Olivia and I had the honor of spending our last week of 2021 in Germany, and more importantly in the fine accompaniment of Tom Fischer and various members of his incredibly sweet family.
We arrived in Munich by plane pretty late (classic Ryanair and their convenient timing) at around 1 AM. Blows my mind every time that they can't seem to splurge for a free cup of water or coffee, but I guess that's the price you pay for budget traveling. Thanks to help from a local, Olivia and I were able to navigate our way to a metro stop near Tom's flat from the airport in just under an hour. After taking a few wrong turns and stairways, we finally linked up with our familiar Deutsche tour guide and headed to the sanctuary of Tom's apartment.
The swift temperature drop between Munich and Porto became apparent almost immediately thanks to my mitten-less hands and uncapped scalp. Rain and wind were especially cheery additions to the 45-degree weather. But who cares? I'd never been to Germany before and I wasn't about to let a chilly climate get me down!
Naturally, we stopped at a gas station on our way home to pick up a "few beers," which in German roughly translates to about five large 500 mL bottles. Despite the long travel day and 2 AM local time, we did as Europeans do and forwent much needed rest for three hours of drunken catching up with Tom. After discussing all matters far and wide including money, covid, "which generation has it harder," and various existential crises, we eventually hit the hay around 5 AM.
Tom's flat, which he's had for quite some time now, is more of an open concept comprised of one massive room with a kitchen, lofty bathroom, a dining room table area, a sectional couch, a projector screen, and two makeshift bedrooms separated from the rest of the apartment with stand-up dividers. The place is carefully decorated with skiing memorabilia, candles, maps, paintings, and (at the moment) a Christmas tree. Basically a castle to two young women who are fairly used to cramped apartments and shared bedrooms.
Before now, I'd hardly spent more than an hour in Tom's presence and even that would've only occurred around ten years ago (during the peak of my awkward small talk phase). While both of my sisters visited Tom and his mother Roswitha in their teen years, I never got the chance with my never-ending schedule of sports practices and filled academic calendars. Though in his mid-forties now, Tom seemed and looked just as I'd remembered him (and more or less similar to how I'd grown up hearing him described by my parents). He looks quintessentially German. Big blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, rosy high-set cheeks, crinkles around his eyes from perpetual laughter, and a mischievous smile that I'm quite certain has gotten him in (and out) of trouble a time or two before.
He began speaking English at 15 and after using it for a year straight in the very much, mono-linguistic community of Sacopee Valley in the 90s, he's been fluent ever since. It also helps that he frequently works with English-speaking clients for his job working in law for a Swedish gaming company, but still, the man's oratory skills are wildly impressive. Of course Tom fits the bill for his heritage in the way he eats and dresses as well, two slightly embarrassing pills to swallow for someone who's been eating exclusively bread, olives, and croissants and rotating the same six outfits for the past month. Safe to say my worn L.L.Bean puffer jacket looked a tad out of place next to Tom's variety of sleek wool pea coats. At least I was warm.
Most surprising to me, but perhaps not all that shocking given the German stereotype of perfectionism and organization, is Tom's affinity for planning... everything. From a museum visit to a stroll through the park, to an espresso at a local cafe, everything is coordinated down to the minute in advance. After weeks of being a servant to Google Maps, memorized metro routes, and museum schedules, Tom's itineraries were a welcome treat.
Tom is largely an outdoor activity person. Like any good German, he regularly skis, and like any good Mainer he's also developed a passion for snowmobiling (something he picked up from New Hampshire actually). That's part of the reason why I imagine the past two years of covid quarantines have been difficult for him. Unlike my "lockdown" in Cornish, Munich actually enforced strict curfews that meant no-one, even those alone, could be outside past nine PM. It also limited who you could visit (which in Tom's words, blurred the lines on "what a girlfriend" is).
As expected, Tom was the most generous host I've ever stayed with. He prepared delicious meals each day; paid for everything from train tickets to expensive cocktails; cleaned regularly and wouldn't accept any help; and above all, offered up his space, time, and attention to us for a full week. I'm not sure how I could ever repay Tom (although several times he used the whole "oh your parents housed me for a year!" excuse to justify footing the bill), but Olivia's tactic for reimbursement fell under invigorating debate and passionate controversial topics of conversation. Many evenings at the flat began with light chit chat of easier times and ended in heated arguments complete with finger pointing and droplets of spewed saliva over endless refilled glasses of wine and beer. Something I appreciate about Tom though is how each of those heated discussions ended in smiles, hugs, and the clinking of glasses. Tom (and Olivia) see discourse as a healthy hobby to be frequently practiced, and although interruptions and quickly blurted out zingers aren't my most favorite method of communication––I appreciated observing it all nonetheless.
