I loved Germany before
my plane had even landed in Munich. If
I’m allowed to say it, I’ll admit to identifying much more closely with Germany
than I have after two full months with Spain.
Maybe it’s because I look German.
Maybe it’s because Germany is the most stable country in Europe—and even
emits vibes of security and confidence. Maybe
it’s because “goodbye” in German sounds exactly like cheers! and when the stewardess said this to me as I was departing
the plane I was able to take it as such a pleasant salutation and return the
gesture, unknowingly speaking my first words of the German language.
Or maybe it’s
because—again, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say it—Germany strikingly
resembles Ohio… at least the best parts I know of Ohio. Walking along the river in Cologne, for
example, brought Cincinnati straight to my mind. Granted, this was walking towards the bridge and therefore the
towering, beautiful, very-German-looking and world-famous cathedral was still
obstructed from view, but still.
My dad’s side of the
family is the German side, and he recounted feeling immediately at home when he
was in Germany years (and years and years) ago.
Apparently, the same thing happened to my mom, who comes from Italian
roots, when she went to Italy. I can
recognize a having a similar experience in Germany: I so naturally and
instantaneously felt comfortable.
I was under strict and
persistent advice from said German father to make sure I visited said
world-famous cathedral, so Dad, this picture is for you to prove I was actually
there:
You’ll be further
impressed to find out I actually attended a mass there. Yes, the church is stunningly beautiful, but
honestly, the tall gothic pillars don’t give it quite a homey-enough
feeling. This is perhaps appropriate for
a Catholic mass, but I’ll say it was a little unnerving, with utmost respect
and awe, of course.
So the half marathon…
went well! I didn’t finish in my best
time, but it was still good enough to, unbeknownst to me since I do not speak
German, get announced by the MC at the race as I crossed the finish line. Not to mention that it was great to get out
and into a race after a month and a half abroad in another country.
Even after all my
other mishaps at the gym with the metric system, it didn’t occur to me until
the Friday night before the race that it would be counted down in kilometers
instead of miles—21 signs to pass instead of 13. I did have to stop halfway through to use a
port-a-potty, which has only happened to me during one other half marathon race
and at which all my fellow Running Clubbers will laugh appreciatively, but if I
subtract the time it took me to wait in line to use the bathroom, I’m a lot
closer to my personal best time. This
spring, my next half marathon with Running Club in March can be the
tie-breaker.
I had heard that at
the races in Germany you cross the finish line and are immediately handed a
beer because… well, because it’s Germany.
Verdict: it’s true. There was no
water in sight at the finish line, just beer and Coke. And tons of food. I was feeling pretty bad by this time and
skipped all the food and drinks to find my warm clothes, and pretty quickly
found myself on a quest for water.
Eventually, this was located, along with my group: Tindi and Jochen,
Tindi’s mom, and one of Tindi’s other friends who had also been running. They wrapped me up in Tindi’s coat and we
headed back to her mom’s house to recover.
It wasn’t until I was in a steaming shower, where I didn’t have to hold
the shower head myself or turn off the water in between washing my hair and
washing my body like I do in Spain, that I remembered how sweet the
post-half-marathon reward is. This was
considerably extended with Mrs. Abt’s home-cooked German lunch: meatballs and
capers with rice and salad.
So I had home-cooked
German food while in Germany. What else
is cool there?
1) They don’t
have a speed limit on the highways except where absolutely necessary.
2) Everyone
speaks English; therefore, I had no problems with not actually speaking German
and not having an English-German (or Spanish-German) dictionary.
3) The Haribo
gummy candy comes in an assortment… supposedly this assortment is as hard to
find in the US as peanut butter is to find in Europe. You can imagine how important I felt getting
to try it.
4) You can
see the Alps from one of the look-out church towers in downtown Munich. I won’t dwell on the fact that when I climbed
the ___ stairs to the top of the church, it was too rainy and cloudy to
actually see them.
5) It’s
actually fall in Germany, in sharp contrast to southern Spain. The autumn colors are dramatic and vibrant,
the rain is luxurious, and there’s real grass.
