The Language of Nature

by Emily Brown (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Germany

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The first thing I noticed about the city of Frankfurt, that morning as we dragged our suitcases through the damp and sleepy streets, was the air. The air smelled like rain. After six weeks in the desert climate of Jordan, where it was considered a marvelous event to see so much as a cloud in the sky over Amman, it was unbelievably refreshing to have my senses reminded of this weather event called rain. It was quite a pleasant first impression of the city, as I would later reflect in my written piece during the IDO, or International German Language Olympics. I had been one of two students chosen to represent the United States in the biennial competition among students of German from nearly 50 countries. Though we were technically competitors, the true spirit of our two week experience in Frankfurt was that of compassion and collaboration, of discovery and joyful language nerd-ery. I was among my people. However, once inside, the air and the rain and the sense of belonging were quickly forgotten as the effects of back to back transatlantic flights caught up with me and the familiar claws of anxiety and depression gripped my insides as surely as they had in the desert. As this all threatened to overwhelm me, I discovered that the outdoors offered a solution. Simply being outside, observing the nature nestled between cracks in the city, helped more than I could have imagined. This realization led me to the second aspect of the city’s environment that I came to appreciate: the Main. When you descend the brick stairs leading to its banks, you immediately notice how tranquil it is in comparison to the noisy street above. As we got to know each other and the scenery of the riverbank through afternoon strolls, excitedly exploring our common language accompanied by bike bells and the soft quacking of ducks, it helped relieve some of my anxiety. Sitting on a river cruise and admiring the powerful Mainhattan skyline silhouetted against the fire of the sunset, glowing embers bleeding into the river like a brilliant watercolor, I felt a few of depression’s stubborn tendrils start to recede. Back at the hostel I continued to make every effort to be outside. I would sit on a bench in the spacious courtyard, enjoying the late summer breeze and chatting in German with my new friends from Egypt and Morocco, preferring not to subject them to my pathetic excuse for Arabic. At night I would sit alone on a set of stairs that led to nowhere, leaning on the solid brick that had cooled since the heat of the day, looking up at the stars and putting off returning to my room, somehow stifling despite the open windows, lonely despite my three wonderful roommates. I would breathe in the night air, crisp and refreshing as long as no one was smoking nearby – I’ve never understood the popularity of cigarettes in an otherwise so health oriented and environmentally conscious society. I once saw a drag queen in Munich toss the remains of her cigarette on the ground while dressed as the personification of clean energy. But I didn’t mention that in the piece I wrote for the competition. Instead I focused on the scent of the rain and the serenity of the riverbank, on the fact that not far from the bustling Innenstadt you can lie down in the plush grass, walk across ivy carpets, and then look up to see the glass of skyscrapers glistening through green leaves. I expressed the fondness I had developed for the juxtaposition of Natur und Großstadt, reveling in the unexpected abundance of the former that flourished in the German financial capital. My depression, described in my article as a more relatable case of homesickness, was not born in Jordan, and I would not see the last of it in Germany. However, the healing effect of Frankfurt's outdoor spaces will forever hold my gratitude, just as the comfort I found along the banks of the Main will always color my impression of the city in any language.