them a dessert.  They like to dip them in apple sauce and sugar, so I guess this could be a dessert.  Personally, I prefer them as a main course because if they are the dessert, when am I supposed to eat chocolate?

One night I decided to make spaetzle, a typical German dish, for Radek.  I looked up a recipe online, bought the ingredients, and began preparing this cheesy delight.  It's basically Germany's version of macaroni and cheese.  However, instead of macaroni, you use light and fluffy spaetzle noodles which are made with egg yolks.  I also included onions and some spices for extra flavor and added bacon bits to Radek's pot.  Technically, spaetzle should be baked in the oven, but Radek is a single guy who lives alone.  He doesn't own a baking dish, and the only thing he's ever cooked in his oven during the 7 years he's lived there is pizza.  So, I improvised and prepared it all in two pots. 

I bought the ingredients, carefully followed the recipe, and had everything cooking when I realized something was wrong.  It just didn't look right.  After rechecking the instructions, I realized that I had missed a word.  And sometimes, one word can make a huge difference.  The recipe said to add the "precooked" spaetzle noodles to the mixture.  Oops.  This was embarrassing.  Radek already knew I was a doofus, and this would just bring further shame upon myself, so I did what any sensible person would do.  I dumped it out, hid it, quickly prepared a new batch, and vowed never speak of it to anyone.  Luckily, Radek got home really late that night, loved the spaetzle, and didn't find out about my blunder.

Until the next morning.  Germany is a very environmentally progressive country, and there are separate bins for everything.  One for glass.  One for plastic and paper.  One for regular garbage.  One for biodegradable waste like food products.  That was my downfall.  I had dumped the great-spaetzle-mistake into one of the bags he uses to collect food waste, and of course, it didn't occur to me that Radek might open this and discover my dirty secret.  I realize that I am just appearing dumber by the second.  You are probably wondering how I can manage to dress myself in the morning.  When Radek questioned me about it, I tried to pretend like I knew nothing about it.  Unfortunately, that didn't work, and I was forced come clean.  Damn Germany for being so eco-friendly!  They should have garbage disposals like normal countries.