no more backpacking

From Bologna to Koln was the easiest travelling I had done so far. It was as if the Italian train line had only given me trouble out of spite- punishing me for thinking that I could attempt to plan around it. I even met some Americans on the train; two girls from California, Albina and Sachi. I must have talked the entire trip, ecstatic to be in the presence of a fellow U.S. citizen. I got to Koln around 11 pm and was picked up by relatives who lived there, Klaus and Sabine. They took me into their home and allowed me to recover from my sickness, treating me in a way I had not been accustomed to over the past few weeks- so nicely, in fact, that I was almost taken off guard. A soft bed and a warm meal is something you learn to forget about whilst living out of a backpack.
Although I was sick for my stay with them, they did manage to take me to a museum in Bonn, a city about twenty minutes away from Koln. It was a museum dedicated to the History of post World War II Germany. I may not have been able to read all of the captions on the exhibits they had, but between Klaus and Sabine translating for me and my rudimentary knowledge of the Deutsch, I could decipher what most of and the rest could be understood from the artifacts. What was most memorable to me, beyond the pint-sized Volkswagens and the Pseudo-American ice cream bar, were the two sections of the Berlin wall they had. I had already been yelled at by an especially stern guard for touching an authentic Jeep left over by American Troops- although I’n my defense there was no fence nor barrier around the jeep leading anyone to believe that it was a hands-off” exhibit- so when I crept over to the giant piece of history I was especially wary to watch my step. The last thing I wanted was to trip and fall, taking the suspended artifact along with me.
I stared at it for a few minutes. While it was just a slab of concrete covered in graffiti, something I was used to given my limited time working in Flint, what it stood for amazed me. It was a symbol of hope- of freedom. I tried to imagine what it must have felt like to be living in East Germany; having a life threatened by a communist government and then one day being free. It was unfathomable. Like many times on this trip I realized the liberties I had taken for granted. I have never lived in fear of persecution for my beliefs or for speaking against the government- I have never lived where I was afraid of my own government. Not afraid that my tax dollars would be misspent, but afraid of death at their hands. I walked away several minutes later still thinking about it- as I write this I’m still thinking about it.
The fact that there are so many stories amazes me. Things like the Berlin Wall falling, things like the Spanish Inquisition, things like the invention of the radio antenna. These things happen all the time- possibly even every day. Sometimes I wonder if going into film is a bad idea, I worry that all the good stories have been told, that the universal creative pool which everyone draws from is on it’s last reserves. But then I go to a museum or read a history book, or even just look around me and I realize how foolish it is to think that.
When I got back I went directly to bed and then slept till noon the next day, thus giving me a safe amount of time to pack up and get ready for my flight to London, but not enough to go on any more ventures with Klaus and Sabine. It saddened me that I couldn’t do that, I really enjoyed my time with them and I could tell they wanted to show me more. But my ailment (nor the flight) would allow that, and I had to say good bye to my hosts.
I got onto the plane towards London and reflected on my experiences backpacking. It’s true, I wasn’t leaving Europe, but the fact that England is part of the continent is something that I feel like very few people acknowledge. I remembered flying into the Germany two and a half weeks earlier, jet-lagged and exhausted but ready for adventure. I remembered all the other backpackers I met. Eugene was now in Barcelona where he planned on getting a job as to refuel his backpacking expense account and Gordon was in the French Alps mountain biking. Sarah and Nathalie, two high school friends I had met in Bern, where no longer traveling together- apparently a tiff in the Swiss capital sent them on separate pathways. I remembered Sicily and the poor, misguided people who lived there. I remember only being able to rest knowing that, while they thought lesser of me, the scorching sun still beat down upon us equally. I was thinking about all of this when I boarded the plane.
“Welcome to British Airways” a cheery blonde flight attendant said
“It was good to hear English- real English” I thought. I stepped onto the aircraft and due to the effects of my ever-present sinus infection a deluge of blood was set loose from my nose. I hurried into the bathroom and was reminded of the Dr. Seuss Christmas story about the Grinch, because this room, like his heart, was definitely two-sizes too small. As I pushed tissues against my face, pinching the bridge of my nose trying anything to get the bleeding to stop the plane took off. By the time the bleeding had subsided we were already half way done with the short jaunt from Dusseldorf to London. I had been in Europe for two weeks and it pained me that I didn’t even get to say good-bye to the strange and wonderful place.