A Walk Through Town

One of the things I've always enjoyed about watching movies that take place in Europe is seeing the small towns and the people walking and bicycling along cobblestone streets and sidewalks. It seemed the towns in the movies are always lined with streets full of small specialty shops offering everything from freshly butchered meat to flowers and fruits picked earlier the same day. In the movies, the European buildings are decorated with windows that have windowboxes with flowers of all colors spilling out of them and the sounds of words spoken in another language drift out of the windows and through the air.

When you watch a movie and imagine yourself there, in that space and time, it can be a great escape. The imagination is a wonderful gift that takes us to times and places we may never have visited otherwise. When you can actually walk through a real European town, smelling the fresh bread, hearing the language and music of the country and seeing the sights that are such an integral part of that country's everyday life, it is like stepping onto the set of a movie. Only the movie is your life.

Since arriving in Dusseldorf, Germany on August 9th, it has become my morning routine to wake up, get dressed, grab an apple to eat as I walk and walk into town. Sometimes I have a purpose for going into town...to get fresh bread for Mario and I to have for breakfast, to get medicine at the Apotheke (ah-poh-tek-a) or pharmacy or to see if the Fresh Market is there. Sometimes I walk just to explore a new part of town, enjoy the sights and watch everyone else begin their day. The older men often stand at the painted, wrought iron gate of their yard and observe the world go by while enjoying their morning smoke. Women of all ages, pass me by on bicycles with baskets on the front that are filled with fresh flowers or other goods needed for the day.

The downtown area of the town in which we live is an easy five minute walk from our home. As I leave our street and walk the cobblestone sidewalk leading into town, I first approach a school for very young children. This, of course, is near and dear to my heart since I was a teacher for many years. Once I pass the large Montessori Kinderhaus I know I'm only a couple blocks away from town. Around 9 o'clock in the morning, the sounds of childrens' songs sung in German can be heard  from the second story windows.

Morning is the best time to walk through town as mouth-watering smells meet me at every turn and on every block. The aromas greet me before I can determine where they're coming from and encircle me, dancing around my senses like schoolchildren playing Ring-Around-the-Rosie.

The first aroma to find its way to me as I enter downtown comes from the butcher shop. For those who love sausage, nothing makes your mouth water and beg for more than the smell and taste of freshly made sausage. Olezynski's Butcher Shop always has customers waiting inside and the door is wide open, allowing the smells of various meats, sausages and lunchmeats to waft out onto the sidewalk.

At the time I walk, it's what would be considered rush hour in America yet the streets are not crazy and hectic as one would expect in a busy downtown area, early in the morning. People are out and about and are clearly heading to a destination known only to them but the atmosphere of rushing does not exist. Everyone moves along at a normal pace and when I smile and say "Guten Morgen" (good morning), they smile and return the greeting.

When I approach the streetlight, I'm directed to stop by the universal "no-walking" sign...a red man, standing still with his arms by his sides. As I wait for it to change to the green man who appears to be mid-stride, I find myself staring in awe at the beautiful church occupying the corner across the street. I am not a church person; I find spirituality all around. But this tall, majestic red brick church commands respect and attention and I give it its due each time I pass.

In the busier parts of town, the sidewalks are split in two with the gray cobblestone areas designated for people on foot and the red cobblestone areas for people on bicycles. On the way to my favorite bakery, I step over a sign that directs the bicyclists to "Bitte Schieben" or "Please Push" and I take this to mean that it's preferred there be no loitering around on the bicycle on a busy sidewalk and it's better to keep pushing the peddles to move forward.

My favorite bakery, the Backerei Steh-Cafe, is across the street from the official building where I filed my residence with the city on my second day in Germany. Walking into the bakery is unlike any trip to the store for a loaf of bread. The smell of fresh bread beckons me in and, as I approach the counter, I am overwhelmed by the selection of individual-sized loafs of breads, pretzels, pastries, rolls and other bread products. There are dark breads and light breads, breads with seeds and nuts on the outside, breads twisted and turned into all sorts of shapes. Many of the breads are crusty on the outside but reveal an oh-so-soft center that's perfect for spreading marmalade or butter on when the bread is cut in half.  For someone like me, who is overwhelmed with more than two choices, the Backerei Steh-Cafe makes me feel both ecstatic and stressed-out at the same time. I have vowed to try something new each time I go and believe I will have tasted every bread in the store within ten years' time.

    

Outside the bakery is a crosswalk, leading to a parking area across the street where the Fresh Market sets up camp once a week. Across from the parking area is the Eiscafe (ice cream shop) that Mario took me to on my first afternoon in Germany. I had tiramasu ice in a sugar cone and experienced heaven on earth for the few minutes it lasted. The freshly made ice cream at the Eiscafe is similar to the gelato served at true Italian ice shops in America. The smooth, creamy texture of freshly made German ice cream is a cross between regular ice cream and the more icy texture of Italian ice. I had told Mario that tiramasu was my favorite dessert and he had been telling me, over the phone, for months that he wanted to take me for tiramasu ice. It was a treat worth waiting months for and I look forward to our next trip to the Eiscafe.

When I pass the Eiscafe, it usually means I'm heading back toward home. I walk past clothing stores, window shopping and dreaming of the sweaters and shirts I want and the necklaces I'd love to have. Before I reach the streetlit intersection again, I pass by Adam's Confiserie, or the sweet shop where the sign on the window let's everyone know they specialize in cakes and tortes. I have yet to go into Adam's Confiserie. From the window, I can see the trays of fudge, candy, small cakes and other treats and they send me into the sort of tailspin known only by those with a voracious sweet tooth. I am afraid of what might happen if I go into Adam's unaccompanied so I am saving that excursion for a trip into town with Mario so he can reign me in when my eyes glaze over and roll back into their sockets as I ask the woman behind the counter for one of everything in the shop. My plan is to buy one piece of to-die-for chocolate and enjoy it like it's the last piece of chocolate that will ever pass through my lips and this is a plan I know I can never stick to on a solitary trip.

The street becomes busier as the streetlight draws near and cars, trucks and motorcycles of all kinds pass me by.  When it's my turn to cross, I pass the Apotheke that made me a lifetime customer on my first visit when I had one of those irritating female infections on my fifth day in Germany. The pharmacies in Germany are unlike the ones in America.  In America, you walk up and down the aisles, select what you want, put it in your cart and move along to the cash register. The only time you speak to the pharmacist is when you need to pick up or drop off a prescription.  At the Apotheke, everything is behind the counter so imagine my fright when I walked in and knew I would have to ask for medicine for a yeast infection with my limited German. I prayed that whomever came out from the back to help me not be a man and thankfully, it was a wonderfully kind, slow-speaking woman about my age. We spoke for ten minutes in German, determining what I needed and talked about me coming to Germany just five days earlier. When you are learning a new language it's exciting to be able to understand what others say to you and the sense of pride is huge when you can converse back. In five days I had gone from being able to say "danke schon" (thank you) and "tschuss" (goodbye) to carrying on a simple conversation for ten or more minutes. It was a step toward being able to meet and speak to more people, which will hopefully lead to making my first friend in Germany.  The road curves to the left and the red cobblestone bike path ends, signaling that I've left the downtown area. My street is lined with homes and apartments decorated with windowboxes and rooftop gardens and I'm happy to be back home. In a very short amount of time, I've grown to love the town in which I live and it calls to me every morning to come join it in saying "Guten Morgen" to the world. But home truly is where the heart is and, as I walk up the steps to unlock the front door, I'm happy to return home to be with Mario.