Tag Archives: Love

Wedding Tips for Marrying a German: 5 Things to Know Before ‘Die Hochzeit’

German American Wedding Marriage

“… to have and to hold, to honor and obHEEEEYYYY!”

I am American. My wife is German. We got married in the States and it was awesome. So awesome, in fact, I was inspired to write this blog post for the benefit of every American who has married — or is about to marry — a German person while in the United States of America.


‘Die Hochzeit,’ meaning ‘Wedding’ in German, sounds rather intimidating, doesn’t it? Unless you’re familiar with German pronunciation, ‘Die’ is probably the word you’d least like to associate with the happiest day of your life, and ‘Hochzeit’ sounds, at least to me anyway, an awful lot like ‘Hogtied.’

a guy dressed up and hogtied

Pictured: the groom, about to die… hogtied. — Image courtesy of infinonymous.blogspot.com

But marrying someone from Germany really isn’t the frightening ordeal one might reasonably expect it to be. In fact, the wedding process will most likely be a totally smooth and completely awesome experience… with the exception of these 5 little details of which you should probably be aware before you bring your German over to the United States to get hitched:

1: Your German Will Be Unfamiliar With diamond Engagement Rings.

Until very recently, giving diamond engagement rings was a tradition largely ignored here in Germany. I have seen more and more jewelers carrying these sorts of rings as of late, but the vast majority tend to be unadorned bands. Thick, depressing, German-as-hell wedding bands. But we are Americans, godammit, and we want our fiancés to wear engagement rings mounted with bright, shiny, blood diamonds. And we want the cost of these diamonds to absolutely decimate our savings accounts, because if they don’t, it means we don’t love our fiancés enough.

screw and nut wedding rings for funny engineers

German Design: Functional AND intimidating. — Image courtesy of efunmania.com

Another thing about Germans and their wedding rings — many wear them on their right hands. They wear them on their left hands during the engagement period, switch them to their right hands during the wedding ceremony and then keep them there for the rest of their Teutonic lives. I wear my wedding ring on my left hand, where it belongs, and so does my wife — we roll American style on this one. Unfortunately, this means our rings often go unrecognized as symbols of marriage here in Germany. To Germans, we appear merely to be engaged — perhaps not even coupled at all — and my wife’s diamond engagement ring looks more like a piece of blindingly expensive jewelery… or an outright invitation to hit on her. I’m not worried though. Have you ever seen a German guy hit on a woman? It’s adorable.

2: Your German Will Expect a ‘Polterabend’ before the wedding.

The word ‘Polterabend‘ consists of the German verb ‘poltern’ (to make a racket) and the noun ‘Abend’ (evening). If you’ve ever seen the movie Poltergeist, you’ve probably already guessed this name is, at the very least, a discouraging omen.

Polterabend poltergeist

“I’ll marry you! I swear! Just please don’t ever touch me again!” – Image courtesy of linkinpark.com

A Polterabend is a German wedding custom — a big, all-night party prior to the wedding itself — where guests smash porcelain objects in order to bring luck to the couple’s marriage. The symbolism of this ritual is expressed by the old adage, “Scherben bringen Glück,” which means “Shards bring luck.” And I’m sure they do, for what could possibly go wrong when you combine magic, superstition, copious amounts of alcohol and flying shards of razor-sharp death pottery?

bloody bride with eye patch

“Best. Polterabend. EVER.” – Image courtesy of magnumarts.blogspot.com

In practice, however, the Polterabend is mostly an excuse to have a raging party. And if anyone knows how to both rage and party simultaneously, it’s those wily Germans. I, however, think it is a spectacularly bad idea to go nuts the night immediately before your wedding. Not all Polterabends occur the night before — some take place a week or two earlier — but you know all those videos of people passing out right at the altar? That doesn’t happen when you’ve spent the previous evening in your hotel room, quietly rehearsing your vows and going to sleep at a reasonable hour. That happens from Polterabends.

