Germany

Not long ago I moved to Deggendorf, Germany for six months. I could say it was work related, that New York was becoming too expensive or that I wanted a change of scenery but the truth is that for me to beg my boss to allow me to telecommute from Europe, sublet my cute apartment in Brooklyn, pack up my not so valuable valuables, and auf wiedersehen New York City with barely a second glance, amounted to one thing; It was clearly all about a boy.

Ninety miles from Munich, Deggendorf is a small town in Bavaria where everything shuts down at 5pm except on Sundays when nothing opens; with the exception of the church in the center of town and Restaurant Olympia, a Greek restaurant that stayed open until 12:30am daily. Needless to say, I drank a lot of ouzo during my time in Deggendorf.

A few weeks after my arrival, I walked into the local tavern for dinner. Had I spoken German I would have read the large sign on the front door, which read “Uhlmann Family Reunion.” There were balloons but I thought they were just being particularly festive at the tavern that night. I took a moment to notice that instead of the usual assortment of tables and chairs, there was one long table in the center of the room and a buffet set up along a wall. Family style tonight, I guessed. I also did take note that the conversation stopped immediately upon my walking in and that upwards of fifty people turned, in unison, to look at me; but I was the only black person for miles so that reaction wasn’t unusual. I proceeded to sit at the family style set table, and look around for a menu.

I was waved over to the buffet by "my server," also known as Grandma Uhlmann as I later found out, and I proceeded to pile my plate high with blutwurst and leberwurst (blood and liver sausage), kartoffelsalat (potato salad), and schweinshaxe (braised pork). I sat back at the table and used the three German words that I knew (push, pull, thank you), and sign language to communicate with my dining companions. Two hours later, my then boyfriend having driven in from his office in Munich arrived as planned to pick me up from dinner and quickly revealed the anecdote that I had walked into. One that I’m sure has since been told, and re-told, by the Uhlmanns. Apparently, the recurring question of the night was, “whose side of the family is she from?” wink wink. Fast-forward to now, and I live in New Orleans, and the boy lives in Edinburgh. The love is lost but I’ll always have my German family reunion.