Nostalgia

Part 1: Herrenburg, Germany

I stepped off the train in Herrenburg with anticipation tingling through my limbs. How long had it been since I saw Maura? I lived in her spare bedroom for a few months in 2005, and we became friends immediately. She has a ready warm smile and great sense of humor, and she is not afraid to say what she’s thinking. I left DC in 2009, and although we’ve kept in touch, I figure out that the last time we saw each other was the summer of 2011. Since then we’ve each lived in 3 different places with Maura now in Herrenburg, outside of Stuttgart, Germany. I emailed her out of the blue a couple months ago to see if I could visit her and her family on this trip, and now here I am, walking through a train station in a German town I hadn’t heard of before.

I walk through a tunnel under the tracks and then up a staircase at the station’s exit, wondering if I will recognize Maura. But there she is, sitting on a planter with her younger son. She sees me, we both beam, and we slow-motion run toward each other for a hug worthy of this years-long wait. It feels like no time has passed, even though our lives are so different than they were when we saw each other for regular Sunday night potluck dinners in DC.

For the next few days, I eat my weight in bread and take it easy. Maura and I catch up on news about mutual friends and where we are today, and I join activities with her husband Nico and their two sons. We fill in the gaps between who we were around 2009 and who we are in 2018. We both remember a decade-old conversation with another friend, Megan, when Maura was going through some tough times. She had said to me and Megan, “I just wish I had it together like you guys do.” Megan and I had exploded into laughter at the idea that we had it together.

“Do you think we will ever feel like we have it together?” I ask.

“I think we see now that life is messy, even for people who appear to ‘have it together.'”

On Father’s Day (a national, non-working holiday in Germany), Maura and I go to the local baths and test out all the pools while trying not to get too close to the many couples making out or the naked octogenarians. The pools have precise temperatures between 31 and 36 degrees Celsius, and the water is meant to have some beneficial effects. I will say, it was relaxing as hell. We both fell asleep on heated chairs in a warn windowed room looking at trees and flowers. When we get home from the baths, I immediately text Lauren about finding something similar in Denver. I could use access to 13 euros for total relaxation at home!

Also, this exists: a meat vending machine, in case you need an emergency meat run on a Sunday or holiday.

Part 2: Strasbourg, France

On Saturday afternoon, Maura and I drive to Strasbourg. This place has meaning for both of us: we each studied abroad here in college, though not together. It’s been 17 years since I set foot in Strasbourg, and I’ve been jealously guarding my sense of it as an idyllic place that launched my love for travel. I’m excited to return and nervous that it won’t live up to my sentimental memory-feelings. We drive into town on a beautiful sunny afternoon, ready for my heart to trip over itself with adoration and warm nostalgic memories.

“I don’t recognize anything,” Maura admits after a few minutes of silence.

I sadly agree. “It’s trippy to be here and have nothing feel familiar.”

We walk across covered bridges, through streets with timbered tall houses, to the famous cathedral. We have snacks at a cute timbered hotel-restaurant beside the famous Cathedral, the Maison Kammerzell.

It starts to dawn on me that my first experience of Strasbourg was significantly different than this will be, and that may be causing me some trouble in recalling memories. In college, I made strong efforts to spend as little money as possible- sometimes at the expense of worthwhile experiences. I agonized over every hostel, every meal, every coffee. I also spent only a few weekends here, the rest spent traveling all over Europe. Strasbourg may not feel that familiar because I wasn’t really here- and because my more mature confidence and a stable savings account fundamentally change how I travel.

Studying here in 2001, I lived with a wonderful host family. When I flew to Strasbourg from the US, I miscalculated my arrival time and showed up at their building door in a cold January rain, several hours before they were expecting me. Maura and I found the building where the apartment was- I wonder if they still live here, 17 years later. I feel a fleeting flicker of familiarity that leaves me feeling a little empty.

What I do remember are some important local dishes. Maura and I made a dinner reservation before we arrived at a place in the old town that served these dishes. I always say Strasbourg has the best of French and German in both food and beer, and my longing for choucroute and kirs reflects this. Choucroute is sauerkraut with 5-8 kinds of meat- a meal my 20 year old self could finish.

I gave it my best. This choucroute had 6 meats, a half potato (which I considered optional), and a mound of sauerkraut under all that meat you see. I made sure to eat all the best stuff first, and after that I finished about 2/3 of my dish. My 37 year old self is thrilled with my performance.

On Sunday morning, I feel anxious. Maura will be going home today, and I’m surprised that I’m not just anxious about saying farewell to her but also about being alone. I’ve traveled on my own plenty, but my mind conjures all sorts of reasons for worry:

• What if I don’t have a conversation with ANYone for 3 weeks?
• What if my luck finally runs out and something truly bad happens to me?
• What if the president tweets something irresponsible enough to make the world notably less safe while I’m abroad, like withdrawing from the Iran nuclear deal? (Check!)
• What if I hate staying in hostels? Am I too old for this?
• What if it stays cold and I have to keep wearing the same outfit every day that is approximately half the contents of my backpack?

I could go on, and I’m sure I will in future entries.

We go to the Orangerie, a beautiful park with a small zoo in the middle. Just as we visited my old home and routes on Saturday, this area is familiar to Maura. We also remark that the cloudy day is much more representative of our time here. I saw goats (!!!!!!), storks, monkeys, ducks… many random animals. The storks are kind of a regional bird of Alsace, the region where Strasbourg sits.

I tamp down my sadness as I say goodbye to Maura. I don’t know when I’ll see her again, but we are already making plans. I wait to see her car pull out, delaying the goodbye as long as possible.

As I walk back toward the downtown, I am desperately trying to turn everything I see into something familiar. Have I been on this corner before? Is THAT the patisserie where I used to get almond croissants every day around 4pm? I feel cut off from my previous experience in Strasbourg and from everyone I know who is not here.

I finally realize what I’m seeking so desperately. I want to feel what it was like to be 20 years old on a trip I now knew would have huge significance in my life. Before 9/11, in a world that felt safer, when I could hold the illusion that people can “have it together,” when my parents were both still alive and lived in my hometown, when I didn’t worry about student loans or getting a good job or adult responsibilities. I want to travel back in time for however long the gods will give me to feel lighter. I also realize this is impossible and it is keeping me from enjoying this charming town for what it is, today.

When I relax and walk around, I find some places that feel familiar. I enter the university to find a restroom and immediately recognize hallways I walked down and a green, earthy atrium. I find the patisserie around 4pm and eat my croissant en amande in Place Kleber. I stumble upon a nightclub we visited, Le Salamandre, which I note doesn’t open until 11pm and then only on the weekends. I salute 20 year old Sara’s stamina and ability to dance with abandon, and then I keep walking. Below are some pictures of my Strasbourg: the Université Marc Bloch, view from any bridge over l’Ill, the Cathédrale, tarte flambée (essentially pizza with crust not much thicker than a crepe), and a war memorial at Place de la République.

As I pass the statue in the middle of Place Kléber for the last time, I wonder whether it will still be here in another 17 years. The world felt open and optimistic when I studied here; now it feels like it’s darkening. Maybe the world hasn’t actually changed, but 17 years of life experience has shown me more of what is here, changing my perspective. In any case, I miss my version of Strasbourg even before I’ve left.