Me head's fried already. In at the deep end now. Deutsch C2. You can't get any deeper than that. There are no more courses, so I guess I'll know every German word there is once I finish up. And the articles too. I'll be as fluent as a Thüringer Wurst. Hahahahahahaha!
Wurst, I'll be lucky to survive. It was the first class tonight. Four hours. Four hours in the deep end!
“It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs,” Sherlock Holmes once observed. My fellow students did not give a Scheiße for courtesy, each yakking away in German at 1,609.344 kilometers an hour without even thinking of all the verbs they were sending to the ends of sentences.
To be honest, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Perhaps Frau Kriechel is easing us in gently. I understood pretty much everything, took notes, even threw in my own two and a half cent at the end, when we had an interesting all-in discussion on what makes a happy community, turning into what's happiness, what's freedom, are the two even connected, do freedom and material things bring unhappiness and so on. It was great highfalutin stuff more suited to a pub, but then the alcohol might have imbibed the falutinness.
I was sorry when the previous course ended. Poor Frau Klebe was sad too. “Ihr waren eine nette Gruppe,” she said, all choked up with emotion as we bid our Auf Wiedersehens.
Renate, as we all called her, was ridiculously nice, bringing us an little excursions when the weather was good, giving us little prizes when we got things right, and generally doing all she could to coerce this incoercible language into us.
One of the places she brought us was the Dorotheenstädtischer Friedhof, crammed with the dead and famous, some of whose graves are pictured here. It's well worth a visit.
Renate also gave me an appreciation of this under-appreciated language. I give out about the grammar and sentence structure – fucked up – but German has given the world some wonderful words.
Es war kein Ruhmesblatt (It was no leaf of glory), was how Renate described the Polizei's actions – or rather lack of them – during the Rostock racist riots 20 years before. Not to be confused with Kleeblatt which is shamrock.
I also learned zwitschern is what birds do in Germany, brummen is what bees do, and an Augenwischerei is how you describe someone's words when they're talking crap. These are all important things to know when communicating with the birds, bees and locals here.
Thank you, Frau Klebe. Mrs. Glue if we're to translate your name. You see? Some of it did stick.