A Christmas to Forget

You would never think that it was the holiday season during the month of December in Mallorca. Temperatures are still in the mid 60's with sunny blue skies and salty ocean breeze. If it weren't for the displays of holiday candy in the stores and the Christmas lights on palm trees along the Paseo Maritimo in downtown Palma, you would never know that the holidays are upon you.

It was my first winter on the island and like most Spainards who worked in tourism, was unemployed for the winter. Fortunately for us, Eva had a year round work contract with the car rental company and still had a job. It brought in enough money for the both of us to barely scrape by. The apartment with the direct ocean view consumed most of the monthy salary, with enough just enough left over to purchase the essentials to survive. Money was in short supply, but we didn't have any bills other than to satisfy our thirst at the local pub while enjoying a few tapas wathching a soccer match. Money didn't matter to me, since I was living my dream in one the most beautiful parts of Europe.

One afternoon, Eva came home after work and announced we were leaving the next day for Germany for the holidays. I was a bit surprised since we were tight on money. I asked how she was able to pay for two tickets, especially on such short notice. She said she had borrowed the money from a friend back in Germany. It turns out that this 'friend' who had loaned us the money for the tickets was man we had met at our old apartment in Germany. His name was Brosel, who was our maintenance guy back at our old apartment back when we lived in Germany.

It turned out that it was not a loan, but a gift from a man named Brosel, who was a man of small stature in his mid fifties. He was from the Tirol area of Austria that I only really knew as an acquantance. He was quiet, balding and for the most part was a loner. I had never really spoken to the man and could sense that he had no interest in talking to me. I had tried at times to make small talk with him while he was at the apartment to do some small repairs, but sensed he had no interest in talking to me, or even acknowledging the fact that I was present. In all honesty, the guy gave me the creeps from day one. To me, he seemed like the kind of guy who you would read about in the news who had committed some henous crime. So this was the guy that was paying for our trip to Germany.

We were going to fly back to a small town in southern Germany called Kuchen, where Eva's mother lived. Or so I thought. I turned out, Brosel lived in the same town and as a 'condition' of the loan for the airline tickets, we would stay at Brosel's place and spend the holidays with him.

The idea of spending the holidays with this recluse oddity of a man did not excite me the slightest. I could see going back to stay with Eva's mother for the holidays, but not like that was much of a great idea either.

Eva's mother was a bit of a character herself and became more so with each nip of Jack Daniels, which was a staple in her diet if you know what I mean. She was often the life of the party. A party that unfortunately began on Monday and ended on Sunday.

I was not excited about the idea of staying with this guy, but I really had no choice in the matter. I chose to look on the bright side. We were going to spend Christmas in Germany and get off the island for a little while. Many people fail to realize how claustrophobic you sometimes feel when you live on an island. Not being able to drive for hours in one direction on the freeway was sometimes a thought that made me feel at times imprisoned. I was always up for a trip somewhere, but usually under different circumstances.

We were picked up from the airport by Brosel on a cold winter day by Brosel. It was gloomy and cold, much like the personality of Brosel. He was somewhat emotionless as always, but I could tell he was happy that Eva had taken him up on his offer. I said my hello, and as expected, was not acknowledged that I had said anything or was even present. I expected nothing else but right then and there made me feel uneasy. I knew going into this situation that this was going to be a long 10 days, and yes, I did say 10 days of living in this guys house.

We arrived at the house in the small German village just outside of the little cow town called Kuchen. Not much going on there outside of a church, a few small family owned businesses and a few pubs.

We walked in the front door of the house and I immediately noticed a picture of Eva on a small table. Next to the picture was a small base of flowers. Brosel told Eva that he puts fresh flowers in the vase every week. So where did this picture come from in the first place was my first thought.

I wasn't to thrilled to say the least. The thought of any kind of jealeousy was the furthest thing from my mind. To me, the guy had the resemblance of a small troll...but now, my mind was spinning thinking that this guy was some sort of psycopath and wasn't playing with a full deck.

We put our suitcases down in a spare room where we were going to stay. Brosel and Eva decided they needed to go to the store before it closed in order to have food around the house for the coming days. I stayed behind with thoughts of the Eva shrine and what should I do or say. I already had a feeling in my stomach that made me feel uneasy about staying in this man's house. Something just didn't seem right.

Upon coming back from the store about 45 minutes later, Eva said she urgently needed to tell me something. Brosel had dropped her off along with the groceries and needed to go run a few errands around town. I sensed a bit of panic in her voice after coming back from the store.

She told me that while they were in the car, Brosel told her that he was in love with her and wanted to be with her. That was no surprise to me, especially after seeing the little shrine he had of Eva in the living room. She went on to say that he wanted to move to Mallorca to be with her and start a business in heating and air conditioning repair on the island. She told him he was dreaming and had somehow gotten the wrong idea from her. He went on to say he would 'get rid of the American', so they could live happily ever after.

I could only imagine what his plans were for me while I stayed there. I could only assume the worst case scenerio and new that I would not spend another minute in that house. I grabbed my suitcase and said we were going to stay at her mother's house who lived about 5 miles down the road.

I was out of the house in about two minutes, walking down the street without even thinking of calling for a taxi to get out of there. I proceeded to walk down the street with Eva behind me. It was freezing cold with left over snow from a recent storm lingering on the ground. I could only think about what would of happened had I spent the night there.

I rang the doorbell of Eva's mother's apartment, wondering how she would react to our unannounced visit. She came to the door with a coffee cup in hand in typical fashion. I knew from earlier visits that the coffee cup usually consisted of her whiskey of choice. I could sense that Magdeline was already in good spirits and was quite happy to see us.

We came in from the bitter cold to the non-stop chatter of her mother as we slowly thawed out. Magdeline was quite talkative, even more so with each drink.

We told her about the little incident with Brosel and his apparent plans to do away with me. She said we were more than welcome to stay with her and should of planned on staying at her place from the start.

I felt a sense of relief getting out of Brosel's place, but the thought of staying with Eva's mother would also be a challenge. At least I wouldn't have to fear for my life.

The 10 days went by rather quickly. I never saw Brosel during the remainder of our stay. He had called a few times asking why we left and Eva gave him some excuse about her mother not being in good health and that was it. I never wanted to see that lunatic again.

It was Christmas Eve and I had hoped that the constant bickering between Eva and her mother would settle. All I wanted was an evening of peace and quiet between the two. Wishful thinking on my part.

I suggested going out to a nice dinner in downtown Stuttgart, since I could see that no preparations of cooking anything for the occassion was in place. I thought we could all take the train into the city, since neither mother or daughter was sober enough to drive after 1 p.m. on any given day anyway. I anticipated that the drinking may be a little more intense this evening since it was a holiday, so why not be safe.

We borded the train to Stuttgart which was practically empty with the exception of a few people that looked like they had nowhere to go and were on the train most likely to get out of the cold. Eva's mother began pointing out the fact that no proper people are on the train on Christmas Eve with her tall can of beer in hand. Funny you should say that, I thought to myself. She was in prime shape and ready for an evening on the town with two or three more tall cans in her purse.

We arrived in Stuttgart which appeared to be a ghost town. Totally unlike the typical hustle and bustle of the big southern German life that I was used to seeing when I worked there as an English teacher. I had thought some of the nicer restaurants would at least be open. It was freezing cold that night with a strong east wind. We walked through the pedestrian zone hoping to find a restaurant without any luck. All the while with Eva's mother constantly reminding me of what a brilliant idea I had to think we could go out for dinner on Christmas Eve in Germany. At this point, I just held my breath and counted to ten without saying anything in response. It was best not to say anything at this point to avoid throwing more fuel on an already burning fire.

After wandering aimlessly around downtown Stuttgart in the bitter cold looking for a place to eat, I noticed a small pub that appeared to be open. We went inside and was greated by a curtain of second hand smoke. It was a dimly lit pub with a few local down and out regulars hovering over their drinks with the qualm of their cigarette smoke adding to the stale air parked inside the bar.

I was happy to finally find someplace where I could sit down and get out of the cold. I was hoping to at least be able to get some kind of bar food. Unfortunately, living in Germany I knew better than to expect to find hot wings or a quesadilla on a menu. The only options we had was shelled peanuts and pretzel sticks. I ordered a beer and began my feast of the peanuts that more than likely had been sitting on that table for who knows how long. Eva's mother was still complaining in her loud, ear piercing voice for all to hear. At this point, all I wanted to do is throw down a few beers to ease my nerves.

I asked the bar owner if he knew of anyplace that was open to eat. He told us there was a Chinese restaurant that may be open. It was on the way back to the main train station, so I thought we could take a look on the way back.

It was getting close to 11 p.m. and wanted to make sure we didn't miss the last train back home and I at least wanted to check to see if the Chinese restaurant was open.

As I turned the corner along the quiet empty street, I saw lighted gondolas in the window of the Chinese restaurant. I felt my rumbling stomach begin to intensify in anticipation of something other than peanuts and pretzels. I was finally going to eat our long sought after dinner.

The rest of the time with Eva's mother went as before. Full of endless arguements about anything and everything. And me counting down the minutes to our flight back to Mallorca. All I wanted was the piece and quiet once again, enjoying the Mediteranean view from the balcony and sound of the waves gently lashing against the rocks below.

We finally made it back from our long, unforgetable Christmas trip to Germany. We arrived at the apartment and I could hardly wait to get inside and open up the balcony doors to let in the fresh air. As I walked in the lobby of the apartments I noticed a strange smell. We made our way down the long hallway towards our apartment. As we got closer, the smell of something burnt became stronger. At the end of the hall, I could see our apartment door. It had a big black hole as if someone had punched their way through the door. A fire extinguisher stood on the ground next to the door in the hallway. My heart began to race.

I opened the door to the apartment and was hit by the smell of ash and lingering smoke. The entire apartment appeared to be charred black, with water standing on the once white tile floor. I could only see from the light of the hallway, that it appeared everything had been destroyed in the apartment by a fire.

I went inside to assess the damage. It looked as if the fire had started on the balcony and made it's way to the couch. The glass balcony door had been shattered and the chair that used to be on the balcony was now a pile of ashes. I had moved a small reclining chair on the balcony before we left on our trip from inside the apartment. I had moved it there to comfortably watch the ships out at sea as I enjoyed the sunset. It was now a pile of springs and charred remains.

I went to the back bedroom to see how bad the damage was. Luckily, I had left the door closed before we left, minimizing the smoke damage to the back side of the apartment. It still smelled strongly of smoke, so I opened the back balcony door to let in some fresh air.

A sick feeling came over my entire body with the question of what happened? I went back out to the balcony once again to look for signs of what started the fire. In the charred remains of the chair appeared to be a large bottle rocket. Fireworks are a big thing on New Year's Eve. It appeared that the cause of the fire was from a rocket that had landed on the chair from the New Year's Eve celebration. I felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that I had not somehow caused the fire out of my own neglect.

Feeling lost as to what to do, we knew we needed to call our landlord, Herr Guenter. We needed to let him know what happened immediately. On the phone, Herr Guenter was as calm as ever, assuring us that everything would be ok and not to worry. He told us that he would come on the next flight in the morning from Germany. He told us to go ahead and check in to a hotel for the night and he would cover the costs. Herr Guenter was more than just a landlord, he was more of the caring grandfatherly type that had indirectly claimed us as his own family.

The next month was spent living in a rented room in the same apartment/hotel. Herr Guenter assured us that the cost to renovate the apartment would be covered by the insurance and not to worry. It even worked out for me that Herr Guenter offered to pay me to help with the renovation of the apartment. It couldn't have come at a better time since there was no work to be found during the winter months on the island. I spent hours on end painting the walls and ceilings of the apartment to hide the damage from the smoke. It took an entire month to revovate the apartment.

Although everything felt like the world was begining to unravel at the time, we fought through it and kept a positive attitude.

That following spring, I started work again at the car rental company. New tourists would come and go by the bus loads. The hot summer nights with revelling party goers in the streets and sleepless nights being dive bombed by mosquitoes had returned. Life on Mallorca went on. I was living my dream my on the small Spanish island. A place that people would save for months on end to afford a two week escape from the hustle and bustle of the 9 to 5 routine. As tough as times occasionally got, I would not of traded places with anyone.

A Living Part of History

One of the most fascinating aspects of travelling and living abroad is meeting new and interesting people. Throughout my travels, I have met so many different people of various backgrounds, all of whom have helped me see the world from a different point of view.

One person who I met along the way, was my landlord during my time in Mallorca. Mr. Guenther was a German man in his mid 70's from Hanover, Germany. He was a retired Civil Engineer who had invested in several rental properties on the island. He was was a very traditional German who had grown up with the typical strict German values of hard work, honesty and integrity during some of the toughest times in Germany's history.

It was one afternoon that Herr Guenther had scheduled a time to come by the apartment to do some kitchen repairs. He had arrived at 2 p.m. right on the dot as he had promised. I learned from my time living in Germany that punctuality is a notable trait of the Germans, as is attention to detail and one hundred percent accuracy. I always enjoyed times when he would stop by, since he reminded me a lot of my own grandfather who had immigrated to the U.S. prior to World War II. Herr Guenther always enjoyed talking with Eva and I, and we could tell he enjoyed our company as well.

I have always been interested in World War II history and knowing that Herr Guenther was of the war time generation, I was dying to ask him questions about what he did during this time, but was afraid to ask. It was one of those things you are never sure how to approach, with it being such a dark subject that many would like to forget.

I had bought a sword a few weeks prior to Herr Guenther's visit at a flea market in Santa Maria in the central part of the island. I bought it from a German that who said it was found buried in a vegtable garden in Berlin. It was rusted and worn from over 50 years of constant rain and cold German weather. I would spend hours trying all kinds of chemicals to remove the rust and restore it back to it's original gleam.

It was this afternoon that that Herr Guenther was to stop by for some kitchen repairs in the apartment. I was excited to take out to show Herr Guenther my find at the flea market to break the ice and see if he would open up and talk a little about his war time experience. I mentioned that I had recently bought an old German sword and asked Herr Guenther if he would be interested in taking a look to see if he could tell me anything about it. I could tell that he was quite eager and was anxious to see my newly purchased treasure.

I hurridly went to grab the sword out of the back closet. As I came back into the living room with the sword in hand, I could see Herr Guenther's face light up like a little kid on Christmas day. I handed him the sword and he said it was a German officer's sword. He went on to say that it was part of the German formal dress uniform during the Second World War. With the sword in his hand, he made a few sweeps and jabs, as if he were fighting an invisible foe. It looked like something out of a Zoro movie you would see on t.v.

Since we were on the topic of the war, I decided to ask what he did during the war years. I had always wanted to ask and figured this was a good time. He looked at me with a proud look and said he was in the Waffen SS, which was the Nazi elite fighting and most feared unit during the German's reign of terror throughout the war. I could sense his feeling of pride in his response, so I continued to probe and find out what role he had during this time period.

