Ex-pat Newlyweds

I’ve found that there are always a few journeys that will always be close to my heart.

One is the gravel road that took me to the farm. You turn right and it’s straight through, my favourite part coming through the tiny little valley where my brother Andreas once fell out of the truck and we used to run down to catch the tadpoles in the pond. Up and down and you’re home.

I haven’t had that drive in years.

My other favourite little drive is the road between the little train station in Wahn to my Oma’s house in Zündorf on Wahner Strasse. It hasn’t changed in my 26 years of driving down it, at least not in my mind. It always meant the end of a long journey, to a second homecoming guaranteed to be met by a happy Oma with potato salad and würst. It’s tree lined with corn fields and bike paths. Whether it was a ride in my Opa’s old Audi with the sheep skin seat covers, or one of my uncle’s dangerous contraptions, I love the slight back-and-forth curving of the road, and what it does to my heart.

I have a new one. This is a Berlin one and it is not for cars. It’s the bike ride home from the movie theatre, and its incredible. It’s full of history and culture and stories.

The route.

I start at Potsdamer Platz — once the city centre, which made it an obvious target for the bombers and they blasted it flat into the ground. It then became part of no man’s land, with the wall running right through it, even underground on the rails. Trains that once travelled from one side to the other stopped and turned around to stay where they were.

Up the street, we go by a lit-up and eerie looking Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe; a solemn enough place by day, certainly haunted at night but it’s beautiful. I take a right at the Brandenburg Gates, making a point to go straight up the middle, once an entry way that was reserved strictly for nobility while the common folk had to go through the sides. I laugh at the lingering tourits, but its only so that I keep myself from yelling: “ISN’T MY CITY BEAUTIFUL! THIS IS JUST A PIECE OF IT! YOU HAVE NO IDEA!”

I peddle up Unter den Linden, with its tree-lined boulevard in place since the 1700s. I take a left just after Babelplatz, where the Nazi book burnings happened in 1933. Behind the palaces built for the crown princes of Prussia and past a wall riddled with Soviet bullets, between museums holding 3,000 years of human history to the foot bridge leading back to the mainland.

I don’t even know why I bother with a photo. Just come visit and see for yourself.

It’s here I like to stop and look at the gilded dome of the Berlin Cathedral in the night sky. Of course, a photo could never do it justice.

I go under the train tracks onto the promenade in front of the Hackeschermarkt, filled with restaurant tables, tourists drinking beer and people with — errrmmm — “special talents” looking for their next job.

Finally, I hit the uphill that takes me home, past the Zionskirche and finally rolling up to our front door.

It is the most surreal experience to come out of an everyday thing like the movie theatre, and transport yourself through so many years of history in this city to get home. If you live here, you should try it sometime. You’ll fall in love all over again, but then again, I don’t really know how you can fall out of love with this place.

I’ve turned the adventure into a travel story, which you can now find at The Local.

Click HERE to read all about it.

And if you can’t get enough of me, you can also click here!, here! and, oh, here! too.

My turn for a few photos. I won’t write any words, Sabine is better at that than I!

A city boy in wheat.

Wheat fields of Northern Germany.

A stroll along the old dirt road.

Our Peugeot did some off-roading to get to our little lunch spot.

The dock of our hotel at the Plauer See.

It was our first weekend in five weeks free of visitors. We don’t mind having everyone here — it’s been lovely to make new friends, better friendships and catch up with old ones, but it gets hard. We’re excellent hosts and part of that is being game for doing anything your guests want to.

I can do the tour with my eyes closed, timed out by number of paces or pedals on my bike. I can tell you who built the Holocaust Memorial (Peter Eisenman), when the Brandenburg Gates were built (1788) and the significance of the parking lot near the state representative offices (site of Hitler’s bunker). I will go out to the break of dawn or while away an afternoon shopping*.

But five weeks in a row of this is quite enough — so Josh and I took leave of our little inn and went north to the Mecklenburger Seenplatte on the border of the states of Brandenburg and Mecklenburg-Lower Pomerania or the Land of Ladybugs.

Really, they were everywhere.

We stayed in a little hotel next to the Plauer See that not only included breakfast, but also a bowling alley and a petting zoo — complete with baby goats! Yes, you know why I picked this place. We drove up Friday evening, enjoyed some fresh fish at a local restaurant and walked around the town with our ice cream dessert from the local hotspot — Janny’s Eis.

Baby goats!

Saturday’s rain led to a not-so-well thought-out drive to the city of Schwerin, where a difficult parking situation led to a drive-by of the castle and a game of mini-golf, which I lost.

Josh lining up a shot that probably put the ball in the hole two shots earlier than mine.
Nature!

Germany can be very un-PC. Also: Canoe translates to German phonetically: Kanu!

Kanu time!

Finally giving up on the city, Josh and I drove back to our little town to rent a canoe and zigzag across a river as we tried to figure out how to steer the paddle boat. We made it work and managed to fit our little adventure into the exact two hours that held no rain for the area. Success. Finished the day with a trip to the hotel’s bowling centre for three rounds… which I also lost.

