"But Your German is So Good!"

Because I'm not taking a German language class here, my learning feels more haphazard. I hear many of the mistakes I make (mostly in terms of gendered articles and their corresponding adjective endings), but I'm sure there are plenty of others that pass by unnoticed. I'm taking more risks linguistically, in terms of guessing the noun forms of verbs I know, for example, which is good, but without instruction, I have no way of making my guesses more educated.

And then, of course, there's my accent. I've gotten everything from Northern Germany, to Sweden, to Switzerland, to France. (Maybe so few people guess it correctly because, even though everyone knows what Americans sound like, it's so rare to hear an American speaking German.) And when I'm tired, I fall into English sound patterns. Sometimes I even end up saying English words instead of German ones, like the night I tried to go out with my floor after three hours of sleep, and ended up talking about "Östria" -- a blend of Österreich (German) and Austria (English).

I know all of this. My grammar mistakes grate at my ears, so I'm sure they bother my Austrian conversation partners even more. But sometimes, I wonder whether this isn't the Harvard perfectionism creeping in again. Language isn't a formula to apply; it's a communication apparatus. Mine might be a little less stable than most, but if it works, that's the most important thing. But is that just laziness and a lack of ambition talking?

Every time I meet someone new, this dilemma crystallizes itself. If the person already knows I'm an American, they'll say, "Oh, you speak such good German!"* But if they don't know I'm a foreigner, immediately after I speak they ask me, "Where are you from?" or "You're not from Austrian, are you?" Should I take the complement and run? Or strive to not be immediately pegged as a foreigner?

*I also don't know to what extent I should believe the complements I receive. I know that Americans are much more free-wheeling with complements than most other countries, but I also feel like the Austrians are judging me from a different standard of "good German" -- basically, I don't need to speak English with you -- than I would like to judge myself. The one complement I actually believed, though, happened when I was in class with the WU students. Part of our small group work was to read a two-sided explanation of the American mindset behind a specific situation. When my Austrian reading partner flipped the page over, I said, "Whoa, dude, I'm only on the first column. I read really slow." And he said, "Oh, I'm sorry, your German was so good, I forgot that you might take longer." He didn't expect me to be incompetent! Of course, I actually was, which proves yet again that I have a lot of work to do.

Going Deep

For the required Central College Abroad course on Thursday, we met with students from the WU (Wirtschaftsuniversität, squint at the last part of that word and you should be able to figure out that it's one of the universities in Vienna) who are taking a course on intercultural communication in preparation for studying abroad in the United States next semester. We had each prepared posters on cultural differences between Austria and America (the normal stuff: Americans are fat, but have lots of social mobility; Austria is not Australia, but has a strong social welfare state; etc.) Then we ate lunch together at the WU cafeteria. The word got out that I went to Harvard (because I met a kid who'll be studying at Bentley University, which is apparently in Waltham, even though I'd never heard of it before), and everyone wanted to see my student ID card. Then, somehow, the other Americans left, but I got roped back into the classroom for another four hours of intercultural communication class, in German this time.

And my God, was I glad I stayed.

Frauentreff, or in English, Meeting Women

Central College Abroad gives us the opportunity to complete an internship during our time in Vienna. Brie, another girl with the program, and I are both working at Frauentreff, a non-profit organization for foreign-born women in an immigrant neighborhood. Frauentreff has German language coruses, beginning literary courses, and advising for women in multiple languages (Turkish, Spanish, and three West African languages -- Ewe, Twi, and Hausa -- I had never heard of before). This is mostly advice and help with everyday life (How do I register my daughter for school? Could you translate this form and help me fill it out?) and small bureaucratic matters that present minor annoyances to cultural insiders but major roadblocks / sources of confusion for immigrants with little knowledge of the system and weak language skills. It's a bit ad-hoc, but nonetheless important. Unfortunately, there's not really much for us to do, so I don't know how long this internship is going to last, but I've enjoyed simply watching the work of the center so far.

Today, Brie and I went to a beginning literacy course. Because all of the women were from small villages in Turkey, they had never had the opportunity to go to school, and since studies show that it's easier for a person to learn to read in their native language, the class was conducted in Turkish. The women were working off of a paper with a bunch of very simple, "What is your name?" questions, and then various answers. First, the women attempted to read the paper through. A phonics lesson then followed, as the women had to attempt to figure out how to write each of the names of the people on the paper. Finally, the women had to attempt to write their own name using phonics. It was fascinating, because even though Brie and I could read the words on the paper, we didn't know what they meant -- the exact opposite of the women in the class, who understood the words but couldn't read them. By the end, though, both groups understood that "ismin ne?" means "What is your name?"

At the end of the lesson, the teacher told Brie and me that we could gladly stay and drink tea with the women. We accepted, and suddenly, the women were pulling out huge containers of food and pouring heaping amounts of a dish that looked and tasted like Italian wedding soup without the soup on plates for us. A large, circular piece of flatbread (very similar to naan) formed the basis of the meal, and then there were various topping options, from joghurt (Greek style, but don't tell Turkish people that) to thick cherry filling to cucumbers and parsley.

