Fifteen years ago, when faced with the decision of foreign languages to choose from in high school, I chose German. I don't recall exactly why I chose German over French, Russian, and Spanish, but it was probably because then, as now, I just liked the sound of the language. Throughout taking German levels 1, 2, and 4 (but not 3 for reasons I can't seem to recall), it was of course a foregone conclusion that I would travel to Germany at first opportunity.
And travel I did, to countries whose inhabitants speak Spanish, Italian, French, Spanish, more Spanish, and also Spanish. But all good things to those who wait...that is, wait for friends to move to Germany and convince you that now's as good a time as any to just book the tickets and make the trip.
Lynn and I landed in Frankfurt on a sunny afternoon, and the adventure began immediately. We were to make our way by train to the small western town of Kusel, where a friend has been living for a couple years. Nervous about speaking a language among natives that I haven't studied in over a decade, fears were abated when I experienced once again that people are people everywhere. The gentleman behind the ticket counter at the train station helped us get our route down (Kusel is not exactly on the beaten path), and even found a way to save us some money be making certain connections. Helpful folks on the trains pointed us to the right platforms when we had to make those connections. And so we went gliding through the countryside, generally aware of where we were going and marginally sure of when we'd get there.
 |
| Kusel |
"Odd that they'd play the Beatles, no?" mused Lynn the American upon hearing British music in the French restaurant of the German town over her plate of Austrian wienerschnitzel.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment