Since I'm writing this column before any of the students are actually back "on the
campus," I'm resorting to a trite subject: "What I did on my summer vacation." But the story is more than
a self-absorbed recap of my trip to Europe. Actually, I did go to Europe -- but I'll spare you the
personal travelogue, and I'll resist the temptation to haul out my photo album. Actually, the story of
my two months in Germany is as much about the fantastic opportunity of the Summer Work Program
-- and about a skeptical student who finally decided to take advantage -- as a personal chronicle of
beer and bratwurst.
The Summer Work Program was heavily advertised in my German class last fall, and the sales pitch was appealing. Participants would be set up with a German company and, in most cases, an apartment or dorm, where they would work and live from June to August. The list of participating firms was impressive, including such moguls as Lufthansa, Deutsche Bank, Siemens and Schering. We would be paid enough to cover living expenses and probably enough to allow us to travel on weekends. I nodded and smiled as my professor enumerated the benefits. But when I left class, I dismissed the notices tacked up in East Pyne as just one more piece of Princeton's patchwork quilt of flyers promising to change your life.
I started taking German freshman year because I basically loved learning languages. But turning those memorized vocabulary lists and grammar drills into survival in a foreign country was something that absolutely terrified me, an experience I knew I'd always wish to have but that I thought I'd be too timid to actually try. But shortly before the application deadline, my roommate said something that made me reconsider: "You know, this is pretty much our last summer to do something quirky and irresponsible before we have to start building our life around our senior thesis and our career." The thought set me on my feet running -- running up campus to pick up the form.
Writing with dictionary in hand
Because of my interest in journalism, I was matched up with the Frankfurter Rundschau, a daily newspaper based in Frankfurt, and assigned to one of their local bureaus in the small town of Friedberg, about 30 minutes outside the city. People kept asking me, "So you're really going to write articles in German?" I could hardly believe it myself. I pictured myself interviewing people with a reporter's notebook in one hand and my well-thumbed copy of The Bantam German-English Dictionary in the other, and always answered, "Nah. I'm sure they wouldn't let me do that."
On my first day on the job, I was too ashamed to take the dictionary out of my backpack. I'd make lists of words I didn't understand, then wait until no one was looking and slyly ruffle the pages under my desk. But all modesty soon went out the window when I was given a press release about a concert in the park; I discovered that an entertainment event had its own extensive vocabulary that did not overlap with the academic works of Brecht and Kafka. I knew the German word for postmodernism, but I had no idea how to express the five Ws of a weekend festival. So simply as a practical matter, the dictionary emerged into full view for quick (and frequent) reference.
The editors in the office recognized my insecurities, but kept trying to convince me that I was fulfilling all the expectations for a foreign "Praktikantin." My daily agenda would usually include a small pile of press releases to rewrite, and the possibility of accompanying another reporter on an interview or event. The event I found most interesting was a political podium discussion sponsored by a youth organization, with local Bundestag candidates from the four major parties as the guest speakers. What impressed me most was the engagement and enthusiasm of the teenagers in the audience, and the fervor with which they asked tough and informed questions. The next morning, I was asked to write an editorial summarizing an American's impressions of this snapshot of a German political campaign. This simple 30-line commentary became the piece I was most proud of at the end of my internship, because it presented an opportunity for genuine exchange. Not only were my eyes opened to the German political culture, but I had the chance to give German readers a glimpse of my own background through my comparisons. The opportunity for cultural exchange became a basis of my internship, as the editors encouraged me to write several articles about the lives of American military families in the greater Frankfurt area.
Five male suitemates
But most of the day-to-day cultural exchange came about through the friendships I made during my brief stay. Two German interns started at the Rundschau the same day I did, and after helping each other master the office's arcane computer system, we took lunch breaks together nearly every day, consulted each other for journalistic and personal advice, and went on outings together in Frankfurt. And in the student dormitory where I lived, my five male suitemates were like instant brothers to me. They invited me to join in on barbecues and fondue and gave me a crash course in German soccer vocabulary, so I could curse at the referee's calls along with them for the five weeks of the World Cup. We had all kinds of late-night discussions, debating the world's ecological and political problems and comparing the education systems in Germany and America.
This eight-week summer program that I almost didn't apply for inspired me to consider a much wider range of possibilities than I would have by staying within my familiar borders. I'm now thinking about working internationally after graduation, and I may seriously consider participating in the Woodrow Wilson School's spring semester in Australia. And the next time I see a flyer promising to change my life, I'll probably stop to read it -- unless it's offering skydiving lessons.
Blair courtyard evokes images of another time--a good three years ago
by Daniel A. Grech '99
I just
started my senior year, and I'm already beginning
to miss Princeton. Even worse, I'm starting to feel
old. I can buy liquor with my real I.D. I can't
stay up all night anymore. My back sometimes hurts in the morning. I have to shave at least
three times a week.