Wherein I see glimpses of America in Germany…

It felt a bit like stepping back in time, waiting anxiously at the Weimar train station (built in 1846) for my older sister to turn round the corner and appear from the upstairs platforms, knowing only her time of arrival (7:00pm) and city of departure (Warsaw), unable to receive a play-by-play update of her travel status via SMS, as we learned from our father’s great example, whose emails to his daughters during his own travels are frequent enough to substitute GPS tracking. (Think instead of the “Find My iPhone” app something more like “Find My Verbose Father.”)

(If you’re reading this, Dad, I love you. <3)

With every wave of passengers that washed passed me, the hypothetical questions in my brain increased. I had yet to see her.

Where could she be? Did she miss her train? Has it been delayed? How long should I wait for her before I’m allowed to full out panic?

“Oh!” I thought. “That old granny coming down the way looks like she could be from Poland. She’s wearing a floral scarf around her head…?” (Which is of course not an accurate indicator of being Polish.)

With nothing better to calm my nerves, I situated myself next to the McDonald’s and took out my knitting.

Several rows of knitting and purling later, I looked up, and there she was. A petite woman slowly transporting a small caravan of luggage, most of which had been inflicted on her by her own saintliness. This martyr of a 10-hour international flight and another 10 hours on trains (interrupted by transfers) had within her parcels such precious goods as canned pumpkin, Jiffy’s cornbread mix, Mexican spice mix, and honest-to-goodness American peanut butter.

Amen.

. . .

After being thoroughly mothered and spoiled by my sister for a week, the two of us got on a train north.

Hype about the latest movie in the “Hunger Games” trilogy, “Catching Fire,” had been dominating my news feed by the time I arrived in Berlin for the first time.  Since the start of my sojourn in Germany, there’d been a similar amount of hype about the national capital – a “must see,” a city unlike any other in the country.

Despite the admirable efforts of the German movie-dubbing industry (apparently the German dude who provides the voiceover for Brad Pitt gets paid quite the healthy sum), we saw the movie in English. And it did not disappoint. It was one of those movies where you sit back until the credits have finished rolling (and looked for staff listed that might have a name even remotely close to your own – or am I the only one who does that?), everyone else has left the theater, the lights are back on, and scenes from the movie are still replaying in your brain.

It was as if I also saw the city itself “in English.” Everywhere you go – on the subway, on the streets, in cafes – there are people speaking English. Not tourists, with their telltale gaping-mouthed expressions of “I’m lost,” but residents sipping lattes with their German shepherds at their feet. Sitting in the U-Bahn I might as well have been riding the Tube in London.

It was as if some freak tornado had picked up me and Toto and dropped us off in New York City. We were surrounded by not only English, but also Spanish, Italian, Russian, you name it. Thai cuisine on the first night was followed by Japanese the next. The grand finale was kim-chi dumplings pan fried by my dear, dear sister, who sent me home with udon, soba, and Sriracha.

Another high point:  Waving at the US Embassy (the building, though inanimate) and staring longingly at “American soil.”

True high point:  Sister pointing at bike stand and asking, “Does that sign mean ‘no horses allowed?’” No, sister, that is a store logo for Rossmann (something like a German Walgreen’s). But I kind of get the mental connection between “park your bike here” and “don’t park your horses here.”

But technically, sister, it looks more like a centaur.

 

. . .

The sadness of saying goodbye to my sister in Berlin was lessened by my being reunited with another member of my family the next weekend.

My Godsister, arriving in Münster an hour before me all the way from Vienna, was to meet me on my platform. No cell phone communication possible. No Godsister-to-Godsister GPS. No knitting to solve my problems.

Have you ever played “Where’s Waldo?”

Well, I got off the train. I looked left. I looked right. And I immediately spotted her bright pink hat and purple jacket.

“Jerilyn!” I yelled, heart racing and hair flying.

“Adrianna!” she yelled right back, neither of us caring much about decorum or stately train-platform behavior.

That’s some good ol’ American greeting and wrestler-strength hugging right there.

We then joined several other Americans in the CBYX program, and together we peeled potatoes, made cranberry sauce, and laid out a table setting fit for a king and his entire court (complete with floating candles). 

The day before I had put my canned pumpkin and cornbread mix to good use. It was my first time ever to make pumpkin pie, and I had to improvise a bit. Pre-made pie crust is not to be found in Germany (really, neither are pies in general), so I made it from scratch. Pie tins aren’t common either, and the closest thing I found in the store (a Torteform) was going to cost me €30, so I said no-thank-you and bought two cake pans on clearance, one in the shape of a heart and another in the shape of a slice of cake the size of my face. I wasn’t about to shell out €12 for a rolling pin, either, so I twisted off the cap of my water bottle (for which I had ironically paid $20 at my university’s bookstore).

In the end, there was no football game on the TV, and our families back home were sorely missed. But, every bite of that meal tasted like Real Thanksgiving. And my pies were genius.

If anyone wants to make a movie out of my life story, here are some suggested film titles:

Berlin & Münster:
The Girl on Fire (i.e. The Girl Not in Germany Anymore)
&
The Hunger Games (i.e. Thanksgiving)