Last Thursday I went to Dortmund with my friend N. She had an interview there for a study/apprenticeship thing which is basically the new cool thing to do because companies pay your college tuition and on top of that you’re being paid for your work as an apprentice. In the case of my friend N, they would also pay for her flights to and from Scotland because half the year she would have to be up there and work on their petrochemical manufacturing site and the other half of the year, she’d go to college in Cologne.

This last fact, she didn’t know about until after the interview. She also didn’t know that the interview was going to be in German and not in English which was a bummer to me since I had done my best to prepare her for casual conversation in the foreign tongue. For God’s sake, there were instances where we had to decide whether I LIKE TO RIDE MY BICYCLE was an appropriate hobby to mention during this type of interview, or any interview for that matter.

We went to Dortmund by train which only makes sense because traffic here is always so insane, you literally don’t get anywhere because there are just too many damn cars and semi-trucks, traffic just stops.

So by train we got their on time, or, actually, early - and went over to the hotel by the station where my friend N was going to meet with the interviewer. They were also going to have lunch which totally freaked N out but she just had to roll with it.

While N met with the guy, I went to one of the greatest book stores I know. They have this whole huge front of windows, just glass and more glass, and super comfortable leather chairs and soothingly colored carpets in front of it and they invite you to just sit there, skim through a few books and watch the busy world pass by down on the street. Trust me, it is amazing.

N’s interview was set to last almost two hours and I loved every second of it because that book store, seriously, they have everything. And by everything, I mean a broad selection of books in foreign languages. I ended up buying Stephenie Meyer’s Eclipse even though I’m not finished with Three Cups of Tea yet. And then I sat down in one of the comfy chairs and watched the sky turn dark. It started to drizzel and then it stopped again but the wind picked up while I began to read Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult.

Everytime I heard high heels click-clacking on the wooden floors, I turned around to see whether it was N. We had agreed that she would meet me at the book store whenever she was done.

I made it to page 46 of Nineteen Minutes. And then, it was finally her.

From afar I could see her broad, bright smile, her blushed cheeks and her hands clutched into excited fists. She was shaking a little bit and I could tell immediately that she was doing her best not to scream out loud right there in the still book store.

She didn’t have to say anything and she probably wasn’t capable anyway. I drew her into my arms and we hugged tight and some of those sitting in the leather chairs stared but we didn’t care. My heart pounded wildly because this was great, amazing, perfect.

I don’t remember ever feeling so proud of somebody or so happy for somebody. I literally wanted to yell out loud, wanted to tell everybody else that my friend had just scored the best possible educational deal there is after high school. That she took Math and Chemistry AP classes in high school, that she was the only girl in Physics class and that she was honored with a special award for her extraordinary natural scientific knowledge on graduation day.

And that, today, it had all paid off.

I congratulated her and couldn’t stop smiling. It was obvious that a rush of crazy adranelin had bolted through us, we couldn’t stop giggling and we decided that even though it was barely lunch time, we would find a place that had champagne.

And of course we did find a place and it felt so cool and grown-up and perfect to be there and celebrate N’s success, to raise our glasses to it, to drink on it and not worry about anything else in the world for a few minutes.

N told me everything about the interview and that she was supposed to fly to Scotland on July 28 and stay there for three days to take a look at the company and, possibly, sign the contract. It had been in German after all, the interviewer had asked a few questions about petrochemistry and physics but also personal ones. And it had gone simply great.

When she went to the bathroom and I sat by myself for a moment, the overwhelming feeling of pride took over and I felt tears rise to my eyes. I can’t imagine anybody who deserves an opportunity like this more than N.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, walking back to our table, the most perfect song was played on the radio, booming out of the speakers, causing both her and myself to laugh out loud; Bicycle race by Queen: Bicycle, bicycle, BICYCLE; I want to ride my bicycle. It’s such a stupid song but it fit the situation so perfectly that everything felt even more surreal.

