We’re in Germany. Let me back up. In High School, my husband, Melvin spent a year there as an exchange student and now wants to reconnect with his host family, so we go to Germany. We meet up with Melvin’s host brother, Tobias, in Dresden. Tobias’ girlfriend, Sophie, hails from Dresden and is happy to give us a tour of the city. We are about a week into our adventure of Deutschland and I’m still waiting for the cornucopia of conversational German I learned in college to kick into over-drive; so far, I only get a sputter. Fortunately, Sophie speaks more English than Tobias so occasionally she stops to translate. Apparently, I get the abridged version because the original version in German has about 20 more pages—humorous pages--than my meager one-liner, I might add. There is something funny in the full story. Why am I not laughing at my report? Am I missing the humor in “this building was built after the war?” Hilarious! May I please be excused to relay this priceless comedic gem to my friends? At least I’m getting a tour of a great city—albeit a little light on the history.

Day turns to night and we find ourselves at a Kneipe. (Yay! College German! There you are! In case you’re wondering, Kneipe means “bar.”) Just so you know, Germans enjoy beer and coffee and drink a lot of it. (I have my concerns this country is suffering from severe dehydration.) I, on the other hand, enjoy neither and drink none of it. Here we are in the bar, three of the four people at the table drink “tasty” beer with the lonely fourth quietly sipping her tiny glass of a chocolate shake. (Yes, bars in Germany are a bit different from bars in America. They have food and beverage menus. Thankfully, the latter expands beyond hops, malt, and fermentation.) I pace myself on the ghastly expensive micro cup of heaven while my company chugs away. I politely nod and smile to the ostensibly delightful German stories and quips. My mind is exhausted sending out word recognition radar (Oh! I know that word!...and that one!...but what are all those words in the middle?). My shake is getting dangerously low, and my new friend, Tobias, is getting woozy. Melvin tells Tobias our plans to visit Berlin tomorrow and Tobias asks where we’ll stay. Melvin gives him the standard,“oh, we’ll find some place.” Just then, Tobias springs to life and tells us his High School buddy, Dieter, lives in Berlin and invites us to stay with him. (Ok…a bit odd of him to invite us to someone else’s house, but maybe a different culture has a different etiquette?). Tobias quickly calls his friend and before we know it, we are booked at the Dieter /some-guy-my-husband-vaguely-remembers-from-eight-years-ago—Inn. We proceed with caution.

The next day we meet Dieter and his brother. I am under the impression my husband knows this guy because I observed much head nodding and “ja, ja” when he and Tobias talked about Dieter. It turns out, they met once. My memory of Dieter is simple: tall, lanky, reekingof cigarettes, and the greasiest hair I have ever seen –I think it’s blonde or at least could have been minus the oil. His brother is the same except his hair is dark.

Dieter graciously welcomes us into his home—or, as I see it—his hovel. The trek through the mud is akin to a boot camp obstacle course, hoping the next step will land on something (anything!) solid, for fear the slimy mud below will swallow me whole. Upon arrival to the enclosed lean-to called the porch, we must remove our shoes so as not to dirty the raw cement slab floor (manners matter!). I cannot speak too disparagingly of this shanty, for Dieter displays great pride in his abode. He “remodeled” the kitchen, meaning he added what I thought was necessary to call a kitchen a kitchen. (What was it before? “…And to your left, you’ll see our lovely partial hall to a wall…we’re thinking of doing something with this space, but I just don’t know what….what we really need is something to keep our food cool and maybe some running water…” ?) The bathroom (a work-in-progress, I hope!) has the charming aroma of cat poo and death (I wonder if Glade ever thought of this one). I now have my suspicions why Dieter has not bathed in a while.

Our stinky host serves us pizza and beer. Dieter pours me a glass of the not-so-clear tap water. I sit silent attempting to build up enough saliva to hold back cotton-mouth—maybe I can hold each pizza bite in my mouth until I have a mouth full of hygienically sound liquid to drink. After dinner, Dieter,his brother and Melvin chat for a bit until Melvin does the unthinkable—abandons me to use the restroom (can I go with you?). Let the awkwardness begin! I’m sitting there with the Germans watching some kind of documentary on cheese making (oh, those Germans and their crazy TV!) I make the first move. I endeavor to wake the sleeping beast called German Vocabulary and….Ha! I find something Cheese! Cheese! I know that word! Enthusiastically, I exclaim “Käse!”in personal triumph! My mind is spinning with victory! I look over at the grease heads in hopes the floodgates to conversation will swing wide open! (I have no idea what I will say after that, but I think cheese is a good start.) To my dismay, Dieter simply glances my way and nods. His disinterest could not be louder. My confidence joins the cat hair and dirt clumps on the floor. Melvin soon returns and for the next several hours, I watch them make small talk while watching TV. Hours go by and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. The exaggerated yawns and big stretches aren’t getting their attention. I give my hubby a nudge hoping he’ll let the guys know we’re ready to hit the hay. They don’t seem the least bit tired and let alone concerned for our sleep deprivation. I consider my options: find a hotel? Too late. Sleep in the car? Too cold. Is it possible to sleep sitting up? How many beers have they had? They’re bound to pass out sometime! Wow! That’s some tolerance level! It’s now 2 am and several “I need to sleep” hints have failed. Melvin finally tells Dieter and his brother we need to sleep. Bingo. The Germans take their beer and their rowdiness to the porch. As Melvin and I lay there on the less than comfortable futon, we quickly hash out our operation for the next day. Goal: Find a hotel!

We wake the next morning to find the smelly boys gone and don’t waste anytime getting out of there too. We make our way to the aromatic bathroom. Not wanting to spend much time in there (the smell might seep into our pours), we take the shortest shower in recorded history. I’m sure we set a record. Since the shower area is just an open stall with no curtain, it’s easy for us to run-in-run-out. Water on head. Done. Clock it. 10 seconds. Good. Call Guiness.

Today is New Years Eve. Odds of finding a hotel room in downtown Berlin? Million to one. It’s either Chateau Dieter or Opal in bitter cold. Back to the shack we go. Our plan of attack: get to Dieter’s as late as possible, sleep on the floor in Dieter’s room, then get out of dodge at the crack of dawn.