I'm happy in Bonn--when I'm not dramatically ill, which I'll get to in a moment--but the city itself is kind of "meh." I say "meh" because it's kind of like this: You see Bonn, this cool city that's decently big and has lots of cool history. You walk by these old buildings pretty much every day and after a bit they kind of lose their novelty. Added to that, in my limited experience of this city, the people who live here either work/study at the Uni, work in the government, or they have their own place/chain. And here's how that breaks down: Most who work/study at the Uni are okay although they're sometimes a little snobby (which coming from a francophile is quite a statement); Those who work in the government are 97% assholes; and 97% of those who own their own place/chain are effing awesome.
Not to say I haven't made friends. I have. There's a woman from Norway in the program (although not in my class) with whom I get along very well. She's the one who got me pseudo-drunk on Monday because she seemed personally offended that I had yet to have a german beer. So naturally, we got a pitcher. Story for another time.
Linda (the Norwegian) aside, it's not the friendliest place. It's not exactly unfriendly, either, but I think because it's so spread out (and I'm so far away from the actual 'centre' of town) it's harder to get to know people.
Summary of the last four 'paragraphs': I made an inevitable, albeit bad joke; and I like Bonn even though it's a bigger city than I'm used to and some of the people aren't outwardly friendly.
Moving on: Dramatic illness. Yes. I say 'dramatic' not because of how I acted while I was sick, but in reference instead to the illness itself. Here's how it went:
Weekend, go to Dachau. Sunday, ride home on a very crowded train after little sleep. Monday, class, drinks (read: pitcher) and dinner with Linda, get home a little after midnight. Tuesday morning: I'M DYING.
At least that's what it felt like. I sat up and the world swam uncomfortably in front of my eyes. I immediately lay back down and stayed there for most of the day. (Aside: for those of you who may say, It's called a hangover, I must protest. I was sober by 1900.) Continuation:
Tuesday evening, feel a little better due to about 14 hrs of sleep and lots of water and apple juice. Tuesday night, can't sleep due to about 14 hrs of sleep. Wednesday morning, wake up after sleeping for about three hours to find that my fever from the day before (yes, I had a FEVER! What?!) has returned, and with a vengeance. My head hurts; everything hurts. I send an email to my prof, apologizing and explaining the absences, and determine to stay up even though I can't make it to class. I stay in for most of the day, repeating my regimen of water and apple juice, fitting in some food when I feel well enough.
Wednesday night, feel better, definitely a little better, but worry a bit about Thursday morning, because I felt okay Tuesday night.
Thursday morning, wake up feeling fine only to discover my voice is gone.
I went to class this morning with no voice; it came back slowly over a couple of hours, and I feel fine now. Although apparently a bunch of people have come down with something while I was away, curled in a fetal position in my bed.
I'm 95% sure I probably gave them something. I mean, that's usually how it works. I catch something obscure from somewhere not-so-obscure (in this case I'm pretty sure it was the train) and merrily spread it around in the time it takes for the virus to make its way through my wimp of an immune system.
Just another reason my antisocial tendencies are really for the good of everyone.
I don't really have much else to say, and I realize this was pretty pointless, but what did you expect? I started out with a inter-language vocabulary joke. Come on.
tschüss!
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