He went on to tell me that he was part of Operation Barbarosa, which was the infamous attack on Stalingrad in 1941. He and over 90,000 of the Waffen SS were under orders to bombard the strategic city of Russia into submission. They had made their push to take the city during the summer months expecting a quick and fierce overthrow of the city. Taking Stalingrad would of been devastating for the morale of the Russian people and lead to an inevitable defeat. To their surprise, they would end up fighting long into the winter months, cut off from re-inforcements from Germany and still equipped with summer uniforms. They had not anticipated fighting during the harsh winter months and the level of resistance they encountered. The Germans suffered heavy losses, many of his fellow soldiers who weren't killed in battle would end up freezing to death from the bitter cold.

I had seen many documentaries on this topic over the years, but in front of me was someone who had experienced what I had only read about first hand.

I will never forget asking the question of whether he thought the Germans were going to win the war and take over the world. He stopped for a moment, and looked at me with an ice cold glare in his eyes that sent a chill down my spine. He paused and said, 'there was no doubt in my mind that nobody could stop us...we were going to take over the world.' It was as if for a moment it was Nazi Germany in 1940 all over again there in my apartment. I could see the intense look in his eyes, formulated from the years of Nazi propaganda, leading them to believe they were superhuman...an unstopable machine.

It was in Stalingrad where the momentum of the German war machine was stopped it it's tracks. The 90,000 man army was soon surrounded by 1 million Russian troops. The Germans had no where to run and were under strict orders from Hitler to fight to the end. The Germans were physically and emotionially defeated at this point, and were left with no alternative but to surrender.

Herr Guenther went on to tell the story of how his fellow soldiers had shamefully surrendered. He was taken by the Russians to a prisoner of war camp for a short period of time somewhere in Siberia. He was later involved in a prisoner of war exchange with the United States. He was then sent to an American prisoner of war camp in what is now the Czech Republic for the remainder of the war. He said this move was what saved his life. Many of his fellow soldiers in the Russian camps died from the harsh conditions they endured in the Russian prisoner of war camps.

Mr. Guenther spoke freely about his role during the war with still a sense of pride on one hand, yet traces of shame that they were defeated. It was an eery feeling to speak with someone from the other side that took part in such a horrible period of our history.

Over the next few years, I would ask questions about post war Germany and what it was like re-building their country during the post war years. I learned a great deal speaking with Herr Guenther, who was a living part of history.

My Gypsy Life in Mallorca

When I first set out for my move to Europe, I had intended on making my move a permanent one. I had sold all my material possessions and was determined to make it work and get the most of my experience meeting new people, mastering new languages and learning as much about the culture of my destination. I was up for any challenge big or small and would face some pretty hefty challenges with the language and cultural barriers that I would soon be faced with.


I came to Mallorca with an eccentric German woman that I had met while teaching business English. She had worked on the island and had a large circle of friends and a job already lined up with a car rental company. However, when we landed in Mallorca, I had no idea where were were going to live. It was late winter and most hotels were still closed in preparation for the coming tourist season. A friend of Eva had picked us up from the airport and drove us out to a town called Paguera on the southwest corner of the island, where we would begin our search for a place to stay.


The weather was much warmer than what I had left behind in Germany and the sun seemed blindingly bright from above. I will never forget the scent of the ocean and pine trees as we walked out of the airport in Palma. I felt a sense of excitement for the new chapter that was to begin in my new life in Europe. I honestly had not even taken the time to look on the map to even see where Mallorca was.


It was about a half hour drive to Paguera from the airport. Eva had a Mallorquin friend whose family owned a small hotel not far from the beach, on the Boulevar, which was the main street running through the sleepy little town. The hotel was under construction for the coming season, but was still booking tourists. The Hotel Beverly Playa was to be my new home for the next 3 weeks until we could find permanent housing of some sort. It was a simple hotel in a convenient location surrounded by restaurants and small bars. It was a stone's throw to the beach, where I would spend much of my time admiring the incredible view of the Mediterranean Sea.


The hotel was great for a temporary place to stay with half board (breakfast and dinner included). It was my first time eating Mallorquin cooking, which I soon found out was heavy in olive oil and garlic. My American stomach took a while to get accustomed to the olive oil though. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach from my digestive system trying to process the olive oil, which would subside in the coming weeks. My only challenge was trying to watch t.v. after 7 p.m. after a long day. The hotel entertainment outside my window down in the courtyard was a duo that would sing each night old hits from the likes of Billy Joel, Lionell Ritchie and Elton John with a slight eastern European accent. All music was played on one of those electro pianos where you push a button and the beat begins. They weren't bad, but sang the same songs everynight until midnight making an early evening to bed pointless after a long day. I couldn't turn the t.v. on loud enough to make out what was being said, so I just gave up and would hope to eventually be tired enough to pass out and sleep through it.


My 3 weeks in the hotel started to seem like 3 months from lack of sleep with our nightly entertainment going on outside. At that time, a co-worker of ours said he had a friend with an apartment to rent. It was conveniently located in Paguera, just a short walk from the main street with all the tourist action and a short 10 minute walk to the beach. It was a 7 story building that had a view of the wooded hills outside Paguera. I couldn't see the ocean, but did not care since we finally were getting out of the hotel. It was a one bedroom, fully furnished apartment with all amenities from bathtowels, dishes, t.v., washer and everything else you could ever need.


In no time, we made our move in to what was going to be our home for the coming tourist season, or so we thought. We paid our first and last month's rent which was a bit expensive for the size of the place, but I didn't care. I was happy to have a place we could call home. We requested a rental contract from the landlord which is customary in any rental agreement in Europe. The landlord responded by saying, 'we will get the contract, but the owner was currently in Germany and it would be a while before we could have anything in writing.' It was imperative to have the rental contract in order for us to register our residency to live and work in Spain (legally, I might add), so the sooner we got the contract the better.


A few months had gone by and still no rental contract. We continued asking the landlord and were always put off with the excuse being one thing or another. It was soon after that, we found out that the landlord was actually only supposed to be taking care of watering the plants at the apartment for the owners who lived in Germany. She was by no means the landlord of the apartment and to make matters worse, we heard that the actual owner of the apartment was coming to Mallorca for a two week vacation, totaly unsuspecting that someone was living in his apartment. Totally unsuspecting that the lady he trusted to water the flowers was renting out his apartment and pocketing the money.


Upon learning about our 'landlord's' scam, it was no surprised to me when she said we would not get our 1 month deposit since we were leaving without giving notice. My arguement was, 'where is that in writing?' Naturally, there was no proof of anything. It was a case of our word verses hers and with no real legal ground to stand on. We ended up kissing the deposit goodbye. Without being able to speak Spanish, I had no chance of explaining my story to the police. At that time, 'una cervesa por favor' would only get me so far.


After a few nights staying in another hotel, we found an apartment in the town of El Toro, which was a small, predomininately Mallorcquin town. The apartment complex was situated on a cliff overlooking Porto Adriano with a few hundred yachts anchored in the harbor. The apartment had a nice garden view in a quiet setting, with a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean a short distance from my front door.


It was owned by a 30 something year old Spanish man who was native of the island. It too, was a fully furnished apartment with everything you needed. I had no idea really of how much I was paying, since everything was still negotioted in Spanish pesetas and I really had no clue of the value of the Spanish currency. The Spanish insisted on discussion finances in the old currency, the peseta, although we were already all on the Euro. It just added all the more to the confusion for an American accustomed to the dollar.


