Reflections with a side of Currywurst

Author's note: I'm afraid this journey of mine is already getting a bit too Eat-Pray-Love-esque, focus on the eating. Over the past two days I've found myself journaling over lunch, which, in all fairness, does slightly slow down the face-stuffing process. But my aspirations to exercise more and eat less remain aspirations. Maybe some discipline from my Bremer host mom will help.

July 6 - 15:39 local time - Conrads Restaurant am Hammer Steindamm, Hamburg

This morning when I went out to run errands, I passed a young woman pushing a stroller with two young children. The toddler, who was facing me, extended a babbled greeting and I responded with a smile and "Hallo" to him and his mother. She warmly returned the greeting--which isn't a given here, or anywhere really. As I walked past, I heard her speak to the boy in Russian, responding apparently to his garbled request to stop and watch some construction vehicles through a gap in a fence.

15 minutes later as I emerged from the shop, the mother was just pushing the stroller away from the same spot in the fence. Though tempted to speak in Russian, I decided on the German, "so lange hat er zugeschaut?" (He watched for that long?) "Yeah, he didn't want to leave at all," she answered with a smile in a German entirely without accent. "Have a good day now," I said and walked on.

Strinking up a conversation with--or even making passing comments to--strangers on the street is not particularly common here, not that it is in Washington, DC, or many other places in the US either. But it's something I grew up around: my grandfather unable to pass a young child without a word to him/her and the parent(s), my father never without a comment for those he finds around him. I suppose in many ways it is stereotypical US-American. I have a German friend who always reminds me of our first meeting. We were having dinner in Bremen in a group of students--mixed US-American and German. The Amis were exchange students, the Germans about to begin their year in the States. It was one of Jens's (my friend's) first "close encounters" with Americans, and he was sitting across from me. I jumped right into a conversation--first, the usual topics: "What are you studying? Have you been to the States?" But then further, "How many siblings do you have? Are you the oldest or youngest? Do you get along with your sisters? Did you play any musical instruments growing up?" (I know, the last one was pretty random.) Jens always tells me how my "interview" caught him off guard, but how at some point he decided, (and I'm hoping it was sooner rather than later), that it was better that way. "Us Germans will sometimes just sit there and stare across the table at each other, which doesn't make much sense either."

The first time Jens told me of his reaction to our first meeting, I was much embarrassed. Especially during study abroad, I was trying so hard to fit in. From early on in my language learning I've striven to finely tune my ear to pick up on nuances in pronunciation and inflection. Though no fashion diva, I tried to pack clothing that didn't reek of the States. I would try to walk like a Muscovite, bike like a Bremerin (read how well that went here), even look somewhat disinterested in Prague's downtown sites (because if there were ever a place during that year where I would be successful at fitting in, it would have been there--ha!). So much for "impressing" Jens with my "fluent-sounding" German. Having done everything to blend in, there I was, a regular US-American chatty Cathy.

I've been back in Germany every year since then, and though (I sure hope) my language skills have improved, my desire to blend in has slowly diminished. Last week was the first time I remember not feeling compelled to cover my US passport as I stood in the customs line. (I did end up holding it under my scarf, but it wasn't an automatic reflex per usual.) Don't get me wrong, I have no less a desire to distance myself from the "ugly American" tourist as well as quite a few of our government policies. But the "accomplishment" of whipping out that navy booklet at the last minute to "wow" the customs official with my quick & well-inflected Deutsch--eh, das reizt mich nicht mehr so an. (That doesn't really do it for me anymore.)

Which is perhaps why this simple exchange with a Russian- & German-speaking mother was so heart-warming. I've come a long way in being who I am away from "home"--wherever that is. Perhaps the real Jen Mihok will start standing up a little taller on the other side of the pond as well. Because wherever I am, and whatever I end up doing, I am called to be me. [End of sermon to self.]