As soon as I graduated with my English degree last May, instead of jumping straight into an unpaid newspaper internship or a McDonalds kitchen (as I am sure most people expected), I committed myself to a summer of manual labor and saved every penny to afford an extended stay in Europe. I sold all of the clothes and worldly possessions that I could, and packed what remained into a 50-pound suitcase, a 25-pound backpack, and one hard-shell guitar case to take with me to the other side of the pond. Thanks to my impossibly generous, self-appointed Godfather who gifted me a flight to Frankfurt, Germany as a graduation gift, my savings will let me travel quite a bit farther through Europe in the coming year. So early in the morning on September 30th, my loving parents postponed their dayjobs to see their son off.

In the past, I have always flown direct from Charlotte, NC to Frankfurt, Germany via US Airways. However, this time around I arrived with Delta, an airline which fancies itself a major rival of US Air. I am not sure if Delta does direct flights from Charlotte to Germany, but as I was flying on frequent flyer points, I enjoyed the scenic route that included a six hour layover in Detroit. I know, six hours in the Detroit airport sounds inhumane. But in reality, the extra time afforded me a leisurely walk around the airport’s three terminals, with plenty of time to eat, drink, shop, and meet a handful of interesting travelers.

Traversing each mile-long terminal with my Guitar, ukulele, and backpack was made much easier by the elevated train system that ran the length of the airport. Having so much time to kill, I rode the trains back and forth for a while, strumming my ukulele to pass the time. Although I had not set out a hat or opened a case to show intention of wanting tip-money, a few people dropped coins and dollars in my lap anyway. After about a half hour though, I was asked to leave by two brutish TSA men, who apparently saw my tiny ukulele and recital of Somewhere Over the Rainbow as a threat to national security. Whatever. I had made enough money to buy a Gin and Tonic at the airport bar.

I arrived at my connecting flight’s gate with plenty of time to spare, and I broke out my guitar to practice some smooth fingerpicking patterns. Just like on the train, this did not seem to disturb any of the people at the gate–quite the contrary actually. All around me, I noticed headphones being removed and books intermittently getting put to the side. Many of these people were Germans returning home, and I was one last authentic American experience for them to enjoy. If TSA wanted to come heckle me about being a nuisance here, they would have a roomful of disappointed Germans to deal with
My flight from Detroit to Frankfurt had a strong tailwind and arrived in a quick seven and a half hours. I must say, the food on the Delta flight was noticeably tastier and included more courses than I recalled having on my last US Airways flight. My seat-partner was a kind old lady from the States who made great smalltalk with me whenever we weren’t both plugged into our little personal televisions. I had fully intended to get some sleep during the flight since we would be landing in Germany at 7:30am and I would need to be fit enough to figure out the German train system upon my arrival. Yet despite swallowing the Ambian I had smuggled through security, I barely got a wink of actual sleep. I did hiwever get to enjoy some interesting hallucinations as the illuminated No Smoking and Seatbelts On signs danced and transfigured themselves into various shapes in accordance to the music coming through my headphones. PRO TIP: DO NOT TAKE SLEEP AIDS ON PLANES. 

I just ended up watching all the summer blockbuster movies I had missed out on: Amazing Spiderman 2, XMen Days of Future Past, and Neighbors. The latter was by far the most entertaining, which annoyed some of my neighbors because I laugh startlingly loud when something spontaneously funny happens.

After landing in Germany, I glided through customs with my German passport, despite having left the states showing only my American one. As I have experienced before, this will startle, confuse, and generally disgruntle customs agents who check my passport later. I picked up my 50 pound suitcase at baggage claim and proceeded to lug it and the rest of my luggage to the buses outside the airport. The Frankfurt airport has two terminals, and while I landed in terminal 2, I needed to make my way by bus to terminal 1 where the train station was located. As you can see by the photo above, which is titled in German “Quick-Look-Train-Map,” the German train system can be overwhelming at first. I made an unnecessary trip to the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof before actually getting on the right train that would take me to Karlsruhe–the city where my mother was born. I did not mind the extra leg of the journey as it gave me time to stretch my legs and strike up a spontaneous friendship with a Romanian girl traveling to Germany to see her sister’s newborn baby. Kristina was her name, and she was tickled that half of my luggage for a long-term stay in Europe consisted of musical instruments. We were waiting for the same train, and when it arrived, we got a compartment all to ourselves. I asked if it would bother her if I played some music, and responded by taking out her phone to film me doing so (see below).

 

Guitar in hand, I feared the worst of consequences when the uniformed German official came around to check tickets. But to my surprise, the stern looking woman let a smile slip out and actually lingered a few minutes to sing along to Hallelujah. Kristina and I parted ways when we both changed trains in Mannheim, and we did so with two very European kisses on each cheek.

I jumped on the next train with urgency when it pulled up, having seen how quickly the others came and went before it. However, I did not realize that I had gotten on a first class compartment–though admittedly, I knew something had to give when I had four seats and a table all to myself. The ticket man came around and made quite a scene of my intrusion into higher society, and I was practically herded out the tiny door connecting to the next car with my awkwardly heavy luggage. During this urgent transition, the handle of my 50 pound suitcase broke (I include the weight each time I mention this suitcase because it had no wheels, and believe you me, I felt every one of those 50 pounds in my arm by the time I arrived at my final destination). I dragged the suitcase by its broken handle through an impossibly narrow hallway, which emerged into the food cart. I looked at the obstacle course of tables, chairs, people, and luggage and decided it was not worth the effort to even attempt traversing. I sat down at the table and was informed by yet another stern looking German that I had to order something or move along. The coke, which I ordered with an undisguised sigh, cost me a whopping 5 Euros. I just took it on the chin and wrote off as a seat reservation cost. Another half hour on the train brought me right into Karlsruhe Hauptbahnhof, where my grandparents were waiting with big smiles and fresh pretzels for me. Another half hour car ride brought us into the little village of Au am Rhein, where the population of barely 3,000 makes my small college town of Boone seem like a metropolis.

So now here I am! After two long years, I am finally back in beautiful, bountiful Germany with nothing but a pocket-full of Euros and a head full of wanderlust.