the most important trip: home

It would be fairly impossible to describe even a small percentage of my thoughts and experiences since the beginning of February. Now in late March I find myself back in Europe and finally on vacation. Let me repeat:

I.
Officially.
Survived.
My.
First.
Semester.
In.
Berlin.

Wie geil / how sweet!!

With a breath of fresh air, a little dose of freedom, and a calm feeling of accomplishment, I can barely contain my excitement at the destinations that lay ahead of me. 

In the next three weeks before my summer semester gets rolling (for better or for worse), I shall do the following: accompany Robert to Breslau, take him on a belated-birthday-celebration trip to Prague, return to Berlin for three days, fly from Berlin to Istanbul to stop in on the adventurous Jessica Weaver, leave from there to Zürich to check in on our great aunt Lisie Weihmayer, train through the Black Forest to my father’s birthtown of Saarbrücken to see family friends, and finally travel south a little bit to Karlsruhe, where Robert will join me to celebrate Easter with his mother, cousins and brothers. Some time after that I shall take a five-hour train ride back to the illustrious city of Berlin, and assuming I will not have fainted of exhaustion before I get there, I fully intend on attending the first sessions of my second-semester courses, whichever courses those end up being. At some point in between all of that I hope to brush up on some of the German that I’ve lost from all that English I’ve been speaking. Perhaps I shall get the chance to do a little spring cleaning in my apartment in Berlin; upon returning from Boston I realized with dismay that a thick coating of dust covered just about every surface in my room… And of course I gladly transition into vacation mode: camera always close at hand, journal in my mini-tourist backpack, a couple of guide books, a couple of READING-FOR-FUN books (who would have thought!), and many people to correspond with; it feels so wonderful to keep in touch.

(Beacon Hill, Boston)

Going home for a month was all about slowing life down long enough to appreciate the things that matter: courageously strong family, and ever-supporting friends. On a day-to-day basis that broke down to running errands with my mother, heating up macaroni and cheese and chilling in the living room with my father, calling my sister and talking for a long while after all the phone tag, and skyping with Robert from Poland. Sitting in the kitchen, enjoying some of the fancy new appliances, and going outside only to feed the birds once in a while… Somehow I managed to complete not one but two long research papers over the course of the month. I cannot say that I went about writing them with any sort of efficiency; my parents can attest to the fact that I am a supremely talented procrastinator. But when my Mom used her Harvard connections (via a medical library ID) to find me four good sources on Immigration in Germany I really could not hold it off any longer.

Erika came home for her spring break, and suddenly a quiet house had life in it again. Despite the fact that Erika came down with a furious cold, we went on a mini-roadtrip first to Brown to stay with Erika’s closest high school friend (incidentally she is named EriCa, as in Erika but with a C), and then I went on to Wesleyan to visit our dear cousin Frazer, who is already a sophomore (I cannot believe it) and who could not have found a better fit in a college. Erika unfortunately left early so that she could sleep, and I made it home safely in a snowstorm driving around 50 mph on the mass pike.

In comparison to Berlin, we had incredible amounts of sunshine. I had forgotten how beautiful the winters in New England are: a few days of whiteness but so much blue sky. Snow and variable weather sporadically messed with our travel plans though, and as my mother often says, our street has THE most snow in all of Boston. The following weekend my mother decided that the safest way to get Erika home would be to drive her to Montreal on Saturday afternoon rather than risk having her drive in a snowstorm that Monday. So we went, the three of us blasting Les Miserable from the tape deck (haven’t pulled out any tapes in a while). We arrived at around 9 pm, and after dropping Soleil and Erika off at Erika’s apartment, my mother and I were thrown into what turned out to be a Winter carnival, called the “White Nights Festival”. There were people all over old Montreal. The temperature could not have been over 10 degrees, and yet people came out for galleries, for restaurants, for street performances, for ice skating. We ate dinner at a French-Quebecois restaurant at around 10:30 , and then visited a few interesting galleries before going to bed. In the morning we went straight to La Gascogne for fabulously buttery croissants. We went from there to my grandmother’s nursing home, where we spent a few hours reading and walking around. Two family friends of ours, Donna and Peter who live just outside of Toronto, surprised us by coming to visit Bubby (my grandmother) just at the same time we did. We met their beautiful dog and heard some amazing stories about Peter’s swimming days. And then my mother and I simply drove back home. For a less-than-24-hour trip, we definitely packed a lot in.

(Peter, my mother, and Donna in Montreal)

Once my father finished his treatments at Mass General Hospital, he grew stronger and looked healthier each day. I was particularly glad that he was at home; not only did he gave me invaluable company while writing my papers, but I cannot quite describe just how comfortable it was to simply be at home and around him. My mother was also able to take time off, and we really enjoyed the time that we spent together. With all this hectic moving around in my life right now, from Berlin to Chicago to Boston and back again, those moments at home are just more special than any far away adventures. And I cannot stress that enough.

The following weekend Maya visited me from Hampshire College for an evening and we went to the lovely Joe’s Family Diner for Two the next morning for cranberry pancakes and omelets. Jan toured Boston for a few days after his ambitious field trip to Mount Washington. When Jan and his friend Tobi arrived with no cell phone at the Logan Airport and no where to store there luggage, they realized that getting around Boston is not as easy as getting around Berlin. Jan repeatedly swore about the lack of lockers at the airport and the incompatible cell phone companies. 

But we made a great day of touring out of those first frustrations with “American Culture”. I picked them up at the airport (additional complaint from Jan: you can’t see ANYTHING in Boston without a car) and we essentially ate our way through Boston one delicious treat at a time: burritos in Central Square, rich hot chocolate at Burdick’s in Harvard Square, Cannoli’s and gelato at Mike’s Pastry in the North End, ridiculous amounts of stir-fry at Fire & Ice. 

(Jan watching his food being fried before his eyes, Fire & Ice, Cambridge)

But the beautiful sunny (and warm!) spring day made walking around possible and allowed us to (mostly) digest it all. It was fabulous for me to have a day to speak German again, and to get my fill (literally) of Boston before heading off again to other cities. 

Janna and I topped off this Boston eating experience with a greasy and horrendously cheap breakfast at Waltham’s second finest diner, Wilson’s, a few days later.

Already it was time to leave. Part of me regrets having to work so much on my papers while at home, but working from the kitchen table with my dad around and playing nice music really did feel like a nice balance. All I can really say is that I started missing my family as soon as they dropped me off at the airport. I hope that they are doing well without me.

(Sammi, Robert, Josee, Sandra)