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20/06/2008The borders of love - An expat tale

The borders of love - An expat tale Among the top reasons for expatriates to end up in Germany is love. But what happens when the relationship falls apart? We detail one American woman's experiences following her German husband home to Ingolstadt in a new series

I remember the day I met him. I was cranky, tired and suffering. My ankles to my knees were eaten, swollen and oozing from summer insect bites. My heart was torn in two by the debates over the Iraq war in Crawford, Texas, I was assigned to cover and my mind trying to catch up. What I needed was a train ride back home to California, not a flight, not sitting in the car with another talking head, but the slow lilting, rocking ride of a train that might cradle me to sleep -- of which I was so deprived. It was during this lilting ride in the observation car with a view over the vast Chihuahuan Desert that we met, along the border straddling two countries that would later serve as the metaphor for our lives.

Staring through the desert and not seeing more than the pictures in my mind and those on my laptop, I felt a stare. Turing toward an angle, with peripheral vision I saw this huge grin, shaved head with earrings studying me.

I didn't think anything of it. I just ignored it as my mind was keen to relieve the itch from the summer bugs. The observation continued. Piercing. Magnetic. Open. Smiling. Imposing. I sat back. I earned it. My body talked. I listened. The open desert sky would absorb the chatter in my mind and relieve the anguish of covering this story still filling my heart.

We are sitting in smelling distance of one another. The nose does not forget. Do you know what I mean? Ever been in love with someone whose smell you did not like? Think about it? His organic scent was not repelling. In fact, it was organic, natural, sweet. As time would evolve I would later come to know that in Germany, or at least in Bavaria they have this axiom about smell -- something similar to that in English we say, I cannot "stand" him or her. The axiom here refers to the sense of smell. (And no, this has nothing to do with former Stasi techniques but rather earth based simplicity, which again agreed with me.)

This unpretentious, unplanned and jovial meeting was a pleasant distraction. He could not stop talking so I just sat back and listened. We both fell asleep within our olfactory environs, without borders. He was a delight. Somewhere between the sigh of sleep and a warm wind, I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Looking up, he was smiling as he left, clothed in a bright orange sunrise. And me, seduced by the warm desert winds thought, 'surely he was a dream -- an apparition'. Anyway he was gone. Dream over, I believed.
Developing relationship
I was wrong. The every-now-and-then email became frequent communications, planned during our busy schedule and nine hour time difference. Writing permitted us time to indulge our ourselves -- permitting us time to ponder and reflect and express deliberately. We learned about each other -- our love of birds, hiking, nature, music, words. Etymology is a hobby of mine and he indulged and brought out this secret passion unbeknownst to those closest to me. Our written thoughts became the tendrils to our union.

Our dreams transformed into flights metaphysical and physical across the big pond. We traveled, made an effort to be with each other. There were the meetings in Portugal, Germany and the pre-honeymoon tour of the American Southwest. We had forged a bond across the waters, across historical, racial and cultural divides and age. Nothing seemed insurmountable -- until we got back.

When people ask how long you have been in Germany, the common answer comes measured by the number of 'winters' you as an "auslander" (foreigner) have endured, those cold to the bone winters, those with the winds from Siberia that sculpt and etch so many of those faces we have seen in the movies and in photographs. I was prepared for this. So much so that I took to riding my bicycle in the winter as a exercise in acclimatization. The exercise and the "frische luft"(fresh air) kept me warm(er).
Love in a cold climate
Still, what I was not prepared for was the endurance necessary when I started losing my husband to a cultural climate. This was not a climate change brought about by global warming, one you had read about in guidebooks, Craigslist, in magazines or newspapers. But what I did learn was that this was a common rite of passage for many women; those foregoing their friends, culture, professions and country to accommodate their partner, their love, their marriage, that I met through my work and language courses.

I found myself wistfully asking one day, where did my husband go? Where is the man I met? The man I made love to in the high Sierras? The one whose eyes would fill with tears of joy while watching the Swallows feed from my hand? My partner who was training me for the half-marathon? Where did he go? I, unconsciously, was in mourning. I was suffering a loss that had no name.

One day while sitting among colleagues with diminished sensibilities, I muttered the question Where did he go? out loud. What I received was a few laughs and a pearl or two of wisdom. "Exactly," was one response. "Yep," was the other, followed by an answer I was not prepared for. Truthfully, I was embarrassed to be so lost in thought that I just spoke aloud -- however what I learned was this was a common thread among many of my female colleagues.

The consensus was that these times of travel or professional duties abroad gave the permission to develop an openness and unleash a verve for life in out partners. Perhaps the lack of cultural cues or reference was the consent needed, granting our husbands, our boyfriends, our partners, our best friends to be willfully interdependent, maybe even dependent.

