The continued chronicle of a young American teenager living in Europe during the mid 1960′s.
We moved from Paris, France to Germany in the middle of a cold, rainy January. The holidays were behind us, the trip to Nice and the Mediterranean a lovely memory of Christmas with Americans, the long lavender fields of Provence and the smell of French perfume wafting through the air. Although the trip had been fraught with the knowledge we would be leaving for the US, we had learned of the change in orders when we returned home to our apartment on Boulevard Victor Hugo. We would be moving with all the NATO allies to Germany and not returning to the US as anticipated.
There was a flurry of contact with all my classmates. Where were they going? When were they leaving? We wrote notes between classes, stuffed into our lockers with phone numbers, addresses and contact requests. “Please be sure to remember me when you move.” We begged each other to send letters and addresses as soon as we knew where we were going. And then, one day a friend was missing from the bus, or another from a class. The lunch table emptied over the several weeks after our holiday break. Orders for the military called for families to pack and leave at a moments notice. Ours, as civilians, were almost the same. We would be moving to Stuttgart, Germany in a matter of days.
I returned from school to find my mother packing our belongings into the large suitcases purchased the previous June. This move would be just four of our family of five. My older brother was in England, attending the University of Manchester. My father returned from the NATO base with a file folder full of information about our new location. Orders to report in one weeks time left us little time to pack up, travel across the country, cross the border and find our new home. As civilians, we had time to pack as a family, say our goodbyes and begin the trip across France to Germany. Our car was filled with our suitcases, household goods purchased during our stay and my mother’s plants. Never one to be without a flower or green plant to add to our home, she made sure the plants were packed into the car. Many years later, I am the same.
I said goodbye to my friends at school, rode the bus one more day from our apartment and then it was time. The box of croissants reminded me of the familiar areas of Paris and hinted of the wonderful breads of the Germans. We would discover the rich bread of Bavaria, beer of the Garmisch region and the wonderful Black Forest traditions of southern Germany. We were on another adventure. I would learn to appreciate a love of food, entertainment and the outdoors. I would travel by trolley, bus and train to learn the German culture. Little did I know, the adventure was a roller coaster of fun, laughs and good times. Typically German.
I learned later of the beauty of Germany, I studied ballet in a world-famous ballet school. I traveled through the beauty of a rebuilt and occupied Germany, Austria and into Switzerland. As we set off that cold rainy day, I promised myself I would learn German, live fully in the German culture and learn how to be European rather than an ex-pat. The years that followed that trip from Paris were full of adventures and eventful escapades, many laughs and the most fun. Little did I realize the importance of that move, more than any other, it would change my life.