Geschmack: Haribo Bronchiol Cough Drops

What with the recent talk about doctor's notes, you must know that I am sick here in Germany.  And, because I actually have a job, that means I had to go to a doctor and get an official note to excuse me from work.  I was given a week to recuperate, which seemed pretty generous to me, but the doctor clearly knows a thing or to about the lifespan of German viruses, because I needed it.

As a result, I have been trying many types of German cold medication - most of it herbal in nature, because here every request for medication goes through the pharmacist, and pharmacists appear to be very unwilling to give out anything that may actually have a pain-relieving effect to foreigners.  It probably doesn't help that I invariably turn up at the pharmacy with a long list of unfamiliar drug names that the pharmacist then has to look up letter by letter on her little computer, all of which always turn out to be banned or otherwise controlled here in Germany.  So I walk away with supplements, menthol rubs, and saline nasal sprays instead of anti-histamines, cough suppressants, or painkillers.  Forget non-drowsy, I dearly love anything with enough kick to make it unsafe for me to operate heavy machinery.  

To be honest, though, it probably took me longer than usual to recuperate from the flu simply because I didn't have the stimulating effects of these carefully controlled and possibly addictive drug components.  I was so cranky about not getting Tylenol Cold when and where I wanted, that maybe I am just the drug-dependent North American the pharmacist suspects I am after all.

I was wondering how it could be that people have to take one or two weeks off for colds and flus here.  Well, here is the why: they don't have Dayquil to get them up and running in two days, and they're happy to let someone have the time off because then nobody's breathing germs all over the office and the doctor and pharmacist have conspired to guarantee that the missing coworker is probably having a pretty horrible time at home with a box of kleenex and a hot water bottle.  And, in two weeks, you're either completely cured or dead.

But, witness, please, the fun part of being sick in German: Haribo Bronchiol cough drops.  They're gummy! They're made with real Japanese mint oil!  And they're Haribo!  This one might not go down so well in North America - after all, mixing candy and medicine can lead to all types of unadvisable misconceptions.

image via amazon.com

Word Up: der Schneebesen and die Gluhbirne

A lot of German words are really ugly.  Take something like, oh, Arbeitsunfähigkeitsbescheinigung - that's a doctor's note for all of you Anglos - or Telefonanrufbeantworter - at least tell me you guessed that had something to do with an answering machine.  These are the type of words, ominously multisyllabic and menacingly glotal, that do at least a third of the work of carving out Germans as the bad guys in WWII blockbusters.  (Those other thirds are owed to John Williams and, uh, history.)

But the German language does have a softer, gentler side.  Maybe not to hear it over the credits in Inglourious Basterds, but, when sit down and think about what some of those compound words break down to literally, you start to realize the Germans are really all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Take das Schneebesen, for example, known in English as a whisk.  If you translate it literally from German, a Schneebesen is a "snow broom."  Isn't that the cutest thing?  Can't you imagine whipping up a big pillowy bowl of egg whites with your snow broom?  Or rather, can't you imagine little German garden gnomes whipping up a big pillow of egg whites with their snow brooms?  Maybe with the Smurfs in tow?

Or, another example on what I think of the fairytale club of German vocabulary: die Gluhbirne.  This is a lightbulb, only in German, it's a "glow-pear."   Not to be confused with the Hasbro children's toy Glo-worm, although let me warn you that once you start using the Glo-friends as a mnemonic device, it is almost impossible to erase the association.  Come to think of it, "lightbulb" is kind of sweet too - like a magical tulip or something, an idea that seems more Dutch than English, actually, given they had made the error of actually believing in magical tulips in the past.

But don't bother trying to explore these sweet Brothers-Grimm-isms with German speakers.  They will stare at you blankly, and then ask you once again why you can say "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Easter" but not vice versa.  Leave it to the Germans to find the truly important questions.

image via foundshit.com