studentsineurope

European Romance

By Laura Carroll

Le Metro, Paris

Love is a journey, or so I’ve been told.  The four words that make up this cliché reel through my mind like movie credits as I sit in a row of faux leather chairs in the Hugendubel bookstore, which bears a striking resemblance to Barnes & Noble. This, as far as I can tell, is the only similarity between Munich and Clearwater – my hometown on the Gulf coast of Florida. Through the wall-sized window and below, the icy streets are packed with Christmas-ready Germans, buying stocking stuffers at the market, or drinking gluhwein – mulled red wine – while watching the outdoor concert in Marienplatz, the city’s commercial center.

My love, or should I say our love, has certainly been a journey. I mean this not in the cliché sense, but in the literal one.

We met in Paris in March.

“Hi, I’m Clemens,” he said, taking my hand as I stepped off the tramway in front of La Cité Internationale Universitaire, our aesthetically fascinating student residence–a beautiful little city within an even more beautiful one. Although we’d been taking a class together for nearly two weeks at the Alliance Française, we’d never been properly introduced. It was a surprise even to see him there, invited unexpectedly on our outing to a jazz concert by Alexis, an acquaintance that was soon to become my roommate and closest friend.

In the three months that followed, Clemens and I fell quickly and wonderfully in love. We spent entire days sprawled out on the grass of the Jardin du Luxembourg, wandering the cobblestone streets of Le Marais, and hopping from art gallery to art gallery, stopping several times in between for a café au lait. We spent daytime hours marveling at the contemporary artworks inside the Centre Pompidou, then nighttime hours marveling at the museum’s illuminated exterior. We lived off falafels, crepes and kir royals, and loved every romantic minute in the city of lights.

One weekend–because one yearns for a vacation even while living in Paris–we journeyed to Amsterdam. After eight hours on a night bus, we woke at six in the morning in the parking lot of a train station well outside the city’s center. After some critical thinking, however, along with a strong cup of coffee and the realization that most Dutch speak near perfect English, we made our way to heart of Amsterdam.

We spent the weekend discovering the differences between the capital of The Netherlands and Paris. There were slight differences, of course, such as streets divided by numerous canals and heavy bicycle traffic–the complex dynamics of which I realized during a hair-raising and embarrassing attempt at utilizing this ever-popular mode of transportation (there are equally as many bikes on the road as cars and an even higher chance of a collision).

There were vast differences too. On nearly every corner, upright citizens smoked hash or marijuana. In the Red Light District, women as young as myself stood in windows wearing next to nothing and advertising their own bodies. To my surprise, however, none of this was regarded as a scandal; it was simply a way of life. I learned quickly, therefore, that the Dutch way of life was different not only from Paris, but from the rest of Western civilization entirely.

When Clemens left Paris I spent the whole ride back from Charles de Gaulle airport– where, in tears, I dropped him off–staring melancholically out the window at the blur of suburbs on the way back to La Cité. In the three days that followed–leading up to my own departure–it was hard even to breathe, let alone go out in a city that I had never known without him. It’s remarkable how people stay in a place even after they’ve gone. Clemens was everywhere at once without being anywhere at all, and it hurt. But we had promised to stay in touch, and I was hopeful.

Six months later I was back in Europe–this time in his territory. After my nine-hour flight into Munich, I was greeted with his familiar and terribly missed embrace. The journey continued. We left Munich and drove to Bolzano, in northern Italy.

Bolzano, known to Germans as Bozen, is the mountainous capital of South Tyrol–a region formerly under Austrian rule. This is why, although Clemens carries an Italian passport, he has sandy blonde hair and blue-green eyes and speaks both German and Italian.

From my Americanized viewpoint, the city seemed to be plucked from an Austrian fairytale. The quiet town is surrounded by vineyards and the breathtaking Alps and is famous for Otzi, the Iceman who lived over 5000 years ago and who was found in the Alps in 1991. Through a square window in the wall in the South Tyrol Museum of Archeology, I saw the well-preserved frame of one of the oldest mummies ever found.

While Bolzano was beautiful, I was eager to get to the livelier city of Zurich. Although it is often considered to be more of a business center than a vibrant city, there is plenty of culture and numerous things to do. Situated on Zürichsee, or Lake Zurich, the city has an otherworld quality that can be attributed to its ancient occupation by the Romans. Nowadays, it’s inhabited by a mix of young and old, dressy and casual, local and foreign. Covered in every single layer of clothing we could find, we roamed the uneven backstreets, perused the endless antique bookshops, ate at some of the trendiest restaurants I’ve ever seen and savored world-famous Swiss chocolates in front of a frozen fountain. Despite the bitter cold, my spirit was warmed by the thrill of another fabulous step in our journey.

But tonight is bittersweet. After Clemens buys the book he’s been looking for, we’ll step into the cold and indulge in our own glass of gluhwein. Tomorrow we will go to the Pinakothek Moderne to look at Munich’s collection of modern art, then watch dry suit-clad surfers catch the Eisbach River wave. Finally, we’ll head back to the hostel to prepare for another goodbye–a pause in the journey.

Soon I’ll be back on the beach, leaving footsteps in the sand while Clemens continues to leave them in the snow. But I’m optimistic. Our footsteps have taken us on a wonderful journey, and I can’t wait to see where they’ll go next.