This might not be the typical expat blog, written by a German expat, living in the Philippines since 1999. It's different. In English and in German. Check it out! Enjoy reading!
Dies mag' nun wirklich nicht der typische Auswandererblog eines Deutschen auf den Philippinen sein. Er soll etwas anders sein. In Englisch und in Deutsch! Viel Spass beim Lesen!
You plan to move to the Philippines? Wollen Sie auf den Philippinen leben?
There are REALLY TONS of websites telling us how, why, maybe why not and when you'll be able to move to the Philippines. I only love to tell and explain some things "between the lines". Enjoy reading, be informed, have fun and be entertained too!
Ja, es gibt tonnenweise Webseiten, die Ihnen sagen wie, warum, vielleicht warum nicht und wann Sie am besten auf die Philippinen auswandern könnten. Ich möchte Ihnen in Zukunft "zwischen den Zeilen" einige zusätzlichen Dinge berichten und erzählen. Viel Spass beim Lesen und Gute Unterhaltung!
Visitors of germanexpatinthephilippines/Besucher dieser Webseite.Ich liebe meine Flaggensammlung!
:Oettinger macht über 150 Jahre alte Brauerei dicht
Eine Kiste Bier wird in der Oettinger-Brauerei in Braunschweig auf ein Transportband gestellt
Foto: picture alliance / dpa
Dino
Schröder
Nun will sogar die Traditionsbrauerei Oettinger ihr Werk in Braunschweig (Niedersachsen) schließen. Das Unternehmen plant, im Laufe des Frühjahres 2026 die Produktion auf die Standorte Oettingen und Mönchengladbach zu verlagern.
Die Brauerei in Braunschweig war 1871 gegründet worden. Oettinger hatte die frühere Feldschlößchen-Produktion 2009 von Carlsberg übernommen.
Zweigniederlassung von Oettinger in Braunschweig: Hier wird bald kein Bier mehr gebraut
Foto: imago stock&people rstellung und Abfüllung am Standort sind betroffen.
Die Mitarbeiter sollen in eine Transfergesellschaft überführt und damit befristet weiterbeschäftigt werden. In Braunschweig verbleiben nur Teile der Logistik sowie die Materialwirtschaft.
Bier verkauft sich schlechter
Das Unternehmen begründete den Entschluss mit der sinkenden Auslastung der Anlagen. „Seit Jahrzehnten geht der Bierausstoß in Deutschland zurück“, so Brauereichef Stefan Blaschak in einer Mitteilung.
Bei Oettinger sei der Absatz mittlerweile auf das Niveau von vor über 20 Jahren gesunken. „Ein Abbau unserer hauseigenen Überkapazitäten ist unvermeidlich“, sagt Blaschak.
Seit seinem Amtsantritt vor zwei Jahren treibe er daher nicht nur ein Effizienzprogramm, sondern auch die Neuausrichtung „von einer Brauerei hin zu einem innovativen Getränkeunternehmen“ voran, heißt es.
Die Folge: „Wir sind dadurch zwar seit Kurzem endlich wieder rentabel. Um aber unser Versprechen an die Verbraucher – beste Qualität zum fairen Preis – auch noch in den kommenden Jahren halten zu können, müssen wir uns schlichtweg den Marktgegebenheiten anpassen. Und zwar nicht erst wieder dann, wenn es fast zu spät ist. Sondern, schon heute, geplant und selbstbestimmt“, erklärt der Brauereichef.
Anlagen in Brauerei zu alt
Veraltete Produktionsanlagen der Oettinger-Brauerei in Braunschweig
Foto: picture alliance / dpa
Dass es nun Braunschweig treffe, liege auch am Alter der Anlagen dort. Sie seien älter als an anderen Standorten „und hätten zeitnah einer umfassenden Generalüberholung bedurft“, so Blaschak.
Vor drei Jahren hatte sich Oettinger bereits vom Standort Gotha in Thüringen getrennt.
