To My Host Family

  A KGB agent with mind domination serum couldn't rob me of the experience that I was blessed with these past few weeks with my host family, the Hofbauers.   I never expected to fall into the hands of a family that pretty much adopted me as one of their own.  I never expected to fall in love with total strangers.  I never expected to have a second family in Obernzell, Bavaria.  But that's the beauty of this crazy experiment we like to call life.  Leaving San Francisco, I didn't really even want to go.  I needed two or three more weeks in California, and the crushing reality of leaving Luci and Izzy (my beloved home doggies) was too much to make me even look forward to the long day of travel and the loads of work involved with teaching in a foreign country.  It's absurd to think that I didn't feel like stepping through the gate on January 8th, 2012.  I have grown as a person and as a teacher these past few weeks.  I've experienced a family life so wholesome it makes the Brady Bunch look like a horde of satanic demon worshippers.
   The night before I left on a train for Berlin, I sat at the table with my new family.  Across from me sat my little sister, Anja; next to me sat my little brother, Michael.  At the head of the table sat my father, Gerhard, and diagonal to me at the five person table sat my mom, Alexandra.  We had just gotten done with a small concert that Michael and I had put together.  It was a smashing set of classic rock songs played on the piano with me singing my heart out (pretty easy after 1 liter of doppel weiss beer).  I swear that if I were to tell my California family this story that they would laugh and say I was blowing smoke out of my ass.  But when you are the oldest sibling in a family, whacky things happy.  I was taken back to the days when my brother, Matt, my sister, Lindsey, and the Azzos (they rock) put together a home movie called "The Kingdom of Corn."  I was so young that I can't remember the details of the experience, just that when we ate corn on the film, we made noises like a typewriter and said "ching!" when we reached one end of the cobb.  That's kind of a lost relic of my past.  My siblings are great, but I could never hope to put together a piano rock concert with them.  This is something unique to my niche in my Bavarian family.  Yet I digress from my story.  I sat at the table, with my host family, and they presented me with a certificate, a teddy bear wearing lederhosen, and a small yellow package I have yet to open yet.  Already tears were swelling in my eyes.  It was at this point I asked the fatal question, trying to get past the tearful goodbye that was eminent.
     "This teddy bear is adorable," I said. "Where did you get him?"
It was the answer that pushed me over the edge. Alexandra, my new mom, was brimming with a smile and looked at Anja sitting next to her.
    "It's mine. I wanted you to have it," Anja said.
At this point I lost all control of the emotions I was trying to keep pent up in a foolish attempt to be strong.  I bawled my eyes out.  Warm tears streamed down my face and dripped onto my framed certificate that proclaimed "Bavarian Lifestyle completed; highly successful" (also sporting a JPEG of beer and semmel).  I couldn't stop; my host mom came over and gave me a tearful embrace as she too, choked up woeful sobs.  It was at this moment that I vowed to never let this memory fade.  The intensity of the emotions I felt then, still resonate in me now as I write this post. It's been a struggle fest fighting back tears as I reflect on the night. None of you (the reader) can probably put yourselves in my place; but at least I can try illustrate the dilemma here.  Imagine being a puppy wandering the streets of place you know nothing about. Literally nothing; my German is that of a three year old, and my exposure to a totally different culture rendered me useless in most social situations.  Now, try to imagine being this lost puppy that is adopted by a family who housed, fed, advised, and, most importantly, loved you as one of their own.  However, this metaphor cannot even come close to the connection I have with my adopted family.  It's shameful I even tried to convey it.  What I experienced from the Hofbauers cannot be expressed in words.  Even Pablo Neruda cannot articulate the love I have for them, and the gratitude I have for their hospitality.  I can't write anymore, it's making me homesick for Obernzell. Peace and love.