The Wife and I did not have a Polterabend, however, because most venues in the Unites States close at a reasonable hour. Not in Germany. Here, you can rent out a place and go ballistic until the sun comes up. It’s basically expected of you. My wife was highly offended by the American peculiarities she encountered while researching Polterabend venues, because she was entirely unfamiliar with terms like “closing time,” “last call” and “noise ordinance.”

3: Your German Will Party Harder Than You At the Reception

Yes, we are Americans, and yes, we can party. But there’s something deep inside German DNA which allows them to party harder than us by orders of magnitude. A real German party makes an American party look like a bunch of diaper-wearing toddlers trying to hump a piñata.

Your German will drink, but will not get sloppy drunk — just the right amount of fuel to feed the machine. He or she will take — or be featured prominently — in every single picture taken that night. He or she will dance, sing, eat ridiculously heavy foods, laugh and then dance some more… all while you have long since passed out. Germans are cosmic partiers, you see. Your German will be the sun in the solar system that is your wedding reception, and its gravity will pull all celestial matter toward its center — including you, the wayward planet with the decaying orbit — where you will burn in its white-hot embrace for all eternity.

awesome brides daning at reception

Rocking you all night long… to death. — Image courtesy of mywedding.com

You know how Americans don’t have any traditional drinking songs? Your German has forgotten more drinking songs than you will ever learn. (But don’t sweat this part too hard; their drinking songs are pretty retarded.)

And you know how Americans don’t have any traditional drinking dances? Germans know dozens of dances, and at your wedding reception, you will be expected to participate in every goddamn one of them. Watch out for the Chicken Dance , Cowboy und Indianer (komm hol das Lasso raus) and the Slap Dance. They look great in the pictures you will see later on, but right in the moment? Right when it’s happening, as you hop around in a circle holding hands with your spouse on one side and some hairy cousin you barely even know on the other? You may think your life has spun dangerously out of control, but don’t be scared; this is all German engineering. This is the Autobahn, baby. Hold on tight and try not to look like a pussy.

4: Your German — and the other german Guests — Will refuse to drink and drive.

As an American, it physically hurts me to admit Germans are better drinkers than we are — hurts me right in my star-spangled heart muscles — but it’s true; they grow up with some of the least restrictive alcohol laws in the world, which seem to encourage drinking responsibility, rather than drinking recklessness.  Maybe it’s because Germans youths are legally allowed to purchase beer and wine at age 16, and then allowed to purchase hard liquor at 18. There’s no excitement in it for them. They’re not breaking any rules. Oh sure, there are spectacular drunks and catastrophic failures of alcohol abuse in Germany too, but they’re not nearly so prevalent as in the States.

little girl drinking beer

MOM: “Which cereal do you want for breakfast, honey?” DAUGHTER: “Pilsner Pops.” — Image courtesy of guycodeblog.mtv.com/

Wisely, Germany’s relaxed age restrictions on the purchase of alcohol do not extend to driving while intoxicated. Unlike the United States, there is no legal limit of 0.08% blood alcohol level in Germany (though I’ve heard in some parts of the country there is a limit 0.05%, which can be achieved by accidentally swallowing a thimble full of mouthwash). In Germany, if you get pulled over and the officer determines you’re even slightly intoxicated — there goes your drivers license. You’ll be slapped with a massive fine, community service and a restriction on your ability to drive for the foreseeable future. You may even lose your license forever.

Germans grow up with this reality, and they won’t take any chances. They intuitively know how stupid it is to drink and drive. This is why you may need to organize shuttles and taxis for your German wedding guests. (And screw the American ones, right? Because they have the freedom to die in a fire of twisted metal and broken windshield glass if they so desire. It even says so in the Bill of Rights… probably.) So, unless you arrange for safe transportation to and from your wedding reception, some poor German is going to remain sober all night, and just one sober German alone is enough bring about a second Great Depression.

5: Your German won’t understand why American Weddings are so incredibly expensive.