N still hasn’t made a final decision whether she feels right about the whole thing, though. The first excitement has died off and now she needs to think it all through. I’ve been encouraging her to do this because you only get chances like this once in a lifetime. She’ll be flying out to Scotland on July 28 and make her decision, probably while she’s there.

I am so endlessly proud of her.

We left for Maastricht and Aachen at 6 in the morning, a time at which I’m usually sound asleep or still up. Needless to say, I had a hard time looking forward to anything about the day. Additionally, my allergies gave me a hard time and so I ended up closing my eyes and listening to my Creative Zen throughout the whole three-hour drive there.

We had an appointment at 11am with a local realtor who had specialized on assisting students. I had decided that this was going to be the least comfortable part of the day; strolling around with an important looking businessman, having my dad talk shop back at him. The main focus of our trip was to find me a place to stay that was both affordable and inhabitable. Unfortunately, neither was accounted for by said realtor.

I’m not sure if that is just the way it is in Maastricht or if we just happened to go with the wrong realtor and the wrong websites prior to our visit but of the three places that lay within my budget (below 500 euros/$780 a month, all expenses included), only one looked remotely nice. And I’m not talking luxury here, I’m not talking about special extras - simply a nice enough place that anybody would want to live in.

Don’t get me wrong, the realtor was essentially a great guy. He was young, friendly, good-looking and spoke almost flawless English. So did his colleague who was even younger and drove us around town to look at the different apartments. But the places itself - I WOULDN’T HAVE WANTED TO STAY THERE IF PAID FOR IT. Let alone spend such a ridiculous amount of money on it.

At the third place, the current student living there stumbled upon us in a robe out in the hallway. I’ll spare you the details BUT IT WAS NOT A PLEASANT VIEW.

So, apartment-wise Maastricht was a disappointment. But the city itself was as beautiful as ever. The calm, broad river, the old bridges, all the cafés and restaurants and clubs and bars, the expensive designer stores next to cheap tourist spots - it’s so perfect, it’s worrying. I posted more pictures here. They are, however, low quality because I took them with my cellphone.

I had made an afternoon appointment with a landlord in Aachen - also known in the English language as Aix-la-Chapelle, by the way, which is confusing because, really, that’s actually French. She was going to show me two apartments of different sizes but in the same building. Although I had been so worried about Aachen being an hour away from Maastricht by bus or train and had considered it my last option, all that went out the door when my parents and I entered the building. At first glance it was already in such better condition than anything we had seen in Maastricht and at a cheaper price, mind you!

The two apartments themselves, though, didn’t look all that great either. They also didn’t have connections for a washing machine which was an important point because I won’t be able to drive home that often and so I’m going to have to do my own laundry. There were at least ten other people there with me to look at the places and they seemed a little more enthused than I was. I also liked the bigger one of the apartments - especially compared to the dumpholes we had seen in Maastricht - but it still wasn’t good enough. If I was to rent a place in Aachen, it had to be close to perfect because just the distance to Maastricht University was downside enough.

So my parents and I went on to the last option for the day. I had contacted this girl named N by email when I found her ad that she had posted just a day before and we agreed that I should come by to take a look right away.

And what do you know? Sixth time’s a charme, right? Her apartment is perfect for me. It’s right next to the Aachen Cathedral, as in ALMOST PART OF IT. And it’s tiny tiny tiny but it’s already furnished since she is leaving all her stuff behind because she’s returning to the place in March 2009 after spending one semester in Chile. This is great for me because it gives me half a year to see whether it’s a good thing to live this far away from Maastricht without having to spend any money on furniture or other necessities. Maybe by next March I will have made friends in Maastricht and we will want to all move together into a bigger place - who knows, right? This way, I’m not bound to sign a two-year contract and right from the start I have everything I need. I’m just more flexible that way.

