Memoir

This is a memoir I'm writing for my English 145 class, tell me what you think. It's on my visit to Berlin in Spring of 2006.

“Pack lightly, dress in layers and be sure to have a hat, gloves and muffler.” I can remember my German professor my freshman year of college saying something to the effect of that during my German 361 planning course, which was planning our trip to Berlin March 9^th until March 19^th. To give you an idea of what my professor was like, think average crazy foreign language professor, horribly over-educated and used old-fashioned terms like “muffler” (which according to today’s vernacular, is a scarf). To give you an idea of what we were planning for, it was for what would ultimately make me choose German as my major, fascinate me with German and European culture in general, and leave me with a painful yearning to return. Despite various downsides such as getting thoroughly annoyed by most of my fellow group comrades, not packing warm enough (who would’ve know northern Germany would reach record low temperatures and snow levels during my visit), it really was a very memorable, noteworthy, and life-changing experience.

Before I blabber on and on about getting goose-bumps at various points throughout my journey, finally being able to put my German skills to the test et cetera, I must go into detail about what my group was like and how we planned for this odyssey. My professor, like I previously stated, had the persona of the average cool, friendly scholar who teaches German and listens to nothing but classical music. The other people in the group came from all over Illinois from the Quad Cities to Chicagoland, all had varying music tastes, and to my surprise all were easy to get along with for the most part and were definitely nice people. I really shouldn’t say “for the most part”, as I am one of those people who gets sick of seeing people all of the time who aren’t good friends or family after a few days.

Our plan was simple; sign up for a course with no pre-requisite, pay a ton of money, get obliterated by the bureaucratic paperwork necessary to go on such a trip, plan what we’d like to do during our visit and finally execute our plans while there. We met every Wednesday evening at 5 p.m. until our departure and planned as well as learned a little about Berlin history, which definitely fascinates me above all chapters of German history. From the Berlin being founded by combing various smaller German cities of the Holy Roman Empire, to the bombing during World War II, to the separation of East and West Berlin during the Cold War, to the re-unification and re-building of this great world city from the early 90s until today. I was going to experience this history first hand, and I was quite excited.

If I had any sense in me at the time, I would’ve definitely tried to save my enthusiasm and excitement until the flight over the Channel from Heathrow Airport in England to Tegal Airport in Berlin. The route we took was exhausting and definitely took its toll on me. From Macomb we utilized the punctual, efficient, and comfortable Amtrak rail system (I’m being quite facetious) to get to Union Station in Chicago. From there we took a break, ate lunch and then hopped on the Blue-Line EL to O’Hare airport which could be considered at the opposite end of the city. We then waited a good 2 hours or so in the terminal after smoothly moving through security (quite a surprise it was!) and boarded the massive, over-stuffed Boeing 777 to begin our journey across the pond.

Keep in mind it was then 4 p.m. or so, and I had woken up at 7:30 a.m. to make my 8:30 a.m. train and hadn’t slept a minute so far. While on the plane, after dealing with weirdos that were seated near me, and sitting in the middle of the middle set of seats, I took refuge at a surprisingly empty spot just a few rows up with only 2 other people in the row, both were sleeping like babies. Alas I still was not able to sleep, but I certainly was able to read many chapters in my thick U2 biography and not receive chilling, creepy smiles from strange middle-aged women sitting 2 seats away.

Once we arrived at Heathrow, I would’ve fancied milling around in the international terminal for a little while longer and to have been thoroughly amused by the various British, Irish and Scottish dialects coming out of people’s yammers. However an Airbus was waiting in a terminal far, far away and it wouldn’t have done a yank like me any good standing around like 9 o’clock half-struck over such hilarity, so we made our way over and boarded our flight. To my surprise though, our pilot was a stereotypical Scotsman which definitely made up for it.

It thoroughly sucked that the only sleep I got was during the 50 minute flight over the Channel to Tegal Airport in Berlin, because it was far from enough. Coming out of the plane a little disoriented as I usually am coming out of short nap certainly did not help the situation either. There were two huge lines through the passageway into the terminal; one for citizens of the new and perplexing European Union, and one for everyone else. When it was finally my turn to hand the stern looking German police officer my passport, I was verified to indeed be Peter J. Nelson and I smiled and replicated my dumb expression which my passport photo possessed. My heart started to finally beat a little faster because my excitement was slowly increasing… or was I about to blackout due to the hardships I had just endured and my empty stomach which was growling furiously at me?

We made our way to the currency exchange and learned how to ask the almighty Euro handler in German to exchange various amount of Dollars, as well as Traveler’s Cheques. From there we made our way to a sort of tourism counter to buy a discount card and get in on some sweet reduced public transportation fairs, gazing at the lavish airport interior en route. When we found out which bus would take us to one of the main hubs of Berlin transit, Alexanderplatz in the former End Berlin, we boarded, showed the stereotypical German male driver our passes, and got seated.

I find it quite strange that the cheesy, European interior designed bus and deep, relaxing German voice informing me about which stops we were approaching are parts of the journey which I remember with great detail. Oh and let’s not forget the hum and hiss of the Mercedes-Benz turbo diesel engine beneath me which was moving the hulk of a vehicle along. The bright yellow hand railings (painted such a color to ensure safety and maximum visibility… those sly Germans!), the weird print on the seats, the most-efficient-use-of-space seating arrangement, and the strategically placed ticket machines/verifiers made a good first impression on me, in honor of the people of the Bundesrepublik Deutschland.

That is all I have so far, I've got a good two pages or so left to write.