Breaking Through

Dear Chewey,

Happy Tag der Deutschen Einheit!!! 

On October 3, 1990, Germany reunited after the Berlin Wall, a giant slab of “do not pass go”, was finally broken down. For nearly three decades The Wall split families, neighborhoods, and even music tastes (West: Bowie, East: state-approved polka). Then in late 1989, people showed up with chisels, hammers, and enough pent-up frustration to turn concrete into confetti. Less than a year later, the country declared itself whole again, and thus Tag der Deutschen Einheit (German Unity Day) was born.

Assuming this to be a momentous day for all German’s, I had wondered how the locals would celebrate, so naturally, I asked a local.

She shrugged and said:

“We do nothing for German Unity Day. We all just get the day off. West wasn’t thrilled about reintroducing the East, and the East wasn’t thrilled about how they were reacclimated into democratic life.”

And there you have it, folks, the entire saga of German reunification, distilled into one woman’s plan to sleep in and maybe eat a pretzel.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of poetry in the skies, on this day meant to celebrate a breaking through of a wall. After nearly two weeks of gloom, rain, and Munich chill, the sun broke through at last. And with it, so did I, finally shaking the fever and cough that dogged me for the last week and a half.

Language has been its own wall. Every attempt I made at speaking German sounded like I was auditioning for a role as “Confused Tourist #3.” In a recurring theme, I would frequently ask for water and get sparkling instead, which appears to be the official German national prank on Americans. After long walks, parched from the effort, I’d invariably duck into a corner shop desperate for water, only to emerge with yet another bottle of sparkling water. Apparently this is what Germans assume you want when you ask for water. To me, it was like accidentally grabbing vodka at a dinner party when you thought it was water…not at all refreshing when all you want to do is gulp it down. By my third or fourth mistake, I started eyeing every bottle like a bomb technician, terrified I’d end up foaming at the mouth in the street from carbonation overload.

And then there was my grocery store debacle: a tube in my hand that I was pretty sure was toothpaste…but could have just as easily been antifungal cream. With rising panic, I began accosting fellow shoppers like a deranged street performer. Each time I’d mime brushing my teeth with it, then hold the tube up like I was asking, “Yes? No? Will this kill me?” The first woman avoided eye contact and sped off with her cart. The next man looked at me as though I’d just escaped from somewhere. A teenager actually politely laughed and backed away like I was contagious.

Finally, after harassing what felt like half the store, I struck gold: an English speaker. Breathless, I shoved the tube towards her and pleaded, “is this toothpaste?” She looked at me, then at the tube, and absolutely lost it in laughter before managing, “Why on earth would you ever think that was toothpaste?” 

But all of these walls aside, I’ll miss walking these streets, even if I understood almost nothing of what was said around me. A friend I made here insisted that German isn’t a beautiful language, that it takes true eloquence to make it sound melodic. But I disagree, because I’ve found the people beautiful, and kindness doesn’t need translation.

In these past days, I’ve stood in castles that belong in storybooks, lost myself in art and in front of architecture that silenced me, and sampled Bavarian food that a French expat attempted to describe to me as “bland cuisine disguised as culinary excellence.” She may have been unfair, but I’ll admit the region is more about hearty tradition than delicate flavor.

Now, bigger breakthroughs wait just ahead. In Berlin, I’ll stand at the Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie, which is ground zero for my Cold War history obsession. And in Prague, I’ll trade castles and cobblestones for Kafka, pilsner, and a crash course in the Velvet Revolution, which was proof that change doesn’t always need tanks, sometimes just stubborn crowds and the right moment.

Munich didn’t give me fluency in German or a newfound love of pork knuckle, but it gave me stories, laughter, and proof that humanity’s best language is patience. And that, unlike Unity Day, is worth celebrating.