(Just going to start where I left off with my last post).
My final days in Berlin were wonderful. Despite all of the happiness and excitement for my going-away party and goodbye speech to my class and final adventures with my host family, it was, of course, terribly bittersweet (or actually, depressing), as I knew I was living out my final days in the German life I had spent an entire year creating. And even though everyone tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry - you’ll come back someday!” that didn’t really help much, because I knew (and still know) that when I do return, things will never be the same. I will never frantically do homework on my way to school with the M48 bus again, or walk to the little orange doner hut on the side of the road with friends after a grueling chemistry test that I had perhaps understood one third of, or enjoy all of the little things that only a German schoolgirl could.
And I think this is the reason why it was so much harder for me to leave Germany last month than it was for me to leave America last summer - when I left America, I knew without a doubt that I would return in a year to basically the same life I’d left behind, whereas leaving Germany, I had no idea when I’d be back and knew for sure I’d never get back the exact same life I’d had for those beautiful eleven months. But that’s just the hard truth of being an exchange student. And while I do plan to stay in touch with all of the people I met there for as long as I possibly can, that chapter in my life is simply over, which is something I’ve had to spend the entire last month coming to terms with.
And now for the exciting (and rather unbelievable) tale of my journey home...
My last day with my host family was better than anything I'd ever dreamed of - it was a Saturday, so after the traditional weekend smorgasbord breakfast I had come to love so much, my host mom and sisters and I went to the local market and then out for coffee at the nearby cafe. Everything seemed quite surreal actually, because as I walked away from each of my favorite places, I knew it was the last time I'd be seeing for them for quite awhile. In the afternoon I realized I needed to try and condense my baggage (two fifty pound duffels and two twenty pound carry-ons), and then I transcribed all of my favorite German recipes from my host family so I could make them at home.
Afterwards we all went on one last trip together to the Tiergarten (the large, beautiful park in the middle of Berlin), as it was a place that had come to mean a lot to me over the course of the year. It had been the place my host family had brought me to on my very first day, where I'd tried my first apfel-schorle in the Biergarten, where my host mom and I had gone for walks together on Sunday afternoons in the winter, where I'd hung out with friends, where we'd come in the winter to drink mulled wine, where I'd ran through during the Berlin Women's 10k Race...overall, the Tiergarten was one of many symbols of my time in Berlin, so it only made sense that it also be the location of our final outing. In the evening, we had one of my absolute favorite meals - goat cheese and pear salad, salmon and tomatoes on pasta, and my host mom's delicious homemade rhubarb cake (just thinking about it makes my mouth water...) - and afterwards, my host sisters brought out a little departing gift for me - a book filled with many of my pictures and memories from throughout the year, with funny little notes written in the margins. As I flipped through it, it felt like I was flipping back in time, and then I noticed that the last few pages had been left blank - this had been done intentionally; they were still meant to be filled. So for the next few hours, my host family and I sat at the dinner table and filled the book with all of the remaining memories, using lists and keywords to essentially capture my entire year. We listed all of the foods I tried, cities I visited, people I met, accomplishments, favorite German songs and movies, favorite places in Berlin, most embarrassing moments...the lists went on forever - and it was the perfect ending, because by making these lists we were really able to reminisce and realize what a special year it had been for not just me, but all of us.
Afterwards we retired into the living room, where we watched the big soccer match on TV until around 11pm (my train wasn't leaving until 12:30am, but we wanted to be at the station early - like I've said, trains aren't really my thing). The trip to the Hauptbahnhof was actually quite scenic - we passed the Brandenburg Tor, the Reichstag, Tiergarten again, and many other landmarks - but I was on the verge of tears most of the way. When we arrived at the train station we (me, my host family, and my 140 pounds worth of luggage) all made our way up to my track. I could hardly believe it was almost time to say the final goodbye - the evening had been perfect...but almost too perfect (Here’s something important to know about me: my life does not run particularly smoothly - whenever I try to do anything, something just always has to go wrong...it’s a fact I’ve come to accept over the last seventeen years). So anyways, we had been waiting for about twenty minutes when my host sister suddenly pointed out the automated sign nearby...which said there was a train that had at least a ninety minute delay due to a freak accident likely involving a wild animal. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that it was my train, which was soon confirmed. And even though we begged the people at the information desk to let me get on a different train, there were simply no other options. That was the only train going in the direction of the Frankfurt Airport. With luck, it would arrive within the next two hours.
