Germany has a population in the neighbourhood of 85 million
people packed into a country which, land-wise, could fit into British Columbia
three times. Anyone who has ever travelled in British Columbia, or just to
different areas within Canada knows that where you are is different than where
you come from or where you have been before. What I am saying with that is that
Germany, as is Canada, can be a very different place depending on where you
are.
I grew up knowing that my German heritage was a big part of
my life but I never imagined that I would be sitting here age twenty-two living
in Germany, and at that, not really the Germany I grew up with – which was my
grandparents’ very small hometown in Western Germany – but in Berlin, the
symbol of both German unity and German disunity. In order to explain how I got
here, I need to recount a bit of experience, which started sort of when I was
eleven and visited Germany for the first time, but really when I came to Germany
for my first time alone when I was sixteen.
Sixteen in Koblenz. When I was sixteen I took part in an
organized exchange programme which first had my German host sister, Eva, come
and live with my family and me for three months, followed by me flying to
Germany – alone – to live with her family in Koblenz for two months. This was
my first “real” German experience. Koblenz, located at the
junction of the Rhein and Mosel Rivers in Western Germany, is a gorgeous small
city characterized by the intersecting rivers, a 2000 year history, and
beautiful castles lining the rivers in every direction. I spent two months
going to school, drinking beer on the river banks with new friends, visiting
the neighbouring castles, and learning next to no German. I was sixteen, it
wasn’t as important to me as Currywurst and beer. I am sure it is a bit of
nostalgia speaking, but to me, Koblenz has always felt like a bit of a fairy
tale town.
Flash forward two
years. I found myself taking part in a language immersion course in Kassel, a
grey, cement – read: industrial until it was bombed to pieces and rebuilt in
the 50s entirely of concrete - city smack in the middle of Germany, famous for
a giant statue of Hercules on the hills around the town, a modern art festival,
and a large Turkish population. I was living with a new host family, a lovely
couple in their 70s who spoke next to no word of English and yelled at me once
for using the wrong bathroom towel. Other than that, lovely people, had my Musli
and coffee on the table for me every morning before I went to class, hosted my
friends over for “Grilling” aka BBQing where the beer (Radeberger of course)
was plentiful, along with the shots of mystery Schnapps. This Germany could not
have been more different than Koblenz, which I also visited during my two month
stay in Kassel. There was German speaking, Doener Kebab eating, and concrete,
lots of ugly concrete buildings, which really reflected in the attitude of the
people.
In the late summer of 2009 I found myself on a plane again,
this time to Freiburg and this time for a year. Armed with my university
exchange acceptance and a scholarship to go with it, I landed in the small
medieval city on the border of both France and Switzerland. Despite being
bombed to the ground, the city rebuilt itself in its former glory (unlike some
aforementioned cities) - albeit with wider streets to allow the
Strassenbahn to run through it, but keeping its quaint charm of Fachwerkhaeuser
and the little streams (read: mini ditches) which ran along the streets
threatening (promising?) that if you fell into one of them, you would be doomed
(blessed?) to marry someone from the region. I found that more than any other
city I had been to, Freiburg had a deep sense of regional pride. The city
belongs to Baden, they speak their form of Baeddisch (dialect) which is all
very different from the neighbouring region of Wuerttemburg where they speak
(gasp) Schwaebbisch, which, legitimately, no soul not born there could ever
understand. Freiburg is known for its leftist political stance with hippies
roaming the streets with dreadlocks and bare feet. In a protest against the new
500euro/semester tuition fee though, the hippies took to the university with
all their power and occupied the largest lecture hall. For a month. Until
Christmas came when they all went home.
I suppose at this point a bit of a disclaimer is necessary.
While in Kassel I met a wonderful man (a Canadian on my programme). By the time
I made it to Freiburg he had made it to Berlin to study for a master’s and we
started dating in early 2010. This made it quite difficult to leave Freiburg
and I did so with the intention of finishing my own studies and coming back to
be with him.
So, nine months after
going back to Canada I was packing up (almost) all of my early belongings to
move to Berlin. Berlin is a city so far in kind and culture from any other city
in which I have spent significant amounts of time. As I said earlier, it is a
city where Germany’s unity and disunity meet; it is a city full of misfits,
outcasts, and expats joining the flourishing tech start up scene and running
from wherever they came from. It is a massive city with an even more massive
past. It is a city which encompasses the term: Vergangenheitsbewaeltigung,
literally: coming to terms with the past, a term coined in the post-war years
originally for Germans coming to terms with the Nazi past. Now, it can be seen
on every corner, east and west in this city. Look left and you see new growth,
a recent building, and a young couple with a child. Look right and you see
buildings falling down with remnants of bullets and shelling, a dark corner,
and an old man – homeless.
Berlin is nothing like Koblenz where I first experienced the
magical Rheinland. Berlin is nothing like Kassel, despite the common history
and large Turkish populations. Berlin is nothing like Freiburg, which was the
essence of quaint. Berlin is nothing like the little village where my
grandparents grew up, where I still find myself every few months for weddings
and funerals, where the people are still puttering along in a fashion I imagine
to be similar to the stories I heard in my childhood. But this is Germany.
Every corner of Germany has its history, its stories, its charm, and is little
like the next town down the street (especially if you ask the citizens of any
of those towns).
(Photos from Helen)