The World is Crazy, Alles Klar?

So much to say. It's the end of day 2, morning of day 3 here in Trier, Germany. My mother called my leaving a "second birth" and I couldn't describe it better. I have already learned so much about the world and myself, and it began even before leaving my home in Tennessee. Did you know I can fit an entire shirt into a shoe? Neither did I, until I starting packing to study abroad.

I'll be the first to admit I'm a fairly idealistic person, and my concern was that my expectations of life abroad would be far too high. In my mind I am a jetsetter, traveling the world in style, talking in new languages with ease, not a care in the world. This ideal is quickly shattered. My expectations are not too high--my experiences so far have actually exceeded them--the fact is that they are flawed. I imagined no obstacles. Just the physical act of coming to Deutschland has been a ride on a 98-year-old, wooden roller coaster with dry rot. It's been filled with regret, fear, and dismay. To begin with, I am leaving home for the first time, to live on my own for the first time, on a continent I am flying to for the first time, speaking a language to natives for the first time, being truly alone for the first time. Of course all hell will break loose. Why did I expect any different? The best things in life do not come easy.

To begin with, my nine hour flight to Amsterdam is delayed for an hour and a half "due to a bathroom smoke detector malfunction". There is no smoke, for Pete's sake, this is obviously a liability issue. What I would give to sign a waiver and continue on time. But, alas, this is not an option, and that delay causes me to miss my next flight to Luxembourg, where I am to meet a fellow exchange student and we are to travel on together. No such luck. So I wait in the airport for a few hours for the next available flight, attempting to call the house master who will meet me at my dorm to let me in and give me the key. No answer. I call my coordinator. No answer. I call the emergency number, and am answered by my coordinator's secretary. I stumble through a few stilted phrases in German, nervously, and accidentally call the lovely lady "Herr" instead of "Frau". Please earth, swallow me now. Luckily she has a sense of humor, and while mildly confused, just laughs and transfers me to my coordinator. He makes the arrangements with my house master, and tells me to call the house master when I arrive in the dorms and he will be there 20 minutes later. As soon as he catches a breath in order to tell me some other vital piece of information, my call disconnects on my end. There is no way to call him back; he must think me terribly rude. To this day I have yet to get the chance to explain.

No worries, I finally get on my plane. The student I am meeting in Luxembourg has already waited for my flight and is disappointed to see I do not arrive--she had no phone, there was no way to warn her of my later date of arrival. I am doing this all on my own. I pick up my luggage in an almost deserted airport, discovering that in transit, the thingy that kept my fifty pound roller suitcase from falling over when stood up has been broken off. Oh joy. I meander through the deserted airport, wondering what the French translation for "exit" or "bus" or "lost homeschooled girl far from home this way" is. I walk through a strange hallway labeled Customs, past people waiting in a line getting their suitcases checked. Do I need to be in that line? I have no clue, so I walk past. No one stops me, they just stare. Very awkward. Finally outside, I find a bus. Buses. New things. I know the wheels go round and round all day long. That is pretty much the extent of my knowledge. The driver is actually very kind to me, and upon discovering that I am an American, speaks fluent English.

I arrive at the train station. What do I know about trains? I stumble my way through finding the building, the right waiting line, and buying a ticket to Trier bus station. Looking at my ticket, I realize my train leaves in ten minutes. My feet sprout wings and I fly, but where? There are no signs! Where is train 6A? It is dumb luck that I run through the right door and into the main station. Following the signs, I come across a long flight up stairs. With my twenty pound backpack, ten pound messenger back, fiftyis pound broken roller suitcase, and one hundred and twenty-five pound self, I know there is no way I am making it up that flight of stairs. Ahoy! A wild cute boy appears, and hauls my broken suitcase up the long flight of stairs with a smile. We are going the same direction, and he helps me up and down several more flights, even going so far as hosting it from the platform to the my train. I feel not so alone, when there are strangers who are willing to help me. I board my train in my time. Thank god for cute boys everywhere.

A woman absorbed in a world of make-believe is startled when I drop my bag into the seat across from her. I offer an apologetic look and try to keep my luggage from crushing any toes. After a thirty minute bus ride during which we exchange pleasantries, I arrive in Trier. I step off the train. Look purposeful, Anna! You totally know where you are going. You will not be a victim of pickpockets or sex traffickers that might guess you have no one who is thinking about you on this continent. My train friend quickly sees through my bravado. She goes out of her way to accompany me to my next bus. She then rides it with me, and the next bus. She pays for my fare when my hands are too full for with baggage to fumble for two euros, and she won't let me repay her. Upon our arrival at Trier bus station, she asks people waiting for the bus where my dorm is and which bus to take. Finally, one girl recognizes it, and in fluent English, explains that bus 5 is the one I need to wait for. My train friend bids me goodbye, now that I am in good hands.