By the time I picked up a slim volume of "The Discourses of Epictetus," I had been smoking for a couple of years. Not socially. Not occasionally. I smoked in the way that defines identity — the kind of smoker who doesn’t ask if a break is coming but when. The pack-a-day kind. The stress, the habit, the illusion of control. Then, Epictetus, a crippled Greek slave-turned-philosopher, challenged everything I thought I was in control of.
It’s been 1.5 years since my last cigarette. I owe that decision — and the strength to stay with it — to Stoicism.
The myth of control
Epictetus opened with a simple idea: “Some things are up to us, and some things are not.” It sounds obvious. But when you start applying that filter to your own life, it’s staggering. What was smoking, if not a daily surrender to something outside myself — a chemical, a craving, a false comfort? I had always told myself I chose to smoke. Epictetus showed me I was only choosing to rationalize my enslavement.
He often said, “It is not events themselves that disturb us, but our judgments about them.” I had judged stress as something intolerable, something needing relief. I had judged cigarettes as a salve. But the stress was not mine to control — only my response was. And each time I lit up, I was choosing the wrong response.
A new kind of self-discipline
Quitting smoking wasn’t the result of willpower. It was the result of clarity. Stoicism doesn’t demand you become superhuman — it simply demands that you recognize what being human actually is. The Stoics believed virtue lay in aligning your actions with reason, with nature, with what’s within your power. Smoking wasn’t reasonable. It wasn’t aligned with nature. It wasn’t within my power — not while I was still convincing myself it brought me peace.
So I began practicing what Epictetus prescribed: watching my thoughts, questioning my impulses, rehearsing adversity. I told myself, You will want a cigarette today. And you will not have one. That is the test. And then I watched the craving rise and pass — like Epictetus said it would. “If you want to be free,” he wrote, “then wish nothing to be as it is not.”
I began to see that real freedom wasn’t doing what I wanted in the moment. It was choosing what was best for me despite the moment.
Daily practice, not a conversion
Stoicism didn’t just help me quit smoking. It changed the architecture of my day-to-day thinking. I journal now — not emotionally, but reflectively, asking questions like: What did I do today that was within my control? What did I do that was not? What bothered me? Why? This isn't therapy. It's training.
I fail, still. I procrastinate. I say the wrong things. I still feel anxious, or angry, or sad. But the difference now is that I no longer see those feelings as signs that something’s wrong. I see them as practice — as invitations to respond instead of react.
A philosophy for living
I used to think of Stoicism as cold, rigid, unemotional. But what I found in Epictetus was not austerity — it was empowerment. His words were a mirror: sometimes harsh, but always honest. He asked, What kind of person do you want to be? And he made it clear: your actions are the only true answer.
I quit smoking because I no longer wanted to be the kind of person who surrendered to desire. I wanted to be someone who chose — with clarity, not compulsion. That’s what Stoicism gave me.
A year and a half later, I’m still choosing that path. Every day. Every craving. Every challenge. Not because it’s easy — but because, like Epictetus taught me, it’s mine to choose.
Rentner Klaus-Peter Schlesinger (85) hat eine Falle für den Behaarten Erdbeersamenlaufkäfer entwickelt
Foto: Marcus Scheidel/MAS Bildagentur
Karsten
Kehr
Hirschfeld (Sachsen) – Wenn es Nacht wird in Hirschfeld, beginnt das große Krabbeln: Tausende Käfer machen sich auf den Weg ins Dorf, kriechen durch Tür- und Fensterritzen in die Häuser der Bewohner, machen sich in Küchen, Bädern, Kellern, Wohnstuben und Garagen breit – und verschwinden nach ein paar Stunden wieder. BILD auf der Spur einer unheimlichen Käfer-Invasion in Sachsen!