So we had no choice but to wait along with all of the other people who needed to get on this delayed train. I remember it being quite cold, and there was nowhere to sit down, so we laid out all of my bags on the ground, used them as benches, and just talked. (My host dad meanwhile helped a lot of stranded people figure out what to do, as the information desk was not being particularly helpful). The two hours went by slowly, but I appreciated them as much as I could - it was like “bonus time” with my host family that we had not been expecting at all. Eventually 2am came along, so we said our goodbyes one last time (I became rather tearful), and I climbed up into the train. It was one of the hardest things I had ever had to do.
This was my first time on a night train, which was filled with bunkbed compartments. I was together with an elderly woman, and after I was finished giving a long apology for the insane amount of baggage I had (Ich bin eine Austauschschulerin! Ich war hier fur ein Jahr! // I’m an exchange student! I was here for a year!), she indicated that she did not actually speak any German. (I think she was from Russia). Eventually she fell asleep, but I did not, as the small size of the compartment caused her snores to echo, and the fact I was on the top bunk and slightly squished against the wall didn't really help either.
A few hours later we stopped in Dortmund, where I had to transfer trains. This was no easy feat with my huge bags, but thanks to a kind (and very muscular) man, I made it onto the next train, which would stop directly at the Frankfurt Airport. I was admittedly pretty on-edge the whole time, as the first train had put me way behind schedule and I had to be at the airport at 9am to meet up with all of the other CBYX students before our plane to Washington DC left at noon. And if I didn’t make this plane...well, I didn’t even want to consider that as a possibility.
As I was way too excited to fall asleep and I didn’t really have anyone to talk to, I spent a lot of time on the train to Frankfurt just thinking. I read through my three memory books again (one from my host family, one from my class, and one from Kathrin, one of the best friends I’d made). Then I just thought about how it was almost funny that my train had been so late...trains almost never run late in Germany, but of course it would happen to me (as my host dad phrased it, we were “closing the circle” - my trip to Berlin had been rather problematic, so it only made sense that my trip away would be, too. If only we’d had any idea of what was yet to come…)
By the time we arrived in Frankfurt, it was only 8am, so I was feeling pretty relieved. My inevitable “speed bump” of the journey had passed, and now I could just enjoy the day I had spent the whole year thinking about. I quickly found a few of my friends who had also arrived early, and we caught up a little before checking in.
I wish I could say the trip through the airport went smoothly. However, that would be a very large lie. The problems began at the check-in desk, where I was informed that as of the day before, cash was no longer an acceptable method of payment for an extra bag. I had purposely withdrawn 100 Euros to pay for this extra bag, and my parents had already called the bank to cancel my German credit cards. Fortunately I still had one credit card, which I didn’t think would actually work, but miraculously it did after a longish discussion/argument with the woman at the desk (all of the people after me got to check their second bag for free...I’m still a little salty about that, United Airlines). Next came security. To make a long story short, I was completely oblivious to the fact I had packed a pair of tiny red scrapbooking scissors in the bottom of my carry-on, and was then forced to unpack the entire bag to hand over the “weapon” that I had apparently been caught “trying to smuggle onto the plane”. This, along with the fact my suitcase wheels had broken, were making me think it wouldn’t be possible for my day to get much worse.
After that came customs. Admittedly, I was slightly relieved to get to this part, because I knew I had done nothing illegal this year and therefore had nothing to hide from the German policeman sitting at the desk in front of me. First he asked a few questions (including for how long I’d stayed in Germany), and then for my passport, which I handed over, and then for my “residence”. I gave him a blank look. A residence? I asked what he meant by this, and he responded that he needed to see my Visa or some other form of proof that I had been legally allowed to stay in Germany for more than three months. My mind blanked. I had received all of those papers eight months prior, when I’d been approved at the Berlin town hall, but I hadn’t seen or needed them since. And I certainly didn’t know I would need them to be able to leave the country. I tried to explain this to the policeman, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I frantically began digging through my wallet, searching for anything that could prove I was not an illegal immigrant, but all I had was my student identification. I tried to give that to him, and he started muttering under his breath “How stupid can you be? Those idiotic Americans…” (He clearly didn’t realize that I could in fact speak German and understand what he was saying). But I refused to panic. Or at least not until he announced, “This is a criminal offense. You must pay eight hundred Euros. Right now.” (I don’t think I will ever forget that moment as long as I live).