The above graphic is both proof of my fer0sh PSP skillz and the layout of the apartment. It’s of course not very detailed and probably not very accurate but it gives you an idea. It’s a very cute place in a great building which, I think, is actually part of the original cathedral compound but it’s been fixed up, of course. Most of her furniture is from Ikea and so, obviously, I liked it instantly. There are a few things I found out but don’t care about (there’s no television, for instance) and a few things I do care about but haven’t found out yet (like, where I can find the next bus stop and how far it is to a grocery store and the train station) - but I’ll go back to Aachen next week and sign the contract and talk to N about the rest.

It’s so exciting, MY FIRST OWN PLACE! I hadn’t expected to actually find something yesterday but I’m glad it did work out that way.

On our way back home, and we drove back right after leaving N’s place to be back in time for last night’s Euro half-final Germany versus Turkey, we got stuck into a major traffic jam 10 kilometers (6.5 miles) long. There was no going back or forth. Four huge trucks had collided and lay across all four lanes, two drivers had to be air-lifted to the hospital and they announced on the radio that it was going to take until 9pm to clear the way for traffic. 9pm - at the time that was four hours away. 9pm - the game would have been on for 15 minutes. And after 9pm; after they had cleared the autobahn, we still would have had three hours to go! It was almost sickeningly devastating to just sit there, unable to do anything.

After about an hour, someone had the idea to get off the autobahn through a rest stop and although nobody knew if that would work, everyone - except all the big trucks - followed. Thing was, that now everybody was driving, or rather crawling, down those backroads and straight into another traffic jam who had emerged because police had closed of the end of the original jam and bypassed traffic this way as well.

So basically, THERE WERE THOUSANDS OF CARS WITH ANGRY PEOPLE IN THEM WHO WANTED TO GET HOME TO SEE THE GAME BUT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO MOVE EITHER WAY.

We ended up having to listen to the first half of the game on the radio which was torture. Whoever thought that listening to a soccer game would be a satisfying experience must not be a person I’d want to spend time with.

But as we all know, all in all the game was great and I found an apartment so I’m not complaining, in case it seemed like I was. Oh, official moving in date is August 1, by the way.

So there’s tons of time left to be irresponsible and waste time. Goody.

My former best friend N, who has become more of a real friend to me again over the past couple of months because we had to do a lot of work together, came over today because she had asked me to help her prepare for an interview for an apprenticeship/studying grant.

She originally applied for this very popular system of being an apprentice, while also attending classes at university at the same time, at the company’s headquarters based in Germany. Her application was rejected but they offered her a place - well, not so much the actual spot but the opportunity for an interview - at the company’s Scottish headquarters. I know, Scottland, of all places! - right?

However, I am really excited about this because for some reason when I think Scottland I automatically think Ireland and in my head both are about the same thing as far as landscape, language and national quirks go. I am aware that that may upset true Scotts but, I’m sorry, that’s the way I feel and besides, it’s more a compliment, really, than anything else.

Because when I think Ireland, I think of a wild ocean, an open sky, gorgeous cliffs and endless plains. Ireland, in my head, equals beauty. Ergo, Scottland is a beautiful, magical place.

When N thinks Scottland, she thinks Scotch, drinking games, pubs. She thinks grey cities, oil rigs, chemicals. Which is fine, I guess, because that’s what she’s looking for: a future job in the general field of anything chemical and this apprenticeship combined with studying is her perfect chance.

Thing is, her English is not the best. When I say that, I really mean this: she has trouble putting together an actual sentence and while she’s not bad at all at understanding written texts in English, she will have trouble getting through a whole interview. I have wondered whether it’s a smart move to even consider applying for this thing because if her English isn’t good enough for an interview, how is she going to manage university classes in English? I have told her this but at the same time I encouraged her to go through with it. It’s definitely worth a try and, after all, when in life will one ever get a chance like this again?

Going off to Scottland when you’re first moving away from home? Sure does sound like the perfect dream to me.