„Immer gegen 21 Uhr geht es los“, sagt Rentner Klaus-Peter Schlesinger (85) aus dem 1000-Seelen-Ort im sächsischen Landkreis Zwickau. „Dann kommen sie“ – und er verbarrikadiert sich in seinem Haus am Röhnigweg. „Die Fenster habe ich mit Fliegengitter und sämtliche Ritzen mit Klebeband gesichert. Wer das nicht gemacht hat, hat die Biester sofort im ganzen Haus.“
Ein Lichtschacht voller Käfer. Sobald es dunkel wird, werden die Hirschfelder von einer Käfer-Invasion heimgesucht
Foto: Privat
Die gesamte Hauswand war schwarz vor Käfern
Nachbar Claus-Peter Barth (72) beobachtete, wie die Insekten abends aus kleinen Löchern in seinen Beeten strömten: „Das sind nicht nur flinke Krabbler, die können auch fliegen. Einmal war die gesamte Hauswand schwarz vor Käfern.“
Auch Rentner Claus-Peter Barth (72) machte Bekanntschaft mit den lästigen Plagegeistern
Foto: Marcus Scheidel/MAS Bildagentur
Die gesammelten Käfer in einem Einmachglas
Foto: Marcus Scheidel/MAS Bildagentur
Jetzt hilft nur noch der Industriestaubsauger
Zuerst hatten Kerstin (61) und Hans Neidlein (66) die Krabbler bemerkt: „Als wir im Juli aus dem Urlaub kamen, traf uns ein Schock. Alles war schwarz, ein Meer an Käfern im Haus, sie waren sogar unter meinen Schuhen.“ Früher habe sie jedes kleine Tierchen, das sich ins Haus verirrte, in ein Glas gepackt und vorsichtig nach draußen getragen. Doch jetzt ist ihr die Tierliebe vergangen, sie rückt mit einem Industriestaubsauger gegen die Käfer-Invasion vor.
Eine Käfer-Invasion im Haus von Kerstin (61) und Hans Neidlein (66)
Foto: Privat
Sie haben kräftige Beine, sind sehr schnell
Nur: Wo kommen die Eindringlinge so plötzlich her? Offenbar von den umliegenden Feldern. Denn bei den Tierchen handelt es sich um Pseudoophonus rufipes, den Behaarten Erdbeersamenlaufkäfer. Ein Schädling, der sich von Erdbeersamen ernährt und schon mal eine Jahresernte ruinieren kann, schreibt das Institut für Schädlingskunde in Reinheim (Hessen). Der Käfer ist mattschwarz, 11 bis 17 Millimeter lang, kann fliegen und dank seiner kräftigen Beinchen schnell laufen. Und er wird von Licht magisch angezogen! Im Morgengrauen verlassen die Käfer die Häuser meist wieder und verziehen sich auf die Felder. Bis der Abend hereinbricht ...
Kein Mitleid mit den Käfern kennt Rentner Hartmut Martini (75). Er kehrt die toten Käfer aus seinem Vorratskeller
Foto: Marcus Scheidel/MAS Bildagentur
Nacht für Nacht kämpfen die Hirschfelder gegen die Invasoren. Mit Insektenspray, Dichtmasse, engmaschigen Gaze-Gittern und selbst gebauten Fallen.
Zu gewinnen ist der Kampf gegen die Käfer aber nicht. Erst im Herbst, wenn es kälter wird, verkriecht sich Pseudoophonus rufipes im Erdboden. Zum Überwintern, um im nächsten Jahr erneut vorbeizuschauen.
This semester, I am teaching Creativity once again. I always open the class with days-long discussions of the students’ school experiences. This helps them critique any assumptions they might hold about themselves, and by extension, their definition of creativity.
I employ freehand writing exercises in every class: students get a vague prompt, then have to write longhand for five minutes straight—no worries about grammar, punctuation, coherence, or flow. As long as they don’t stop writing, they get full credit.
The exercise helps them share thoughts they don’t want to say out loud, and also pushes out the mental cobwebs that might be standing in the way of their productivity. The students were understandably cautious in our first few exercises: they told stories about their friends, vacations, high school hijinks.
Our most recent prompt was: “But…” There was a variety of responses from my 76 students, but quite a number had the same story pouring out.
“But why doesn’t my work look like theirs?”
Some students wanted to give up drawing because no matter how hard they tried to imitate the illustrations they had seen online, their work just didn’t look the same. Others wanted to give up writing because their work didn’t sound right. And still others threatened to give up dancing, because try as they might to follow online choreographies, they just looked awkward.