I lived there with Eva, who after a few months came home one day excited about finding a different apartment through an acquaintance that was less expensive and was directly on the beach in the town of Santa Ponsa. To me, it sounded nice and I too, was excited to live directly on the ocean. The only problem was that this time, we had signed a one year lease with an early termination fee of one month's rent and losing the non-refundable deposit of an additional month. Now I am not a math whiz here, but calculating my losses from the previous apartment fiasco, along with nights spent in a hotel, losing another deposit and to pay it all again in a new place did not sound like a feasable decision. Eva on the other hand, was set on the idea and there was no chance of me changing her mind.


We made an appointment with the landlord to view the apartment the following day. We met up with the owner of the apartment, who was an elderly German man named Guenter in his late 70's. He was from Hannover, Germany and owned several apartments in Santa Ponsa. The apartment we were going to look at was in a hotel situated directly on the bay in Santa Ponsa. It was a renovated room in Hotel Verde Mar which was frequented by Irish tourists. A few of the rooms in the hotel had been sold as privately owned condos to private investors.

I knew the first moment we walked in the door of the one bedroom apartment that this was the place for me. The first thing I noticed was the view of the turquoise blue waters from the Mediterranean and sound of the water splashing on the sea wall below. I walked out to the balcony to check out the stunning view. To the left, I could see the white sand beach of Santa Ponsa full of vacationers working on their tan (or in this case, their sunburn since 90 percent of the tourists there are fair skinned from Ireland, who rarely see the sun)and to the right was the wide open sea. The harbor below was full of yachts anchored in the bay with their sails blowing in the wind. Below me, I could see the hotel guests of all shapes and sizes, with drinks in their hands soaking up the warm Spanish sun.

I spent a good 15 minutes on the balcony taking in the view before I stepped back inside to look at the apartment itself. Once I went inside, looking around I could see the apartment was of typical Spanish decor with simple furniture, t.v. and everything else you could need. Herr Guenter (in German, everything is Herr or Frau out of formality...it's just one of those German things) could see we were impressed with the apartment. At this point, I still had no idea of price and suspected from the view alone that this was out of our price range. Herr Guenter looked at us and said, 'normally, I would rent this out on a short term basis for vacationing Germans, but I like both of you and will offer the room to you at 650 Euros a month. It was truly a bargain price, considering the location and what he could make on renting short term to the wealthy Germans.

We moved in for the summer tourist season and felt everyday like I was living a dream. I would sit for hours on the balcony gazing out at the wide open sea, watching million dollar yachts quietly moving across the horizon. Each day, I would come home for my siesta and check the view of tourists lounging around below. I saw a lot of good, a lot of bad, and a lot of ugly...but there was always something interesting to say the least. I will never forget the sleepless nights from the revelling tourists coming back to their rooms at all hours of the night to continue their party. I had a lot of nights where I maybe got 2 hours of sleep from the comotion, but it didn't matter...I was living a life many people only dream of. Many people who were back home saving up for that one week vacation in Cancun or Hawaii to come back to the life of a cubicle and 8 to 5 work week. Everyday for five years was a vacation for me in a sense. It was a time I will never forget.

Saved by the Siesta

One of the things I miss most today from my time living in Mallorca is not only the fresh ocean breeze off the Mediterranean or the fresh fish and vegtable dishes laden with garlic and olive oil, but the best part of the day...the siesta. The word siesta comes from the Latin sexta hora, meaning the sixth hour (counting from dawn). The siesta is predominant in many of the Spanish speaking countries in the warmer climates and used as a time for a little nap and to recharge. In Mallorca, the siesta begins at 1 p.m. and lasts until 4 p.m.. All stores and businesses close to go home for lunch with the family and to take a nap. For me, I took advantage of the best hours of the day to do what I enjoyed most.


I liveed directly on the sea and would spend my time swimming, workinging out at the gym, coming home to eat lunch and take about a 20 minute nap all during the course of my four hour break. I couldn't have asked for a better schedule. It was during those four hours, that I too felt like I was on vacation enjoying the beautiful blue skies and ocean view. There were days when I needed the sleep after being kept awake during the night from the partying tourist. This was often the case during the summer months when I would be kept awake from the late night bar crowd heading back to their hotels. I had heard and seen it all from my windows at night, from the drunken brawls outside my apartment to the not so happy drunk couple fighting in the street.


I recall one incident where I was woken up around 4 a.m. to a loud fight between a man and a woman who had obviously been drinking through the night. The Guardia Civil came rather quickly with screetching tires, jumped out of their truck with billy clubs raised, and with four swings the noise was over. That was a scene that I saw countless times to settle the often unruly intoxicated tourists. It amazed me to see the Guardia Civil in action, who were often times 'quick with stick' to bring situations under control. They are a highly respected organization by the Spanish people, which is an organization left over from the days of the Franco dictatorship.

Most of my German co-workers were against the siesta and would rather just get the workday overwith. There were the days at work where I needed the extra break. Dealing with tourists all day at the car rental company could on some days be stressful. I recall one day in particular where I had rented a car to a German family in their late 30's. They seemed like your typical happy, middle class family on the island for their two week vacation. I had rented a car to the husband for 10 days. Two days later, the man returned with the car saying he was hearing some stange noise coming from the engine and he wanted to exchange the car for one in better working order.

I went outside to take a listen to the car and the first thing I noticed, was a dent on the front grill of the car. He obviously had hit something and denting the car, pushing the radiator back a few inches, therefore making a loud screatching sound when the car was running. He acted as if the dent wasn't there. I said, clearly the problem is this dent in the front of the car and asked, 'what happend?' He responded, saying that the dent was there when I had issued him the car. This was a tactic that many customers who have some sort of accident would frequently try. They would always say I gave them the car in that condition.

Okay, I went into my office and called our headquarters, explaing the situation to the owner in Spanish so that the German gentleman now standing in front of my desk could not understand. All the owner said was, the contract states that if you have an accident with the car, the contract is null and void. No refund will be given and no car replacement will be offered. He said, 'tear up the contract...no car for him,' and slammed down the phone in my ear.

The German man was looking at me with somewhat nervous anticipation since he obviosly could hear the yelling on the other end. I switched now back to speaking German and said, 'sir, I have good news and bad news. We inspect all cars before sending them to our customers and are certain that the car was in proper working order. Since there was an accident with the car and you have full insurance, you will not be billed for the damage. The bad new is, I cannot issue you another car and per the contract, cannot give you a refund.' In a split second, the once easy going friendly man turned 180 degrees into what appeared to resemble a rabid dog. He lunged towards me with a closed fist. Sensing that I was going to be hit, I tried to slide my chair back quickly, only to feel my $2 flipflops sliding on the tile floor.

As he lunged towards me, in a split second he decided against throwing a punch. The next 2 minutes was a tirade of swearing and knocking things over in my office. I somehow found the strengh to remain calm and told the guy to leave my office, but apologized for the company policy as if that even mattered at that point.

Once he had left and my heart rate settled, I noticed it was about 5 minutes to 1 p.m. My beloved siesta was about to begin. I closed up my office for the four hour break to take full advantage of my time off and enjoy a beer tthat day instead of my usual workout routine.

Today, I was going to have a beer or two with my lunch. I would go home and enjoy the fresh sea breeze from my balcony and enjoy the view of tourists working on their sunburn. I miss the Spanish siesta and my life in Mallorca. The good and the sometimes not so good, but the worst days were still some of the best memories of my life.

