Today I had a two separate bicycle adventures.
In the morning, Esther and I took Sara to her first day of kindergarten (which is MUCH different from America- besides the fact that they start at age 3, are allowed to start the first grade at their choice of age 6 or 7, and eat both breakfast & lunch at school, the teachers get them down to their undies to properly sunblock them... somehow, I feel like that wouldn't go over well in America... Anyway). In order to get off the bike you have to basically jump off while it's still going. I thought maybe I could try to get off the bike after it was stopped. This was, in fact, a bad idea. Instead of gracefully hopping down, the bike toppled over with me not fully dismounted. My right foot broke the fall of the bike, and STILL hurts. There were a couple of scratches but it is mostly just bruised and tender to the touch. When it happened, Sara said "Soll ich an pusten?!" At first I said no, but she insisted so I raised up my foot and she blew on it (which is what we do for the kids when they have an "owa"). It was actually very sweet, and she puffed out her cheeks which was suuuper cute. It still hurts real bad and I'm having trouble finding the line between reasonable and unreasonable concern for the well being of my foot.
My afternoon adventure was a much longer ride to the doctor's office (to get prescriptions since they won't take American prescriptions). Yesterday I was partially successful in my bike ride to the bank and back (by myself- hold your applause) so I felt pretty confident. When we come to crosswalks, I'm usually able to grab onto the light pole instead of dismounting and then struggling to get back on (since my biggest problem is actually getting ON the bike). However, we reached a crosswalk where I had to get off the bike for some reason, so when we got to the other side I had to get back on. There was a fence that I used to steady myself on the bike, but for some reason when I began to peddle I was unable to keep my balance and the bike tipped over. I tried a second time, and failed a second time. Frank said we should just walk, but I was so angry and frustrated that I insisted on trying a third time... and I failed a third time. So we walked the bikes.
It wasn't just frustrating (and it was very frustrating), but it was also humiliating. Bike lanes are on the sidewalks, but function like bike lanes in America on the street but are much wider- this is because there are probably 2/3 as many bikes as there are cars, meaning my failures were not private. It is so embarrassing to have people around when you fail, and especially when they are successfully achieving what you cannot. They have been riding their weird high-seated bicycles for their whole lives and I haven't ridden a normal bicycle in TEN YEARS. They don't know that, and they don't know that I'm foreign and that we have slightly different bicycles. All they know is there's some idiot girl who can't ride a bike. Or maybe they don't care. Funny how that works, but regardless of whether they're actually judging me or not, I'm judging me. And in case you were wondering, walking a bike is not less humiliating than falling over. I'm pretty sure it's code for "I am incapable of getting on this bicycle for some abnormal reason."
Frank said that I needed to be more patient with myself. I said "I'm not good at that," to which he responded, "I know (I've also been pretty hard on myself about not picking up the language quickly). Maybe it's something you can learn." He was not saying this in a rude or insulting way, but in an attempt to be helpful (when something goes wrong [like coming home from picking blueberries soaked to the skin] he always asks "How can I help?" but the answer is usually "You can't"). I know that I have very little patience with myself, but I'm pretty sure that learning a life lesson is probably the LAST thing anyone is interested in when they are, in fact, in need to learning a life lesson.
For what it's worth, Frank says the bike is really heavy which makes it difficult (I don't know what weight is normal for a bike) and that the handles (which go towards the legs and not out) do, in fact, make it harder to steer and it isn't just in my imagination. I cried to my Dad for 40 minutes in the middle of his work day (though after dinner here) and he thinks that we should look into getting a bike that is sized for me because it will make a big difference. I reeeally hope so.
Moral: my ego is as bruised as my foot.
Anyway- doctor was successful, have decided to stick with super old ghetto phone since the minutes are cheaper and I didn't have to buy it (came from Esther's brother Joachim) even though I would love to have a phone from this decade, I cleaned the upstairs and the main floor windows today, and am ready for beddy.
LG,
~Julia~
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