As I obviously did not have eight hundred euros just sitting in my purse, I was ordered to follow the policeman (who was showing absolutely no sympathy whatsoever) over to the police headquarters of the airport. He then instructed me to stay out in the hall while he figured out what to do with me. I had never been so terrified in my entire life, and just kept praying I would suddenly wake up in my bed back in Berlin, realize this was a nightmare, and be able to start the day all over again. I began searching desperately through my two carry-ons, searching for something, or really anything, that I could give to him. With the contents of my bags spread out all over the floors and the sound of the policeman yelling on the other side of the door about "the stupid American girl", my life had reached an all time low. I figured it would be just a matter of minutes before they hauled me off to prison, and I would be stuck in Germany forever (not that this would be so bad, but these were not exactly the circumstances I wanted). Twenty minutes later, I had just one thing left to search... a blue folder, which I had used to collect all of the papers that had been in my bedroom desk. Maybe there would be something in there? I didn’t even bother to get my hopes up as I slowly leafed through the pages. Old spelling quizzes from Language Camp, forms, flashcards, ripped out journal entries, receipts, the menu of the Asian noodle shop down the street, and then there, at the very back, a small, folded piece of paper. My visa.
I couldn’t believe it. I began laughing and screaming and dancing and whooping (I don’t actually know what that is, but I was probably doing it), and then I ran over to the window of the police office, jumping up and down and showing the officer that I did in fact have my visa. He, however, did not share my enthusiasm, but rather asked in an exasperated tone, “Why couldn’t you have just showed me that when I asked you for it an hour ago?” He then looked it over for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, you can proceed to your plane now.”
I could not believe my good luck. That blue folder had originally been in my checked bag, but I had just transferred it into my carry-on at the last minute (now I didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if it hadn’t been in my carry-on). I took off from the police headquarters and sprinted towards my gate, where I could see all of my friends waiting. They all looked so surprised to see me approaching, asking “Where have you been?!” “You just disappeared at customs, so we thought you went ahead, but then we didn’t see you here!” “Did you get lost?” A large crowd then gathered to hear the tale of my last hour spent in police custody, and when I was finished, I got a lot of hugs. Even from strangers.
Soon it was time to board the plane - after waiting in line for awhile with all of my friends, I had my boarding pass scanned and handed over the large hiking backpack I was using as a carry-on (they had kindly offered to stow oversized carry-ons with all of the baggage under the plane). I then went and sat down, fortunately near my friends Shawna and Kali, and just enjoyed the plane ride, watching Still Alice, plus many episodes of The Middle and The Office, two of my favorite shows which I hadn’t seen in such a long time. And better yet it was all in English - that was practically enough to brighten my day.
Ten hours later we touched down at the Dulles Airport, and the excitement level of us exchange students was off the charts; it was the first time in eleven months that any of had been on American soil, and for those of us who weren’t getting on a connecting flight, we knew our families (mine included) were waiting for us just outside the baggage claim. My heart had never beat so fast before in my life.
All forty of us from CBYX went together to the baggage carousel and waited for our bags to pop out. A few of my best friends (Kaitlyn, Lyndee, Kali, Michelle) and I decided we would wait until all of our stuff had arrived and then go outside and greet our parents all together. Everyone else had started to leave, and it got pretty emotional because we all knew that was likely the last time we’d all be together. Twenty minutes later our bags were all there, but I was still missing the blue hiking backpack I had checked right before getting on the plane. I felt bad making my friends wait while their parents were eagerly waiting for them right outside, so I encouraged them all to go on without me - there was a huge line waiting to do the final passport check, so I told them I’d come and meet them in line once my backpack came out of the baggage claim.