Probably resulted in another gutter ball.

Sunday’s morning showed promise and we resolved to go to the biggest lake in the area, the Müritz See, for some Kayaking. For the last three years, Josh and I have made a point to go kayaking in deep cove in the summer. This was nothing like that — there were no seals or jelly fish but there were also no motor boats and between camp grounds, no signs of human life on the shores.

Water so still.
Over rougher seas.

We paddled over the Caarpsee, Woterfitzsee and Lepensee, each lake (see) connected by the most peaceful water you can imagine. We saw fish, loon, swan families and a hunting hawk. But what made this the German wilderness was that there were no places to pull up and enjoy a quiet picnic — the shores are guarded with reeds that keep paddlers out of the surrounding forests. However, where you can pull up your boat are German camp grounds (re: Car camping and small cottages) complete with an Imbiss where you can order a bratwurst in a bun.

German wilderness is just that: non-existent. Germans love coming to Canada to see the wilderness, to drive for hours without seeing a town while worrying if they have enough gas in the camper van to get to the next one. Yes, they actually find this thrilling and thousands flock to Vancouver or Calgary every year to do just that and explore the Rockies.

Germany has 237 people per square kilometre, while Canada has a mere 3.62 people per square kilometre. If you were to put Germany over Canada, our little European nation would cover a little more than half of Saskatchewan, yet has 80 times more the population than that province. You’re starting to get the picture of why “wilderness” is a term used generously here.

The weather held out as Josh and I paddled back up through what we called the bayous, deciding that we were definitely better kayakers than canoers. We ended our trip with an hour on the shore of the Müritzsee, reading books and eating apple turnovers.

Daydreaming by the lake.

Sweet treats. Not pictured here: multiple Speedos spotted.
You’re welcome for not posting those.

We came back to the city relaxed after a weekend of doing just what we wanted, recharged for the next round of visitors (they come Thursday!).

*Seriously though, if this is what you want to do, you’re welcome anytime.

I was the first one to legitimately use the line “When in Rome…” on our holiday. Josh was furious he missed his chance and gave me such a lovely one. I felt slightly bad that I took the line away from him, but I couldn’t pass it up. It was just too good. It was in response to his comment on my shoes: “Well, those are rather romanesque” (they’re not at all really), and my response would be fairly obvious to anyone in that conversation.

I said: “Well. When in Rome…”

Rome was the last leg of our almost two-week adventure of Italy. We had eaten our way through Tuscany, explored the little known land of Monte Argentario and it was back to city life for renaissance, religion and a big birthday.

The Trevi Fountain by Bernini.

The city is one of those that you see something amazing around ever corner. Over the course of our four days, we exhausted ourselves wandering through the old part of the city. Each trip out we discovered new (to us) pieces of marble chipped away by some great master of the craft.

St. Peter’s Square and the Basilica in the background.

One morning at the Vatican wandering old halls filled with mind-boggling art and while the sistine chapel was breathtaking, it was the three rooms painted by Raphael that took me by surprise.

The Belvedere Torso in the Vatican.

The Swiss Guard of the Vatican have to wear this unfortunate number. My theory: it makes the Pope look good.

Signs all along the stairs warn you that sliding down the stairs on your butt can happen anytime.

We wandered around the Pantheon, up the Spanish Steps and through winding streets, dodging scooters coming at every direction.

The Spanish steps.

One evening, we went to the little shop on the corner and picked up all the things we needed for a delicious antipasti meal. We wove through the city to find the greenest space we could find and settled to eat amongst marble statues in the grounds of the Villa Borghese. For dessert, we drank in the sun setting over Piazza del Popolo.

Josh “fills in” for the head of this unfortunate statue in the park of Villa Borghese.
Sabine with the spread.

Gelato was had every night and finding meals could be a battle but we always made it work. When you go to Rome, avoid anything that looks like a cafeteria near any of the major sites — they’re all just rip offs. Go a few blocks away — even if your hangry (being ripped off will just make you hangrier). It will be worth it.

The grand colosseum

Josh’s birthday started with a text message at 5 a.m. (thanks Jeff) and after more sleep, but his 30 years into perspective by seeing sites more than 2,000 years old: The Colosseum, Circus Maximus and countless other ancient sites, spilling over into our last day in Italy, where we wandered around Palatine Hill and meandered through the Forum.

The birthday boy was well documented. He really doesn’t look 30, does he?
He certainly doesn’t act 30…

snap!snap!snap!

The view of the forum. There is so. much. stuff.

Columns, columns everywhere.

I’m still not sure how I felt about Rome. It was incredible to see all this city that has contributed so much to the world around us today but at the same time, it was a massive, hot, sticky city. It was dusty and dry and so developed, no natural part of the land that was there before Rome seems to exist.

We climbed back onto the plane exhausted and glad to be heading home to the lush European city we call home now.

Note: I let Josh handle the photography for the most part on this part of the trip, so my pictures are only a limited capture of the holiday. I’ll make sure he posts more of his on here. As always, you can click on the photo for a bigger version.