Getting to Know Prague

After a good nights sleep after a long trip, I was looking forward to starting my new life in Prague. I had always been interested in history and growing up during the cold war, was particularly drawn to Eastern Europe and the history of the Czech Republic. I set out the front door of my dorm to grab something to eat. I made my way to Old Town Square which was a few minutes from my dorm. I was amazed at the Gothic architecture of the city center, especially Tyn Church, which dominates the view in the city center with it's two symetrical spires built in the 14th century. Across the square, I noticed a flock of tourists taking pictures of the astronomical clock which is one of the third oldest and still functioning in the world. The square was alive with tourists from all over the world. I sat down at a cafe for breakfast (one of the most expensive menus in the city) to enjoy the spectacular view. The square later would be a meeting point for friends due to it's central location. I would spend hours at the base of the Jan Hus memorial, erected in honor of his death over 500 years ago for his religious beliefs and to honor other martyrs throughout Czech history. I would entertain myself watching everything from frantic tourists trying to get as much in on their two day visit to the city to groups to the rush of the Czech people on their way to work. Monday morning and the first day of my language class finally arrived. It was going to be another warm summer day, with the sound of church bells chiming from Old Town Square, I had a feeling of nervousness in my stomach. I guess it was typical nerves that I always had before the first day of class as a little kid. I went to the administration to get my class assignment and begin my 4 week intensive course of 5 hours a day. My class was a diverse group of 12 people from around Europe and another American besides myself. All of which shared the same intrigue as me for the city of Prague. We all seemed to click rather quickly. We would all meet at a pub after class to work on our homework and talk about our experiences in the city, while enjoying some of the Czech Republic's finest beers. A few beers would later lead into the evening, where we would get together for dinner and continue talking late into the evening. Everyone had a different story to tell. One of the most intriguing was Marjan, who to me seemed like a gypsy or an undercover international spy. She was British, lived for several years in Germany, of Iranian decent with 5 different passports. She spoke fluent Czech, German, Farsi and had the strongest British accent. She had lived in Prague for a few years and was writing a movie script. I will never forgent the first day of class, she got up and went to the back of the room to lay down on the floor and started doing some kind of yoga routine and said, 'don't mind me, please continue.' There was also Walter from L.A. on a Rotary scholarship and several others from Germany and Switzerland. It was an interesting group to say the least. We spent the next four weeks with the same routine. Five hours of class and meet up later at a different place for food and drinks. Eating various local specialties which all seemed to include pork, a dumpling covered in gravy and a good beer. It gave me the opportunity to branch out and try different foods and break away from the overpriced tourist traps that many visitors easily fall in to. I strongly believe that making an attempt to learn the local language opens up so many cultural doors and enable you to get an inside view of the country. For anyone traveling or planning on living in another country, I would strongly urge you to make an attempt to learn at least the basics of the language.

Landing in Prague

It seemed like an incredibly long flight. I guess any flight seems long when you are 6'4. I felt like a sardine crammed into a can for 13 hours. I have never been able to sleep on a plane no matter what I have tried. I landed at the airport in Prague feeling like I had just been through a meat grinder. I felt as though everything was moving around me so fast. Hearing Czech being spoken all around me only added to the feeling of confusion. The airport itself wasn't like the fresh, modern looking airports back home. I noticed the colors were more drab and looked out dated. I reached in my backpack to grab the address I had for the language school where I was going to study Czech for the next 4 weeks. The school had also included the option of dorm style housing or a homestay that was arranged by the school. I had opted for the homestay for an additional $200 for the month, but for some reason that I can't remember, the person with whom I was going to be staying with wouldn't be around until the end of the week. I was going to stay in the school dorm until until I could meet up with the person offering a room. I made my way through the airport, not really even knowing which direction to go. I finally made it outside to where several taxis were waiting outside. I asked if anyone spoke English and the first gentleman just nodded. I handed him the address for the school. I was heading to Charles University, which is one of the oldest Universities in the Czech Republic. I got in the taxi and we headed off. Looking around, it seemed like there was graffiti on everything and overgrown grass. Maybe it was just the part of town we were in, so I thought to myself. We made it to the school and I paid the driver. I actually wasn't sure what I paid him. I opened my wallet and he grabbed a few of the bills I had exchanged and he was off. I got out and tried opening the door to the school, but it was Saturday and the door was locked. I rang the doorbell and waited, wondering what I would do if nobody answered. After I short time, the door buzzed and popped open. I went in, dragging my two suitcases with backpack on my back. I remember this old, musty smell and that it was stuffy. It was a warm summer day and I could tell that the a.c. was not working that day. It must be because it was the weekend, I thought to myself. I found the school administrator that had been expecting me. The guy told me his name was Jan and spoke functional English. He took me to my dorm room which was exactly that. A room with a bed, a desk, a closet and a sink. All looked like it hadn't been renovated since the early 50's. The community shower and bathroom were down the hall and it appeared that I was the only one staying there. Jan gave me a map and said to meet at 8 a.m. on Monday downstairs for my orientation. He left and I plopped down on the mattress in exhaustion from the long trip. The lumpy mattress and springs stabbing me in the back, I tried to sleep. My eyes were twitching from I don't know if it was excitement, nerves or overexhaustion. I laid there for about an hour in the hot stuffy room and couldn't relax enough to sleep. I decided to get up and talk a walk outside to find something to eat...better yet, a good Czech beer. I couldn't wait to walk outside and have a look around. Not knowing where to start, I took a right and started walking aimlessly looking for a pub. It felt good to be outside in the fresh air. I was tired, but excited to explore. I walked down the cobblestone streets until I found a main street along the Vltava river. I continued to my right and at last, I found a pub. It was a small, smoke filled pub with a nice view of the river and city landscape. It felt like I was thrown back in time. I looked at the menu and all was in Czech of course. The only Czech I could say was, 'pivo', meaning beer (one of the most important words to know in any language). The waitress couldn't speak a word of English and I had no idea what to order, so I just pointed to something about halfway down the menu, hoping that I was down far enough past apetizers and salads. I wanted something solid, since the plastic tasting airplane food the last 24 hours wasn't cutting it. I got my first beer and was proud that I was able to have success with my first attempt at the Czech language. I practiced the word 'pivo' several more times that afternoon at that little pub. I started to notice the river was starting to appear a little blurry, along with everything else. I thought it best be time to head back to my room. I paid the bill and headed out the door...but thinking, which way back? I wondered in circles for an hour or so, lost until I somehow found my way back. This would happen quite often the next few days...even the next five months. I made it back to my room and finally fell asleep, excited for what tomorrow would bring.

Coming to Prague

My decision to leave my job working for Adidas the spring of '00 was something I would do again in a second. A co-worker came to me holding a small newspaper clipping she had thought I would be interested in. It was an ad from the backpaqe of local newspaper with a job posting to teach English in the Czech Republic. I thought the idea sounded pretty exciting. I had already been on a day bus trip to Prague on a previous trip to Europe. I had gone with a group of senior citizens for a day tour and lunch at an exclusive restaurant. I was only there for a few hours, but it had definitely sparked my interest and I knew I wanted to come back. Once I got home, I went to the company's website to find out more about the program. It was a 4 week TEFL course in downtown Prague that guaranteed job placement at the end of the course. It was roughly $400 USD and I had to go through the application process which included an essay on why I wanted to be an English teacher. I'm sure the essay had little impact as to whether or not the school would accept me into the program, since the strength of the dollar at the time, I was sure they wouldn't be turning too many people away. I was soon accepted into the next course in June of that year. I had started doing research on the city and also stumbled across an intensive language course that conveniently started one month before my teaching course was to begin. I decided that it was time to push forward with my plan. I started selling and giving away anything that I could not take with me. Which included some great Taylor Made golf clubs that I got for next to nothing while working at Adidas. They were hard to let go, but how was I going to pack them around? The plan was to go and start a new life in Europe. I had no plan of returning this time to the U.S.. I was determined to make it work. I bought a ticket to Prague, round trip (just in case) that had me scheduled to come back in 3 months. My plan was to take the month long Czech course, then get certified to teach English in Europe. I wanted to experience Prague for a while and later move to Germany to settle down and get a good teaching job. In about 3 weeks time, I had sold just about everything I had, except for my clothes, a suitcase and my dream. I gave my two week notice which seemed to be an eternity. I will never forget that day of walking down the concourse at the airport. I thought, this is it. My dream of moving to Europe has finally come true.

How an American Discovers Mallorca

While living in Prague, I found a job with a small, private school in the southern German town of Goeppingen.  I had found the job posting on a website for English teachers that I had heard about from other teachers who were teaching English in Europe.  I had gotten a call on my cell phone within an hour of submitting my resume.  Little did I know, this was going to be the most unforgettable job of my life.

I had a good conversation on the phone with Chuck, the director, or so I thought, and the owner of the school whose name was Karin.  Chuck was direct and to the point, but sounded to have a good sense of humor.  Karin was the owner of the school and from a small town in Austria.  She seemed like a nice lady and was offered the job after about a 45 minute conversation.  I had bought a Eurail pass with 5 round trip trips that I had yet to use.  They wanted me to start as soon as possible and decided to go check out the school within the next few days. 

I was excited to start my job as an English teacher.  I called a few of my American friends to tell them the news.  I was supposed to head out the following day.  My friends, Joe and Joe, Corin and Joshua insisted on having a few beers to send me off.  I still hadn’t packed yet but thought I could do it later.  I had already had a reservation for the train for an early morning 6:30 departure.  We went out to our favorite pub for dinner and a few beers.  A few beers lead to several more beers until late in the evening.  Before I knew it, it was around 1 a.m. and I still had to go back to the apartment to pack for my trip. 

I woke up with enough time to spare.  I had to roll my suitcase to the main train station which was a good 25 minute walk.  I was still feeling the beers from the night before and never really got any sleep.  I was also struggling with some sort of stomach virus at the time which had been hanging around for the past few days.  It was one of those stomach bugs where you didn’t want to turn any corners too quickly if you know what I mean.  I had an 11 hour train ride ahead of me and was overcome at time by a cold sweat and a churning stomach the entire trip.  Not to mention the dehydration from the beer and lack of sleep. 

I arrived at Goeppingen Hauptbahnhof  around 5:30 p.m. and was met by Chuck, the school director.  He was older than what I pictured.  He appeared to be in his late forties with a flat top.  His hair was gray and looked more like he was in the Army.  He seemed friendly and my first impression was that he may not be too bad to work for.  Karin was with him.  She was quite a bit younger, about mid thirties with long blond hair and on the stout side.  I thought it must be all the German meat and potatoes.  She had a friendly glow and more of a motherly side to her.  Chuck and Karin were a ‘couple’ which was clear to see.  Chuck obviously had an upper hand in the relationship.  That was apparent from some of the jokes he made with Karin.  It maybe was just his military/conservative appearance. 

We went straight to the apartment where I was to live.  That was included in my salary of 14 German Marks per class hour taught.  I had no idea if that was good or bad since I didn’t know what the cost of living was like.  My measure of salary was, how many beers does it buy?  I had a fully furnished apartment that I would share with one other teacher and one other teacher to be hired as soon as they found someone.  I got a quick tour of the apartment which had everything I needed.  Two bedrooms in the apartment and a third bedroom separate upstairs from the apartment.  Chuck said, drop your bags and head on across the street for class.  He wanted me to sit in on his classes and be introduced to the students.  I was thinking, it would be nice just to stretch my legs a bit and unpack.  But I had to head over in 10 minutes.  My stomach was still rumbling and the sweat flashes were still there.  I was still going on about 3 hours of sleep that I managed on the train.  I was dead tired and not quite sure if my stomach was going to be ok, but I pulled myself together and headed over.

When I got over to the school, which was slightly less than 10 minutes before the start of the first class, I was informed that I was late according to Chuck.  Now I thought to myself, is this guy serious or is he joking.  I was really too tired to give it much thought.  I was given a quick run-down on the classes that were scheduled for the evening.  There were 5 classes that lasted 45 minutes.  All were small groups of less than 10 per class and were mainly conversational.  The former owner had written the textbook that went from beginner level all the way up through advanced.   Chuck was going to lead the class discussion, except tonight he was going to introduce me and let me talk about who I was and where I was from.  This was a bit more than I expected.  I was hoping for more of just a short hello and then kick back and watch.  I just had an 11 hour train ride, not to mention a night out on the town in Prague with my friends.  My stomach was still feeling the effects of the stomach bug.  I wasn’t sure if I would need to make an emergency exit at some point in the evening.

The first class came in.  It was a group of about 6 or so mid level students.  I said hello to the students as they walked in.  My first impression was that they were a little apprehensive and not really too friendly.  Chuck started the class with a goofy joke to break the ice as I sat there with all eyes on the two of us.  My initial few weeks were still in the trial phase.  It was agreed upon that I would get paid, but still be considered to be temporary until I was officially offered the job.  So out of the gate, I felt Chuck watching every move that I made and was judging every response in the classroom.  Chuck made his introduction and then it was my turn to give myself presentation, where I was from, what I did in the U.S. and how I just travelled from Prague.  It was funny how every class that I told I just came from Prague, I had a blank stare from all the students.  It was always a short delay until they said, ah Prague.  Like I totally butchered the pronounciation.  That would also happen whenever I said this in German as well.  Somehow, they couldn’t understand my accent.  Now that I think about it, for years later living in Europe when I would speak German and say where I was from, the same delay would come after I said Amerika, in German…it was ah Amerika.  This was about 90 percent of the time.  They would often say, huh? Australia?  I would respond, no Amerika.  Then, ah Amerika.  Isn’t that what I just said?  I would think to myself.   I think the other 10 percent of the time, they just didn’t feel like confirming what I had just said.

It was one class after another with a 10 minute break in between each class.  Always the same routine, who is this guy expression from the students as they walked in, by brief introduction from Chuck and then it was my brief history and questions from the students afterwards.  The classes were a mix of bored housewives looking to get out of the house for the evening to the business professional looking to advance their career with better English.  I could already see that the Germans were a bit reserved and hard to get them to open up.  There were a few students who enjoyed the conversation which is who I tended to focus on to avoid the uncomfortable silence.  Overall, I could tell this was going to be a fun job since I love talking with people and learning about what they do and where they are from.  I found this

to be the best way to learn about the culture, what to do see and what food to eat.  Nothing I could imagine would be a better way to dive into the local culture than to work as an English teacher.

After going through 5 classes of the same routine, I was ready to call it a night and head to bed.  I was invited by Chuck and Karin to meet them at a nearby restaurant to discuss how things went.  As tired as I was, I couldn’t say no to good food and talking about the evening.  We went to a nearby Lokal, or small, family run restaurant/pub.  I ordered some schweinefleisch and spaetzle from the recommendation of Chuck and Karin, along with a half liter of the local hefeweizen.  I soon realized that the German hefeweizen was much stronger than the beer I was accustomed to in Prague and could quickly feel a buzz coming on from my first half of a glass.  We sat and talked about the students and class structure and my feedback as to what I thought went well and didn’t go well.  We talked also about my background and where I was from.  They said I would be living with Chris, who was the senior teacher at the school who was from England.  They exchanged glances upon mentioning his name with a bit of laugh.  I was already thinking, what is this all about?  I would soon find out for myself.