But then something strange happened...bags from the NEXT flight started coming out onto the carousel, indicating that all of the bags from my flight should have been out already. This was very confusing. So I went over to the United Airlines desk and asked, and they confirmed that yes - all of the luggage, including the carry-ons, from the flight out of Frankfurt should have arrived. I explained that my blue backpack containing all of my valuables was still nowhere to be found, and handed over the ticket I’d gotten when I’d checked it in. The man at the desk quickly looked up the bag’s status...only to find that it had been accidentally mixed up with someone else’s, and was currently on a plane headed to South Carolina that would be taking off in five minutes. He seemed to be genuinely sorry about the mix up, and as soon as I began to explain the nightmarish day I was having, he quickly called the pilot of the plane, asking him to stop for just a few minutes and allow the staff to remove a certain blue backpack. I was so grateful that he had done that for me, but then he informed me it would take another hour or two for it to arrive at this luggage carousel. I couldn’t believe it. My dad and sister, who I had been waiting for months to see, were so close, but I was going to have to wait inside even longer for the bag to arrive. And even worse, all of my friends would get to leave and be reunited with their families...without me.
I went over to the line where they were all still waiting, and explained the situation...I was going to have to stay behind in the airport. No one could believe it. They all offered to stay and wait with me, but I didn’t let them - I knew how badly they all wanted to see their parents, too. I just asked that they tell my family what had happened, so they wouldn’t be disappointed when I didn’t come running out of the automatic doors with all of the other exchange students from my group. (Kali also insisted on bringing the rest of my luggage out to give to my family, so that would be one less load I’d have to deal with on my way out). A few minutes later they all reached the front of the line, had their passports approved, and waved goodbye to me...while I went to sit on the seats by the baggage claim. I couldn’t stop thinking about my family, who was surely excitedly scanning the crowd for me, completely unaware that I wouldn't be coming out for awhile.
After about forty five minutes, it came...that darned blue backpack popped out of the baggage claim, so I scooped it up and ran over to the passport-checking line...which had now tripled in length and wrapped all the way around the room. I considered asking someone near the front if they could just let me in front of them, but no one looked particularly friendly and I didn’t want to get in any more trouble with the police in one day, so I made my way over to the back. I was still refusing to cry, but then the man next to me announced to his wife, “I heard it’s at least another forty five minutes to get to the front! Can you believe that?” - and then I just lost it...well, that’s actually an understatement. I was positively hysterical. So there I was, standing by myself, crying very loudly, when a boy who looked about my age and was standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Ummm...are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Unable to stop crying, I shook my head no, mumbling that I would eventually be okay. Then he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” - and everything just started spilling out. How for the last year I had had such high hopes for June 21 - the day I would finally get to be with my family again! - and how in the last twenty four hours I’d had to leave my beloved host family, how the train had been delayed after hitting a wild animal, how the snoring Russian woman had kept me up all night, how the baggage check in had a new card-only policy, how I was yelled at because of the scrapbooking scissors, how I’d been accused of a federal criminal offense and taken into police custody, how mean the policeman had been, how my suitcase wheels had broken and my arms were in so much pain from carrying and lifting the 140 pounds of luggage all day, how my backpack had been on the plane to South Carolina, how I’d had to say goodbye to all of my best friends, and now this...the forty five minute line just to pass through this door to see my family, who had been waiting for me for hours. I don’t think the boy (who I found out was seventeen years old, from Washington DC, and named Jonathan) even knew how to respond to all of this, but he told me how sorry he was about it, and how impressed he was I’d spent an entire year living in Germany (he’d just been visiting friends in Dublin and Frankfurt). We spent the next forty five minutes getting to know each other, which completely took my mind off of everything else, and before we knew it, we were at the front of the line, having our passports checked. He stayed with me until I could see my family, and then went off towards his car...but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the consolation he gave me in those moments of extreme weakness - it goes to show how much just a small, random act of kindness can help.
The moment I saw my dad and sister was indescribable...they couldn’t believe I’d finally made it out, and listened in awe as I told my harrowing tale while we packed my stuff into our minivan and took off towards home, sweet home.