Listen — you and me? We’re American. Our weddings are traditionally extravagant. We get hitched using so much money either our parents pay for everything, or we go bankrupt attempting to handle the cost ourselves. It’s just how we roll.

extravagant cake

“Is that a cake or a delicious monument to capitalism?” — Image courtesy of elegantbouquetsorg.wordpress.com

Germans, however, are a practical bunch of squares. They use local churches, restaurants, hotels and the backyards of affluent relatives to get married. Their wedding venues are cute, quaint, and so utilitarian you’d likely observe better scenery in a dentist’s office while having your wisdom teeth pulled under general anesthesia. That said, American wedding venues overcharge young couples just as hard as they can. So hard it should be illegal. Like, porno hard. But since it isn’t illegal, you’ll need to have a conversation with your German fiancé about the realities of American wedding expenses:

GERMAN: “Do we really need to rent a ballroom with an inflatable bouncy castle?”

AMERICAN: “Yes.”

GERMAN: “Are they really going to charge for food on a per-person basis? That’s like $100 per person!”

AMERICAN: “Yes, but kids are half price.”

GERMAN: “Why do we have to put a 50% deposit down?”

AMERICAN: “Because they’re afraid we might destroy the place… and we absolutely will.”

GERMAN: “Wedding cake prices range between $250 and $1000. Is this normal?”

AMERICAN: “Yes.”

GERMAN: “Do we really need to have an open bar?”

AMERICAN: “Hell yes.”

Now, before you attempt to describe the sorts of expenses involved in a typically lavish American wedding, email this infographic to your German and let it do the talking for you:

Wedding Cost Infographic

“Wait, wait… why are we doing this again?” — Image courtesy of sourcherry.org


I hope you find these considerations helpful and encouraging. Marrying a German is likely to be the very best decision you ever make in your life, and I congratulate you for having such excellent taste when you chose one to be your lifelong companion.

Now please, as you are planning your wedding while attempting to work all day, run errands, do chores, get enough sleep, maintain a healthy relationship with your German and retain your sanity, remember it is all worth it in the end. The organizing, the calls, the emails, the decisions and the expenses which go into American wedding planning will feel overwhelming at times. And unless you can afford a wedding planner, the stress will increase each day leading up to the wedding itself. But when that day is finally here, and things really get rolling? Everything will fall right into place. I promise.

Congratulations on scoring a wonderful German to be your spouse, and have a blast at the wedding! You’ve earned it!

Herzlichen Glückwunsch!

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Denglish 82: My German Wife Ridicules My American Bathroom Habits

Image of American man of toilet

“Honey, I can’t talk right now. I’m in a board meeting.” — Image courtesy of hahahaimontheinternet.com

To be perfectly honest with you, this post isn’t really about Denglish. It doesn’t concern German or English, or the hilarious mistranslations and linguistic mash-ups which can occur between the two. No, this post is about my wife’s sense of humor, and how she wields it like a blind Viking at an axe-throwing competition.

Back when we were living in the States, The Wife and I went shopping every week. We kept a meticulous shopping list and updated it the moment we started to run out of something important. We were constantly adding items to the list — it was common practice in our household — so you can imagine my surprise when, out of nowhere, she hauled off and announced:

THE WIFE: “We are down to our last roll of toilet paper. We need to add it to the shopping list because YOU definitely won’t stop poopin’.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 81: German Woman Totally Destroys Yet Another Innocent Nickname

Funny peacock picture

“Hey chuckle-nuggets, you ever seen talent like this before?” — Image courtesy of animaldoor.blogspot.de

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you already know I come up with a lot of nicknames for my friends. And by nicknames, I mean random word combinations of an insulting or overtly distasteful nature. It’s a habit, and I couldn’t stop doing it if I wanted to; my brain pulls together a few unrelated words out of nowhere, then commands my mouth to spout them off at the people I love most.