Brie and I didn't have a language in common with these women, because even though they've been in Austria for two to five years, they spoke very little German. They understood us when we said "Bitte" (please), "Danke" (thank you), "Entschuldigung" (excuse me), and "Auf Wiedersehen" (goodbye") -- what you can learn in any tourist book -- but when I tried to ask them "Wie heißt das auf Türkisch?" (What is that called in Turkish?), I got a mix of blank looks, "Türkisch, ja" (meaning that Turkish was the only word they understood), and "nicht verstehen" (don't understood). But that didn't really matter, because if you want to be my friend, all you have to do is feed me. The women were incredibly nice, and told the director of Frauentreff, a Turkish-born woman who has lived in Germany and Austria for 20 years, that they wished we could talk to one another better. I think they don't have a lot of opportunities to interact with Austrian / non-Turkish people. The director says that because they can find everything they need in their neighborhood (just like back in their villages in Turkey), they rarely venture out.

By the end of the meal (and with some help from the director), we had learned the Turkish words for sugar, bread, tea, thank you, spoon, and bowl. One of the women even asked us how to say goodbye in English. There was only one lingering question: Was that supposed to be lunch, or does "drinking tee" really mean "drink tea and eat until you burst?" I'll have to Google Translate that question and ask the women at "tea time" next Friday.

Geeking Out

Every semester, students on the Central College Abroad blog (where, if you so desire, you can read a cleaned-up / de-radicalized version of these posts) make some sort of joke about forgetting the "study" portion of study abroad. When you’re a sociology student, though, the boundaries between your everyday world and your academic world often blur. When I go to a lame party, I "put on an ethnographic gaze," and analyse the social interactions going on around me. I can’t take a walk or ride a bus without noticing the ways in which social structures and social relationships have left marks on the physical environment of the neighborhoods I’m passing. At the same time, my academic work often involves talking to people. I get to ask them about lives, about how they see the world, and about how the world sees them – the kind of deep conversations that are increasingly rare in a society dominated by superficial interactions.

Because of that, I don’t feel so much tension between the desire to do well academically here and the desire to fully immerse myself in the study abroad experience. I chose classes that would enrich my understanding of Austrian culture by providing historical and theoretical background on just the topics that fascinate me. And because academics are an important and exciting part of my time here, I wanted to provide a brief introduction to my classes, all of which are taught in German at the University of Vienna unless otherwise noted. Details after the jump.

Penetrating Ethnic Communities

(I love it when Austrians try to speak English.) That's the given English translation of a seminar I’m taking, which basically throws 25 people in a room for three hours to informally discuss contemporary immigration to Austria. Today was the first course meeting, and it was one of the most fascinating experiences of my time in Austria. 

We first spoke in small groups about our perceptions of immigration / migrants / foreigners in Austria, and what types of contact we had with them. The strongest cultural difference I noticed came when we were trying to formulate a definition of assimilation / integration. No one mentioned naturalization as a marker of integration, so I asked directly, “Would you consider naturalization part of the process of integration? Do you have to be an Austrian citizen to be 'successfully' assimilated?” “No,” my groupmates said. “You can only become a citizen once you’re assimilated.” And that, I think, is a very different formulation of the national community. Austrian citizenship is like a prize that you get once you’ve already become Austrian, a visible marker of an internal transition. “The Austrians” are integrated, because the un-integrated are not permitted to become Austrians.

All the Small Things

Sometimes I feel like it's cheating to go to Europe for an "intercultural experience." Austrian and American cultures really aren't that different -- on the surface. We consume the same products and lifestyles (thanks global capitalism!), think on the individual level, believe in progress (we're Westerners, after all), and have a strict concept of time. It takes time to recognize cultural differences between Austria and America, because they're hidden below the surface of this hegemonic Western consumption-oriented cultural facade. That's why I'm here for five months, instead of two weeks. And during my first week of classes, some of these small differences made themselves clear.

Vokabelheft

I’ve been keeping a running list of vocabulary words -- German words that I heard for the first time, but was able to figure out through context clues; German words I read or heard without any comprehension whatsoever (thankfully, this is rarer than the first type); and English words, whose German equivalents I desperately sought during conversation, only to come up empty, leading me to either gesticulate frantically or describe around it using other words. (Dropping in English is always an option, but one I try to avoid when I’m not with other Americans. It seems kind of rude to me. But maybe that’s just a projection of some internalized “you should speak my language” Americanness, and Europeans don’t actually feel that way.)

My Vokabelheft (vocabulary-notebook), as I call it, reads like a running commentary of my time here. When I’m diligent about writing down new words, I don’t need a proper journal.

Lange Nacht der Museen

As sad as I was to leave Schwäbisch Hall and all of the friends I had made there, I was ready to live in a city again. Even amidst the stress of dragging multiple oversized suitcases through half of Vienna, when I first stepped onto the streets last Thursday, tasted the cold city air, and tried to avoid getting trampled by the rush of people streaming out of the U-Bahn station, I knew I had made the right decision. I like to tell myself that I could live anywhere the revolution takes me, but I’m a city girl at heart.

auf der Wiesn

When I was still deciding whether or not to study abroad this semester, one of my friends told me, "The highs are going to be high, and the lows are going to be low." And during a day trip to Munich with the Goethe-Institut, I experienced it all: confusion, jubilation, frustration, contentment. It was a culture-shock roller coaster, and I was happy to be on it.

(I was also happy to be on this roller coaster, at Oktoberfest.)