My final days in Berlin were wonderful. Despite all of the happiness and excitement for my going-away party and goodbye speech to my class and final adventures with my host family, it was, of course, terribly bittersweet (or actually, depressing), as I knew I was living out my final days in the German life I had spent an entire year creating. And even though everyone tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry - you’ll come back someday!” that didn’t really help much, because I knew (and still know) that when I do return, things will never be the same. I will never frantically do homework on my way to school with the M48 bus again, or walk to the little orange doner hut on the side of the road with friends after a grueling chemistry test that I had perhaps understood one third of, or enjoy all of the little things that only a German schoolgirl could.
And I think this is the reason why it was so much harder for me to leave Germany last month than it was for me to leave America last summer - when I left America, I knew without a doubt that I would return in a year to basically the same life I’d left behind, whereas leaving Germany, I had no idea when I’d be back and knew for sure I’d never get back the exact same life I’d had for those beautiful eleven months. But that’s just the hard truth of being an exchange student. And while I do plan to stay in touch with all of the people I met there for as long as I possibly can, that chapter in my life is simply over, which is something I’ve had to spend the entire last month coming to terms with.
And now for the exciting (and rather unbelievable) tale of my journey home...
My last day with my host family was better than anything I'd ever dreamed of - it was a Saturday, so after the traditional weekend smorgasbord breakfast I had come to love so much, my host mom and sisters and I went to the local market and then out for coffee at the nearby cafe. Everything seemed quite surreal actually, because as I walked away from each of my favorite places, I knew it was the last time I'd be seeing for them for quite awhile. In the afternoon I realized I needed to try and condense my baggage (two fifty pound duffels and two twenty pound carry-ons), and then I transcribed all of my favorite German recipes from my host family so I could make them at home.
Afterwards we all went on one last trip together to the Tiergarten (the large, beautiful park in the middle of Berlin), as it was a place that had come to mean a lot to me over the course of the year. It had been the place my host family had brought me to on my very first day, where I'd tried my first apfel-schorle in the Biergarten, where my host mom and I had gone for walks together on Sunday afternoons in the winter, where I'd hung out with friends, where we'd come in the winter to drink mulled wine, where I'd ran through during the Berlin Women's 10k Race...overall, the Tiergarten was one of many symbols of my time in Berlin, so it only made sense that it also be the location of our final outing. In the evening, we had one of my absolute favorite meals - goat cheese and pear salad, salmon and tomatoes on pasta, and my host mom's delicious homemade rhubarb cake (just thinking about it makes my mouth water...) - and afterwards, my host sisters brought out a little departing gift for me - a book filled with many of my pictures and memories from throughout the year, with funny little notes written in the margins. As I flipped through it, it felt like I was flipping back in time, and then I noticed that the last few pages had been left blank - this had been done intentionally; they were still meant to be filled. So for the next few hours, my host family and I sat at the dinner table and filled the book with all of the remaining memories, using lists and keywords to essentially capture my entire year. We listed all of the foods I tried, cities I visited, people I met, accomplishments, favorite German songs and movies, favorite places in Berlin, most embarrassing moments...the lists went on forever - and it was the perfect ending, because by making these lists we were really able to reminisce and realize what a special year it had been for not just me, but all of us.
Afterwards we retired into the living room, where we watched the big soccer match on TV until around 11pm (my train wasn't leaving until 12:30am, but we wanted to be at the station early - like I've said, trains aren't really my thing). The trip to the Hauptbahnhof was actually quite scenic - we passed the Brandenburg Tor, the Reichstag, Tiergarten again, and many other landmarks - but I was on the verge of tears most of the way. When we arrived at the train station we (me, my host family, and my 140 pounds worth of luggage) all made our way up to my track. I could hardly believe it was almost time to say the final goodbye - the evening had been perfect...but almost too perfect (Here’s something important to know about me: my life does not run particularly smoothly - whenever I try to do anything, something just always has to go wrong...it’s a fact I’ve come to accept over the last seventeen years). So anyways, we had been waiting for about twenty minutes when my host sister suddenly pointed out the automated sign nearby...which said there was a train that had at least a ninety minute delay due to a freak accident likely involving a wild animal. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that it was my train, which was soon confirmed. And even though we begged the people at the information desk to let me get on a different train, there were simply no other options. That was the only train going in the direction of the Frankfurt Airport. With luck, it would arrive within the next two hours.