By far, my wife bears the brunt of these nicknames, though in her case they tend to masquerade as adorable pet names. Over the course of an average day, I will call her between 10 and 15 different pet names, each one worse than the last. Here are just a few examples:

7:00 am, as I walk her to the door:
“Have a good day at work, my little donkey slap!”

10:00 am, in a text message:
“Hey fruit-jockey, where do we keep the regular size envelopes?”

12:00 pm, another text message:
“Yo yo thunder-bone, when you comin’ home tonight?”

5:00 pm, as I greet her at the door:
“How was your day, my little rotten apple core?”

7:00 pm, as I change into my pajamas:
“Hey broccoli brain, do these undies make my junk look good?”

10:00 pm, after I finish brushing my teeth:
“See you on the flip side, my little banana basket!” *swat on the ass*

11:00 pm, as I am turning out my reading light:
“Mother of God, your feet are so cold, you little refrigerator magnet!”

2:00 am, as I suffer from insomnia:
“I can’t sleep. Are you still awake, my little cotton ball?”

Being exposed to such a verbal barrage on a daily basis takes its toll upon my wife. Her scrambled German brain cannot help but adopt this pet naming habit of mine, so these days she fires them right back at me. Of course, some of them come out a tad warped from her internal translation process, making for quotes like this little gem:

THE WIFE: “How are you doing, my little peach-cock feather?”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Denglish 80: My German Wife Hilariously Reinvents the Rocking Chair

Swaying rocking chair couple

“Honey, I gotta get off this thing. I think I’m gonna hurl.” — Image courtesy of jeanniejeannie.com

During that same drive home in early November of 2012, after my wife belched so loudly my ears rang, we started talking about ways to improve our house. These improvements will never happen unless one of us wins the German lottery, or I finally launch my career as an internationally renowned foot model. (Seriously, for a dude, my feet are beautiful.) But home improvements are still fun to talk about, so we discussed the idea of adding a second story, building a privacy fence around our yard, or perhaps even adding a front porch.

ME: “I like front porches. You’re still on your own property, but you can see everything and just sit there and relax…”

THE WIFE: “And have a rocket chair!”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Culture Shock 8: How to Out Yourself as an American in Germany (In 2 Seconds or Less)

Through these veins flow red, white and blue. -- Image courtesy of geekfill.com

Through these veins flow red, white and blue. — Image courtesy of geekfill.com

Sometime in November of 2012, The Wife and I ventured into the university district of Hannover known as Nordstadt. Nordstadt is home to Leibniz University, where watery-eyed nerds go to study science and engineering. (And I bet they eat a ton of Döner Kebabs too. German nerds love Döner Kebabs.)

We found several pubs around the university and settled into one called Gaststätte Kaiser. The word ‘Kaiser’ immediately brought to mind Keyser Söze from The Usual Suspects… and also a round, soft bread roll with a crisp crust. (Delicious!)

The waitress approached our table and I attempted to order beers for myself and my wife. What follows is our interaction if you were to translate everything — directly and literally — into English:

ME: “A pretty evening to you. We here… I mean, the us, would very gladly have two massive pilsner beers.”

WAITRESS: *Smiling* “Two, one-liter beers?”

ME: “Oh God. Um… yes. Stop. I meant one, one-liter beer to me, and a half of a one-liter beer to my German wife.”

WAITRESS: *Giggling* “Okay.”

*The waitress then turned, very obviously, toward my wife.*

WAITRESS: “Would you like anything to eat with that?”

THE WIFE: “Not just yet, thank you.”

Now, the waitress understood me just fine, yet she asked my wife if we wanted anything to eat. Clearly I had outed myself as someone not fluent in German. Perhaps I’d even identified myself specifically as an American, with my accent and proudly displayed ‘Oh God, My Wife Is German.’ t-shirt acting as indicators. But what I really wanted to know was, at exactly what moment — which word or gesture — had given me away.

So, I marched my sweet Yankee butt cheeks right up to the bar and asked her. She replied in English, and explained I had ordered ‘pilsner’; the students in Nordstadt simply order ‘pils.’ Nice, I thought to myself. It was a cultural outing, not a linguistic one.

