Ex-pat Newlyweds

I’ve inadvertently taken a sabbatical from the blog over January. I’m back. We didn’t blog about Canada — we saw so many of you there! But it was a lovely trip and I’m really touched by how many of our friends back home stay tuned to our adventures via our blog. Thank you!

I promise I’ll be better about it — besides, we have upcoming adventures to share.

But first, a few words on winter.

Another weeklong parking spot is found.

I had a herb garden once...

Germany is in crisis. The country is suffering its longest snowy period in more than 30 years. Even as I look out the window right now, snowflakes are flurrying around Arkonaplatz, being pushed around by the wind into a dizzying fall down to the ground. Some cars haven’t moved since December. My bike — oh! My bike! — I barely remember what it looks like (that’s an exaggeration … I could never forget that lovable scamp). You get the point.

It’s the kind of winter that makes you want to start every weather story with “In Soviet times…”

In not-so Soviet times, the Berlin Cathedral, the Spree Canal and the TV Tower barely showing through.

Much like Vancouver, snow scares people here too. They stay inside, work from home and — as I said — leave their cars stationed wherever they happened to have been before the roads became a scene out of Canadian b-list film (or Fargo). But, after getting over their initial shock, Berliners realised this used to be winter every year from them, and they’ve embraced it.

Among those Berliners, two Canadians made their way out to the Wannsee in the western-most limits to the city and skidded around the ice.

Josh skidding over the Wannsee.

Boats frozen into place have a rougher time with winter than the cars do.

Like most Canadian kids, Josh spent a good deal of his childhood at the hockey rink. On the farm, we had a dug out as our water source, and when it froze over in the winter, it made the perfect skating rink. My dad would get the smallest tractor on the farm and would push it all off, making way for our little blades to hit the ice when it warmed up to -20 (Celsius). I remember my brother learning to skate on the dugout, pushing a chair around until he was brave enough to go at it for himself. I remember the year that — despite it being the smallest tractor we owned — the ice just wasn’t thick enough in this one spot to support its weight, and the back wheel went crashing through.

It got towed out, no one went swimming and we kids were disappointed to learn we had to wait another two weeks for our own private skating rink to open up.

To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I hit that ice, or even the last pair of skates I owned, but that’s all changed.

After that day, we both wanted nothing more than to glide across that lake, instead of shuffling over it.

So we did it — we bought skates. And the following Sunday, we went back to the Wannsee to find it completely covered in snow. Bummer.

As Josh pouted, I pushed him onto the ice. Some German kids were playing hockey —YES! Hockey! — and had brought some shovels. Josh and I borrowed them, and expanded on a little loop already dug out. We pushed snow to make a ring, and families started to gather and push their own kids on mini blades out on to our little ring. We took turns shovelling, dusting and clearing. We stopped for little scuffers to go by. An hour later, we dropped the shovels, straightened our backs and admired our work as we skated through the “little loop” and onto “the rainbow” as the kids skating around us named it.And yes, the parents thanked us.

To be honest, all the shoveling tuckered us out a little. By the time 4:00 rolled around, we decided we had enough for the day and we plunked ourselves in the snow and made our feet get used to the sensation of being back in a shoe.

Now we just have to hope this weather sticks around long enough for us to be able to do it again.

Sabine takes a turn around the little rink in the snow.

A year ago this time, Josh and I had just got the keys to our apartment on the park. It was a massive victory, with the countdown to Christmas putting a lot of pressure on us to find something and find something quick. Those of you who have seen our place know that we were fortunate enough to not have to sacrifice our standard of living because of time constraints.

It’s safe to say we’ve fully settled in here. All of our things have their place and we have our at-home routines and places that we’re most likely to be found. We know our area and discovered neighbours, both German and non. It feels like home.

Back in the day, because that’s how long ago it already feels, Josh and I figured 18 months would be a reasonable time for our adventure. Soon after arriving, we decided that two years was probably more likely.

But the something strange happened.

We weren’t on a working holiday. We were kidding ourselves when we said this was a working holiday. We’re living here, and simply taking advantages of Germany’s ample mandated holiday time while we’re at it.

Fact: Josh still has 13 vacation days left. Yes. That’s despite us going skiing in France in March, spending Easter in Budapest and travelling to Cologne three times. That’s despite us eating gelato in Italy for two weeks and paddling through lakes in Northern Germany over the summer. That’s despite jaunts to London, Denmark and Paris in the fall. That’s despite our return to London at the beginning of this month. It’s not like we didn’t try to use our holiday time.

Why would we put a time limit on this? It wasn’t until this fall that we felt like we had settled into our life here, with a circle of friends and a group of people we’re happy to include in our plans both in and out of Berlin. I’m not ready to call this our halfway mark.

So, basically, what I’m saying is, a year later, Josh and I still really love living here. There have definitely been times when its been hard to be away from our families, but we’re taking a good therapeutic trip back to the Canadian hinterlands for Christmas.

