Summer in the Park

September 2009.
Giant Bonsais, Giant Gnomes and a Myriad Flowers.

What do you think when you hear me talk about giant bonsais and giant gnomes? You look doubtful and shake your head, "Hey, dear teacher, are you pulling my leg?" I know it sounds like a contradiction in terms. Is there a smaller tree than a bonsai, is there a smaller dwarflike creature than a gnome? Certainly not. But I have seen them - I have a living proof: look at the picture above. I went to visit giant bonsais and giant gnomes among a myriad flowers. The place that houses them for exactly 177 days is the Brandenburg State Garden Show. I have been there so I can tell you all about it.

Before I begin with my botanical lesson let me explain some parts of German geography and local history. You all know that I live in the German capital which is Berlin. In 1989 my little West-Berlin hometown reunited with its eastern counterpart and together they swelled to become Berlin again, 892 square kilometers with 3.4 million inhabitants and a federal state in its own right. It lies almost in the heart of another German state, Brandenburg, which is much less populated (only 2.5 million inhabitants) but comprises a larger area (29,476 square kilometers). To be honest – all these numbers don't mean anything to me, I just figured some of you might like the facts. (You who like figures and facts please raise your finger so I know whether this makes any sense. Thank you!)

North of Berlin, easily to be reached by train in about 30 minutes from city center, lies Oranienburg which until the end of the 12th century A.D. was nothing but a very small village amidst swamps and woods. It was called Bötzow then, home to fishermen and peasants who had a hard time to make a living since the soil was barren and the strong cold winds from the east dominated the climate the whole year round. And it was not a safe place. It was finally discovered by dukes and other noblemen from mid-Germany who built a fortress here in order to defend themselves against the "savage people" from the east called Slavs. Many centuries later a Dutch princess came here because of a mighty duke who ruled over his little empire now called Brandenburg. It was Louise Henriette, born in 1627 in The Hague, married against her will to Friedrich Wilhelm in 1646. But she was intelligent and accepted her fate. She made Friedrich Wilhelm progenitor of Prussian kings. She had an excellent taste, a good education, a strong will and no desire to get bored in the Brandenburg wasteland.



Louise Henriette discovered Bötzow in her husband's Brandenburg and made it her new home. Since her family name was "Oranien" she renamed Bötzow "Oranienburg" which actually means "the Oranien's Castel". She wasted no time and had a pretty castle built surrounded by a splendid park, a real pleasure-garden complete with lakes, fountains, flower-beds and little woods. The next 300 years the castle and the park survived in a more or less good condition. But the potential of the area was always clearly visible, and this year, 2009, Louise Henriette's park was selected to host the Brandenburg State Garden Show.

A garden show, you must know, is all about flowers and trees and vegetables and herbs and fruit, it is all about green stuff and blooming and blossoms. For us people from the north it is about sun and being outdoors without freezing to death. This is why we celebrate a garden show only from late spring (April) to early fall (October) which explains the 177 days of duration of the Brandenburg State Garden Show in Oranienburg. When you are a garden aficionado like me you will come here to feel close to Mother Nature and the many wonders that our little planet earth unveils before our very eyes when we only want to see.

One of the garden wonders is the Giant Bonsai. It took 30 years to grow and it is more than 7 meters high. So actually it is only a bonsai by shape. But this is the beauty about it – you can solely detect it by its sheer height. It then invites you to climb upon the hill where it is planted to overlook the flower beds. And it is then that you notice the gnomes. They stand right next to the tree and they look grumpy as only dwarves can do.

A garden gnome is the most genuine German invention besides the cuckoo clock and the German shepherd (when you are willing to call a dog breed an "invention" that is). The first of this type of little fellows was made in the mid-18oos by a potter who wanted people to beautify their gardens. In no time garden gnomes conquered the German, the French and even the English front lawns. Traditionally they wear bright red pointed hats and grow long grey beards, thus resembling Snow White's seven dwarves.

When I was coming of age in the 1960s we used to loathe the garden gnomes. For us there was nothing more "bourgeois" and despicable than the crocheted dust-protected toilet rolls in the back of the Volkswagen cars and the happy smiling brightly painted family of garden gnomes in suburb garden plots. I used to roll my eyes and shake my head in disgust, "How can you stand such useless stuff?" But the years went by and taste changes. I made my peace with garden gnomes and bougeois thinking. Actually I was delighted to see the little fellows in the Brandenburg State Garden Show. These were not the ordinary type, I noticed immediately. An artist I once met in his studio near my office (Kurt Mühlenhaupt) had created them and in the process, he let them grow from their usual size of no more than 20 centimeters to almost a meter. So they can rightfully be called Giant Garden Gnomes.