I returned to our table and shared this bit of insight with my wife. She agreed with the assessment of the waitress, but went on to further explain the reasons for my outing:

THE WIFE: “You pause before you speak German. Like, you take a deep, long breath, and hesitate. Then you speak very deliberately, very slowly, so people think, ‘Is he retarded, or just foreign? Oh, foreign.’ “

Click here to learn more about the term “Culture Shock.”

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Denglish 79: My German Wife Can Burp Harder Than Anyone. Ever.

Picture of Barney from the Simpsons

“You are so sexy I can smell your stomach.” — Image courtesy of animenewsnetwork.com

Let me begin by saying my wife can burp. Hard. She can burp so loud it makes me want to throw up a little. I think she’s been practicing her burps since she was a little girl in Germany. (I like to picture her running through an apple orchard, one tiny fist wrapped around a stump of liverwurst, mouth open wide and belting out a burp so loud the earth is shaking… apples falling from the trees… little German rabbits huddled together, seeking comfort as they fear for their very lives…)

So, back in early November of 2012, while we were still living in Portland, Oregon, The Wife and I went to my parent’s house for dinner. It was a pleasant evening, rife with laughter, good food and embarrassing childhood photos in which my American weenie was proudly displayed for the amusement of all. After dinner, The Wife and I drove home on I-5 and talked about how our car had been sideswiped just a few weeks prior (a memory which never fails to piss her off, even to this very day). She was tired, and spoke with this kind of drowsy German accent, which made it abundantly clear she was at least half drunk:

THE WIFE: “If we get sideswiped right now… *BURRRRRP* …I’m pissed.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Culture Shock 7: An American Expatriate Answers Questions About Living in Germany

Beer on the Maschsee
Oh God, My Wife Is German is an ostentatious and wildly sarcastic blog highlighting the misadventures and near total communication breakdowns occurring between an expat American husband and his German wife as they adjust to life in Hannover, Germany.

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Logo from The Expat Hub
Interview conducted by The Expat Hub
January, 2013

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Where are you originally from?
I’m from the United States. Portland, Oregon, specifically. This makes me a ‘Portlander,’ though I wish with all my heart we were called Portlandians. Or Portlandites. Or Portlandafarians.

In which country and city are you living now?
I am living in Hannover, Germany, which actually feels a bit like Portland. Probably because it’s a big city with a small town vibe and it has a lot of green spaces. Parks and such. Also because I live in constant fear of being run over by skinny people on bikes.

Market Church, Hannover, Germany

How long have you lived here and how long are you planning to stay?
I’ve lived in Hannover since September 1st of 2012. I plan on staying until my wife informs me we’re leaving — the same way she informs me it’s time to do the dishes. Or pay the rent. Or take a shower.

Why did you move?
I moved to Germany in order to be with my wife. She’s hilarious, even when she doesn’t mean to be. For the past few years, I’ve been keeping track of all the funny things she says, especially when they involve German words or expressions translated directly into English. We like to call these quotes “Denglish,” or “Deutsch-English.” Here’s an example:

On December 27th, 2012, The Wife and I were preparing for a visit from one of our close friends from Portland. After we finished cleaning our apartment, it was my task to go to Netto for some extra groceries. I put on my coat and headed for the door, saying, “I’m buying eggs. Should I also buy a 6-pack of mineral water?” to which my wife replied:

“That would be, of course, two flies with one slap.”

Fried and mayonnaise with currywurst at Oktoberfest in Germany

What do you enjoy most about living here?
The thing I enjoy most about living in Germany is the fact that I’m always learning new things. Literally everything is new to me here — the language, the culture, the people — so I’m never bored. I’m forced into a perpetual student role, which keeps me engaged and curious. For example, I often find myself wondering why Germans seem to be in such a hurry all the time. What’s the rush? If you take too long in the checkout line at the grocery store, I promise some jerk behind you will sigh audibly, as if you are intentionally destroying his afternoon. If you are running to catch a subway train that has been stopped for longer than 10 seconds — even if the conductor clearly sees your efforts to reach it in time — you will still find the doors closing right in your face. If you find yourself in a car full of Germans (God forbid) and you hit a traffic jam, you can expect them to flip out about it like a bunch of geese fighting over a bag full of smashed bread crumbs.

