/52/ A cup o’ kindness

That’s it for 2013 then, I guess.

I lived in three different places (1 2 3) in three different countries. I flew spontanteously to Parma with just a change of clothes, a camera and a toothbrush. I turned 21. I wrote roughly 46,000 words in 23 essays (the 24th would have been semantics, but I guess I never wrote it). I went temporarily insane from stress and realised it was time to tone it down.

I trekked through fields full of cows in my festival gear, trying to find a shop that sold milk for my tent-side cuppa, and realised the absurdity of 21st century living. I tracked down a dead poet in the Alps. I went for a night-time dip in Swiss lake and then ate a defrosted, uncooked pizza with one of my best friends in the world. I saw Europe’s biggest waterfall. I petted a goat.

I moved to Berlin and found it challenging. I plodded through autumnal Oslo. I got my first taste of Poland and liked it. I faced Germany’s dark history and responded with many words, even though I really know what to say… I sang karaoke in a gay bar. I started to feel at home in Berlin.

I went home to Bavaria. I went home to the UK. I went ice skating. I had a heart-to-heart with a painting of Mr Darcy in the women’s loos of my favourite pub back home. I had another heart-to-heart with a dear friend on an Oxfordshire bus. I had a third heart-to-heart in a cozy Oxford coffee shop with snowflakes whirling by. Consider my heart replenished.

 

And 2013 ended much like it began, in a house full of friends with a belly full of food and happy. 

I wrote about my year 52 times here – it wasn’t always easy, and I flagged at the end. Considerably. The date tag on this might read December, but as I write this it’s almost the following June. Nevertheless, the task is done. 22,000 words dissecting, documenting and reflecting on 2013. The verdict? It was good, as years go. One of the best I’ve had, in fact.

I’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet – for auld lang syne!

/49/ Oh, brother!

My trip to Regensburg got me thinking.

 

Do you ever look around and get startled by how grown-up people have become – and maybe even feel like you’ve been left behind? A lot of my friends back home are either in their final year of university, diligently scratching essay after essay onto paper and cramming three years of lurning into their skulls. And others have even graduated, moved in with their significant others, and found a job. All while I’m sashaying about in Berlin with well over a year of university left to go. I can’t help but recall the lines from Dr Seuss’ flawless Oh, the Places You’ll Go!:

You’ll get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

In the poem, this “Lurch” goes on to become a “Slump” (which is really just Seussian for “depression”); but for me, it’s really more of a chilled-out Slouch. Because it’s not a bad feeling actually – there’s something delightfully satisfying about being able to laugh and say “Adulthood? Oh, that’s a while away yet.” And I have a Plan anyway, so I’m not trembling in fear of some undetermined future. I’m patiently waiting for it, and trying to take things easy while I do.

 

But when your little brother, whom you used to scare by threatening to tickle him until he cried and who you would play Pokemon with on long car journeys, moves out from home, works a full-time job and has a real and proper girlfriend, it can seem like time has crept up on you. An BAM - you’re in that future which, back when you were fourteen and skiving Chemistry class, you used to wonder would ever come.

 

Not that he’s really any more grown up than I am. And not that it’s a competition – it’s just one of those “oh” moments. And luckily we get on really quite well. Niall (rhymes with “meal” not “mile”) is doing a year at the theatre in Regensburg, which is a perfect little Bavarian town. There are the quintessential alleys and stone bridges and medieval archways, back-street cafes and cozy dens of eateries, and church spires towering over cobble-stoned market places.

 
  

I also have a thing for cathedrals – the architecture blows me away again and again. Since I read Pillars of the Earth I haven’t looked at them the same again. In my opinion, cathedrals are basically Europe’s pyramids (she says, having never been to Egypt). And Regensburg’s Gothic Dom St. Peter isn’t a half bad example. Click through to see more pictures of the cathedral.

   

During my visit, Niall and I hit Christmas Markets, I saw him in a play (Robin Hood for kiddywinks – very fun!), and then I met an awful lot of his friends. Awful in the best way – it’s good to see him happy and with so many people surrounding him. Awwww. All this squishy sibling affection is getting, like, mega gross.

“Another picture?” he groaned. I cackled, as I often do, and ignored him, as I often do.

Best Sister Ever, obviously.

All this brings me right back around to Dr Seuss:

[…] when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

Right now, I feel far freer than I would if I had a flat and a boyfriend and a job and a reason to stay in one place. It’s not my long-term plan (that definitely does involve a little pride upon the shelf / and four stone walls around me); but for now I wouldn’t have it any other way. Being the chief executive officer of my own life suits me down to the ground.

I’ll fill this formless in-between time with trips to visit those friends who now actually own couches - because every student nomad needs a place to sleep before the next adventure begins!