Yet here on the home turf, somehow this license, liberty or permission dissolved, slowly and painfully. The will to be open and inquisitive was lost. Spontaneity turned to habitué, interest into ennui.

Being on foreign soil in protection of loved ones had cultivated a cultural amnesia and the return to the fatherland lubricated the brain neurons reminding them of who they were. Their turf. Their rules. Their memories.

Their friends, disapproving, at first glance, without the effort to know me.

I couldn’t believe it: Me, who in my former life was a freelance photographer for the New York Times; Me, whose photographs are maintained and exhibited in philanthropic institutions, NGOs and university libraries around the world; Me, who at first glance was given willful disapproval: "This is a joke right?" went the remarks. "You married her?"

There were the visits from former friends, who inspected the house before deciding to stay, who at the dinner table acted as if I was invisible and unworthy of their interest. And then there were the directives: "Why don't you go back to where you came from."

As far as I know, I have yet to see foul-weather gear for this kind of climate.
Bad experiences
The conduct went beyond cultural or national differences but rather was conduct based in willful and committed ignorance and in a history only two generations removed. These are people who don’t use email, who don’t accept their doctoral degrees because their village would shun them, who would not marry their girlfriends until they made more money and, of course, people who have never been to the United States.

This is the community, the expressions, the friendships, the customs my husband fell back into, the community that sought to wake him up, to remind of him of the stock he came from, of where he came from.

Looking back one-half year later, over 3,000 bicycle kilometers later during 600 hours of German language/culture instruction it took to achieve my well earned certificate, I can say that knowing my husband as I knew him at the beginning, well, that was the man I love. This person I knew from my laptop to mountain tops, at sea level and eye level, in my heart and through my senses did not have resounding repetitions of discrimination in his American environment. On foreign soil, he was free from all social, cultural and family/historic ties. He was free, perhaps influenced by cultural amnesia. Not so anymore.

So if you find my husband, will you remind him of the way home?


3 reactions to this article

Cyndee Szymkowicz posted: 2008-06-21 13:34:06

Oh, yes, I can relate to this situation on many levels. And it's not just people who change. I came to live in Germany because of my career choice: what better place to be a Wagnerian singer? And I have seen Germany change its mind in many ways. What happened to the rigid, but very functional ensemble system? What happened to the admiration for and hiring of American-trained singers? What happened to the big-budget sets and interesting rather than ridiculous productions? Sigh. Yes, I've been married to my career for many years, and now my "husband" has changed so much, I must look outside our marriage for sustinance. Yes, I know I've changed, too: I'm not as young, as fit, as energetic as I used to be, and you, my husband, are fickle.

Sindhu posted: 2008-06-25 07:12:21

Am premature to say some thing against my German- my love because am still waiting for him with full of love and respect to whom I accept as my man in my life. He made committments when he left me in India and some how he is still fulfilling the same via emails or Chat, but because of the distance between us I know that a come back is may be not possible to him from Germany to Inida and am feeling the change in between the message lines which he sending in these days................. but i will wait for him because god make us together and split may be he again us together. Now my love is in Leverkusen and last 1 month no calls no emails............... please come back........ real meaning here starts "suffering a loss that don't have a name" because he is not my husband, not father of my baby............................

Sindhu posted: 2008-06-25 07:34:25

sorry, my mail ID is not correct

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3 reactions to this article

Cyndee Szymkowicz posted: 2008-06-21 13:34:06

Oh, yes, I can relate to this situation on many levels. And it's not just people who change. I came to live in Germany because of my career choice: what better place to be a Wagnerian singer? And I have seen Germany change its mind in many ways. What happened to the rigid, but very functional ensemble system? What happened to the admiration for and hiring of American-trained singers? What happened to the big-budget sets and interesting rather than ridiculous productions? Sigh. Yes, I've been married to my career for many years, and now my "husband" has changed so much, I must look outside our marriage for sustinance. Yes, I know I've changed, too: I'm not as young, as fit, as energetic as I used to be, and you, my husband, are fickle.

Sindhu posted: 2008-06-25 07:12:21

Am premature to say some thing against my German- my love because am still waiting for him with full of love and respect to whom I accept as my man in my life. He made committments when he left me in India and some how he is still fulfilling the same via emails or Chat, but because of the distance between us I know that a come back is may be not possible to him from Germany to Inida and am feeling the change in between the message lines which he sending in these days................. but i will wait for him because god make us together and split may be he again us together. Now my love is in Leverkusen and last 1 month no calls no emails............... please come back........ real meaning here starts "suffering a loss that don't have a name" because he is not my husband, not father of my baby............................

Sindhu posted: 2008-06-25 07:34:25

sorry, my mail ID is not correct

Add a comment
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