Have you ever thought why people enjoy parks and gardens? I pondered the question a lot because I missed a stroll in the park very much when I lived in Phnom Penh. For me, the "Hun Sen Park" is not a real park, it is only a strip of grass between two lines of a very busy street. A park, on the contrary, needs space, a lot of space, and plants.

Garden culture is quite old. The first garden mentioned in the history of gardening is depicted on an Egyptian tomb painting and almost 4,000 years of age. The old Egyptians enjoyed their garden around a lotus pond surrounded by rows of acacia and palm trees. It must have been so precious to them that they wanted to take at least the image with them to the other world, after their time on earth had ended. Gardens were known to almost all cultures on earth when nature only allowed it. So very different styles developed, depending on climate, taste, financial resources, availability of accessories and specific needs. The Persian gardens were famous for their water basins and fountains for they were built in the hostile climate of the desert. Roman gardens prefered ornamental horticulture. Chinese and Japanese like to copy their favorite landscape of mountains and rivers. Medieval European gardens were first developed in monasteries and served as kitchen-gardens the more practical purposes. With the French baroque gardens more planning and more ornamental planting became fashionable while the English with their landscape gardening did just the opposite and let nature grow as freely as possible.



Whenever I read about the famous Cambodian golf courses I wonder: why do you not have a public space in Cambodia where all the wonderful tropical plants can join together and compete with each other's beauty? Why is there no botanical garden in Phnom Penh? In Oranienburg the doors on the garden show will close when the fall season makes all flowers die and the trees loose their leaves. In tropical Phnom Penh, on the other hand, there is always a flower, there is always a tree in full bloom. But there is no place for the people to quietly enjoy the full range of botanical splendor and to teach their children the names of the plants. But maybe you know all the plants already and rather prefer to play golf? Since you live in a garden you may not need a garden show as much as I do. Or do you?

Your teacher Helga.
September 2, 2009.

© Mimi Productions

Home At Last ...

August 2009.
My Home. My Balcony. My Telephone.

I was looking forward to spring in Berlin. I told you: When you must go back to your old place you should choose a season you like. That is what I heard from a very experienced traveller. And it is very true. I was lucky that I went back in spring because spring in Berlin is lovely. I missed spring in Cambodia very much. There you don't have distinct seasons, there it is either hot and raining or not so hot and not raining, there you slowly lose the sense of time when you come from Europe like me. Time for me is related to spring-summer-fall-and-winter, the year should have four seasons and you should be able to distinguish them from one another. At least this is how I see it. Well – this is my upbringing. This is my regional background. And spring is awaited in my hometown around March. In March I left Cambodia and in March I went home. While I am writing this – a little later in the year – I have been back for quite some time. But don’t worry. We will catch up with time and we will be on time with our lessons asap.

So I came home (to Germany) after the cold had gone. To celebrate my birthday with neighbours and friends. To see the plants and the trees come back to life after an especially long winter. To adjust to my new-old everyday life. My friends gave me a beautiful bunch of flowers in my favourite colours red and yellow. They remembered that I had told them about the beautiful trees totally covered in yellow which grew near my house on Street 9 in Phnom Penh. Having put the German flower bunch on my Berlin dinner-table I decided I had to do something with my balcony which was still lifeless and deserted.



In Berlin I live in an old house on the fourth floor – in America or in China you would say it is the fifth floor. We, in Germany, start counting after the actual first floor which we call the ground floor. So I live on the ground floor plus four extra floors. This is a real climbing exercise for the un-experienced. Believe me. Even in a moderate climate this makes you sweat. And there is no elevator in my house because it was built around 1890 where elevators were scarce or even unknown. What you see on the picture is a tiny part of my balcony. To tell you the truth: I am a lucky person because I have two balconies. The picture I sent you is my north balcony. The picture was easy to be made. My south balcony is much bigger. Friends of mine call it “the southern frontier” because it is a south bound terrace and quite spacious and – of course – just as lovely. How happy I am …



This is my lovely telephone. When you think about it and assume it looks old-fashioned you are perfectly right because it is. Old-fashioned, yes. Original, no. In case you might wonder what material it is made from: Bakelite. Actually the material is formaldehyde resin polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride. Yes! I looked it up for all of you chemistry freaks. I hope it reminds you of some mysterious and stinky chemistry lesson in junior high school. I would have never known anything about Bakelite if I hadn't worked in a museum where we collected all the wonderful design items from the late 19th and early 20th century. At that time these items had no special value and were mostly kitchenware and household utensils. The turn of the century was quite an interesting time period for the arts and handicrafts, by the way. Anyway, this long-named formaldehyde resin is not plastic, but a more natural material. The guy who invented it in 1907 was a Belgian called Dr. Leo Baekeland and his product was obviously named after him.