 I felt more of a sense of a family, nurturing feel from my new bosses.  They seemed nice and caring and thought this seemed like a good fit.  I felt I was on my way to fulfilling my dream of living and working in Germany.  All I had to do is be myself, work hard and prove to Chuck and Karin that I was a good fit for the job.  

It was getting close to midnight and already through my third beer when we decided to call it a night.  It was Friday and I was looking forward to sleeping in.  To my surprise, Chuck insisted on a 8:30 meeting at the school to discuss teaching material and class organization for the upcoming week.  Not wanting to look bad, I eagerly agreed to meet them bright and early over at the school.  My real thoughts were, shit I am tired and would much rather get caught up on some sleep and unpack.

To no surprise, I was too tired to fall asleep.  It may sound strange, but I can never sleep right away when I am overly exhausted or in a strange place.  I got up early enough to shower but had nothing to eat but a protein bar, banana and some water that I had brought along on my trip.  I was still tired but wanted to look upbeat for my early morning meeting.  When I arrived, I was about 5 minutes early since it was a short walk from across the street.  I was greeted by Chuck and Karin with how did you sleep?  Then, Chuck commented on ‘if you are on time, you are late.’  I thought to myself, don’t look irritated, smile and keep your mouth shut.  I really wasn’t sure if I should jokingly say something back or say nothing at all.  I chose to keep my mouth shut.

We went over the class structure like who was in each class, what level they were, what they liked and disliked.  The school had around 250 students Monday through Saturday.  We went over teaching material available for the next couple of hours.  The material included flash cards, games and books on conversational topics and the like.  I was also told there are a couple of private students that I would take over for Saturdays and that they would be there shortly.  Now at this point, I am starving with no apparent break for breakfast or lunch on the schedule.  There were two students back to back.  One was a manager at a local business and the other was a 13 year old boy who was struggling with his English lessons in school.

The classes went smoothly, more of the same old routine.   Just a brief intro and an awkward time trying to have a conversation with someone who would prefer not to talk. 

The classes finally ended around 1 p.m. and I was still feeling the effects of my long trip.  I was starving and needed to go to the store to get something to eat and stock up for the next few days.  I had to interrupt Chuck and Karin to say that I needed to do some shopping and cut away.  Chuck told me that I had better hurry because the stores on Saturday in Germany all close at 2 p.m.   He said all stores are closed on Sunday too.  I felt a sort of panic rush through my stomach.  I didn’t want to eat 3 meals a day on Sunday at a restaurant and had to get to the store before it closed.  Luckily, a grocery store was about 3 blocks away from my apartment.  I set out for my first visit in a German grocery store.  My first impression was that everything was so much smaller.  The parking lot was only large enough for maybe two dozen cars and inside the store, the isles were all much narrower.  It kind of made me feel a little claustrophobic.  I looked to grab the basics to get me by.  Water, yogurt, bread and lunch meat.  I was just mainly trying to stock up on basic sandwich stuff for now until I could get more settled.  I felt a bit stressed since the clock was ticking and I knew they were getting close to closing.  You could feel the same tension with the Germans who were shopping in the store as well.  They all seem to act as if other people weren’t there.  I noticed they acted as if I were invisible and would run me over if I didn’t get out of their way.  The same went for the line at the check- out when one woman apparently didn’t see me and cut in line in front of me.  I had given the person in front of me a reasonable distance and the other women just squeezed her way in between.  I thought, she really must be in a hurry and didn’t say anything.  She acted as if I wasn’t even there.

I got back to the apartment and finally met Chris.  He was a short, round man in his late forties with slicked back medium length snow white hair with a goatee.  He had a healthy red glow to his cheeks and smelled a little like booze from the night before, or was it from this morning?  I wasn’t sure.  He introduced himself and said welcome to the English School and just make yourself at home in a thick British accent.  He seemed like a nice, warm hearted guy and looked a bit like Santa Claus.  Right away, I felt that I could get along with the guy.  We talked for a while about where we were from .  He had been there teaching in Germany for over a year now and didn’t mind the job.  However, I sensed there was something he wasn’t telling me about the owners of the school.

This was the first time I was able to see the apartment in daylight.  It was in a quiet neighborhood directly across the street from the school.  It was an upstairs 3 bedroom apartment, directly above the apartment from Chuck and Karin.  I was an older building with wooden, crickety staircase.   As I walked in to the building, I had to pass by Chuck and Karin’s front door to their living room.  Above their door, there was a clear glass window, which they I am sure could see me walking up the stairs to my apartment.  The stairs made such a loud squeek and the echo in the hallway was easily heard in their apartment.  My apartment was small, but comfortable.  There was a separate living room with dining table, couch and t.v.  The kitchen had a small breakfast table, old gas stove and small refridgerator.  We had all the pots, pans and dishes that we needed to cook, but no dishwasher.  The bathroom was small, with a hanging 50 gallon water heater/tank.  My bedroom had a double sized bed with fluffy down

comforter and big fluffy goose feather pillow.  There was a large, separate standing closet that was plenty big enough for my two suitcases and my clothes.  I had a large window that faced the school and I could see the main cross street from my bedroom window.  There was nothing going on out on the street.  A car would pass by occasionally, but nothing like the city life of what I had in Prague.  This was as quiet and peaceful as it gets.

By this time, Chuck had knocked once on the front door and came waltzing in to the apartment.  He asked if I found the store alright and wanted to go over some important things about the apartment.  He walked straight into my bedroom to explain the radiator.  He said it was an energy efficient radiator and never to adjust the settings.  He walked into the bathroom and gave me the same advice on the water heater in the bathroom.  I only heated the water for about 4 hours in the middle of the night.  Once that hot water was gone, you were shit out of luck.  You would have to take a cold shower if the warm water was gone.  Once again, he said, don’t adjust the settings.  He even explained the remote for the t.v.  I really thought this was all pretty self explanatory, but let him talk.  He said dinner was going to be at 6 and that we would be going out afterwards.  He extended the same invitation to Chris, but he said he had already made plans for the evening.  By now it was close to 4 p.m. and I had a few hours to sit down and take in my new surroundings.

 At about 10 minutes to 6, I walked downstairs to Chuck and Karin’s apartment not to be late according to Chuck’s standards.  Karin had made spaghetti for dinner.  It was nice to have a home cooked meal instead of eating out in a restaurant on any given day.  Karin mentioned she was glad they had found me and was eager to mold me into a great teacher.  We had a nice dinner and good conversation.  We talked about how Karin recently purchased the school from Allen, who was a British born man who founded the school some 20 years ago.  He was still working as a teacher at the school part time and still had some say as to how the school was run and who they hired.  I would be joining him in some of his classes in the coming week to observe his teaching style.  We finished dinner after a few hours and Chuck decided he and I should go out for a night out on the town in Goepingen to show me some of the local pubs.  Since I didn’t know my way around or have anyone to hang out with I thought it may be fun.

