A German Affair

Reflection on a time passed. Sometimes you have to let memories go.

 

 

            As I woke up, warm in a blanket that just happens to be coated in my least favorite color, I rolled over to cuddle with a cat that has grown oddly fond of me. Forcing myself to get up and out of bed, I walked over to the doorway and switched on the light. Squinting, the cat and I looked at each other, tired. Yeah, I don’t want to be awake anymore than you do, I thought.

            Having showered the night before, I dressed in the pink collared shirt and jeans I set out previously. Everything already packed and set to go was unusual for me, and I sat in anticipation, staring at the mindless newscasters babbling on about the “bad news.”  Mom walked out in her cheetah robe and, seeing me sitting there already awake and dressed, gave me a puzzled look.

            “Are you all ready?” she asked me.

            “Yep! Everything is packed, and I have double checked my list twice to make sure that I am not forgetting anything,” I responded.

            She paused, still staring at me.

            “Okay… Let me get dressed, and I will make you something to eat,” she said as she walked away.

            When she walked back out in her jeans and short sleeve shirt, I explained that eating so early before a big day would make me nervous, which wouldn’t make me feel good, which would make me even more nervous… and so on. She smiled at me and gave me that look : the one that says that she knows exactly how you feel, because after years of raising you, she knows you better than you know yourself.

            After saying my goodbyes to everyone else, her and I piled into Jeepie and drove down to the airport in unbearable morning traffic, arriving earlier than we had thought we would. Instead of immediately checking in, we stood outside and spent our last twenty minutes together chatting in the cool morning air.

            As I checked in, I hugged her tightly, knowing I would miss her more later than I did at that moment. Watching her walk away and head back to the familiar life I know, I almost regretted leaving. Once I cleared security, I sat at Gate Nine, waiting to board my first flight of three to Germany. Turning to the novel Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife , I blurred through the rest of my day.

 

            The flights themselves lie in murky waters, and I can’t seem to differentiate one from another. After landing in Frankfurt, I mindlessly made my way through various terminals until I could pass through Customs, stamp my virgin passport, and retrieve my olive green luggage. From that point on, my grocery list of troubles began.

            They lost one of my bags, which had all my valuable things stuffed inside tightly like a girl stuffing her bra with tissue. While trying to exchange dollars for euros and find my train, each consecutive person was rude and unwilling to help me. Some even refused to speak English at this so-called “international airport.”  Unable to figure out their complex train system, due to America’s lack of a train system, I sat around wondering which train was mine. What should have taken me three hours instead took me five hours because I kept missing stops, due to more wasteful dreaming.

            As it began to downpour, I arrived at my train stop, (which I thought I had missed because of sleeping… again).  I sat outside and waited for my anonymous “buddy” from the University to come pick me up. But I must have left my lucky rabbit foot at home, because he did not show. I was forced to go through four taxi‘s before finding one that spoke English. Already stressed out, I couldn’t imagine what laid ahead for me.

            Though it should have been expected at that point, I discovered that trying to remember a fifteen letter street name (“something that starts with a B??”) and sound it out poorly does not get you anywhere. Therefore, I drove around in this poor man’s taxi for thirty minutes trying to find this unknown street where I was to live. Finally, I threw my hands up in the air, and asked the man to drive me back to the train station where I had spotted pay-phones.

            With the measly four coins in euros that I had,  I dialed home where I had left the street name on a post-it note on the refrigerator. As it rang, the pay-phone told me I had thirty seconds to talk.

            “Hello?” my mom answered.

            Hearing her voice was heaven to me. But instead of responding, I started hysterically crying.

            “Hi Mom,” I barely got out, “I need the…”

            “How is everything? Are you there already? What’s going on??”

            “Everything is good.”

            Lie.

            “Mom, I only have twenty more seconds to talk. I just need the street name of where I am supposed to live. I didn’t write it down,” I quickly responded.

            She gave me the street name, but I couldn’t even tell her I loved her or even say goodbye to her. There was a painful silence on the other side of the line.

            Walking back to the taxi, I handed him the paper with the street address. Finally knowing where I was supposed to be going for once, I turned and looked out the window, watching my tears stream down my face in my reflection.

            Finally arriving at my apartment, I paid the taxi driver and walked up the four steps to the front door, where I found a note addressed to me:

 

            Dear Chandra,

                        So glad you have finally arrived!! Please feel free to make your way down the street to 51 Brackenhausser so we can meet you and give you your key!!!

                       - -Rolf

 

            I left my things where they stood and wandered down the street. Though it had stopped raining, I was not lifted from my gloomy mood.  As I knocked on Rolf’s door, a very well dressed woman answered.  After explaining who I was, she introduced herself as Anne, Rolf’s wife… in English. Rolf then came from the other room and introduced himself as well. They told me that they were leaving for a dinner party soon; however, they politely made me a little food package to take back with me. All the essentials were packed for my well-being: one banana, bread and butter, orange juice and, of course, wine.

 

            When I had lugged my two suitcases up to the third floor of the small building, I took a look around. Very large bathroom with a claw foot tub. Small kitchen, but with all the necessary components. Two rooms for me and one for my roommate, who was home in Russia for another ten days. I set all my things next to the front door, made my way into what was supposed to be my bedroom, and sat on the bed. Without notice, I began crying again.

