Another Day in the Army

I was in the field (again) all of last week.

There were two main differences between this field exercise and the other one I did in May.

1. This one was only a week long. The one in May was 30 really long days.

2. I got to do some cool stuff this go around. In May, I was like a newborn baby gasping for breath and wondering why I was covered in complete nastiness (metaphorically speaking, of course). I was assuming my position of leadership and responsibility in my Platoon and attempting to keep my head afloat the entire time as I "learned" my job. Being the new guy isn't easy. Plus, I was trying to rent an apartment, buy a car, and situate my entire life in a foreign country. It was an insane month.

This time it was a little different.

Here is a taste of the fun stuff I got to do:

Some friends and I got to fire some mortars/artillery. You can tell by my reaction that this was the first round we fired:



Here is me actually doing the firing:



And, I got a ride in a UH-1 helicopter (from the Vietnam era). We flew around for about an hour and watched the attack helicopters I work with fire rockets and machine guns in support of an infantry unit. It was a blast. At the end, you can see (but not hear) me say, "That's what I'm talking about! Another day in the Army, baby. WOAHHH!!"



Now, this stuff isn't my normal day to day job. But, like one of my brothers reminded me, these are the some of the perks that you don't get when you work in the civilian sector. Moments like these help motivate a Soldier to get through the grind.

And of course, the wonderful support and encouragement from most all Americans is a tremendous help too. It is a pleasure and an honor to serve you and our country.

Thanks for the support.

Embrace the Awkward

Crippling awkwardness is a common occurrence for me here in Germany. Just this week I had an encounter with one of my neighbors. He speaks no English. The most advanced phrase I can say in German is, “The girl eats a red apple.” But somehow we conversed for about five minutes.

“Conversed” is hyperbole. We stood on the staircase and survived horrendously long periods of silence together. Every 45 seconds or so, I would attempt to say something I remembered from Rosetta Stone, but I’d inevitably end up relying on using my fake laugh just to burn a few seconds of awkwardness. He would fake laugh too. And then, we’d move on to miming with large hand gestures how my car barely fits into my garage.

Eventually, I employed the universal symbol of jingling keys and we went our separate ways.

Last night, I sat around a table with Germans at this tennis club that I am attempting to join. For twenty minutes, they talked in German while I sat there like Frosty the Snowman: silent and decently cold. But soon, I was able to take part in the conversation as I made a sad face to express my condolences for Germany’s miserable performance in the World Cup and they motioned to me that they felt the US got screwed out of a win against Slovenia.

Then, we played some tennis and I actually had a good time. But, during that initial awkwardness, I wanted to leave. Really bad.

And a few days ago, I spent an abnormal amount of time in a bathroom trying to figure out how to get paper towels to dispense from a machine. Unclean people walked right by as I became frustrated at my inability to be smarter than the machine. Finally, a Japanese man came to my rescue and demonstrated the proper use of the contraption. It was awkward.

It was normal.

I’m coming to embrace moments like these. When I lived in Chile, I had similar experiences, but it took me a long time to shrug off the awkwardness and enjoy putting myself out there for ridicule, for knowledge, for friendship. Here in Germany, I’ve been trying since the beginning.

So, I have many more stories of me behaving awkwardly (…like when I accidentally spoke Spanish to a German grocery girl and got angry that she didn’t understand me).

But, I’ll save the rest for when you come to visit and make yourself look like a fool.

It’ll be fun. Trust me.

Bikes and the Elderly

There is nothing strange about seeing a little old lady walk down the sidewalk. It happens. It’s normal.

But there is something strange about seeing an 83 year old lady ride a bike down the middle of the street. At least it is strange for me.

I remember driving home during one of my first weeks here and laughing out loud as I watched this sweet looking lady with typical “grandmother grey” hair and big glasses ride her bike down the street.

She was just pedaling along with a cabbage and a cantaloupe in her handlebar basket.

Here in Germany, it happens. It’s normal.

And, I love it.

I recently got on my bike for the first time in years and rode around my town. It was sublime. I even giggled once or twice like a seven year old boy as the wind streaked through my hair and I coasted at high speeds down a hill.

I now try to ride my bike as much as possible. I ride to the local doner kebab stand. I ride for exercise. I ride to enjoy a beautiful afternoon. I’m probably going to start riding to work once or twice a week too.

Here in Bavarian Germany, there is a network of biking and walking trails that essentially connects every town. You can easily drink a cappuccino in one town, ride to the next town and eat a schnitzel, and then ride to another town for a beer and a pretzel.

In fact, I did that exact thing today. It’s a good life.

And while I was riding, I came across a few more old ladies on their bikes. It still is funny to me and I chuckled to myself yet again. But next time, I’m secretly hoping that I find myself pedaling beside a pretty girl my own age.

Maybe we’ll both be chuckling then.

How I Miss Thee

I have to admit that I’ve been doing a pretty good job over here. But, today was a major setback.

I thought about Chipotle today. It was my downfall.

I absolutely love Chipotle. To me, it is quite possibly the perfect meal. During high school and my time at Wake, I spent significant portions of my limited income enjoying the delicacy of a flour tortilla with black beans, chicken, pico de gallo, extra cheese, sour cream and lettuce (guacamole on special occasions).

Bliss.

In Germany, doner kebabs help maintain the absence of Chipotle in my life. They are tasty and cheap. In fact, I do love them. But, Chipotle holds a special place in my heart. Forever.

Now, if I can admit something else…thinking about Chipotle didn’t ruin my day. It did make me miss home and my brothers and my friends, but there is just no way Chipotle could ever ruin someone’s day. It is just too great.

The (less than) Fashionable Me

You would probably consider me a pretty straight-edged guy. I wouldn’t disagree.

I don’t dress in high fashion or have a pair of jeans that costs $70. In fact, I paid $34 for my newest pair of jeans and I searched four different stores in Virginia just to find the cheapest pair. My hair is natural and I stopped putting gel in it when I was in seventh grade.

The truth is that I like a Wake Forest t-shirt and a pair of versatile shoes. I don’t need a designer label or a “look” to make me feel comfortable in the midst of a crowd. I am me and that’s fine with me.

But, walking around Europe, I do notice that I am out of place. Granted, I am usually carrying a camera and a backpack and thus my outfit screams “tourist”, but nevertheless, no one dresses like me over here.

When I lived in Chile, it was the same way too.

People wear tighter jeans, graphic tees, and these shoes that I can’t even begin to describe (some sort of hybrid between Converse, tennis shoe, and loafer). Often, guys wear a scarf over their grungy (by design) sweaters and sport sunglasses that are entirely too large.

I walk by them, inhale their cigarette smoke, and feel slightly out of place.

Now, I do care about personal appearance and I do like to look “nice”. But, given the choice between a new trendy jacket that isn’t waterproof, windproof, and lacks an avalanche beacon, I’ll choose saving the 150 bucks and book a flight to Croatia for an upcoming weekend.