So we had no choice but to wait along with all of the other people who needed to get on this delayed train. I remember it being quite cold, and there was nowhere to sit down, so we laid out all of my bags on the ground, used them as benches, and just talked. (My host dad meanwhile helped a lot of stranded people figure out what to do, as the information desk was not being particularly helpful). The two hours went by slowly, but I appreciated them as much as I could - it was like “bonus time” with my host family that we had not been expecting at all. Eventually 2am came along, so we said our goodbyes one last time (I became rather tearful), and I climbed up into the train. It was one of the hardest things I had ever had to do.
This was my first time on a night train, which was filled with bunkbed compartments. I was together with an elderly woman, and after I was finished giving a long apology for the insane amount of baggage I had (Ich bin eine Austauschschulerin! Ich war hier fur ein Jahr! // I’m an exchange student! I was here for a year!), she indicated that she did not actually speak any German. (I think she was from Russia). Eventually she fell asleep, but I did not, as the small size of the compartment caused her snores to echo, and the fact I was on the top bunk and slightly squished against the wall didn't really help either.
A few hours later we stopped in Dortmund, where I had to transfer trains. This was no easy feat with my huge bags, but thanks to a kind (and very muscular) man, I made it onto the next train, which would stop directly at the Frankfurt Airport. I was admittedly pretty on-edge the whole time, as the first train had put me way behind schedule and I had to be at the airport at 9am to meet up with all of the other CBYX students before our plane to Washington DC left at noon. And if I didn’t make this plane...well, I didn’t even want to consider that as a possibility.
As I was way too excited to fall asleep and I didn’t really have anyone to talk to, I spent a lot of time on the train to Frankfurt just thinking. I read through my three memory books again (one from my host family, one from my class, and one from Kathrin, one of the best friends I’d made). Then I just thought about how it was almost funny that my train had been so late...trains almost never run late in Germany, but of course it would happen to me (as my host dad phrased it, we were “closing the circle” - my trip to Berlin had been rather problematic, so it only made sense that my trip away would be, too. If only we’d had any idea of what was yet to come…)
By the time we arrived in Frankfurt, it was only 8am, so I was feeling pretty relieved. My inevitable “speed bump” of the journey had passed, and now I could just enjoy the day I had spent the whole year thinking about. I quickly found a few of my friends who had also arrived early, and we caught up a little before checking in.
I wish I could say the trip through the airport went smoothly. However, that would be a very large lie. The problems began at the check-in desk, where I was informed that as of the day before, cash was no longer an acceptable method of payment for an extra bag. I had purposely withdrawn 100 Euros to pay for this extra bag, and my parents had already called the bank to cancel my German credit cards. Fortunately I still had one credit card, which I didn’t think would actually work, but miraculously it did after a longish discussion/argument with the woman at the desk (all of the people after me got to check their second bag for free...I’m still a little salty about that, United Airlines). Next came security. To make a long story short, I was completely oblivious to the fact I had packed a pair of tiny red scrapbooking scissors in the bottom of my carry-on, and was then forced to unpack the entire bag to hand over the “weapon” that I had apparently been caught “trying to smuggle onto the plane”. This, along with the fact my suitcase wheels had broken, were making me think it wouldn’t be possible for my day to get much worse.
After that came customs. Admittedly, I was slightly relieved to get to this part, because I knew I had done nothing illegal this year and therefore had nothing to hide from the German policeman sitting at the desk in front of me. First he asked a few questions (including for how long I’d stayed in Germany), and then for my passport, which I handed over, and then for my “residence”. I gave him a blank look. A residence? I asked what he meant by this, and he responded that he needed to see my Visa or some other form of proof that I had been legally allowed to stay in Germany for more than three months. My mind blanked. I had received all of those papers eight months prior, when I’d been approved at the Berlin town hall, but I hadn’t seen or needed them since. And I certainly didn’t know I would need them to be able to leave the country. I tried to explain this to the policeman, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I frantically began digging through my wallet, searching for anything that could prove I was not an illegal immigrant, but all I had was my student identification. I tried to give that to him, and he started muttering under his breath “How stupid can you be? Those idiotic Americans…” (He clearly didn’t realize that I could in fact speak German and understand what he was saying). But I refused to panic. Or at least not until he announced, “This is a criminal offense. You must pay eight hundred Euros. Right now.” (I don’t think I will ever forget that moment as long as I live).