6) I got to
take a train to the airport. Why are
these so hard to find in America?
Speaking of the
airport. My next adventure came Monday
night when I flew back into Madrid from Munich.
My plane landed at 7:45pm at the northern end of the city and my bus
back to Granada left at 8:30 sharp at the southern end. I knew I’d be cutting it close, and I had a
map of the metro system already studied and ready to use, and alas, I missed
the bus. The next one back to Granada
left at 2am… it’s a 5-hour bus ride, so arriving in Granada at 7am would give
me just enough time to shower and make it to my 10:30 class. Check.
Lockers in the bus station so I could lock up my luggage until the later
bus left? Check. Plans for the next 4 hours so I wouldn’t have
to wander around Madrid by myself…
Question mark.
I called a friend from
my program here in Granada and he passed along the number of a friend he knew
in Madrid. For never having even heard
of me before, this friend of a friend was fortunately willing to offer his apartment
and keep me company until my next bus left.
It ended up being a really fun night.
Then I successfully slept a few hours on the bus in the middle of the
night, caught another REM cycle before class Tuesday morning, and had a full
productive day back in Granada.
Now, I’m back in the
swing of things here. I’m back on the
running trail, and this time the surrounding Sierra Nevadas are starting to
accumulate snow on the tips of their peaks.
Today, I hiked in these same Sierra Nevadas with a group of Spaniards
from Granada with a passion for hiking a desire to share that passion with
anyone that can get themselves up early enough on a Sunday morning to join
them.
Furthermore, I’ve been
back to my spinning classes at the gym, I finally Skyped my brother, and I made
it out until 6 in the morning last weekend.
In just under 2 weeks I’ll have my first round of midterms for my Spain
classes, and by the time that happens I’ll have been to Italy and back.
I think that could
call for a toast. While the Germans
spell it tschüss, I’ll go ahead and keep pronouncing/using it as cheers!
Shout-outs:
Dylan and Mr.
Jennings, muchas gracias for the open
door, warm hearts, and complimentary pizza and beer. All three of these were exactly what I needed
and these kind gentlemen generously greeted me as their guest after just a
moment’s notice when Justin called Dylan out of the blue.
Therefore, the next
thanks go to Justin, for being so damn popular that he has friends in every
major city in Spain. Justin got me a
place to stay Wednesday night in a Madrid with a friend he knew had an
apartment while she’s studying here, and then again got me a place to hang out
the following Monday night (with the Jennings’s) while I waited for my second
bus going back to Granada.
Which means Emma is
next in line for an enthusiastic thank you, for so kindly hosting me Wednesday
night in Madrid before I caught my plane Thursday morning. Emma, your bathroom is certainly janky, but I
appreciated it just as much as I appreciated the lentils and broccoli for
breakfast the next morning.
As I’ve already said
but have no hesitation to reiterate: friends and family here in Spain,
northeast in Germany, and back across the ocean in the States, “thanks” does
not even begin to cover the sentiment I feel when I think of the support you’ve
given these past few months. Every “good
luck”, “you got it”, “come on Kate (insert
accent of choice)”, and “that’s badass” never went unnoticed nor forgotten.
Mr. and Mrs. Abt, who
selflessly hosted their daughter’s friend from America throughout the weekend
of the race in Siegen, Germany, are owed a gracious round of applause: the
large smiles, stories, and home-cooked German and Indonesian food were the
toppings on the sundae—or perhaps more appropriately for me, the spinach salad
to all my meals here in Spain.
And of course, thanks
to Tindi and Jochen for making my weekend in Germany so memorable. I was treated like a royal guest in the
humble abode of the bride and groom to-be, and even though they might have been
sick of drawing out the same map of downtown Munich for me over and over so I
could find the sites of interest with a Kessler sense of direction, their
engineer-brains couldn’t have given better directions if there had actually
been a computer in there. I can’t wait
to (hopefully) find everything once and for all WHEN I come back to Germany.
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