My fingernails were white from clutching the handle to keep from falling onto my fellow backseat passengers as Anja, my host family’s daughter, vigorously shifted into fourth gear and swerved onto the civilian drag strip that is the Autobahn.
I was already a little out of sorts because it was the Fourth of July and, instead of parades, barbeque and 90 degree heat, I had enjoyed a day of rain, 60 degree temperatures and the reality that James, another American student living with my host family, and I were speeding down the Autobahn at 160 kilometers per hour listening to Jay-Z with 26-year-old Anja, her German friend Sabine and their 6’2″ Czech friend Martina. Happy Independence Day?
Twenty minutes later, my thoughts were interrupted with a bump as Anja pulled the European parallel park, aka finding a convenient spot on the curb or sidewalk, and we filed out of the car and into the security line to enter the American military base in Mannheim, a town nearby my host city in the Neckar River Valley, Heidelberg. I guess the London terror threats from a few days earlier remained on people’s minds, as something had the military police on edge despite the fact that I was waving an American passport. Emptying all of the Euro change out of my pocket and finally passing through the metal detector without an alarm, I had entered . the American Zone.
After living in Germany for five weeks, it really was like the Twilight Zone-walking through a small fair with concession stands, rides and numerous Americans, but with the occasional sub-machine-gun-armed guard or German teenager, evidenced by the gelled faux-hawk mullet, scattered throughout. After walking back and forth a few times to get the lay of the European carnie land, we headed to the large tent selling food and beer.
Upon entering the dimly lit tent-smelling of hops, ketchup and tobacco-I almost went into a cultural seizure with the bombardment of Americana before my senses. Countless military personnel waving flags and singing along to “I’m proud to be an American,” some pushing strollers with young families in tow, others with rough-looking girlfriends dancing in place to Young Joc’s “It’s Goin’ Down” and still others with just a pitcher and a pack of cigarettes for company.
By the time I blinked and remembered where I was, my German friends had gone to grab some food and a beer. The hamburgers looked delicious after six weeks without a real meat patty; however, we had already eaten dinner with our German host family and Hiro, our fellow boarder and study abroad student from Japan-a meal, needless to say, unimaginable on the 4th of July just 64 years ago-James and I decided to buy some Bud Light in honor of the holiday. With one sip of the watered-down drink after a month of German beer, I realized some stereotypes about the poor quality of American brew are absolutely true. I passively smiled and shrugged my shoulders as we cheered by shouting prosted; Sabine and Martina, holding glasses of real deutsches Bier, mockingly shook their heads in disapproval.
After 40 minutes of standing and sipping, we headed out and passed by the arcade area full of kids shooting bad guys and terrorists (while their dads looked on, waiting for the call to do the real thing) and into the now drizzling German twilight. With 30 minutes to kill before the fireworks, and some encouragement from the child at heart, Sabine, the five of us bought tickets and spent the next half hour riding rickety and rain-drenched carnival death traps.
Carefully staggering off our last ride of the evening, we emerged in time to see the first flash of fireworks illuminate the midsummer night sky. Still slightly dizzy, I couldn’t help but smile at the bizarre, yet rewarding scene of two Americans standing in the rain watching fireworks during the Fourth of July on a U.S. military base in Germany with their 26-year-old German and Czech friends.
I made a point to remember this moment, and I can honestly say that after being back in the States and reminiscing on the countless castles, impressive museums and picturesque cities I visited, that this surreal Fourth of July evening, along with a few other hilarious experiences with Anja and company during those last several days, was really my favorite memory from the six weeks.
If I could conjure any advice from this story and my time in Germany, it would be this: It is important to see the sights and embrace the history of Europe (and maybe go to class) while studying abroad, but it is just as important to encounter the difficulty, and sometimes awkwardness, of new situations and native people, because these unexpected experiences and friendships might end up becoming the most memorable parts of your entire trip.
