Thus starts the first of my many catch-up posts. Click to the left as you go to find the post you haven’t read yet, as it’ll be the easiest way to keep track.

So last night was the Stammtisch, which as far as I can translate from “Stimme” and “tisch” means something like “people having fun and being loud at a table.” Ha! German is awesome. Well, anyway, this particular activity of Stammtisch was scheduled for a proper Irish pub called Murphy’s at Nikoleiplatz, about five or so blocks east of the Englisher Garten, northeast of the Altstadt (old city). Apparently going to this pub is a weekly Donnerstag (Thursday) ritual, and our Lehrerin (teacher) warned us about it ahead of time. Yesterday morning in German she basically said, “I know tonight there is a Stammtisch, at an Irish pub. This is a Goethe ritual. But what is also a Goethe ritual is not coming to classes the day after because the Stammtisch was so much fun. So please, if you are going, remember we have lessons at 8.30 am Morgen!” She said something close enough to that effect, but with more facial expressions and hand movements.

So in speaking briefly to my colleagues after class, we all agreed to meet at the pub at approximately 21 Uhr. Some said they’d be showing up at 9.30 or so instead of 9, because the crowd is very quiet at 9, and still others decided to commence the pub-crawling during daylight. (These being the amusing boys I spoke of at the Englisher Garten, and others who have become their particular Bier buddies. We’re never invited to their afternoon drinking festivals, probably because we’re female, but we’re all annoyed because they could at least invite us, even if we wouldn’t go anyway. So we insist privately.) The girls all shrugged and said we’d see each other there.

So I went back to my room after hanging out at the Institut on the internet for a while and did some writing. At about 4.30, my roommate came in with her friend Stephanie, from Ohio. I met Stephanie the previous morning briefly, when she and my roommate, Ayse (pronounced Eye-shay or something similar, because I am incapable to speaking Turkish), met on the way to class to do their homework together. They pulled out several bottles from their bags and remarked happily that because Ayse is 18, they were able to buy liquor! I stared at the two of them. “Oh, really? How old are you, Stephanie?” I asked. “Seventeen,” she said distractedly, and she asked me in return. They remarked how interesting alcohol rules are in Germany—it’s perfectly acceptable to walk down the street with a Bier in hand, for instance—though Ayse did say that in Turkey the drinking age is 18, but she’s been drinking wine and such with her family for years. Stephanie, from Ohio, was clearly thrilled that the age for Bier in Germany is 16—and that Ayse could buy them liquor. I looked from their drinks to them and asked Ayse, “So you’re going to ‘pregame’ the pub tonight?”

“What is this, ‘pregame’?” (For the record, I find it very amusing to teach her American slang, because her face is so expressive and when she understands something, her eyes pop open and she says, “Ah! I see this now!”)

Stephanie and I exchanged a glance. Stephanie and I explained to her the somewhat (in my estimation) American concept of drinking before going out, to either save from drinking at the place, or to prepare for more drinking. Stephanie explained she did it with her friends back home, or rather just got together to get drunk with them all the time, and I tried not to look shocked. I supposed she was my sister’s age, about to go to college, and figured, it’s not my place to instruct her in what she ought or ought not to do. (I later discovered she’s about to be a senior in high school!) I decided I’d accompany them on their way to meet a friend then go to the pub, to both play big sister and watch them for my own amusement. Besides… I didn’t think they knew how to get there, anyway. Ah, I heart my map.

We walked up the Sonnenstraße to Karlsplatz, which is between the Haupbahnhof (main train station) and Marienplatz, about a block from our dorm. We waited in the freezing rain for their friend, the “good-looking Mexican guy” from their class, whose name I cannot for the life of me recall. (Probably because they called him “the Mexican guy” more than used his name — was it Fabiano? Maybe.) The girls sipped their Apfel Schnapps and I impassively read my trusty map, watching as the girls fearlessly asked passers by to take our picture (“Entschuldigung! Can you take our picture! Danke!”) Their friend from their introductory German class arrived, carrying a half-empty bottle of wine (I was thoroughly amused) and then I directed us all to the U-Bahn to get to the pub. I was sort of anxious about meeting my own friends, though we’d arrive with plenty of time to spare.

