Leaving Home, Coming Home

26 May

Lynne dropped me off at Dulles Airport with plenty of time to spare. I checked in at Lufthansa, managed to negotiate my way through security, then settled down with Three Cups of Tea and a sandwich of Virginia smoked ham I had bought at Washington’s Dupont Circle Farmers Market. Good thing I had the sandwich—which was substantial—to sustain me through the next two meals of airline food.

The plane pulled away from the gate early and we arrived in Munich on time. This was fortunate, because the flight was thoroughly uncomfortable--anyone is uncomfortable sandwiched into a space not fit for a piece of salami. The bozo in front of me reclined his seat as we flew over New York City and left it that way until we crossed the Rhein, where we began descending for the landing in Munich. I contemplated upending dinner—swill deemed edible only at 30,000 feet—but decided I couldn’t pull it off without having it look intentional. The fact that Bozo was sitting in an exit door aisle and had four feet of leg room in front of him didn’t make it any easier to refrain from subversive acts. The portly guy next to me had appropriated the entire arm rest and poked me in the ribs a few times for good measure. I dread flying and I think I bought my Garmisch apartment just to give me somewhere to hang out in Germany so I don't have to fly so often.

After I regained my freedom and straightened myself from the pretzel-shaped contortion I had been molded into on the plane, I caught the S-Bahn and then the local train to Garmisch—all on time. The green hills that begin just outside of Munich whizzed by the windows. Starnberger See, one of the huge lakes in the Alps' northern foothills, sparkled sapphires in the early morning sun. Cattle, recently released from their winter quarters in barns, munched the sweet grass and flowers in the fields. Finally, the mountains appeared in the distance, growing larger and more imposing with each mile of track that the train devoured. The miniature huts, used for dispersing hay storage in fields as a precaution against losing the entire crop to fire, dotted the pastures.

Approaching Garmisch, the tall spire of the Alte Kirche pierced the horizon. This is the town's old church, built in the 13th Century and modernized in the 15th Century. Finally, the onion-shaped towers of St. Martin's, a Rococo gem, appeared. The train pulled into the station, I wrestled my luggage off the train, down the station's steps, and headed to Ludwigstrasse. At St. Sebastian's, the chapel dedicated to the memory of soldiers killed in the World Wars, I veered to the left. Then, finally, at 9 am in the morning, 15 hours after I locked my door and left home in Washington, I was home again in Garmisch.

In the Beginning

Gruess Gott!

In southern Germany and Austria, local people will greet you with these words. If you say "Gruess Gott" in return, you may not be local bred, but people will know you’re working on your qualifications! I’ve been working on mine since 1971, when I first set foot in Germany. On 2 September 1971, I arrived in Bavaria to spend my junior year at the University of Munich. I was smitten and spent 32 years scheming up ways to get back here on a permanent basis. Now I split my year between Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a small town in Bavaria's Alps about an hour south of Munich, and Washington, DC, a large town not far from the Chesapeake Bay. Both towns have distinctive flavors, special celebrations, and lots of good food, to say nothing about the beer and wine! So join me as I move through the year and let me introduce you to my two home towns! Food and culture are my main interests, so I’ll spend plenty of time on those topics, but there is so much else, that I’m sure I’ll range far afield.

Right now, I am in Garmisch. I migrated back here in late May, while the lilacs were still in bloom, huge puffs of them filling the morning air with sweet fragrance. The sky was clear and sunny, it was warm. That was for the first few days. Since then, it’s turned gray, clouds have shrouded the mountains, and rain has been a constant guest. And according to weather reports, it will remain with us for at least the next three weeks. What would Ben Franklin, with his proverb about guests and fish stinking after three days, have to say about our lingering weather? Despite the less-than-ideal weather, there’s plenty to do and see. . . .