What has been the hardest aspect of your expat experience so far?
By far, the absolute hardest part of my experience as an expat has been my inability to understand spoken German. I can walk up to German people, sling a few words around, make general statements and ask obvious questions, but I’m totally lost the second they respond. Here’s an interaction I had with a Rossmann drugstore clerk last week, if you were to translate everything directly into English:

ME: “Please excuse me dearly. I look for toothpaste here in this store. In your store, formally speaking.”

CLERK: “Pardon?”

ME: “I would gladly have toothpaste.”

CLERK: “Oh. Go to aisle four. It’s right there past the cosmetics, on your left.”

ME: “My God you talk fast. I am right now, at this very moment, learning German.”

CLERK: “No problem. Aisle four. Right there, where I am pointing.”

ME: “I get the ‘four’ part, but please, just for me, slowly speak.”

CLERK: “Aisle… four.”

ME: (Blinking twice, looking scared and confused) “Absolutely. Thank you. Thank you so hard.” (I then wandered off in the general direction he’d indicated, staggering through the drugstore like an American tourist with blunt force head trauma.)

Hannover Christmas Market in Germany

What advice would you offer to anyone following in your footsteps?
For the love of all that is holy. For the love of God and Jesus H. Christ on rice, learn the language of the foreign country in which you plan to live. Every single word you learn, written or spoken, will make your life easier. Be glad you are starting now, rather than later. Feel angry you weren’t born a native speaker, but be grateful you can learn to become fluent. Learn as much of the language as you can before you get there. Keep on learning while you’re there. If you return to your home country, keep on learning it anyway. Throw yourself into that language like a fat kid at the deep end of the pool.

I took classes, bought books and software programs, practiced with my wife and taught myself as much German as I possibly could before I moved here. This added up to exactly 1.5 years of language training, and I still depend upon my wife to translate any interaction more complex than, “Would you like another beer, Sir?” “HELL yes.”

If I could download the entire German language into my brain like in The Matrix, but it would cost my entire life’s savings, I would do it. I would do it right now. If I had to pay my entire life savings and then kick a puppy too, I would hand over the cash and punt that little doggie like a football.

Be a part of our adventure! Check out our blog at www.ohgodmywifeisgerman.com. You can also find us on Twitter (@mywifeisgerman), Facebook (facebook.com/pages/Oh-God-My-Wife-Is-German/279929715368145) and LinkedIn (linkedin.com/pub/oh-god-my-wife-is-german/46/1b6/329). We’d love to hear from you!

Denglish 78: My German Wife Asks Me Not to Strike Her Loins

Funny spanking picture

“Women love this sort of thing. I read it in a magazine once.” — Image courtesy of zxmzhh.blog.163.com/

Back in early 2012, The Wife and I were watching a movie in our living room. I can’t remember now, but it was probably a chick flick like Sex and the City 2 or Eat Pray Love — something my wife forced me to add to my Netflix queue, forever sullying its masculine streak of pure, testicle-powered entertainment. (Wait, that sounded like gay porn, didn’t it.)

So, sometime during the second half of the movie, I stood up to get a glass of water from the kitchen, swatted my wife’s thigh and asked, “Would you like anything while I’m up?”

She replied calmly, without turning her gaze from the TV screen.

THE WIFE: “Please don’t slap my fat meat.”

Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”

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Writing and Blogging: Our Expat Blog Gets the WordPress 2012 Year in Review Treatment

Check out these sweet facts and statistics for our blog generated by WordPress.com! (Honestly, I had no idea the numbers could be broken down like this, which reinforces the fact that I have the math skills of a walnut.)

Here’s an excerpt:

19,000 people fit into the new Barclays Center to see Jay-Z perform. This blog was viewed about 80,000 times in 2012. If it were a concert at the Barclays Center, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Oh, and be sure to check out the list of top commenters toward the bottom of the page. You guys are the best!

To all our readers: We hope you and your loved ones are having a wonderful new year!

– Oh God, My Wife Is German.

Click here to see the complete 2012 Year in Review.

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Culture Shock 6: Five (More) Things That Suck About Living in Germany

Cow painted with german flag

COW: “I am so psyched about this.” — Image courtesy of glowering-monocle.com

Once again, let me begin by saying life in Germany is awesome. I absolutely love it here! I have, however, learned a thing or two about the realities of life abroad. What follows is the next list of discoveries, oddities and annoyances revealed in my first months as an expat American living in Hannover, Germany:

  1. Shameful public artwork is everywhere. It seems like every corner is home to a bronze sculpture featuring a pair of naked Germans, heads hanging in shame, mumbling to one another, “God we suck.” Yes, I understand the travesties of the world wars. I totally get the need to remember, to learn and to honor the dead, but I’d like to take at least one leisurely stroll around town without feeling like I just took a shower in dog poop and shame sprinkles.
  2. Soccer fans are scary. There are few things I enjoy less than being surrounded by drunken soccer fans, hooting and hollering as they stumble through the train station after the big game. Hell, any game. I’m not convinced the fans I’m seeing even go to the games; I think some of these guys just put on their team jerseys and scarves and go watch whichever team happens to be playing on TV at their favorite watering hole. And there’s something about a big German man wearing a scarf striped with his local team’s colors, swaying as he walks toward me with an empty beer bottle about to tumble from his fingers, which I find — on an instinctual level — absolutely terrifying.
  3. Germans are downers. This may have something to do with point #1, but a great many of the Germans I’ve encountered are depressing as hell. Nothing is ever awesome. Even if something is mostly awesome, like having a job as a wealthy, internationally respected beer taster, the average German will focus on the one part of that job which blows, and feel the need to tell me all about it. “Yes, I have a good job as a beer taster, but there is only one electric car charger at the brewery; it is indicative of a larger problem within our educational system and our government as a whole, and demonstrates the fact that our entire country is about to implode in a morbidly depressing vacuum of apocalypse.” I mean, sure, Germans have been through some crazy ups and downs throughout history, so maybe even now they’re afraid to get their hopes up, but Jesus; let’s turn those frowns upside down, Deutschland! Look, you have dirndls and beer all around you! Dirndls and beer, God damn you.
  4. Everybody is tall as hell. I’m sure someone out there can explain the correlation between height and colder climates, but all I know is here in Germany, I’m like Frodo Baggins in the land of the Silvan Elves. I’m about 5′ 10″ (or 5′ 11″ — when I’m totally lying), and I always thought my height was pretty average. Not here. In Lower Saxony, I’m surrounded by these elongated, angelic beings with wonderfully straight hair and wings sewn of Jack Wolfskin polyurethane.
  5. Even in Germany, there are assholes. Of course I am aware there are jerks in every country, but I’d hoped Germany would be different. Yes, this was my own cultural bias, but I didn’t want to let it go. Not even at the immigration office (Ausländerbehörde), full of snorting pencil pushers, who calmly lost my residence application and then told me not to worry about it. Or that sad little beer tent at Oktoberfest, where the waitress shut down my attempts to order in German, advising me, “Just speak English, it is the language of business.” Or those drunken soccer fans on Georgstraße, who passed my wife and I, asking, “Is this your boyfriend? No? He’s your husband? Are you sure?” But finally, reluctantly, I had to admit there are a few jackpipes in my beloved Germany. Luckily, for each one I meet, there seem to be 10 warm and wonderful Germans just waiting to brighten my day here in Deutschland.

Click here to learn more about the term “Culture Shock.”

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