Landing

by Rachael Helmore (Germany)

A leap into the unknown Germany

I never really make a decision to move to Germany; it just occurs to me that if Daniel is going back, I’m going with him. I just know that it’s right, what I want; that it's what I am going to do. The enormity of my non-decision only hits me later. When I tell my colleagues I’m moving they’re excited. “Amazing, Berlin, it’s perfect for you!” I gently correct them that I’ll be living about as far away from Deutschland’s creative epicentre as possible. One colleague googles it: Wikipedia declares that the little town in south-west Germany which will soon be my home is the largest producer of asparagus in Germany. The more that I learn about Bruchsal, the less I like the sound of it. Dread and excitement simultaneously mount over the year. I pack up my life and finish my degree as quickly as possible. *** Suddenly, Daniel’s smiling face is in front of me as I struggle through the Arrivals gate at Frankfurt airport. As we take the exit off the autobahn, industry and agriculture flash past us, a mishmash of words that my limited German can already make sense of: EROTIC – BAUHAUS – ERDBEER UND SPARGELHOF. An asparagus farm! “Oh yeah,” says Daniel, “we had our Christmas party there last year.” *** I’m equally as baffled by the German love of kitsch as I am of the obsession with asparagus. A band of porcelain puppies peek out at me from miniature toilet bowls at the hardware store. Who the hell makes these things? And why on earth do people buy them? *** In the first few months I introduce myself to people, and the question comes back at me: “Wie bist du überhaupt hier gelandet?” How on earth did you land here? How the hell did someone from Sydney wind up in Bruchsal? *** It’s March, we’ve gone for a walk along the Rhine. Daniel spots some bärlauch on the side of the footpath, and as we keep walking the green opens out into a clearing full of the stuff. We start gathering and Daniel tells me stories of the times he went foraging with his dad. I google bärlauch later: wood garlic. *** My landlord’s collection of garden deco is growing. I get home and there’s a rabbit scratching its ear on the front porch. An extra turtle appears underneath the Mädchen on the water fountain; two metal foxes peek out from behind the dahlias. *** I hear a woman cursing next to me in the bread aisle in the supermarket, she’s struggling with some kind of machine. “Es funktioniert nicht!” Is she talking to me? I avoid engaging, because I don’t have a clue what the contraption is or does. It starts to whir. It grabs her loaf of bread angrily with a metal claw, yank, then ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch. The loaf is spat out again, perfectly sliced. *** As we ride our bikes through the forest, I see the first doe I have ever seen in the wild. I’m stunned and over-excited but I try to stay quiet, to maintain course and speed whilst drinking in this magical moment. She looks at us, she is still. A twig cracks nearby and she scarpers. *** We meet Daniel’s colleagues after work at the Baggersee. There are many of these manmade lakes in the area; Daniel tells me that they’re created through the mining of sand for lithium (or something like that). We have our wurst and some haloumi and our shitty disposal barbecues from the supermarket. The grass is full of people and the air is hot and hazy, thick with smoke and happy chatter and the bad music blaring from the speaker from the group next to us. *** One afternoon, I arrive home in the golden afternoon light. I park my bike out back and walk back around the side of the house. I stop. Today, my new garden friends are lit up by the sun. The dragon, the girl, the turtles and the foxes, the happy caterpillar and the rabbit are smiling at me. And I get it. Somehow, in that moment, it all makes sense to me.