It's "the little differences"

I’d forgotten how much I enjoy being in Europe.

I love the charm or European cities — the architecture, the layout of the city centers. I like the ease of walking places, the outdoor cafes, the hustle and bustle of urban life. I had forgotten the “little differences” — the things that are the same, yet different: door handles v. door knobs, the funky light switches and outlets, the shower, the way the toilets flush, the telephone rings. The post office signs and mailboxes in Germany are yellow.

There are big differences, too: cash only in so many places. The ever-present aroma of cigarette smoke. The prevalence of bicycles (watch out before crossing the bicycle path).

It all comes together to create this indefinable quality that is life in Europe. For me, it was a life that was definitely not easier. Shops close at 6 or 6.30 on weeknights, 1 p.m. Saturday. Clerks can be brusque – or downright rude. People push in front of you in line without saying “pardon me.”

On the other hand, people walk more, use bicycles, drive more fuel-efficient cars. Recycling is more than just encouraged – it’s mandated. (And I live in a neighborhood that cannot even get curbside recycling for those of us who want it.) Everyone here learns not just one, but mostly two foreign languages in school. The murder rate here is lower, and fewer people live in poverty.

Like anything else, it’s a trade-off. For me, I think the greater good is worth some of the sacrifices (higher taxes, for example). But for others, it’s not. And I’m not I would be willing to give up my life in the USA permanently. But I think we, as a country and society, could sit back and look at what’s good here and try to bring a bit more of that back to the United States.

After a good night’s sleep, my two-day headache is gone. I shopped yesterday, took care of some essentials, and am now ready to hit the streets again. Today I am visiting some friends in our old neighborhood – I am especially anxious to see the kids, who are the same ages as ours. Tonight I am spending the night with my friend Susanne and meet her son for the first time; she and I will spend tomorrow together, searching for new “schöne Sandalen” – we bought sandals together in 2000, and posed for pictures, much to the chagrin of my daughters. So we have to do it again.

I have spoken only German since we arrived – well, not with Gary, but with the hotel staff, in restaurants, with friends. I have not once apologized for having imperfect German, nor have I been asked to repeat myself – nicht schlect, huh?

But sadly, the line between Germans and Americans has blurred. We tried to play “American or German” in the airport in both Newark and Hamburg, and we were failing miserably. We used to always, always be able to tell, and it is getting much more difficult. The family dressed in tank tops, shorts and flip flops? We made the American call and were stunned to learn they were German. I was just sure the tall, thin woman with (very) short blond hair, glasses, black pants and the boxy blouse was German … then a man joined her wearing khakis, a baseball cap and – this is key – white tennis shoes. Aaaack – you make the call.

(Though the scarf around the neck - a dead give away …)

Further evidence: I got called in by immigration – and they thought I was German. And I don’t even have strange hair. It’s the flawless accent, I can assure you (!)

Last night at dinner, I ordered water, Gary got a beer, and his colleague an orange soda. All of our beverages came with glasses, doilies and pub mats that coordinated with the brand we were drinking. That, my friends, is one of the “little differences” that defines Germany for me.