As I obviously did not have eight hundred euros just sitting in my purse, I was ordered to follow the policeman (who was showing absolutely no sympathy whatsoever) over to the police headquarters of the airport. He then instructed me to stay out in the hall while he figured out what to do with me. I had never been so terrified in my entire life, and just kept praying I would suddenly wake up in my bed back in Berlin, realize this was a nightmare, and be able to start the day all over again. I began searching desperately through my two carry-ons, searching for something, or really anything, that I could give to him. With the contents of my bags spread out all over the floors and the sound of the policeman yelling on the other side of the door about "the stupid American girl", my life had reached an all time low. I figured it would be just a matter of minutes before they hauled me off to prison, and I would be stuck in Germany forever (not that this would be so bad, but these were not exactly the circumstances I wanted). Twenty minutes later, I had just one thing left to search... a blue folder, which I had used to collect all of the papers that had been in my bedroom desk. Maybe there would be something in there? I didn’t even bother to get my hopes up as I slowly leafed through the pages. Old spelling quizzes from Language Camp, forms, flashcards, ripped out journal entries, receipts, the menu of the Asian noodle shop down the street, and then there, at the very back, a small, folded piece of paper. My visa.
I couldn’t believe it. I began laughing and screaming and dancing and whooping (I don’t actually know what that is, but I was probably doing it), and then I ran over to the window of the police office, jumping up and down and showing the officer that I did in fact have my visa. He, however, did not share my enthusiasm, but rather asked in an exasperated tone, “Why couldn’t you have just showed me that when I asked you for it an hour ago?” He then looked it over for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, you can proceed to your plane now.”
I could not believe my good luck. That blue folder had originally been in my checked bag, but I had just transferred it into my carry-on at the last minute (now I didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if it hadn’t been in my carry-on). I took off from the police headquarters and sprinted towards my gate, where I could see all of my friends waiting. They all looked so surprised to see me approaching, asking “Where have you been?!” “You just disappeared at customs, so we thought you went ahead, but then we didn’t see you here!” “Did you get lost?” A large crowd then gathered to hear the tale of my last hour spent in police custody, and when I was finished, I got a lot of hugs. Even from strangers.
Soon it was time to board the plane - after waiting in line for awhile with all of my friends, I had my boarding pass scanned and handed over the large hiking backpack I was using as a carry-on (they had kindly offered to stow oversized carry-ons with all of the baggage under the plane). I then went and sat down, fortunately near my friends Shawna and Kali, and just enjoyed the plane ride, watching Still Alice, plus many episodes of The Middle and The Office, two of my favorite shows which I hadn’t seen in such a long time. And better yet it was all in English - that was practically enough to brighten my day.
Ten hours later we touched down at the Dulles Airport, and the excitement level of us exchange students was off the charts; it was the first time in eleven months that any of had been on American soil, and for those of us who weren’t getting on a connecting flight, we knew our families (mine included) were waiting for us just outside the baggage claim. My heart had never beat so fast before in my life.
All forty of us from CBYX went together to the baggage carousel and waited for our bags to pop out. A few of my best friends (Kaitlyn, Lyndee, Kali, Michelle) and I decided we would wait until all of our stuff had arrived and then go outside and greet our parents all together. Everyone else had started to leave, and it got pretty emotional because we all knew that was likely the last time we’d all be together. Twenty minutes later our bags were all there, but I was still missing the blue hiking backpack I had checked right before getting on the plane. I felt bad making my friends wait while their parents were eagerly waiting for them right outside, so I encouraged them all to go on without me - there was a huge line waiting to do the final passport check, so I told them I’d come and meet them in line once my backpack came out of the baggage claim.
