Oh Sweet Jet Lag.

It’s 5:24 AM. I have already been up an hour and since sleep seems more and more out of reach as my brain revs up for today, I thought I would write a quick update about our first day in Düsseldorf.

We arrived on Tuesday very late and woke up on Wednesday very early. We wandered out to the banks of the Rhein with Evelyn to let Frodo and Sabine run. When we came home again, we shared breakfast and then Paul and I crashed. In the afternoon, Evelyn went to pick up Carla from school and I wandered out into the city on my own. Paul stayed home in the safety of our bed.

I got lost.

Of course I got lost, what else would you expect from me. I wandered the city until I found the Rhein again and followed it where we had walked the dogs that morning. I at least knew I was in the right area than and so I stopped and asked for directions. 

The first attempt was a failure. There was a gentleman who was watching me, I assumed because it was so utterly obvious I was lost. Apparently not. When I finally stopped and asked him if he could direct me to Peter-Krahestr he didn’t speak German. I asked if he spoke english; no joy. However, he did manage an encouraging, “Ein Caffe?” 

Nein. Danke.

I hurried away in search of better intel. I found a hotel and stopped to ask again. They were able to point me in the right direction and even let me use a phone to call Paul and let him know I wasn’t dead. Just to be sure I was on the right path, I stopped again when I thought I was about halfway home and made sure I was going the correct way.

This is when it hit me–people were answering me in German. This seems like a logical thing for them to do, however, most Germans speak English very well. Most Germans auto-revert to English as soon as they hear you stumble over their sentence structure but no one has done this to me today. They hear and understand my awkward phrasing and answer me as if I will understand what they are saying, and I do. Most of the time.

Once I finally made it home Evelyn was sitting on the couch reading to the kids. We cooked dinner and I helped set the table. After the kids and Paul went to bed, I sit up with Birger and Evelyn. They drink beer and I drink water, we talk about community, marriage, false ideas of romance and I share with them a tidbit I had written in my journal on the flight over: 

“True love isn’t a magical kiss which wakes you up. It’s when your husband lets you put your feet in his lap in economy class to keep your ankles from swelling.”

Soon we are all tired. It takes us a moment to realize we don’t have to learn everything about each other this first night, though it is tempting, because there’s always tomorrow. And the day after.

Maybe on those days I’ll have my camera.