travelling home. two ways.

at this point i am comfortable to say that the only thing i like about the French is their macarons and their champagne.

 

after 32 hours of travelling i made it back to cape town. the part when i ate all the ladurée macarons, my last euros could buy, and drank all the champagne at the business class lounge was fun. the part when i was stuck on the plane for an extra three hours at the airport till 2am wasn’t fun. neither the part when i subsequently missed my connecting flight and was put on another one that was also two hours late. and neither when this one was also stuck at the airport for another hour due to a dent, which may or may not have been caused by a poor little bird (captain’s words, not mine – fuck that bird!). did i mention that they put me in the last row, middle seat, and that air france managed to lose my luggage yet again?!
yeah, all so not fun and even the macarons barely made up for it. but as they did, i need to thank marie for telling me about the ladurée stand at the airport. i don’t think it would have even occurred to me to look for it, if she hadn’t told me.
so now i’m back and my luggage too with a little delay. i’m sick and exhausted, emotionally and physically. however i am happy to be back in the sun, with my solar powered fairy lights and a big pot of freshly grown basil on the balcony.
but for all of you who were hopeful that once i travelled back to cold, dark germany in the winter and would be inclined to change my mind about moving there, i have to disappoint you. despite the less than fortunate circumstances i liked it. 

i liked that the people in shops and restaurants were really friendly and generally knew what they were doing. a large number of girls sported an unfortunate choice of eyebrows (as in none, replaced by a black marker line), but while it made them look a bit scary, they were still all really friendly and i think it might only be a regional thing.

oh how i loved that things run on time! except very busy surgeons when they meet you for dinner, but how often will that really become an issue in the future?!

my nephew asked me when i was going to come visit him again (i didn’t get to see him this time around) and so i told him about my plans to move to hamburg where he lives. he was so freaking excited and just kept on asking for real? like really?
so i have to move now before he turns into a snotty teenager who couldn’t give a damn about where his aunt lives. 

 

but seriously i am also moving back for the love of pasta. i mean look at this…

i almost cried when i saw the wall of pasta at karstadt and tried to figure out how i can take all some back. in the end i didn’t take any because my bag was full, but i have planned to return there immediately when i move back and buy all some of it.

last but not least: germany is pretty when the skies are blue and yes, even in winter they sometimes are.

part III - of being home and coming home and orange chocolate sticks.

i take a breath. i take a sip of overpriced minibar wine. i could cry a little. instead i look out of the window and the view over the now night-lit city is magnificent again. it wasn't earlier today, everything was grey. german style. now it's darkness and twinkly lights.

the massage i had the day before was pure luxury according to the price, but it was there to help me relax. not that it really did help, but it felt nice. now i need another one to get rid of the pain in my left shoulder, the familiar pain that seems to be my achilles heel when i carry too much luggage. or when stuff happens. stuff like my dad almost dying.

there is a dummies guide to everything these days, except for this. a dummies guide on how to take care of a dad if he had major surgery and almost died. there is nothing that could have ever prepared me for it, with or without a book. i don't know what to do, how to hide my helplessness, and how to sleep when i come back to room alone in a foreign city that is grey.

but somehow i have managed. there is not guide book so there is no right or wrong. i want to buy him food, i think hospital food is horrible, and my dad likes good food. i go to the store and then i feel overwhelmed. what do you buy for someone who just had a huge surgery? i end up buying orange sticks covered in dark chocolate amongst other bananas and pudding. i know my dad likes them, so his first meal out of surgery is vanilla semolina pudding and two orange sticks covered in dark chocolate.

i tell him he looks like an outlaw and file his nails and put lotion on his face.

i buy him nice, comfy headphones so he can listen to his beloved operas.

i tell him stuff and am happy when i can make him laugh. the best words he says to me start with “when i get out of here...”

i have only my intuition as to what to do and say. somehow it seems to be the right thing.

every day when i return from my morning visit i go to a pasta bar where i eat a bowl and drink some white wine for lunch. too much white wine to be honest. i do nothing, but i am exhausted. i start to miss my life. not so much cape town itself, but something that is mine. it seems to be suspended for the time being. it's okay, i am not complaining, as long as my dad is getting better.

the view from my hotel room is even more spectacular at night. the opera is drenched in soft pink light. it was built under stalin; apparently he got something right. i can't get myself to go see something, it seems too much effort and the only nice piece of clothing i have with me is my sherlock holmes coat. at h&m i have found some very cheap, nice bikini bottoms in black but nothing that screams opera.

so i stay in and order room service. the schnitzel is phenomenal and somehow i manage to make peace with the german television. i sleep badly though and miss my bed.

what happened to the “date” with the doctor you ask? well, let me tell you that grey's anatomy is a big, fat lie. well, the only part that is true is that funny machine you use to blow balls into the air to train your lungs, but the rest is bullshit. all that flirting, the dating, the shagging in the on-call room, that getting married, that cheating on each other, phew, it is all make belief! because believe me when i tell you: a real surgeon does not have time for that. a real surgeon will manage to have a schnitzel with you at 10pm after a long day of work and then he will need an early night to be fit for surgery in the morning. i count myself lucky that the schnitzel was a really good one and that i got a ride home in a fancy surgeon's car.

but honestly i don't even care. all i care that i left a father today who was smiling, eating, and breathing on his own. the only sign that reminds of his ordeal is a brave heart scar, which i tell him daily is pretty cool – chicks dig scars!