/48/ Everyone has roots somewhere…

The plane touched down on the runway at Flughafen München with a jerk, and my stomach leapt into my throat. I’m not a nervous flier at all. In fact, I fly far too frequently to have a good conscience about it, self-proclaimed environmentalist that I am. But arriving in Munich, whether that means pulling into the cavernous central train station, driving down the Autobahn with the majesty of the Alps straight ahead, or alighting on the tarmac just outside of the city, will never fail to bring up a wealth of mixed emotions in me, which were on this occasional elegantly expressed through a gentle churning in my gut. I suppressed it, and got on the train which would take me “home”…

{The S-Bahn train to my town, just outside Munich}

Of course it’s exciting to return to the city I was born in, visit the town I grew up in, reunite with the family that once surrounded me, and encounter the familiar Frau Krug, a florist who remembers six-year-old me coming in to buy flowers with my Mama. But there is always this uncertainty about whether I am actually allowed to call it (Munich – Bavaria – Germany) home anymore, closely connected to the anxiety that someone will call me their “British niece” or say “oh, that’s Andrea and Bill’s girl, from England”. And I won’t have you calling my anxiety stupid. You try having a well-meaning friend or family member casually and obliviously divorce you from what forms a good half of your identity and see how it feels. Huff.

{My grandmother’s Advent table}

But of course, no such disaster took place. I got to spend an incredible day with my intelligent, inspirational and interesting grandmother, who told me about her youth. She was sent to a convent in Berlin, where she met and soon became engaged to a young man. They fell in love surrounded by a Europe in upheaval, as a failed artist called Adolf Hitler rose and rose and rose. Before long, her young man became a young soldier, and she would spend evenings sitting with his mother, writing him letters. He fought in North Africa, and was taken captive by the American troops, but survived and returned home to find though the war had left him his life, it had not left them their love.

 
{My grandmother on her balcony looking at the Alps} {The view from my Munich hotel}

That evening I walked through the magical Munich Christmas market, eating Germknödel, and realised that clinging to my childhood made no more sense than my grandmother clinging to her fiancé. Times change, and people with them. My grandmother ended up meeting and marrying another man, and I ended up in England. Are those events sad? Are the stories tragic just because they ended? No. Hopefully next time I come to Bavaria, I will be more at peace with my national identity and less dependent how others see me and where I’m from.

{Christmas isn’t complete without Glühwein!}

/39/ Naturally

I don’t know if I’m a country kid or a city kid – in fact, I don’t see the need for defining ourselves according to binary personality types but that’s a whole other kettle of fish – but what I do know is that I love nature. I don’t only love it, in fact; I need it, and that has been the biggest adjustment for me living in Berlin so far.

Ob ich ein Landkind oder ein Stadtkind bin, weiss ich nich genau – eigentlich ist es mir nicht wirklich klar, wieso man sich mit solchen binären Persönlichkeiten beschreiben muss, aber das ist ein Thema für ein anderes Mal – aber wovon ich mir schon ganz sicher bin, ist, dass ich die Natur sehr schätze. Nicht nur schätze ich die Natur, sondern ich brauche sie wirklich, und das ist seit meiner Ankunft in dieser Hauptstadt für mich die größte Umstellungsherausforderung gewesen.

As a child in Bavaria, our garden backed onto a field; in Florida, our flat overlooked the mangroves; in Reading, our house is a ten minute walk from the countryside; and Oxford is pretty much just an overgrown village – so now, living in the centre of a 3.5 million person metropolis is a bit of a challenge.

Als ich Kind in Bayern war grenzte unser Garten an einem Feld; während unserem Aufenthalt in Florida hatte unsere Wohnung einen Blick auf einen tropischen Mangrovensumpf; von unserem Haus in Reading kommt man in zehn Minuten zu Fuß aufs Land; und Oxford ist eigentlich nur ein großes Dorf – also finde ich es jetzt in einer Großstadt mit 3,5 millionen Einwohnern etwas schwierig.

 

But there are a lot of parks in Berlin, and when my friend Edd visited me from England last week, we made sure to visit two of them, the Charlottenburg park in the west, and the more central Tiergarten. And on Sunday, I went with some friends to the Zoo and ended up getting an annual ticket. Sadly I didn’t take my camera to the Zoo or the Tiergarten, but these photos are pretty much all from a beautifully brisk day at the Charlottenburg park.

Aber es gibt viele Parks in Berlin, und als mein guter Freund Edd mich letzte Woche aus England besucht hat, haben wir erst den Charlottenburgpark im Westen der Stadt besucht, und danach den etwas zentraleren Tiergarten. Dann bin ich am Sonntag mit Freunden zum Zoo gegangen, und habe am Ende auch eine Jahreskarte gekauft! Leider hatte ich da den Fotoapparat nicht dabei, also kommen diese Fotos fast alle von dem schönen, frischen Tag im Charlottenburgpark.

 

I found out today that I can’t stay in the little flat (above left) in Schöneberg (above right) which I’ve fallen in love with, and was pretty downheartened about that, since it’s so hard to find something in my price range that also makes me feel safe and at home. It sucks but at least I know I can always visit the giraffes, the warthogs, the flamingos or the kangaroos if I need cheering up.

