Soul Food

When I wake up in the morning, it's dark. When I come home at five, it's dark. In between, it's gray. Sometimes I see the sun for short bursts of time, but usually it feels like it's hiding under the blankets and sleeping until spring comes. In winter, even the sun is depressed. Why should I get out of bed when even the sun can't muster the energy?

I should count my blessings, I'm told. Winter in Freiburg is nothing compared to Berlin, Hamburg, etc. You barely have to wear a scarf. People are still out, riding their bikes--they look happy, don't they? What's your problem? You don't even have to work that much.

Well, sorry. I'll let my brain know as soon as she returns from her mood swing.

I try to convince myself that I should be having the time of my life, but I don't know what that means. It sounds like something that requires more money than what I have. Thank god I get paid tomorrow--I spent my last eight euro on Friday. It was okay to be poor at college. I was so busy, I barely noticed. Most of my friends were within a half a mile of me. If I went to the Daily Grind and brought my own cup, I could drink delicious coffee for $1 and get a refill for 50 cents. I could sit there all day, writing my thesis and talking to people who came by. That was a great day.

Now, I've found something else to write (this blog not included). It's under wraps for now, but I know that writing it will be more challenging than the thesis ever was. Evan and I are reading the same book and discussing it to keep our long-distance relationship (and our brains) fresh. Melissa and I are starting a Sunday writing club at an awesome coffeeshop in Stühlinger called Jos. Fritz. Now I need to start smoking and buy a beret. Maybe start meditating.

TV is great, but it won't pull me out of my funk. Usually I just feel lazy afterwards. The gym is great for my body, but it's so hard to get up and go. Skype/Google voice/Google chat help me feel less isolated, but the screen is like a strange barrier that can sometimes make conversations feel a little superficial. Planning trips gives me things to look forward to; after all, this will probably be the last time I will be in Europe for so long.

Still, I need soul food.

Stille Nacht, Guten Rutsch

Christmas 2010 will go down in history as a year of firsts:

1. First Christmas abroad

2. First Christmas sans Andells (a sad first)

3. First snowy Christmas (Mom and Dad, can you verify this?)

4. First time celebrating Christmas morning as a couple

5. First Christmas Eve at a German church (and probably the last)

6. First Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Market), and thus the first Glühwein

7. First attempt at homemade pesto (too much oil)

8. First homemade crepes made for a boyfriend (delicious and a good way to use oily pesto!)

9. First slumber party in a haunted, Nazi-tainted castle

And while certainly not firsts, long walks, good conversation, delicious coffee and pretzels were enjoyed by all.

The Weihnachtsmarkt: where friends, Glühwein and shopping mix!

To Europeans, the Münster is another cool cathedral.

For Americans, it's a marvel.

Glühwein: spiced, heated wine.

New Year's resolution: be organized like the Germans!

Instead of simply putting lights on trees (especially not colorful lights like the Andells), Germans often light candles on their trees. This would scare the shit out of me.

Enjoying a house-brewed beer at Feierling

Evan loved Flammkuchen, a thin, German pizza with creme fraiche instead of tomato sauce.

In Freiburg, these stars (found also in red)

hung outside of most houses and businesses in the Altstadt

View from Freiburg's Schlossberg

Christmas morning: french toast and coffee.

A view of the Rhine in Bacharach, where we stayed in a castle.

"To the red bear": a gladiator facing certain death.

Bacharach

A front view of the castle, which was built in the 11th century and served as a youth indoctrination camp during the Nazi regime.

We stopped in this weird bar to have a drink. The town was inhabited by about 20 old people. When we came in, everyone stopped, stared and started talking about us. It was the perfect setting for a horror film--we stayed up all night scaring each other.

Those two weeks were about being young, poor and in love. I wish everyone on Earth could experience that.

The Arrival

If you ask me what I did for two weeks this Christmas, I could tell you in a sentence. If you ask me how I enjoyed those two weeks, I might tell you (in Evan's poetic words) that it was "like living in the most beautiful movie ever made."

I'll admit, I was not smiling for most of the day preceding his arrival. I had been greeted for the past two days with squirms and assurances so superficial, that they felt like warnings. The airports in Europe were overflowing with stranded travellers--there were delays even in ever-punctual Germany. I had no idea whether Evan had made it to Milan, where he had a tortuous 8-hour delay. I also belatedly realized that the way I had written down my cell phone number could be confusing for anyone who had never called a European before. No one could drag my eyes from my computer screen (nor my teeth from my fingernails) as I watched his flight delay by 1 hour, then 2, then 3. It would have been impossible to catch his train to Freiburg at this point. I was a bad girlfriend, wasn't I? Why didn't I pick him up at the airport? Why did I leave him to the frustration all by himself--to save a little money?

Then, a moment of relief. With a 50-minute train delay, it would be possible for him to catch the train--IF he was among the first to pick up his bags, IF he didn't get lost in the sprawling Frankfurt airport, IF he didn't heed my previous advice that "German trains are always on time." If...

I busied myself as best as I could, watching "Leave it to Beaver," folding clothes, making pesto. When I couldn't wait any longer, I walked down to the train station, dark and deserted. His train would be the last to arrive for the night. I paced back and forth on the platform, sharing commiserating eyes with two strangers also waiting for their loved ones.

The approaching hum of the train (it was a fancy ICE train, nothing like the clumsy kerplunk of Amtrak), the whizz of white and red. I found myself chasing the train, as if it might not stop; searching for Evan's blonde hair, his red flannel coat, the bulge of his backpack.

It stopped. He climbed out. I had no words. I love you ran on repeat through my head.

He didn't smell as bad as I'd predicted.