The girl who spoke is named Laura, I learn. She says she will wait with me for my bus. Yet another total stranger, willing to go out of their way to help me. The world is a beautiful place. We have a delightful conversation while standing in the pouring rain. A raincoat would be really great right now. She offers to take me to a nearby shop where I can buy an umbrella. I wholeheartedly agree, since we have missed the first bus I could have boarded and it is twenty minutes until the next. After my much-needed purchase, I ask about a pay phone to call my house master and let him know I am here. She offers her own cell phone, and even provides an invaluable translation service, as my German is conversational at best. We go back in the rain to wait, this time with shelter. Among my apologies and assurances that I can find my way, she replies that she has free time before her plan to meet a friend and waits with me. We discuss the ironic onesie trend, and she informs me that even Germans are not immune to the snuggly goodness of onesie pajamas. She even owns a pair. I confide in her my own dirty little secret--I love them. We laugh and talk about our lives, families, and the little things we find fascinating about life.

My bus arrives and I beg her to let me take her to lunch for helping me. After a number exchange I'm on my way to my dorm. The bus driver doesn't know the address, but knows the general area. He drops me off, and I take in my surroundings. It's pouring rain. I'm jet-lagged, soaked, and luggage seems a thousand times heavier than it started out with. I begin walking in a random direction, running toward anyone I see and asking them for directions. No one knows. Finally I catch up to two cute joggers, who inform me it is the green building in the distance. As sad as I am to see them go, I do so enjoy watching them jog away. I trek towards the building, about to die. I must have walked twenty-six miles already, because this feels like a marathon. The building in question seems dingy from the outside, and is fenced in. The iron gate welded shut. WHY GOD WHY?? I trudge towards the parking lot, when a little car zooms in and a grey-haired man rolls down his window. "Anna? Anna Nolte?" I yell YES a little too enthusiastically. A short, very much Charade-style tour of the facilities later, the German house master enlists the help of a student translator to communicate. My room is not bad. Except that it is not my room. My room is in Tennessee, 'merica. This is a hotel bed; a stranger's bed. I meet a few other students and call it an early night. I nibble on a muffin before bed, wondering what the hell I'm doing here.

My body wakes up at 7 am, screaming GO TIME. I cannot get back to sleep. I'm starving. No supper was provided--each student has their own niche in the kitchen and there is no community food. Looks like no breakfast, either. I am also running low on water on my Camelbak. I'm low on food, water, and registration begins at 10:30. I have no clue how to get out of the building, much less which bus to take. My body is in survival mode. I have shelter, but I have no friends and I have no sustenance. My only hope is the other students. I heard them knocking on each other's doors making plans to go together to registration in the hallway last night. No one knocked on my door. I have never felt more alone in my life. I reread the cards my family packed in my suitcase to fortify myself, particularly one line. "At some point in this journey; whether it be in this moment of months later, you may feel alone. That is a new and strange feeling but let it empower you." I let it replay in my head over and over again, like a soothing symphony. It helps.

It is already 8 am now, and I knock on an acquaintance's door to ask about registration plans. She doesn't answer, so I write a note and slide it under her door. I try and sleep. Two hours later and there have been many doors opening and closing. She seemed friendly, but maybe she hated me and has left already. Registration starts soon. I fidget and another thirty minutes pass by. What am I doing here? I'm so hungry. I eat the last of my muffin and water. My supplies are gone. I am in full blown survival mode. A knock on my door shakes me out of it, and it's the girl, finally awakened. She would love for me to come. Several hours later, we have registered and bought food. I am growing to like the two girls I have talked to. We bond over getting completely lost on buses together. We can laugh together about things, and even though their German is far more advanced, they don't mind my questions. They encourage me to talk as much as possible in my limited German. A second semester German student shows us around the market, and we all make dinner together--a delicious stew thing of his own devise--while bopping to his favorite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers. We all get along splendidly, and I pick up a few more German phrases while enjoying the sense of camaraderie and community we share. After helping clean up, I unlock my door and slip under my covers into my bed. This is my home. I don't expect things to be easy. But anything worth doing never is. Goodnight, world.