Ich habe heute rausgefunden, dass ich in der gemütlichen Wohnung (oben links) in Schöneberg (oben rechts), in die ich total verliebt bin, leider nicht bleiben kann, und war darüber etwas betrübt, da es so schwierig ist, eine bezahlbare Wohnung oder WG zu finden, wo ich mich auch zu Hause fühlen kann. Das ist wirklich schade, aber jetzt weiss ich mindestens, dass ich immer die Giraffen, die Warzschweine, die Flamingos oder die Kangaroos besuchen kann, wenn ich Aufmunterung brauche.

/25/ – second year recap (tl;dr)

So here it is; the end of year two. I can’t believe I’m already half way through my degree; I can’t believe I’m 21; I can’t believe I’m about to have a whole year in Berlin! How is it all happening so fast?

Before this portion of my life slips away completely, I want to record what an average week for me looks like this Trinity.

I spend many weekends back home with my parents, isolating myself from the world with nothing but my laptop and a stack of books for company.

Monday morning there’s a lecture on – Paper VIII, Modern German Literature – but I don’t really go now. The lecture series has covered all my topics of interest already (and I’m kind of lazy). In previous terms, I’d have two or three, even five lectures a week but now it’s just the one and I’d rather sleep in.

Most days I have coffee with one friend or another, grabbing a Cappuccino (much to the distaste of one friend, who informed me that Cappuccino is not to be drunk in the afternoon) and sitting on the bench on the Front Quad. Come rain or shine, I’m there.

I try to go to the library, but get bored quickly. I’d rather read in my bed, or in a coffee shop, or in the newly-refurbished GCR, a small common room with computers which I helped refurbish (and by helped, I mean I made most of the design decision s and the college’s maintenance team did all the actual hard work, so an ideal situation for me really even if I felt a bit lazy!). It’s a pretty sky-blue colour, and has some of the comfiest armchairs I’ve ever had the pleasure to lounge in.

I often grab a burrito or Chinese takeout for dinner – and I wonder where the pounds come from? – or make something back home, usually while watching an episode (or two, or three) of my latest favourite TV Show. This term, it’s been The West Wing, Game of Thrones, Parks and Rec and Hart of Dixie.

I don’t go out as much as I used to, but it’s a rare week that doesn’t find me in a club at least once. I don’t like to drink that much and though I’m often amused by my friends and have a good time dancing and talking, I don’t love the getting bored way before anyone else wants to leave any more than the slightly wobbly walk or bike ride home. Of course I also get wasted time to time, but the times are become further apart and I don’t miss it.

I also have my fair share of student jobs. At least once a week, I set time aside to go out and take some photos for the Development Office, be it of the College buildings, a sports match, a rowing race, or any number of other events happening around the College. On Thursdays, I work in the Development Office on our College’s magazine, Exon (you can read old editions here), where I commission, chase down, edit, and occasionally even write articles. My favourite articles are the features.

My other job is working in the bar. I love working in the bar – 99% of the time, you’re serving your friends, and there’s a really good quiz machine down there. I have no idea how many pounds I’ve wasted on playing Battleships, but I won my fair share of times! Because this term was my busiest so far, I often ended up taking the lighter shifts on Sunday evenings (which goes some way to making up for having worked every bop in the last year on top of one or two shifts a week – I’m so glad that we can have this flexibility for our studies when we need it). I’m really going to miss bar work during my year abroad but I know that job will be waiting for me in fourth year when I come back.

Of course, there never really is an “average” week in Oxford. This term, I worked on an immersive cinema event, photographed the Windsor Regatta, went to a Watsky concert, served Pimms on the riverside, stayed up all night dancing on the 1^st of May, celebrated my 21^st birthday with some of my best friends, took part in the selection process for the next rector, helped on a linguistics research project, went to three balls, and even managed to squeeze in the occasional run.

So that’s it, pretty much! I have no idea what my average week in the next year will be like but I can’t wait to find out.

/23/ Greys Court

Even though my grandma is now ninety-three years old, she’s still sprightlier than many women at the age of eighty. Of course she is often tired and sometimes forgetful, but I am so incredibly lucky to have a grandmother who is still smart and funny and up for conversations about the history of Israel or the purpose of poetry. She still has the energy to fly from her home near Munich to England several times a year, to visit my family and my aunt’s.
   
This year, during her visit, we (me, my Mum, my aunt) indulged her love of English country houses (a love which I share) and visited Greys Court not once but twice. It’s a beautiful old family home, and was until recently a functioning home to the Brunner family. Sadly you weren’t allowed to take photographs inside the home. It was luxuriously furnished but with many homely touches: you could see that the rugs had been run ragged by four enthusiastic boys playing, there were mountains of worn and loved books, and much was hand-stitched, hand-made about the place. The gardens were hugely impressive and beautiful.