The Last Day at Gymnasium Untergriesbach :(

   As I write this post, I am sitting in the teacher's lounge trying to hold onto the comfort that I have grasped to since my first day at Gymnasium Untergriesbach.  Surrounded by excellent teachers, excellent students, and a beautiful school, I have been smiling for three weeks straight.  This morning was filled with gathering contact information from my colleagues, teaching my last lesson for a delightful class of 8th graders, and interviewing with a reporter from the newspaper of Passau.  But now I find myself alone with my thoughts, reminiscing like an old crow looks back on the time that has flown by.  On my first day here, I was more nervous than a CEO about to tell his staff that he had sold the company for a box of oranges.  Three weeks later I feel that I am being kicked from the nest without being able to fly.  I sit on the brink of the end of my time here at the Gymnasium, and there are a number of things that I will miss dearly. I guess I will just have to list them as the following:
1. I will miss the barrage of wide eyed stares I receive from the students who think I am an alien.
2. I will miss the amazing coffee machine that does everything from hot chocolate to a damn good latte macchiato.
3. I will miss the stunning beauty of the sun creeping over the steeple of the church as I arrive at school.
4. I will miss the crystal flakes of snow that fall lightly to coat the streets and towns like a silken blanket.
5. I will miss the warm "Gute morgen's" of the teachers as they stroll into the lounge.
6. I will miss the 5 hour super lectures on the biology of DNA and chemistry of petroleum.
7. I will miss the puzzled looks of the students and, even better, the horrified looks the victims I call to the board.
8. I will miss bright smiles of Mr. Brunner and his yellow turtlenecks that match his car.
9. I will miss my distillation experiments and lighting stuff on fire.
10. I will miss stories of Ms. Schoenbrunner (she has quite a few brilliant ones about police officers in the States)
11. I will miss the exchanges with Hanz (the Foodmiester), seeing pictures of his fishing trips, and his hearty handshakes.
12. I will miss the sizzling schnitzel semmel and flavorful Bavarian lunches.
13. I will miss watching American football with a true fan, Mr. Vogel
14. I will miss teaching swimming for my wonderful group of athletes
15. I will miss the people...
   This last one, number 15, is possibly the most important thing I will miss.  It's the people that you meet that make the wealth of life.  Never before have I met so many wonderful people willing to help me get on my feet in a place that is as foreign to me as the earth is to a martian.  It's this group of teachers and students that make Gymnasium Untergriesbach such an amazing place.  Unmatched hospitality, charity, and understanding. Infinite patience and great humor.  I will never be able to forget this community that has given me so much.  The list from above goes on and on. I am just not able to remember it all and I don't really want to bore you (my readers) with the great things that will never be experienced the way I experienced them.  I am so thankful to be in Gymnasium Untergriesbach, and this is the only day that I haven't been able to smile through every minute because it is the bitter end of a remarkable journey.  Although this is not the end of my trip in Germany, it feels like the end of a wonderful chapter of my life.  Gymnasium Untergriesbach, I have one last thing to say before I leave...In the words of the Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger, I'LL BE BACH

Der Bergermiester and Der Americana

   When I was first told that I would be meeting with the mayor (bergermiester) of Untergriesbach, I was alarmed, a little worried and really would have rather gone home to chill with a book and a cold weisse (wheat beer).  The only impression of a German bergermiester that I had was that of an old stop-motion claymation film about Christmas and the grouchy old bergermiester Miester Berger.  That little guy was a real jerk and tried to stop Christmas.  Yet the bergermiester of Untergriesbach was one of the friendliest guys I have ever met.  Mengjie (my partner and friend from MIT) and I went after our teaching lessons at school to meet the bergermiester with the director of the Gymnasium Mr. Brunner and our contact teacher Ms. Schoenbrunner.  I will admit I pictured a short man with soul-sucking scowl and eyes capable of eating souls of children.  What I found was quite the opposite (I don't know why I was surprised, most every preconception I have is flipped upside down).  The bergermiester of Untergriesbach was just as nervous to meet Mengjie and I as we were to meet him.   He was very interested in hearing all about the states, our experience here, and making sure that we were enjoying our stay.  He also gave Mengjie and I sick ass little backpacks (mine is bright orange with a mermaid on it) for which I plan to rock at MIT. 
   After his brief presentation about Untergriesbach, the local government and the population figures, he took us to the oldest gasthaus in town.  When they asked me what I would have to drink, I looked around nervously not knowing if I should get a beer or not. The bergermiester clearly saw my indecision, and ordered me a beer.  There, the local town band paraded into the restaurant, all of whom were good friends of the bergermiester.  Of course the bergermiester of town is friends with the gents of the local parade band! I got a picture with the tuba player.  They also played us a couple Bavarian marches.  This was possibly the most German I've ever felt in my life.  Imagine, sitting in a 200 year old Gasthaus, having sausage soup with a large, golden beer and the local band playing marches, just for der Americana.  I think this experience will forever be engraved in my memory for as long as I live.  I also have come to the conclusion that I will be coming back to Germany to teach if I can.  Mr. Brunner already said he'd give me a job at Gymnasium Untergriesbach.  All that stands in my way is a few semesters of German, and some certification training.  I would dig it here.  Damn, I love Germany.