Aside from the non-binary movement in America and today's dating apps, we discussed many other subjects of substance: my family back in the day being one. That's an interesting bit too. It's strange to think about how Tom has probably spent more time with my extended family than I have. He even got to connect with folks who didn't actually live to see my face, like my mom's dad, Bruce. Tom really is family, and in a lot of ways knows mine better than myself and remembers them from a time I can't recall.
I've heard countless stories about Tom and his magnetic joyous energy towards everybody. Tales of long nights and early mornings at Berlin clubs and hilarious narratives from the backwoods of Maine have convinced me that I have no choice but to return to Munich when restrictions are more lax, when I can truly be christened with full capacity beer halls and adventures in the Alps.
We were fortunate enough to spend Christmas with Tom this year, which felt like a little slice of home away from home. We spent the day indulging in Christmas music, cheese fondue, beer, decorating, and of course a good holiday film. We ended up watching a lot of movies over the course of the week now that I think about it. Tom is a total film buff, but not in the "dissect each scene for a deeper meaning" kind of way, more of a genuine appreciation for a solid story––even if it means a cliché Christmas flick (can't go a year without an annual viewing of National Lampoon's if you're in any way associated with the Ruhlin family).
Directly contrasting Tom's laid back, down-for-anything persona, is his mother, Roswitha.
Since the Omicron variant is a massive worry, particularly when you throw two people who have visited several countries in the past month––I wasn't at all surprised that we could only participate in outdoor activities in Roswitha's presence. On Christmas Eve, we all got together along with Tom's sister (Battina) and brother-in-law (also named Tom) for a walk near Lake Chiemsee where Roswitha lives. We even managed to safely "picnic" together at the end, although the rain did force us to eat in our respective vehicles. Again, I hadn't seen Roswitha in more than ten years which made the encounter all the more exciting. We strolled around the neighborhood arm-in-arm while Rosie paused occasionally to tell me stories about her childhood and to ask questions about my studies and life updates. Though she would tell you her English is terrible, Rosie has actually retained a commendable amount of my language (which unfortunately I could not reciprocate) and that made communicating much easier than expected.
Like the little German grandmother I never had, Rosie lived up to every single one of my expectations based on what Olivia and Justine had told me about her. She's a classic nurturer before anything else, evidenced through her downright need to feed everyone around her. As if her purse was a bottomless pit of groceries, she seemed to pull out never-ending cookies, chocolates, meat patties, and bread for my consumption.
Somehow Rosie is overly sweet, yet bluntly honest; polite and simultaneously quick-witted. She's serious and formal, but also at the ready with one-liners and always seeking a laugh.
"I just pray that I am still alive after corona so that you can come and stay with me in my flat!" She said in her adorable accent while clutching my arm.
"Maybe next time you will visit with a boyfriend!" She added––unsure if it was a friendly jab at my singleness or a secret wish for me to expedite the process of getting married and having little kids to ship off to their German gram, I just laughed and promised I'd work on it. We headed back to Munich after the heavy rain became unbearable, but not before Rosie could sneak Olivia and I some totally unnecessary Christmas gifts (and obviously more cookies for the road).
A few days later, Olivia and I took the train to Chiemsee to spend a full day alone with Rosie. We took the ferry to a couple islands on the lake and got lunch outside the Herrenchiemsee Palace.
"You will get whatever you want, and you will promise me that you will not look at the price. This is my day to pay for you." She insisted while trying to shove even more euros into my hands.
Unlike Tom, Rosie has more of an auburn tone to her brunette hair, but her grin has the same infectious qualities. And she's also super active for her age, still making an effort to hike most days and walking/driving herself everywhere she needs to go. Plus I'm convinced she's a superhuman because that lady was unfazed by the brisk wind whipping off the post-sunset lake in the middle of the winter while I was shivering with white-tipped fingers and jogging in place to keep my thighs from going numb.
One of my favorite things about Rosie despite her disposition, is her tone of voice. Each word she says has this unique inflection, as if she's speaking an opera with each word ending in a high note. It's a beautiful thing to hear and always leaves you leaning in to miss a word.
As promised, I fully intend to return to Munich and stay with Rosie in her flat in the future. Ideally, it will happen when covid situations ease, but no matter what I plan to make it happen. As for the accompaniment of a male companion––I can't make any guarantees, but after experiencing Germany in the dead of winter, I feel a complete obligation to see it in the summer too. The limitless cookies, chocolates, and beer are right up there with motivating factors too.
Much love to you all in the new year of 2022! Admittedly, 2021 gave us much to be remorseful for, but we did indeed complete yet another trip around the sun and that's really something. Here's to 12 months of health, happiness, and continuing the never-ending adventure!
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