Chuck and I started out at a hard rock pub called Treffpunkt.  It was a bit more of a biker, heavy metal bar where they played the likes of Iron Maiden, AC DC and the like.  We sat at the bar enjoying some of the local beers.  I learned Chuck was raised the son of an Army colonel and had moved around quite a bit as a kid.  He still had the military flat top.  He seemed to me as if he came from money and was a bit on the spoiled side.  He seemed a bit demanding of his girlfriend Karin and seemed intent of always getting his way from the short time I knew him.  He mentioned that he was from Texas where he spent the larger part of his time when he was in the U.S.   He and Karin had met in Germany and decided to move for a while to England, where they both studied to get their teaching certification or TEFL as it is better known as.  About five beers into the evening, Chuck asked out of the blue if I smoked pot.   It was as if he wanted to get me a little drunk to see if he could get me to volunteer  any personal information out of me.  I still felt as if he was watching and judging my every move.  We talked more about Chris, who had a bit of a drinking dependency.  He expressed that they weren’t too happy with his drinking before classes and were looking to let him go.  Chuck even asked me my thoughts on Chris and asked if I had seen him drinking in the apartment.  Of course, I said nothing not to get the guy in any more

trouble.  Not that drinking in his spare time was a bad thing, I just started to get the feeling that there were some house rules that we were to live by as long as we lived in the apartment they gave us as part of the compensation package.

 

The following Monday I was to sit in on all the classes throughout the evenings to be introduced to the rest of the students.  All the classes went the same, more introductions and Chuck’s lame jokes throughout the class.  I almost felt as if he wanted us to be a couple of comedians.  Kind of like a modern day Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.  I hated sitting there and couldn’t wait to have the class to myself without him watching over me.

After each class, it was more of the same feedback session with Chuck and Karen.  What went well and what could have been better. Karin said she was going to split up the classes that Chuck had been teaching with me.  I was to get about 30 teaching hours a week.  I was also going to go to teach off site 2 days a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Berufs Bildungs Gemeinschaft or referred to as the B.B.G.  This was a state sponsored school to train women to learn valuable skills to get them a job and off welfare.  The women were all welfare recipients and were somewhat difficult.  Chuck and Karin cautioned me that this was not going to be an easy task.  Classes were about twenty women each class aged from 20 to 40 years of age.  They mentioned that they were somewhat difficult and had already gone through a few other teachers who didn’t last.  They weren’t to motivated and for lack of better words, a group of bitchy women who would eat me alive if I let them walk over me.  I was not too excited about started off with such a rough group.  I was a bit nervous and didn’t feel comfortable knowing that I was going to be teaching such a large group of hostile women.  Karin met with me during some down time during the morning on Monday before my first class.  She showed me the notes of what she had been going over and handed me the text books.  She was going to drop me off Tuesday morning around 8 a.m. and let me wing it.  Talk about being scared. 

I don’t think I got more than 3 hours of sleep Monday night before my first big day at the B.B.G.  That morning, I could hardly eat anything.  I met Karin downstairs and we headed on over to.  It was to be 4 classes each of 45 minutes per lesson.

It was about a 10 minute drive over to the B.B.G. and my stomach was in knots and I could feel myself already starting to sweat.  I was wearing a sweater since it was a cold day and also, not to show any sweat rings on my first day of class.  I was a nervous wreck.  Karin went over a few more things about the class.  She said one thing that caught me off guard a bit.  She said that the women aren’t worth my time outside of the classroom.  They all have emotional hang-ups of one sort or the other and that I should not consider any relationship outside the classroom with any of them.  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to give me some sound advice or if maybe she was a little on the jealous side.  I had thought from the beginning that maybe she was a bit on the flirtatious side, but I really wasn’t interested even if she were single.

We arrived at the school and Karin wanted to introduce me to the administrative staff and also offered to introduce me to the class before taking off.  It was nice to at least not have her watching me like a hawk in the classroom, unlike Chuck.

We walked into the classroom and I felt a knot in my throat once all 20 pairs of eyes were glaring at me.  It didn’t seem to be like a very upbeat class.  I quickly scanned the room and saw a diverse group from early twenties to early forties.  The older women I noticed all seemed to have the same hair style.  It was short, over the ears, somewhat spiked hairdo.  It reminded me of the hair style Mr. Spock on Star Trek wore, except they had a bit more of a spike to it.  The hair color some of them had was a fiery red or burgundy.  The glasses they wore were the small, Benjamin Franklin style which seemed to be the in style.  There were some attractive younger girls in the classroom, but they all had the same cold hard look.  None of them struck me as anyone I would want to meet and have a friendly chat with.  Karin didn’t need to worry about me hooking up with any of these ladies.  They all seemed so plain looking and lifeless.  So there I was, under the spotlight.  Karin gave me a smile as to say good luck and left.

My lesson plan was pretty simple.  I wanted to do tell about my background and go around the room and have each student tell a little about themselves and why they wanted to learn English.  I estimated this would take the bulk of the 3 hour session and I would be an easy day.  I went first, talking about Oregon and my time in Prague.  When I said now it’s your turn, I heard a grumbling throughout the class.  One of the older students with spiked burgundy hair said, ‘we did this for the last teacher and we are not going to do this again.’  There was a general agreement from the faces of the rest of the students.  They said, we will tell your our names, age and status.  So, around the class they went, one at a time.  I could feel my heart starting to beat a little faster and the temperature in the classroom rise.  I thought , this is not going as planned, what do I do now?  So one by one, they said their name age and marital status and then on to the next.  This took up about 10 minutes, if that.  When the last girl finished I had another 2 hours and forty five minutes to kill and nothing planned.  Just me sitting there with the clock slowly ticking.  You could hear a pin drop.  I sat and squirmed at my desk a bit with all eyes on me, thinking this job isn’t for me.  I could feel the sweat bead up on my forehead.  Luckily I had worn a sweater to hide how much I had actually been sweating underneath.  I was sweating as if I just ran a marathon.  I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity, with nothing to say.  Suddenly, through the glass window to the hallway, I saw a girl in a thick navy blue ski jacket slowly wandering towards the door of the classroom.  She opened the door and said ‘hi, sorry I’m a little late.’  She kind of laughed and made her way to her desk.  That was actually the first time I had seen a German girl smile, or even laugh for that matter.  She asked the group what we were doing.  She could obviously feel the tension in the air.  Someone in the back said in German that we were doing the same old introduction crap.  She introduced herself and started telling me about where she lived.  Her name was Sandra and obviously didn’t give a crap what the other’s thought of her.  She was dressed in farmer’s overalls and with her ski jacket, looked like she was ready for the North Pole.  I noticed a diamond stud in her nose and jet black dyed long hair.  She was an average looking girl, but had a carefree glow about her.  She asked me where I was from , so  I gave my story once again, not caring about the fact I had already done so.  I was desperate to kill any time that I could.  By this time I had calmed down some and asked the class what had been done with the other teacher.  Another girl spoke up and started giving me the run down.  I

could see other girls rolling their eyes in disgust.  It was clear there was some animosity among the students.  I decided to ignore the majority of the class who wanted nothing to do with me and focus on the two students who were interested in a conversation.  I just wanted to kill time and get the hell out of there.

I never thought I would make it the whole session, the thought of walking out the door that first twenty minutes almost became reality.  I seriously was ready to throw in the towel on the teaching idea and my dream of working in Germany.  As the students were walking out the door, Sandra was hanging back.  She came up to my desk and asked what else I had seen so far of Europe.  She asked if I had ever been to Mallorca.  I said, no, I had never heard of it.  Where is it?  She said it was a Spanish island in the Mediterranean and had lived there for 6 years.  She said it was a beautiful place where it was always sunny and warm.  She said she used to surf and did some scuba diving there and that she thought I would love it there and check it out sometime.  She smiled as she dropped a piece of paper on my desk and quickly made her way out the door.

Little did I know, that calling that number would take my life into an entirely different direction and turn into a roller coaster ride of an experience to come.  Within two months, I was on a plane heading to this little Spanish island called Mallorca.  I had no idea where it actually was or what to expect.  The experience I was about to have would change my life forever.