My white telephone is a replica. You could say it is the grand-grand-grand child of a telephone I grew up with.

My parents did not have a telephone when I was a child in Germany's 1950s. So we had to go to Grandpa's when we wanted to call somebody. Since we lived in Grandpa's house it seems to have been an easy task. It was not.

We rarely wanted to use Grandpa's phone – it was a difficult and bothersome affair. Grandpa was the oldest person I remember having seen in my childhood. He was a tiny man with round spectacles, a shaky voice when he got upset or angry (quite often) and very skinny hands with the blue veins clearly showing on top of his hands. He did not like us calling from his phone because it belonged to his company. (And when I think about it now: I believe he did not like children at all.) My grandfather had an agency and the agency (that was actually only my grandfather) paid the telephone bill. For some strange reason we children did not understand the fuss he made about the distinction "my company" on one side and "myself" on the other side. So I grew up with very few moments of telephone experience. I do remember my grandfather's phone-number though. My mother wrote it in big Arabic numerals on the inside of my schoolbag as she also wrote my name and my address in case I got lost. I never got lost and really never needed to be reminded neither of my name nor my address. But each time I looked into my schoolbag (quite often every single day) I saw the numbers written in blue ink: 37 76 55 – my grandfather’s telephone number. While writing this I notice to my own surprise that part of that decades old phone number is for some mysterious reason part of my new phone number.

"If you need general information please push 1. If you want information concerning your account please push 2." I really hate these announcements because I cannot follow the orders. Actually my telephone cannot do it. My telephone is equipped with only a dial, it is not a push-button telephone. Still I don't feel like buying a new one. This white little design wonder is like a pet in my home. It has lived with me for a long time, it grew old with me, it might survive me – who knows. And I don't want it to become jealous. I am very much attached to people I like and to things I own. So naturally my loyalty includes my telephone. There is only one in my house – there is no mobile rival contesting my attention and occupying my hand and ear. No. Like a queen the white Bakelite sits enthroned on its little red table and waits.

And it certainly waits. And waits. No, you don’t have to call me. I’d rather wish you’d read your e-mail and do your homework. It has been a lovely experience that you’ve read the first lesson. Keep on doing that!

Your teacher Helga.
August 4, 2009.

© Mimi Productions

Welcome...

You Are Back in the Classroom.
Welcome to Miss Helga's E-Learning!



Dear students,
dear friends,
dear all,

Thank you for joining me again. Having had you with me, dear Enskep 1 members, in my little NAA classroom was a most enjoyable experience. I am so glad that we will restart after a short break due to my readjustment period back home.

Let me say this first: I will be forever grateful to my beloved teacher Kamrang who supported me in every possible way while we shared the same NAA office (and many lovely cups of tea). I also owe so much to dear Reaksmey who was helping me to survive and endure the tone at the top (and who likes Chinese pop songs, too). Enskep was actually his very own brainchild. Great job, Kamrang and Reaksmey! And thanks to all of the Enskep students! (Hey, GTZ, don't become jealous – without YOU, of course, it would have never been, a big hug and Dankeschoen!)

Since you asked me to go back to study we will not waste any more time. Please turn off your mobile phones and let's get started.

This is how my training works: You will find little stories and articles on this website. They will tell you about me, my family and my friends, my work and my country. Please read the texts and look up the words you don't understand. Imagine me sitting next to you and answering your questions. Have you forgotten the S at the ending? Of course not. And what about the definite and the indefinite article? Certainly you know which one to use. So you can relax now and simply wait for the homework that you will receive by e-mail. You do your homework whenever you feel ready. Send it back to me – and wait for my answer. Simple as that, piece of pie, isn't it? Let me know all your questions by e-mail if you want to and I'll try to do my very best to answer them, asap of course. Okay?



Dear all, as I am writing this I remember that I wanted you to NOT forget my training. I said it through this little blue flower. Do you remeber or do you? Fine. So simply consider this part of Miss Helga's Forget-me-not Training. It is an open shop. All NAA colleagues are welcome to join.

Keep on learning.
Send me an e-mail.
Forget me not.

Your teacher Helga
July 16, 2009.