Bonjour World!: So I guess I'm kind of German now?

As my high-speed train whipped past scene after pastoral scene, I tried to anticipate what waited for me at my destination. I was on my way to Cologne, Germany for the celebration of Carnival, one huge weeklong party, coinciding with Mardi Gras celebrations and the final hoorah before Lent. Parades, reveling, eating, dancing, the works. This is at least what my friend Max was telling me as our train tore across the Belgian border into Germany faster than I’ve ever seen a train move. Max, being from Germany and Norway and fluent in German, seemed an expert on any German subject, so my curiosity was satisfied. Still, as I sat back in my seat, I couldn’t quell a small worry that I was trespassing on a cultural custom. Would the German revelers appreciate an American in their midst, without any knowledge of what was going on? I guess you think like this when you live with the French, who certainly don’t take too kindly to strangers unaware of their social customs. After nearly two months, I’ve finally gotten the hang of conducting my everyday life with minimal stares from my native Parisians. Now I was about to cannon ball into the deep end of a completely different culture in one of its most famous celebrations. Woof.

We were staying with Max’s godmother, a woman named Sabina who lived in the suburbs of Cologne with her husband and only daughter, 17-year-old Theresa or Thesi as she likes to be called (like Daisy but with a T). Sabina met us at the train station to take our luggage back to the family’s house, and drop off Thesi to join us for our first night out in Carnival. She gets out of the car dressed in chrome silver leggings, a bright purple sweatshirt, and a side ponytail tied with a multicolor hair band. As we made our way through the crowds on the streets of Cologne, passing other colorful characters in all kinds of crazy get-ups, me and my plain white t-shirt felt completely out of the loop. Luckily I had Max and Julia to share my feelings. Nope. Max managed to pull a bright orange jester hat out of his backpack. Super. But I managed to throw some of my insecurities away as Thesi began to explain to us (in great English) some of the little details of Carnival in Cologne. Some of the cheers people say, the songs that are played, the prevalence of the colors red and white. As she led us around a final corner to our destination, I had begun to feel somewhat competent. Repeating the cheers and traditions in my head, I barely took notice of the building into which we were entering. It wasn't until I was bowled over by a tidal wave of noise and commotion that I looked up to survey the scene. Sprawled out in the gigantic wood paneled hall were hundreds of tables weighed down by hundreds of glass pillars of beer. Live music blasted from a stage in the center of the hall as hordes of people laughed and yelled, sang and danced, toasted and drank. It was a scene straight out of the movie Beerfest. A smile immediately spread across my face.

Thesi brought us to a table of about a dozen German kids, all high school friends of hers. Introductions were made, and they soon learned we were from America. I immediately tensed up, waiting for the eye rolls or the judging stares. Instead we were greeted with cheers, pats on the back, and broken English from everyone asking us where in the States we’re from, what TV shows we watch, what we like about Germany so far. I was completely taken aback by these kinds of interactions with Europeans. As beer towers were ordered and pints began to be poured and quickly emptied, the three of us were welcomed into the group with open arms. One of the guys, Tim, held the title of best greeting. He came up to me, put his arm around my shoulders, and shouts “America yah?!?!” To which I replied with a very proud “YAH!” The next phrase left his mouth like he had heard it on TV and was so pumped to say it. “COOL! WHAAAAT’S UP DUUUUDE!” Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses shouting, “What’s up dude!” at the top of their lungs. It was hard to keep beer from coming out of my nose I was laughing so hard. Another notable moment? A kid named Yan dressed in a chicken suit asked me, “You watch South Park, yes?” “Of course I love South Park!” I said back to him. “HAHA YAH! TIM-MAAAAAY!!” I spit my beer out all over the table as I laughed hysterically at the South Park reference, which received raucous applause from our newfound German friends. We danced on tabletops, enjoyed some of the best tasting beer I’ve ever had, and I was taught the words to every song the band played. Before long, I was singing right along with them, mainly butchering the words, but getting the main point across. Still laughing from the earlier South Park reference, an occasional “TIM-MAAAAY” was shouted, arousing more laughter and applause. It was an incredible blend of cultures all brought on by the Carnival celebration (and maybe the German Kölsch beer that kept emptying from our group’s 5 liter glass pillar a little too quickly).

The welcoming and friendly nature of this group of German kids really struck a chord with me. It was just something I had yet to feel since coming abroad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the French are these evil people bent on spurning Americans with every pointed glare, exasperated scoff, or hushed insult. I’ve come to find the French to be a people who possess strictly defined social customs. If you don’t adhere to them, you are deemed an outsider. They’re a proud people. So either you get with their program or not. While that may seem abrasive, it’s sort of the vibe I get. So naturally if I’m going to spend 6 months in Paris, I had to adapt, which I believe I mostly have. However, it just felt so good to let loose, show that I’m American, and have it be embraced by a group of Europeans. Every cultural reference greeted with a laugh. Every one of my butchered shouts of “SEHR GUT!” (very good) or “KOLLE ALAAF!” (loosely translated to “Cologne is the best!”) with cheers and pats on the back. Couple this treatment with the amazing breakfast Max’s godmother Sabina made for us each morning, and I came to the conclusion that the Germans are some of the nicest people I have ever met. And the rest of the weekend (in which similar events ensued) did nothing but prove my conclusion true.