Czech Me Out, Baby

   Have you ever been hurdled back thousands of years in the past to the ages of feudal lords, mud covered peasants, and shit covered serfs? Neither have I. But my excursion to the Czech Republic sure made me wonder what it might be like to be thrown into a black hole only to sucked back in time.  The Czech Republic is truly a land stuck in the Medieval Ages.  A tremendous castle loomed on the horizon, the town's people sat outside of their souvenir shops, smoking cigarettes and eyeing passing tourists.  We even went into a tavern that had coats of arms painted nearly 300 hundred years ago, dined under the shallow light of flickering tallow candles, and ate roasted medieval cheese on bread.  What a strange place to live! There are little cafes with nothing more than dinky wooden tables and a piano.  Yet, you can be sitting there enjoying a cup of joe and a Czech music student will walk in and start playing concertos so beautiful that it brings tears to your eyes and melts your soul.
   There is such a wealth of rich culture in the Czech, something I would not have known without wandering into the Schiele Museum of Modern art in Krumlov.  This man, Ergon Schiele gave birth to the 49th Viennese  Secession, as well as creating drawings disturbing and beautiful, wonderful syncopations of disgust and admiration such that your breathing will slowly stop as you examine his works.  It is incredibly sad to learn that he died of the Spanish Flu 3 days after his wife fell to the same disease.  But to think that such a place exists, and I literally had no idea.  I wonder what else the Czech Republic and obscure eastern European countries like it have hidden away in their dense forests.  A place like Krumlov is a gem of modern European tourism that is only known to the wandering bands of Asian tourist groups.  No Americans, only very few Germans, and lots of Asians.  I look forward to exploring it in the future, as this place is truly a mystery to most Americans.  We get caught up in tropical resorts in Cabo San Lucas and Mediterranean paradises of the coast of Greece.  But there is so much to see in the places we dare not look.  My curiosity has been sparked; I must investigate the Czech more.  Not to mention everything is dirt cheap.  Until next time, peace and love.

Sind sie auf Facebook??

   At the end of each five hour super lecture that I give here at Gymnasium Untergriesbach, I like to ask for questions from my students.  I have made the mistake of expecting questions like "do you surf to school?" or "do you study super computers at MIT?" or even "do you have a gun?"  No, my preconceptions about what the students what to know have been thrown out the window.  The favorite question that I get asked in every single class that I teach is "Sind sie auf Facebook?" (are you on Facebook?)  I have forgotten that the world has become addicted to Facebook.  For all I know, there is a sinister plot in the making to be carried out by the grand overlord of the Facebook world, Mark Zuckerberg.  At the end of each class, it has become a habit for me to write my name on the board for the students.  They quickly pull out their smart phones and ipod touches to punch my name in the search bar and send me friend requests.  After this initial flurry of digital activity, they get together in groups around one smart phone, and stalk me while I'm still in the goddamn room!  It's really quite uncomfortable.  I sit at the front of the room and twiddle my thumbs while they giggle at iphone screens and glance up at me, only to laugh as I stare quizzically back.
   What happened to asking questions to me in person?  What happened the natural curiosity of having somebody completely foreign standing in front of the class, ready and willing to give full and interesting responses complete with personal anecdotes?  My only guess is that the kids will find everything that they are looking for on my profile, pictures, wall posts, and interests page.  But don't they know that I am not the person that is forever chiseled on the cyber walls of the internet?  I am much more interesting than my facebook profile, or at least I would hope that I am.  Facebook, for me, is a means of maintaining loose contact with old friends, and making new, shallower contact with new people that I meet.  It is a tool.  In no way should it be a way of life.  Christ, haven't any of these kids seen the Matrix??  Look what happens when people merge their lives to computers! Next thing you know, you're taking different colored pills with a black dude named Morpheus in some shady part of town and waking up in a wasteland run by computer octopi... *sigh* My only hope is that a zombie apocalypse destroys the internet infrastructure that we cling to like needy children at their mother's tit.  I guess I'm a hypocrite, since this is a blog.  But you, the reader, already knew this fact from the first entry I published.  The main message I'm trying to deliver is this: STOP FACEBOOKING AND START TALKING TO FACES; IT'S MUCH HEALTHIER AND WILL KEEP THE WORLD FROM BEING RUN BY COMPUTER MACHINES!! Peace and love.