But then something strange happened...bags from the NEXT flight started coming out onto the carousel, indicating that all of the bags from my flight should have been out already. This was very confusing. So I went over to the United Airlines desk and asked, and they confirmed that yes - all of the luggage, including the carry-ons, from the flight out of Frankfurt should have arrived. I explained that my blue backpack containing all of my valuables was still nowhere to be found, and handed over the ticket I’d gotten when I’d checked it in. The man at the desk quickly looked up the bag’s status...only to find that it had been accidentally mixed up with someone else’s, and was currently on a plane headed to South Carolina that would be taking off in five minutes. He seemed to be genuinely sorry about the mix up, and as soon as I began to explain the nightmarish day I was having, he quickly called the pilot of the plane, asking him to stop for just a few minutes and allow the staff to remove a certain blue backpack. I was so grateful that he had done that for me, but then he informed me it would take another hour or two for it to arrive at this luggage carousel. I couldn’t believe it. My dad and sister, who I had been waiting for months to see, were so close, but I was going to have to wait inside even longer for the bag to arrive. And even worse, all of my friends would get to leave and be reunited with their families...without me.
I went over to the line where they were all still waiting, and explained the situation...I was going to have to stay behind in the airport. No one could believe it. They all offered to stay and wait with me, but I didn’t let them - I knew how badly they all wanted to see their parents, too. I just asked that they tell my family what had happened, so they wouldn’t be disappointed when I didn’t come running out of the automatic doors with all of the other exchange students from my group. (Kali also insisted on bringing the rest of my luggage out to give to my family, so that would be one less load I’d have to deal with on my way out). A few minutes later they all reached the front of the line, had their passports approved, and waved goodbye to me...while I went to sit on the seats by the baggage claim. I couldn’t stop thinking about my family, who was surely excitedly scanning the crowd for me, completely unaware that I wouldn't be coming out for awhile.
After about forty five minutes, it came...that darned blue backpack popped out of the baggage claim, so I scooped it up and ran over to the passport-checking line...which had now tripled in length and wrapped all the way around the room. I considered asking someone near the front if they could just let me in front of them, but no one looked particularly friendly and I didn’t want to get in any more trouble with the police in one day, so I made my way over to the back. I was still refusing to cry, but then the man next to me announced to his wife, “I heard it’s at least another forty five minutes to get to the front! Can you believe that?” - and then I just lost it...well, that’s actually an understatement. I was positively hysterical. So there I was, standing by myself, crying very loudly, when a boy who looked about my age and was standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Ummm...are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Unable to stop crying, I shook my head no, mumbling that I would eventually be okay. Then he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” - and everything just started spilling out. How for the last year I had had such high hopes for June 21 - the day I would finally get to be with my family again! - and how in the last twenty four hours I’d had to leave my beloved host family, how the train had been delayed after hitting a wild animal, how the snoring Russian woman had kept me up all night, how the baggage check in had a new card-only policy, how I was yelled at because of the scrapbooking scissors, how I’d been accused of a federal criminal offense and taken into police custody, how mean the policeman had been, how my suitcase wheels had broken and my arms were in so much pain from carrying and lifting the 140 pounds of luggage all day, how my backpack had been on the plane to South Carolina, how I’d had to say goodbye to all of my best friends, and now this...the forty five minute line just to pass through this door to see my family, who had been waiting for me for hours. I don’t think the boy (who I found out was seventeen years old, from Washington DC, and named Jonathan) even knew how to respond to all of this, but he told me how sorry he was about it, and how impressed he was I’d spent an entire year living in Germany (he’d just been visiting friends in Dublin and Frankfurt). We spent the next forty five minutes getting to know each other, which completely took my mind off of everything else, and before we knew it, we were at the front of the line, having our passports checked. He stayed with me until I could see my family, and then went off towards his car...but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the consolation he gave me in those moments of extreme weakness - it goes to show how much just a small, random act of kindness can help.
The moment I saw my dad and sister was indescribable...they couldn’t believe I’d finally made it out, and listened in awe as I told my harrowing tale while we packed my stuff into our minivan and took off towards home, sweet home.