Monday, March 30, 2009

The John Leading the Blind

Ok, so, after having been here more than a month, there are now a few more things I’ve noticed, especially in the last week or so since I’ve last updated. Allow me to have a few laughs at the expense of others here; if it’s true, which it is (empirically), it’s fair game, get off me. Anyway, here goes:
First, I would venture to guess that 20% of the population of Nuremberg is blind. I’m not poking fun at people for having a seriously debilitating condition, I’m just making an observation here. There is an inordinate amount of blind people in this city, and I’ve witnessed some rather amazing things from these people. Let me preface these few short tales with one more observation about these people: the blind Nuremberger, whether male or female, always, repeat ALWAYS, has big balls. They are unafraid to tackle any everyday situation with as much bravado as any person with a set of eagle eyes. Case in point: less than an hour ago, I had to go to the bank, so I got on the subway to go to the Altstadt (downtown Nuremberg). I go a few stops down and get off the train and begin making my way to the escalator. As I’m walking, the train going the other way pulls up, and, when I’m closer to the stairs, the warning bell starts to ring, so people coming off the escalator begin to run to try to make the train. This sort of behavior is completely normal, but then I see something rather unexpected. The people coming off the escalator are all lined up, just due to the thing being rather narrow, so I can only see two or three people at a time coming off. A few people come off it running, and the next thing I see is a woman, going at full sprint, mind you, with a BLIND POLE in her hand. SHE’S WEARING SUNGLASSES, for Christsake, and she’s running through a densely populated, rather narrow area, without the ability to see where she’s going or how close things are to her. Ballsy, to say the least. And these people are everywhere; I saw a woman a few days ago jogging with a blind pole (I hope that’s the correct name for this; at any rate, I mean the pole they use to navigate); no seeing eye dog, no jogging partner, just a pole. Rather amazing.
They’re also rather bold in social situations, which, if you think about it, makes sense. Imagine how awkward you might feel if, when in the company of relative strangers, you run out of things to say; it’s not as though you can turn to look out the window or concentrate on a TV that might be in the area. It’s all conversation with these folks. I was in a pub last Saturday (watching the Mighty Reds of Liverpool trounce Aston Villa, 5-0) with two other guys, Mikkel and Jukka, having a Guiness and watching the football match, when I hear a voice behind me ask for help up the stair to the seating area of the place. I turn, and there stands a blind man. ‘No problem,’ I think, ‘I can take 30 seconds away from the match to help a guy out.’ 30 seconds? Guess again. I turn and offer him my hand, which he uses to guide himself between two tables and up the stair. His next question is, “Where is your table?” which leads me to think he’s going to use it as a reference point, but, no, I’m wrong again. “Immediately to your right,” I tell him, to which he replies, “Would you mind putting my drink down on it?” He next has me fetching him a chair, so there’s now no doubt about it, I’m in this for the long haul. The match is only 10 minutes old, so I’ve now got about an hour and 45 minutes of entertaining this guy when all I really want to do is watch the match, which is difficult to do simultaneously with carrying on a decent conversation in another language. Meanwhile, Mikkel and Jukka are trying to pretend they are not there so that they may watch, being free of any social responsibility; this scam doesn’t last long. Trying to be completely silent in close proximity with a blind man is like Wesley Snipes trying to avoid paying taxes- ain’t gonna to happen. But I’m still the one sitting next to him, so I’m still his main conversational conduit; I’m nice, but, as I said earlier, it’s difficult to divide my attention these circumstances, which at times gets me into trouble. Most memorably, at one point in the afternoon, the man, whose name is Peter, tells me that he really likes sports. Being that we’re watching football (soccer; America has got to drop this silly moniker- for Christsake, you use your FOOT to kick a BALL), I ask him who his favorite club is (TSV Muenchen 1860; a small club in Munich). The conversation sort of stops there, so I attempt to revive it by asking, “So do you watch many other sports?” Jukka and Mikkel give me a look of pure horror, and I then realize what I just asked a blind man. Instantly, all my internal organs melt and begin flowing into my feet, yet I never felt a stronger urge to vomit, but all is quickly relieved. Peter, not missing a beat, being the ballsy blind Nuremberger he is, says, “Just football and ice hockey.” These are the people with whom I mingle; how great is that?
Ok, so that’s stereotype #1 out of the way (blind people in Nuremberg are the Chuck Norrises of the world’s blind population). Next, being that I’m here with exchange students from all over the world, there are many more things I’ve realized about the world’s population at large. First, rather counter intuitively, the colder climate one comes from, the more one overdresses all the time (and, also, the more one is content with being consistently overdressed). Of the kids who are here, who are for the most part from Europe, I come from one of the hottest climates. There are a few kids who have me beat (a few Brazilians, a few Mexicans, an Argentine, that I know of), but, as far as averages are concerned, I’m killing most people on the heat factor. As a result of this, I tend to dress lighter than most of them, but I’m also well aware of how much a person can really sweat when pressed to it; on the other side, I would venture to guess that these kids are better aware of how cold a person can really feel, so they tend to dress heavier. But I’ve also noticed our attitudes toward temperature are different, independent of dress; I am less bothered by the cold here, but when I get on a train or go into a building, I strip my jacket and sweater faster than a jackrabbit (all the buildings are heated way too hot here, yet they also love to leave their windows open; silly Germans); for the kids from colder climates (we’re talking Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Russia, Belarus, Czech Republic, etc), they can leave their jackets on through anything, but they’re still constantly cold. Case in point, two weeks ago, I played football with some guys in a park and the temperature was probably about 40 or 45 (Fahrenheit), so, knowing the football involves almost constant running, often at a sprint, I play in shorts and short sleeves, but all, without exception, are in pants and sleeves, complaining about the cold the entire time. Of course, the Brazilian with us was in multiple layers on both his top and bottom, with a hat and gloves the whole time. I’m just going to attribute it to true American grit. Or maybe I just pine for spring. Whatever, it’s about 50 or 55 outside right now, and I’m definitely wearing Chaco’s; I’m tired of this crappy weather.
Anyway, this thing is starting to drag on, so let me end with one last comical anecdote, and I’ll save my other stuff for later. Let’s title this story “The Main Difference Between the US and Sweden;” here goes: The other day, I’m making my way home from class with my Swedish friend Erik (keep in mind he’s from Sweden, where everyone is white and blonde; it’s important to the story), and we’re walking through the train station toward the subway. For those of you who have never been in a European train station, they’re a lot like malls; you know, lots of stores and restaurants in them, aside from all the train platforms. As we’re walking, we walk by a restaurant whose tables splay out into the corridor through which people are walking, sort of like an indoor sidewalk café. We walk by a table at which a man and woman are sitting, the man of the couple being black, and the two are speaking German with each other. And, no, it was not Heidi Klum and Seal. Anyway, I can’t remember what Erik and I are talking about at this point, but I interrupt the conversation to say to Erik, “I can’t get over how weird it is to see black people speaking German,” to which Erik replies, “I can’t get over weird it is to see black people.” What a world, eh?

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