Situated on a small square a few blocks from the Giselastraße U-Bahn station, Murphy’s Irish Pub was rather un-surreptitiously situated between a café and a few shops. We walked down the flight of steps into the basement room (all Irish pubs are in basements, I have now learned) and saw it was nearly empty. As time went on, the place started to fill and clusters of college-age kids came in, some of whom I’d seen at the Englisher Garten and around the halls. (There are only perhaps 80 or so of us in the classes at any given time, so we tend to see each other around.) I saw a few faces I recognized, including a girl from my dorm, Aurora, from Guatemala, and invited them to sit with the slowly growing Goethe group. Behind them came Mary, my friend from class, who immediately dropped down next to me. On my other side sat Ian, a guy from Oxford, England, who had recognized me from the Englisher Garten as someone who spoke English. Mary and I were delighted that we could talk casually in English (as the conversations seemed clustered around either German, English, or an obscure language between a few individuals, like Turkish or Russian or Spanish).

The menu was surprising. It was entirely in English, and the girl who came to take our order spoke clearly in Irish-accented English, asking, “What’ll it be for you?” I had no idea—my understanding of German beer still limited to “Helles” (light), “Dunkel” (dark), “Weiß” (wheat), and “Pils” (Pilsner)…and even then, I’m not an expert by far. Ian asked me humorously, “Are you even old enough to order a beer legally in America?” I looked at him sourly. He’s twenty and has been drinking in England legally for two years now, and Mary is 21. I ordered a Hacker-Pschorr, a local München brew, Mary ordered a small cider, and Ian ordered a Beck’s. Down the table I saw people ordering mixed drinks (why would you ever, ever do that in Germany? In München, the Bier capital of Germany?!) and a few ordered the Irish/English beers on the menu (which were sooo overpriced compared to the German ones). When I was served, the waitress immediately asked me to pay, as she did everyone, going individually with a calculator and a wallet of bills, collecting everyone’s fees.

As we all sat there and talked, I met more people than I can remember meeting in so short a time, and had some very interesting and diverse conversations. It was amusing how much I spoke like Ian, him being British and all. (Have you ever noticed, for instance, that I use “ought” a bit more than normal Americans? Or “a bit”? Or “loads”? Or, well, lots of things. “Properly” “and such.” Adverbials that are indicative of a British dialect — I swear, it was all those times I read Harry Potter. It’s the Jane Austen in me fighting to escape…) I spoke with Maximiliano, the friendly Italian guy I see everywhere, who knows everyone because he’s so friendly and very, very Italian; I met two new Americans, Mark, from California, who was unsurprisingly very American and Zeb (I think?) an American originally from Phoenix, then Seattle, who now works in München and is learning German on the tab of his company; I met a French guy who is good friends with Maximiliano—their respective nations are meeting for the World Cup final, and they find it a grand joke to run around assuring everyone that they’re such good friends, despite the odds!

The varying levels of German were surprising. There are three “tiers” at Goethe: A, B, and C. Each tier has 4 different levels: 11, 12, 21, 22. I’m in A21 with Mary; my roommate Ayse and Stephanie are in A11; Ian and Aurora are in B21 with Zeb; Mark is between B22 and C11, so he’s teaching himself in the Mediothek. A is for learning the “basics”—grammar, vocabulary, pronunciation. B is for proficiency and practice, and C is pretty much sharpening of the skills through discussions and essays and stuff. A kids can generally speak basic sentences but vastly prefer their mother-tongues; B kids struggle through conversations and hesitate often, but can usually make themselves understood to anyone, and C kids are fairly indistinguishable, for me, from an actual German, besides their often heavy Italian or Chinese accents. (And I keep saying kids when perhaps 10% of the program are working adults whose jobs sent them here to become proficient in German (usually for 2-3 months or longer). Some are based in München so go to their places of work during the afternoons after classes end at 12.45, and some simply work over the internet. It’s all very interesting.

Anyway, we stayed at the bar for quite a while, talking up a storm late into the night. Goethe actually took over the bar to some degree; most of the students started dancing to the American and UK music pumping out of the speakers, shouting at each other in Turkish or Spanish or German over the din. Most of us weren’t so excited about dancing, and because it *was* getting late, and we had classes the next day, a group of us walked the block or two back to the U-Bahn to go in our various directions back home. I went home with Aurora, and the others split up based on direction into small clusters. The U-Bahn runs until about 2 in the morning, but luckily we left early enough (about 1-ish) to be able to catch a subway. I wasn’t too excited about classes, but then again, why else am I here? *Thinks for a second* Oh, right. To experience Germany… er… learn German…