Au Revoir, France… Hallo, Deutschland!

Let me begin with a side note: One the real pleasures of this voyage is seeing so many birds of prey—hawks, ospreys, kites or kestrels. I’m not knowledgeable enough to know exactly which species I’m seeing. There have been so many large birds sitting on fence posts right beside the road, close enough to touch, or on a low tree branch or wire over the road. Sometimes a movement will catch the corner of my eye and it’s a hawk taking to wing and landing in a nearby field atop some prey. Each time I think of trying to photograph these beautiful birds I then think that by the time I stop the car and get set up they will have flown away.

Saturday I bade farewell to France and wound my way into Germany. Why Germany? I’m glad you asked. After the First World War came to a halt on November 11, 1918, my Grandfather Grant’s ambulance unit was sent into Germany with the occupying French army. Throughout the winter of 1918-19 Grant and his comrades ferried patients here and there, and evacuated prisoner of war camps, including the dreaded camp at Gießen.

Part of me was sorry to be leaving France because it meant I’d be losing my felicity in a foreign language. Although German was the first foreign language, it does not roll off my tongue as easily as does French. I’ll never be able to make myself understood as well in German as in French. I can't hold in depth political or social discussions in German. I can order a meal and ask for directions, sort of.

I lingered over some sites in the Argonne Forest before heading towards Germany and I’m sorry to say that I badly misjudged the distance between Verdun and Saarbrücken, my stop for the night. It was nearly eight o’clock by the time I’d finally found my hotel in that unfamiliar town. I was completely lost when I stopped at a gas station to ask for directions. The clerk enlisted the advice of a taxi driver who was standing nearby. He said (auf Deutsch) that it was far to complicated to tell me how to reach my hotel and that it would be better to hire a taxi driver to lead me to the hotel. I thanked him for his advice and went to one of the nicer hotels downtown. The desk clerk spoke English and was very helpful. He gave me a map and showed me how to get there. I wasn't far off.

As I drove around downtown Saarbrücken I saw a couple on their way to a costume party. "That's nice," I thought to myself. Then I saw another couple. "They must be going to the same party," I thought. Then I saw another couple and another. Pretty soon everyone I saw was in costume. Teutonic maidens, cowboys, witches, etc.

Then I remembered: my visit to Germany was coinciding with that annual bacchanalia known as carnival. While people are sambaing in practically nothing in the streets of Brazil, Germans, young and old, are dressing up in wigs and costumes and partying in the snowy streets and beer gardens. I can't tell you how many cars I've seen in the last two days being driving by people wearing bright wigs. I feel kind of left out without a costume. I thought about putting down the earflaps on my hat while amongst the revelers in Mainz this afternoon, but thought I was funny enough looking with my overshoes on. But am I sure glad I brought them. Whether in Belgium, France or Germany, it has snowed most of the days I've been over here and I've been living in the overshoes. Pretty they are not, but practical.