Most asked the general question: “But what if I’m not good enough?”
The dance issue came up again after one of my belly dance classes. Some students stayed behind to follow an online video, but kept on groaning when they couldn’t get themselves to look like the dancer online.
“Ma’am!” one wailed. “How do I get my butt to move in circles like she does?”
I had to hold back a laugh as my students tried to draw letters with their bottoms. When they showed me the move, that was when I realized: there were no muscles in one’s hindquarters to support it; the muscles are on the side and up front.
I taught them the technique, which involves all the elements of belly dance posture, plus the right distribution of weight and the right muscles to access. The engine to drive the move wasn’t in the most obvious place; it was in the background, where people didn’t know to look unless they had dance training.
That, and more, is the engine that powers the creative process. It’s not just the shape that makes the dance, but the carriage, muscle control, body awareness, and stage presence. In illustration, it’s not just the shapes that make the image, but the weight of one’s hand, the strokes, perceptions of space and dimensionality, and one’s own style. In writing, it’s not just the words strung together, but flow, grammar, syntax, and the ability to take one’s experience and knowledge to create a piece that is uniquely one’s own.
Beyond these, an even larger engine: years performing onstage, or rough sketching, or writing drafts that never make it past the final edit.
And still, beyond these, the largest engine: years spent in workshops and classes to perfect form and sharpen style; to have a mentor to both correct and counsel; to have access to multiple lessons that allow students to see the many facets of the world that they can interlace to create work that doesn’t just show, but speaks.
The students didn’t need more practice. They had to recognize that they had to stop imitating; they had to acknowledge that they needed a teacher.
We often speak of lifelong learning as encouraging people to keep asking questions because their school lessons will never encapsulate the fluidity of knowledge.
It is also this: ensuring that learners know when they need an actual human being, rather than relying on disembodied tutorials or condensed resources—to consult with and mentor them. This goes for all fields of study and practice, whether one wants to design better or learn more about a science issue.
This hunger for learning requires acknowledgment that one’s skills always need sharpening. Perhaps one solution, if well implemented, could be allowing students to learn beyond their specializations.
They’re often called core subjects: writing, public speaking, philosophy, theology, history, psychology, sociology, basic math and science, foreign languages, and physical education (PE).
Writing helps students express themselves coherently; it also organizes their thinking. Philosophy helps them examine the world critically while exploring diverse ways to understand issues. PE gives them options to stay fit and heightens their awareness of their bodies’ place in space.
In widening students’ options for knowledge, perhaps they might see how broad the world is and how much they still do not know. Such classes would not drive them to despair. Instead, students might admit, and without reservation, when their current skills need more than imitation, assumptions, and isolation to sharpen.
And by then, perhaps they can make the jump from “I’m just not good enough” to “Not yet; but with the right mentor, soon.”
I start with venison. According to French chef Jean-Claude Bourgueil (2 Michelin stars) Germany has the world’s best venison, due to strong qualification requirements for hunters who also care for the animals in wintertime. In historic times, venison was reserved for nobility, today it is still a food for special occasions and holidays. The finest (and most expensive) venison comes from the roe deer.
Roe deer with juniper sauce
Then, fish. Somehow, foreign tourists overlook how much fish is eaten in Germany - partly because they are gravitating to Bavaria which is pretty far from the North Sea and the Baltic sea. Here a few German fish dishes:
Büsum-style shrimp bread
Matjes Hausfrauenart (marinated raw herring with cream, onions and apples), here served with fried potatoes
Brathering (fried herring), pickled
Hamburger Aalsuppe (eel soup), tastes like liquid smoke
Pike-perch
Dover-sole rolls
Plaice, Finkenwerder style (with bacon):
Some more dishes:
Leipziger Allerlei: mixed vegetables with crayfish, a very traditional dish
Königsberger Klopse (meatballs with capers), hugely popular in Germany
Or stews? Germans love stews, but I doubt that many tourists try them.
Barley stew
Lentil stew
Grünkohl (kale), missed by most tourists because it is a winter dish