            Trying to calm down, I took a long bath, and then decided to try and sleep, thinking I was stressed out from the day and the long flights. What was ten in the evening there is only one in the afternoon in California. I ended up sleeping until one in the morning, and as I rolled over, I was wide awake. I began thinking about home, and how I so badly had wanted to speak to Mom longer.

            I got back up, got dressed in warm clothing, and walked down into the center of Lüneburg where I searched out five different pay-phones, only to find that each one required either euro coins (which I had no more of) or a pre-paid phone card. Disappointed I was unable to call home, I decided to head over to the university campus, where I had heard there was wireless internet. Again, one small problem prevented me from reaching home: a password. I headed back to the apartment, depressed, and crawled back into bed to try and sleep.

            I don’t quite know how to explain what happened to me next. I must have thought of everything bad or wrong imaginable, because I slowly began to feel antsy, followed by nervousness, and then sheer panic. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t talk to anyone from home, couldn’t access internet, hated the entire trip thus far… and then, as I laid on my back, I noticed my right arm beginning to go numb. Which led to thoughts of heart attacks, and dying in a strange country without anyone I love nearby. I tried to take deep breaths, but it did not work. I tried to think of something other than my arm, but that only led me back to thinking about home, which worried me more, which put me right back in place with a numb arm.  I talked myself out of leaving right then and there more times than I will ever remember. I had a nervous breakdown.

            It was then I realized that Germany was not for me. I was going to do whatever it took to leave before Sunday and Monday arrived with school activities.

 

            The next morning, I arrived at Rolf and Anne’s house around ten, just as they had asked me to do, in order to join them for breakfast. As sweet as they had been the night before, they kindly welcomed me in and listened as I explained to them over breakfast that I desperately needed to board the first flight back to the United States.

            Out of sympathy, they offered me food if I got hungry, a phone to make not only a call to the airport but also a call home to speak with my parents, and internet service to check email and try to change my flight online. After hours and hours of being on the phone, I finally changed my flight and went back inside. As they prepared for dinner, I went back to the apartment and took a short nap. The night ahead was going to be a long one.

            Over dinner, I answered all of their questions politely and, actually, the conversation was really nice and interesting.

            “Well can’t you just stay a couple weeks and then decide whether or not you like it here? There is so much to see before you decide!” Anne exclaimed.

            “From what I have passed by, I would love to see more. But I am afraid that, since school starts on Monday, once I begin the semester here, I will not be able to change my mind. If I decide a couple of weeks from now that I still don’t like it here, there is no chance that I would be refunded my five thousand dollars,” I replied.

            “Well I remember when I was your age, I traveled from Frankfurt to Paris and England for school and I was not upset, nor did I miss home that much,” Anne pointed out.

            “Yes darling, but you had been to all of these places before as a small child. For you, traveling to France was just a trip that you had been on many times already.  For her, she is by herself, on the other side of the world as her first time away from home,” Rolf said.

            “It’s not that it’s horrible here. I actually like the city a lot. But I don’t think it’s for me. Maybe if I had brought someone with me it would be easier, or even if I had thought to learn some German before heading over here, it would be a bit easier too,” I replied_.

            “Momma, Fragen Sie sie, wenn sie Winnie der Pooh haben, wo sie lebt!” their daughter Elizabeth asked.

            “Chandra, Lilly wants to know if you have Winnie the Pooh where you live in California,” Anne translated for me.

            I nodded, with big eyes, and pulled out my coloring book full of Disney characters for her to see. She smiled and pointed to her favorite character: Piglet. I tore out the page that I had color with Winnie the Pooh and Piglet on it and handed it to her. I showed their son, Robert, who is obsessed with car, a picture of my house with all ten cars in the front yard. His eyes also widened, and the smile on his face was enough for me. After dinner, I waved goodbye to them, hugged Anne and thanked her for all of her help and kindness, and followed Rolf out the door.

            I did not feel one hundred percent better as I left for the train station that night. My arm wasn’t numb anymore, though, so I did not need to worry about any heart attacks on my part. Rolf chatted with me as I waited for my train, probably to ensure that I got on the correct train (since I had explained to him the utter ridiculousness of my encounter with the train station). The short ride back to Hamburg was, again, stressful, seeing as how I got off at the wrong stop and had to again take a taxi.

            But finally, I arrived at Hamburg Airport. I parked my gigantic suitcase next to me, sat down, and dozed in and out between reading and sleeping, from somewhere around midnight until eight in the morning. Once again, I can’t remember anything from the time I boarded my first flight until I flew into Las Vegas, where I had at least an hour to sit down, eat, and relax. I have never been so happy to eat at a Burger King as I was that night.

            At eight in the evening, I called my parents from Las Vegas to let them know my flights were on time. As I waited at the last gate on my trip, I continued to read my book through that hour and the hour on the flight home. And when I saw old Jeepie pull up outside of the airport and watched Mom get out of the car, I have never felt so at peace with tears rolling down my face.