Chapter 1: The Flood

So I decided to start a blog, for several reasons. First, every other American kid here has one, and I felt left out. Second, living in another country is a constant source of bizarre cultural encounters, and I thought I might share them. I've been living in Heidelberg just over two months now, and I don't want to try and catch up all at once. I'll resort to flashbacks of the good stuff when necessary, and just jump straight into the Now. I think it'll be less painful that way.

Today is Sunday, which is a day of enforced relaxing and family time in Germany. Very few stores are allowed to open, mostly bakeries and gas stations; actually, I think there was some major outcry when bakeries were allowed to open on Sundays, because people were afraid that it would destroy the German family life. Anyway, I've gotten used to it and I was very much looking forward to my day of rest. Which naturally meant something horrible was going to happen.

It is necessary to explain the layout of my apartment at this point. It's two rooms and a kitchen off a little hall. The shower and sink are in a little room enclosed off the kitchen, but the toilet it outside my apartment, by the stairway up to the other units. I don't have to share it with anyone, but it gets REALLY COLD in the stairwell, so any tour of the plumbing requires advance preparation, in the form of putting on shoes, sweaters, etc.

I got up this morning in need of such an expedition, and prepared and executed, with just a small bit of unease in the back of my mind that I confidently dismissed as a remnant of Saturday's excellent beer. I returned to the main quarters to wash my hands when I discovered the problem - the freaking shower was clogged and completely full of really gross water, from at least two kitchen sinks and probably a shower as well. The water was oily, opaque, and dully purple. Scared the hell out of me at first, it looked exactly like the clogged tubs in haunted house movies, into which the heroine reaches to unplug, causing Gollum to jump out of the bottom and kill her in a horrible, dark, and lonely manner. I was not about to deal with that by myself, so I called in Yandee, because as everyone knows, sunken corpses in bathtubs will only attack if no one's looking. Then we both started bailing the water into the toilet, since that was the house's only orifice that seemed to be working (I swore at this point to never again complain about having to cross the hall for the toilet. You've seen how long that lasted).

Once the water was no longer in danger of overflowing if Mrs. Upstairs took a shower, and had also receded from the kitchen sink, we decided to give it a rest and call the landlord. He answered and promised to call a plumber ASAP... meaning tomorrow, since today's Sunday. RAGE! I decided that such a situation clearly called for some sandwiches from the bakery. That'll teach 'em. I bought two and Yandee and I ate them testily in the sitting room.

In a couple of hours, the water spontaneously started draining again. Laissez Faire, ladies and gentlemen. It works.