Berlin - Stolzenburg - Neu Karin
Opel Corsa 1994 - 355km
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.