Who says the Europeans don't like American football?

   Right now, as I write this particular entry, I am sitting with my host dad and host bro, watching the 49ers rock Drew Brees and the Saints on their asses.  You might be asking yourself, how did Scott manage to get the game in Germany?  Why are the Europeans watching football?  Football doesn't discriminate.  We may think that the subtle beauty and raw strength of American football is wasted on the European mind.  I have found that this is an arrogant convention of the American mindset.  While grabbing a dinner with the teachers of Gymnasium Untergriesbach in Passau, I found that the latin teacher, Mr. Vogel, was in fact a die-hard American football fan. He pays extra to his cable company to receive ESPN America, just so he can watch football like a real American fan.  We talked football for hours, and I found that he was one of the most knowledgeable spectators I have ever met.  His favorite moments in football history include Terrel Owen's show boating in on the Dallas Cowboy star and the amazing flipping touchdown of Jerome Simpson.  Mr. Vogel, in fact, is the entire reason I am able to watch the 49er game right now!  He  found me today while I was churning out my five hour lesson plan on petrol chemistry to hand me a DVD copy of the game from yesterday!  I can only now refer to him as my savior, for without him, I would not have the pleasure of seeing the Saints fumble time after time, see Vernon Davis' three touchdowns, or see the Niners advance one step closer to the big kahuna.  Again, I am lucky to have met such an amazing dude, as he is my own personal messiah.  Thank you Mr. Vogel, you rock my socks.  And so do the Niners. Until next time, go Bay Area!!

The Sierra-Nevadas Got Squat on the Alps

   Let me write out a clever equation for you.  (Snow)^2 + Austrian Alps + Scott = VERY HAPPY SCOTT.  Yes, today I was in Austria skiing with my host father and brother.  As we drove to Hinter Stoder (Austrian Ski Resort), they asked me what the skiing was like in the States.  I explained that the Sierra-Nevada Mountain Range was very close to my heart and that I found the skiing exceptional in the Rockies.  They apologized in advance if the skiing was sub-par ... This is hilarious to me because the skiing today was amazing.  It was a chilly -10 C on the mountain, but the cold kept the snow crisp and dry.  Behind me loomed the Alps as I stepped onto the gondola, and soon thereafter I was in what can only be explained as Big Jim's wet dream.  Huge snowflakes of light snow floated from overhead, and light pierced through the clouds.  The sight was truly awe-inspiring.  I now know why some people have such fervent belief in a god, because after seeing these mountains in what can only be described as a winter twilight, there must be something out there to bless my eyes with this landscape. 
   We ripped down the World Cup Circuit more times than I can count, and the run must have been 7 or 8 kilometers long.  Snow was gliding beneath my board like the crystalline waves of porcelain.  The Alps truly delivered today.  On piste (on trail), the snow was great.  Off piste, the snow was mine, all mine to be cut and shredded by the razor edges of my weapon.  But if you thought the snow was good, wait until I tell you about the ski lodges.  Try to imagine a cozy cabin, built in the traditional wooden manner with dozens of happy Europeans offering seats to other weary skiers.  Beer filled glasses, toasty schnitzel steaming on plates, and people enjoying a stranger's company.  This last bit is the piece that surprises me most.  People enjoying the company of strangers.  I know first hand that this cannot be done in the states.  We Americans want our own table.  We don't want to talk to other Americans because they are annoying.  We would rather shun the scum than have them sit next to us.  But not the Europeans.  My host brother had a delightful exchange with an Austrian gentleman sitting at the table with us.  He also lost two Euros to the man in a bet, but the man gave them back explaining in his thick accent, "The youth needs the money more than I do."  What animosity!  What character!  I can only dream of bringing my family to this place; they must see the kindness and the skiing.  DO YOU HEAR ME FAMILY?! OUR NEXT VACATION SHOULD BE TO BAVARIA!! Peace and love.