Adventures Abroad: Arriving in Germany

Let me tell you about the scariest thing I have ever done in my life: getting on a plane heading off to Germany for my first semester abroad. It feels, in retrospect, kind of silly to think about it that way. While I was actually away, I did a number of things that honestly should qualify as far more frightening, but there’s something about that first moment, that first step into potential oblivion, that will always feel like it was the worst (and in a way the best).

Maybe it’s because, up to that point, I had been safely with my dad. The excitement in the car while we made the drive to JFK was palpable from both of us. I knew Dad was extremely proud of me and what I had decided to do. We listened to Wanderlust King by Gogol Bordello at least twice on the drive; this is a classic “on the way to college” song for us, but that was the truest the lyrics had ever rung in my head. First semester I had been in New York, only four to five hours away from my home and family if something happened and I needed them. Once I was in Berlin, I knew that would be it. I would be truly on my own for the first time in my life. The anxiety I felt over this fact didn’t really start buzzing in the back of my head until Dad and I were getting lunch at the airport, some sort of Chinese noodle thing. It began to set in then because I knew that was the last thing I was going to do before checking in for my flight, at which point Dad and I would be forced to separate by security. For hours yet, I would still be in the country, but I would be alone.

Dad, I’m pretty sure, was feeling this anxiety too. The exact moment I said goodbye to him is burned into my memory and probably always will be. We stood right outside security. There was a bathroom nearby, and he asked if I wanted him to watch my bag while I went. I said no. He joked about only having so much dading left to do, but I felt something real behind it. Within the next day, I would be in Berlin, Germany, out of reach. I put my bag down to hug him, long and tight, then grinned, waved, and headed off. In a way, it made me feel better to think that Dad was nervous too. It’s nice to have confirmation that you’re not freaking out over nothing. But also, he was still sending me. If Dad could be nervous and still send me, I could be nervous and still go. Though, I must admit, the confidence this gave me did not last.

A piece of advice for first-time travelers: always be early for your flight. Being early and having to wait is far preferable to being late and missing a flight,  or important information about a last-minute gate change, or any other of a million things that could go wrong. While I stand by that advice, being as early as I was for that first flight stressed me out. The reason Dad and I drove all the way to JFK despite living in New Hampshire was an arrangement with the school. If students took this specific flight, someone from the school would pick us up on the other side and we wouldn’t have to try to navigate to a new country where most of us didn’t know the language. Otherwise we would be on our own. For the first hour or two I was waiting, I did not see another student.

It was during this time that the implications of my decision to do what I was doing fully set in. Every possible thing that could go wrong tormented my mind. What if we had accidentally put me on the wrong flight? No one would be there to meet me. I’m from a small town. I had never dealt with public transportation before. How would I even get to campus? What if I never figured it out? What if I was just lost in Berlin? What if this confused swirl of fear was all that defined my semester abroad?

I actually thought about “missing” my flight. I knew if it happened, Dad would come back and get me. We couldn’t afford another flight, so I would have to spend the semester in New York. It would be embarrassing and disappointing, but I could pass my decision off as some sort of idiotic but pitiable first-time traveler’s mistake. No one would have to know that I was a coward. But the problem remained that I would know, and I didn’t want that to be true of myself. So I stayed.

Part of me wonders, in retrospect, if I was thinking that way because it would be easier for me to deal with making a poor decision than making a mistake. I don’t like not being in control of things or not knowing things. The largest source of my anxiety was probably the uncertainty and the things that were out of my hands. The longer I was there and no one else showed up, the more it seemed like some sort of horrible mistake had been made, something out of my knowledge or control. If I decided to miss my flight, at least it would be willful as opposed to a failing of my planning or intellect.

These dark feelings passed when I finally did meet up with other students on their ways to Bard Berlin. We all sat together and talked for a while. I don’t actually remember, for the most part, what was said, but it was comforting not to feel quite so alone in a world that suddenly looked much, much larger than it had been a day ago. When we boarded, I was reminded by the fact that none of us were seated together that none of us knew each other (or at least that I didn’t know any of them). But it was okay. I had a whole row of three seats to myself so I could stretch out, and I loved looking at the stars over the ocean from my window on the plane. The view renewed the excitement I had been feeling before Dad left me at the airport that afternoon.

The day I arrived in Garmany was hands down the longest day I’ve ever had in my life. I had not slept much, two hours tops, on the plane despite the best efforts of the flight attendants, and when we arrived in Berlin it was somewhere around seven in the morning. Some Juniors who were there for semester abroad instead of the special Freshman Begin in Berlin program I was doing lead the way. The RA who met us packed us into two cabs and on the way to campus pointed out landmarks and things about the city. I half payed attention to him, but a lot of my focus was put on figuring out how to make my phone work so I could let my parents know I had made it in one piece and been picked up.

All of us students were exhausted. Jet lag is a hell of a drug. They dragged us through orientations, campus tours, and getting IDs within the first few hours of us being in the country. I don’t know that I could tell you anything that was actually said. Every single one of us looked like a freshly-minted zombie in our ID photos. I know they talked a lot about the party scene in Berlin and how drugs are bad, kids, but everything else is pretty much a blur.

I met my Berlin roommate, Annabelle, for the first time that afternoon. She was a whirlwind of a woman who basically seemed to personify city life. She was already settled into our room, as she was doing the full year instead of a one-semester program. Annabelle was in and out, already having places to go and people to see. I was not surprised at all when she decided to transfer to Berlin at the end of the year. Much as I would’ve liked to have her around, I still can’t imagine her thriving on the quiet Annandale campus, knowing what else was out there for her.

That night I wanted to have at least one adventure in this new country that wasn’t my school info-dumping, and I knew if I just sat around at home I would likely fall asleep too early to beat the jet lag. I needed some stuff, so I ran to the grocery store. Going to a grocery store might not sound like much of an adventure, but let me tell you everything is an adventure when you’re in a new country for the very first time and don’t know the language yet. I couldn’t actually read anything. I had to guess at body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. I didn’t actually figure out conditioner that night. But I did pick up a couple of German snacks, and a bottle of beer to go with my dinner that night, because 18 is the legal age there (for all types of liquor; beer and wine are legal at 16). One awkward interaction with the cashier (we could not understand each other) later, I headed to drop my stuff back off at the dorm. Then I ran out one more time to get food.

My pick was based on a recommendation from Annabelle. There was a nice little Doner place a two-minute walk from our dorm that was a staple among students. At the time, I just thought it was a really good cheap college food, and technically that was true. You could get a giant, filling sandwich for just about two Euros. Later, however, I learned Doner is a cultural phenomena invented by Middle-Eastern immigrants in Berlin. The giant spinning sticks that meat was sliced off of hinted at the cultural influence, or would have if I’d had any clue what I was talking about. A friend of mine did a project on Doner at the end of the year, which is how I was eventually clued in to its significance.

While I understood none of that at the time, I was still excited. It was my first genuine Berlin food! I fumbled through the order and happily scurried back to my dorm. I sat down at my desk, pulled out my sandwich, and uncapped my beer. Everything was delicious, and casually having an alcoholic beverage with my dinner was a novelty for my 18-year-old American self. That was how I ended my very long first day in Berlin: eating the local food, drinking a local beer, and looking over a map of the city they had handed out during orientation, imagining all the places I would explore and adventures I would go on in the coming semester.