November 2002 - Nr. 11
Hey you!
o
r "Where do you fit in?"
Yes,
don’t look around all confused, I mean you!
You’re between 18 and 35, right? I knew I got it right. I’m sorry; if you don’t fall within this category you must look away and read something else.
Right, so now I’ve got your attention. This ain’t your mamma’s old-fashioned yodeling article here. If that’s what you’re into, hey, I’m not judging you, but don’t expect it here.
Do you speak some form of German? Not everyone speaks the good ol’ Hochdeutsch. There is a sort-of endearing quality to certain accents. Maybe you’re of German, Austrian or Swiss descent? What’s the point, you ask?
Let me introduce myself. My name is Elizabeth Kuehn. I’m a classically trained musician. More specifically, I’m a conductor. You know, the person in front of an orchestra, choir or in the orchestra pit who waves arms with aim at the musicians in front of them. Gathering by my last name, I am partly of German and Austrian descent. Point being, this space, with the aid of the fabulous editor of this wonderful publication will become the stomping ground for 18-35s. If you don’t qualify, well, you’ll have to look elsewhere.
I would like to share an adventure with you. My sister Caroline and I partook on a 2-month European trip this summer. It was, if you will, the Geschwister Kuehn version of the Amazing Race! This expedition had come at the end of a long year full of turning points.
We, both being musicians, and being fresh out of university, me being a U of T alumni 3 times over, needed a cleansing session and a return to what is natural and real. Hence, leaving the country for a while seemed like a good solution. The plan was simple enough in its complexities. Two months of gallivanting.
Easy enough, right? What was the plan? Land in Frankfurt, watch the World Cup Final in the Rathausplatz, night train down to Munich. And we did.
Next day, off to Verona, Italy, of Romeo and Juliet fame. Then, the trek of treks. The train to Bari (the heel of the boot), 15.5 hour overnight ferry to Patras, Greece, to get onto the world’s slowest and oldest train. If that weren’t bad enough, the train was eventually shut down after the most strange event. Unfortunately an older man had some bowel trouble and that was the end of the line for us. Looking in shock, we got off and proceeded to follow a conglomerate of confused passengers. Nothing in Greece works according to plan, and, quite frankly, I don’t think you’d have it any other way.
We finally made it to Athens, to our hotel and looked outside to admire the beautiful view: the Acropolis! Magnificent! As the tour of Greece continued, I began to realize how things back home are so completely different. Who of us sits in a café for hours on end discussing philosophy, the day’s most recent political situation, the lack of jobs or simply sitting, no discussion, admiring passers-by while sipping a Nescafé Frappé for 3 hours? Don’t ask, we did.
I started to think how the regular visits to the Second Cup or Tim Horton’s simply didn’t cut it, and that I might be a product of the environment? It was not clear.
After an eventful border crossing into Macedonia, we arrived in Skopje. Never in my life did I think I would visit a country that borders one which is in the midst of political chaos. It is the opposite of anything that you may imagine.
The people make the place. Lively, happy and confident in their environment. Sometimes shocked to see foreigners.
From there we traveled up to Croatia by train. We were apprehensive about the border crossing into Serbia; however, the guards and people couldn’t have been friendlier. Up to Vienna for a two-week stay and then back to Munich. Continuing along to Dijon, France, Brussels, Paris and finally Frankfurt, Germany.
What is it that I had noticed most? Yes, the gorgeous country, monasteries, churches, palaces. But what made the most lasting impression? The people. A little disillusionment followed me around in Germany and suddenly I craved being near the Mediterranean once more.
I have only touched on the beautiful places that we visited. It’s enough to send your head into spinning frenzy.
I would like to share more of this adventure and would invite you to share stories, anecdotes, poetry, etc. that you feel define yourselves as Canadians of Germanic descent. Perhaps you feel no connection to the ‘old world’ at all. Perhaps you would prefer to live there. The past has clouded the youth’s vision for growth within several realms. Do you agree or am I completely wrong?
Where do you, where do we fit in? Perhaps there is no ‘fitting in’ to be done. It’s all a state of mind and how you choose to relate. I challenge you to respond. Write to me at info@echoworld.com
Elisabeth Kuehn
