[July 6] The week has been a blur of green hillsides through a Deutchebahn window. The language fills my head with choice words and half-phrases and I’ve begun to recognize a beauty in it that I had not even thought to look for. From the lessons in the peculiarly white AIB room to my first taste of Kölsh with a burger that rivaled those in America, the days in Bonn have been a refreshing alternative to hot New Mexican noons that smell of Kuhscheiße. I’ve explored a city that is at the same time urban and cozy, and I’ve seen a larger and more extensive bird collection than I could ever imagine.
But by this time, I’m sure you’ve read similar stories in posts above and below this one. The first question that may pop into your head when you see the name below this blog is probably: Why do they keep making fun of that chick for getting lost? Let me fill you in.
As my parents live in Dallas, I chose to fly from there to Houston to meet with the majority of the HoM students on the Fri-6:30pm flight to Frankfurt. At 3:30pm on Friday, the small but respectable Dallas Love Field Airport informed me that my plane was having mechanical difficulties and would not arrive until 5:20pm. I would inevitably miss the connection, and the next available flight would be at 4pm on Saturday. While this was certainly frustrating, I did get a nice hotel room and three free meals out of the day I lost.
The train itinerary between Frankfurt Flughafen and Bonn Hauptbahnhof and had been graciously left to my excited and happily independent devices. Unfortunately, I was having trouble finding internet enough to discern the difference between the words Flughafen and Haubtbahnhof, and my faltering confidence led me to the Bonn/Köln Flughafen, where I ran back and forth between an internet connection and the Fahrkarten at least four times, leaving annoying and ambiguous messages to the patiently waiting Dr. Wasser and Mr. Nipkow. By the time I figured out that Hbf was the same thing as Haubtbahnhof, I had a train ticket in my hand on which the only thing I could read was 13:51 and the number 4. So I went to platform 4 and got on the train that came at 13:51.
The word Haubtbahnhof never came on the little scroll-screen. I waited for longer than I should have, unable to reach anyone without an internet connection and the wrong version of a phone number. Finally I gave up and got off at a stop named Bad Hönningen, which I can only assume is extremely far away from Bonn based on the looks people give me when I mention it. There I stopped a nice young couple and their dog with a carefully practiced, “Bitte sprechen sie englisch?” The man called the right version of Nils’s number and three hours later, I was awkwardly hugging my host father at Bonn Beuel. The man is a firefighter; he prefers beer over wine and likes to read books about German history.
And after a long day of artificial kidneys and adorable axolotls and giant spiders that might still be crawling on your arm, I am holed up in a hotel room in Hanover. There is a surprisingly spicy pasta and few too many sips of delicious pinot grigio in my stomach, along with half a cup of chocolate ice cream. It was the first dinner so far that I’ve eaten with fellow students, and I had fun wandering the streets of the city while talking to people, for a change. Tomorrow we head even further north. I suppose I should get a good night’s sleep, since they seem like they are hard to come by up here!
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