Now please start making offerings to St. Christopher (the patron saint of travellers) so that we don’t get stuck in an airport somewhere!

This morning in Vancouver, Opa passed away. Today marks the one year anniversary of our departure from Vancouver and never could I have imagined that I would lose both grandparents in the span of one year. Oma was sick already when we left and although we hoped to see her again, when we parted at their doorstep one year ago we said our goodbyes knowing that it might be our last. However we always assumed that on our next visit, Opa would be there.

Both were regulars here on our little blog. Opa did most of the typing and in his broken English passed on words that I now cherish. With gems such as, “I enjoyed your story of the Paris visit. You guys love to eat everything! I don’t have to ask how you are doing. Love Opa”, both Sabine and I looked forward to what comment would come next. And yes, we do love to eat everything (almost)!

Throughout our planning and our relocation Opa was always positive, always supportive and best of all always excited for us. This typified Opa throughout it seems. While Oma was sick, Opa was her rock. He was always there, always supportive and always strong no matter how much pain Oma was going through. Driving her around, helping her with the every day tasks that become difficult to do when you are so ill. He truly lived by the vows “’till death do us part” (although they probably sound a bit different in Dutch).

I suspect that in some ways his early days hardened him and forced him to be positive to survive. As a Dutch citizen and soldier living in Indonesia during World War II, he was interned in a Japanese POW camp in Nong Pladuk, Thailand near Kanchanaburi. Enslaved, starved and forced into hard labour by the Japanese, my Opa worked to build the now famous Thailand-Burma railway, aka The Death Railway. The railway was built from Bangkok, Thailand to Rangoon, Burma by the Japanese to support their efforts in Burma which they had invaded and taken over from the British. When I traveled to Thailand in 2000, I made it a point to stop there, visit the cemeteries, memorials and museums. I saw photos and reconstructions of the living conditions that they were forced into. I can’t describe what I saw and can only imagine that describing what actually happened is even more difficult. Suffice it to say, Opa survived unlike thousands of others that perished on that railway.

Despite his unfortunate past he somehow saw through it all, whether by choice or by necessity. What came out of his experiences was a man that was intelligent, resourceful, kind, generous and believe it or not, quite funny. His sense of humour is, in a way, renowned in my family. Quiet yet sly, he would always get a great quip in whether he knew it or not. Since English was his second language, I think part of it was that he didn’t realize how funny he actually was. Somehow that made it all the better.

It is with indescribable sadness that I say goodbye to my last living grandparent, Marius van Harte. Opa, you are my hero and we love you forever but know that you and Oma are together again, free of pain and looking over us. Farewell Opa.

We’ve recently moved our blog from Blogger to Wordpress, hence the frequently changing appearance as we figure things out. You can still find all of our stuff under www.joshandsabine.com — we just don’t want you to be confused by the changing looks!

Twenty years ago, Berlin’s streets were flooded with people celebrating. They were pushing, they were climbing, they were hugging and kissing, just because they were able to go see the other side of a city I now travel around quite freely.

Our little Berlin apartment is a mere 400 metres away from where the wall once stood. Our address would have been in East Berlin, near the divided city’s centre of Alexanderplatz. To get many places, we cross the border, now largely marked by a line of cobblestones in sidewalks and streets — a far cry from the dominating, 3.5-metre high concrete blocks that once divided neighbours.

Our neighbourhood, five years before the wall came down in 1984.

Twenty years ago, our vibrant neighbourhood would have been largely deserted. The people who lived in our space then might have just left it, making their way to West Berlin as fast as they could before the East German government decided to reverse their accidental decision to open the borders on November 9, 1989. The building would probably have been brown, dirty and might even have had scars left over from the Second World War.

Parking spots would have been sieged with Trabants, the East German car, as the air recovered from their fumes resulting on their fuel of gas and oil mixed together. Grocery store shelved would have been cleaned out of Moka FIx Gold coffee brand to make way for Coca Cola and issued bookshelves would be replaced by Billy.

Eventually, the abandoned apartments became filled with people looking for a free place to live, attracting a young and vibrant community, free to do what it liked with its low living cost. The lifestyle attracted others and the neighbourhood quickly gentrified.

Our neighbourhood today

Fast-forward to today, and who knows where the people are that once lived here, but I doubt any of my neighbours are once people who lived in East Berlin as adults. My apartment building has a sunny coat of paint, big balconies and Ikea-stylized kitchens. The only evidence of East Berlin is an appliance repair shop around the corner still specialising in the repair of East German brands.

Meanwhile, on a street just 400-metres from the Berlin Wall, 2.5 kilometres from where the first East Germans freely crossed into West Berlin, two Canadians in love live life with an appreciation for freedom that they never would have had if they stayed where they were.

It’s amazing what 20 years can do.