One more round to say good bye.

Berlin - Stolzenburg - Neu Karin

Opel Corsa 1994 - 355km

Five days overdue, crammed into a two door Opel Corsa loaded to the roof, we finally left Berlin. My eagerness to get our trip underway meant I couldn't appreciate the moment for what it was. It had been a frenetic few weeks: prizing ourselves from the clasp of German bureaucracy; sorting our possessions into what we would store, send, sell or pack; preparing our apartment for sub-letting; organising a farewell celebration... Difficult enough at the best of times, with a newly mobile ten month old spreading slobbery destruction wherever her chubby fingers could pry, it felt like trying to coax a donkey into a match box. Somehow though, we had done it. Now we sat, surrounded by a worrying amount of stuff, strapped in and ready to go. Our destination: New Zealand.

There to see us off were our neighbours, people who over the past seven years had become our beloved community and our kids' best friends. We had met in our communal Hinterhof or backyard, striking up small talk over the rush of the passing S-Bahn and the sodden sand "ice creams" which our children thrust into our hands. Over the years - with barbecues, poker nights, sleepovers and birthday parties - we created many happy memories and lifelong friendships with our "Backyard Gang". This wonderful, eclectic crew, as well as the many other friends I made in Berlin, were what made it so hard to leave.

After a final round of farewells in at least six different languages, we waved through the gaps in our luggage and set off, tooting as we lurched around the corner. We were off - albeit in the wrong direction. We had a final round of farewells to make which, especially for J, would be the hardest of all. We were headed north to Stolzenburg, an 800 year old village ringed by corn fields and sunflowers close to the Polish border, for one last visit to J's beloved Grandparents. 

The night before we were to leave I sat as I had so many times in Oma's living room, sweating on the couch in front of the blaring radiator. Between shots of ice cold vodka and gulps of wheat beer I listened once more to stories of their life in the GDR."It wasn't a perfect system, but it was our system." Oma said with a jut of her chin.

"Ah Chris my boy," said Opa shakily pouring me another Schnaps "so jung wie Heut kommen wir nicht mehr zusammen." (we'll never meet again as young as we are today). Even though I had heard the saying countless times before, this time it caused a lump to form in my throat.

After a hard farewell the following morning, we made the familiar drive along the roaring A20 to J's parents house in Neu Karin. This rural village with a population of around 60 inhabitants had often been our refuge from city life. Most notably during the Covid lockdown, which we spent in one of the holiday apartments, next to a cherry tree in the garden. The stout thatch-roofed house, which J's father designed himself, is where I spent my first German Weihnachten and many thereafter. It was a warm welcome to Germany (literally thanks to the large crackling oven, underfloor heating and triple glazed windows), a comforting feeling which never wore off. Juicy roast rabbit, bubbling polish soups,a basket of fresh Brötchen every morning: the large wooden table in the Wintergarten is the centre of orbit in this house.

Over the many visits I have grown to appreciate the surrounding area - the stern yet charming villages centred around a reed-ringed pond or centuries old church; the groomed rolling fields home to fox, hare, deer and hawk; the lofty cathedrals of Beech forest; the splashes of wildflowers and tangled black berry which fray the edges. I always found a welcome familiarity in the stillness here, despite the ever present *whoom whoom whoom* of the wind turbines.

With access to wi-fi once more, the next couple of days were spent crossing the t's and dotting the ö's before our departure. It was also where we would hand back the keys to the cramped yet convenient Corsa, which we had borrowed for the past couple of months. From now on we would be travelling by train, carrying everything we need (and more besides) in our backpacks. Fortunately we did have time for one last trip to the Ostsee - specifically to Rerik, a strip of white sand and tussock just a 15 minute drive from the in-laws house - and one last dinner of fish and fried potatoes.

Not people for overt displays of sentimentality, the farewell from J's parents was mercifully undramatic. Standing in front of the rundown station building in Neubukow, there were half made promises to visit us in New Zealand. Unlike her step-mother, J's father, perhaps concerned about rising gas and fuel prices, was reticent. Right on time our red Deutsche Bahn glided into the station.

As we departed, our kids waved to their Oma and Opa through the smeared window. I felt suddenly guilty removing them from the world they knew and loved. What lay in store for them between here and the waiting arms of their grandparents in New Zealand? We had four months and 18,000 kms to cover before that moment arrived. As our train gathered speed, I took comfort in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, when we return to Neu Karin we would find the thatch roofed house surrounded by fruit trees exactly as we left it.