Robben knüppeln

In Europe there is an EU-wide university exchange program called ERASMUS, which I will probably end up dedicating an entire blog post to later on. As an American I can't be part of Erasmus, but I've ended up falling in with the Erasmus students here. One of the nicest things about being a foreign student in Germany is that even the tiniest universities have groups of native students that organize programs, excursions, and parties for the Erasmus students. My first week here in Rostock, I stumbled onto the weekly Stammtisch from the LEI, the local Erasmus organization. A Stammtisch is technically a table in a bar that is reserved for the regular guests, called the Stammgäste, but in this sense it is just a weekly meeting point. At the Stammtisch I learned more about the programs that are put on for the Erasmus students, including one that went on about a week ago.

In Warnemünde there is a seal research station, and we just had an excursion to go see it. Today's word means “seal clubbing.” Not this kind of clubbing:

But rather, this kind:

Rest assured we performed neither the kind of clubbing with the baby seals. But I digress, calling this place a „research station” is sort of like saying that diet caffeine-free coke is coke. Like, it's technically correct, but it gives a false impression. The station is at the end of a breakwater in the yacht harbor, and I'm walking down the ever-narrowing peninsula expecting some sort of giant laboratory complex for seals, and yet I am not seeing anything of the kind. And instead of assuming that the “research center” isn't a giant laboratory, I naturally assume that there must be some sort of secret underwater tunnel that takes us to the lab or a ferry to get a hidden offshore research platform, and I have got myself all hyped up for some sort of Fortress of Solitude style lab. Then I notice that our group has stopped and is waiting at the gangplank of some normal looking ship. Crestfallen does not begin to describe my emotional state. Since I work in a lab, I sort of naïvely assume that all science looks like this, which is not the case.

The "research station" is basically a ship with a netted-in area around it where the 10 seals can play...bummer. But still, baby seals are on the agenda and that can easily make up for the “research station” being a tugboat. We meet our tour guide, and she looks just like an older version of a friend of mine from Tübingen. 

Our Führerin...can I say that?

The tour is in English, which I assume was really hard for some of the other students to understand. The tour guide told us lots of cool facts about seals, including a little gem that I thought was interesting. Apparently when the seals hold their breath, they don't fill their lungs with air?! Right, I was confused as hell. As I understand it, the little devils are some how able to dissolve more oxygen in their blood, which is good because if they held their breath like we do, they would get the bends as they surface. Also, seals have fingernails, which is just wild. One of the seals in the “research station” is nearly blind, but somehow this isn't a problem (crazy!) because his whiskers are a good enough replacement for eyes.

Basically I learned that seals are fucking crazy. The don't hold their breath with the lungs, blindness is “no problem”, they can identify individual humans, and they can sleep underwater. They are almost as freaky as octopi/octopodes/octopuses.

Because this story can't end normally, I also have to relate the story of my return trip from the “research station.” All along the peninsula there are enormous boulders and signs telling little kids (and presumably adults too) NOT to climb on the stones since they can be slippery. Since it hadn't rained, I silently thanked the signs for their concern about my well being and then began to jump from stone to stone, I made it probably 100 yards and then started to get cocky. Instead of jumping to a stone, calculating my next jump and then going further, I decided to throw caution to the wind and just run along the stones. That worked for about 10 more yards until I rolled my ankle.

(Mom, put down the phone, I'm fine! No need to call the FBI, this time) My ankle looked hilarious for about 2 days, not unlike the leg of a baby elephant. But since then it's gotten better, still a little swollen on the back outside side, but I'm babying it and whatnot.

So that's the latest and the greatest, readers. Until next time!