My first German exchange trip was in 1983 to Munich. I got given the wrong German and then I got lost and had the German police looking for me, and then I spent two weeks photographing a girl who ended up with someone else, and I also laughed inappropriately at someone eating lemons in the cinema, but overall I still had a really great time, and so in 1985 when I got the chance to go on another German exchange, I of course said yes.
Again the format was the same. The Germans came over to England in the Spring, and we went back there in the summer. For some reason we were sent over to Germany on the cross channel ferry in July without a teacher to keep an eye on us, and if there's ever a situation that is bound to end in disaster, it's probably seven 17 year olds on a ferry for 4 hours with unlimited access to the duty free shop.
(The full story of having to drag my drunk school friends off the ferry can be found here)
The German leg of the trip was timed to coincide with the end of the school summer term, so we got to spend some time going to lessons in the Herschelschule in Hannover as well as hanging around in Germany being teenagers. The best thing about school in Germany is a thing called Hitzefrei. If it's too hot, you don't have to go to school, and they let you go about 11 in the morning. We had Hitzefrei almost every day while we were there.
The whole trip was amazing, although I wish I'd been kinder to my exchange partner Sebastian. In my defence I was 17 then, and in many ways an idiot. I was particularly rude to him regarding his taste in music, which I was unnecessarily scathing about (Judas Priest I think). And that was coming from someone who was into Def Leppard and ELO, so I should have kept my mouth shut. But the first few days were the best of all.
The first Sunday I was there was the Men's Wimbledon Singles Final (from Wimbledon) and against the odds the unseeded German Boris Becker was in the final. This was in the days when the Germans were normally about as competitive as the Brits at Wimbledon. I sat and watched the final with the entire Barth family and almost unbelievably the 17 year old Boris won. It was extra special watching it in Germany, but it was also the first time I'd seen someone my age or younger win something big in sport. These days there's only archeryists and crown green bowlers who are older than me in sport.
The evening following the final we were off to something called the Handelfest. It was a massive celebration to mark the 300th Anniversary of the birth of Handel (you know the Messiah guy). There was lots of music of his played and an enormous firework display and it was incredible, but almost as incredible was that every conversation that I overheard wasn't about Handel, it was about Boris Becker. There were elderly Germans everywhere just unable to contain their excitement at what they'd seen. And it was great to be there.
The other day of that trip I remember the best is the day we played football against the German army in the park. It was so not Escape to Victory you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure what the German army were doing in the park. We were there on borrowed bicycles having a picnic and enjoying the evening summer sun.
Somehow we got talking to them and they challenged us to a football match, but they were so gentlemanly they agreed to play in bare feet, so as not to kick our shins to pieces with their army boots. They also shared a crate of beer with us, which they had brought along. I think even with the bare feet they probably won, but the result didn't really matter.
I have no idea why I felt like this, but I can remember reclining on the grass, after the barefoot football match, probably a bit drunk on beer (but not a horrible kind of drunk, just that kind of drunk where you love everybody) and I remember looking up at the sky and enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and feeling happy enough to die. I know that sounds bizarre. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want to die. I just felt like it would be a good time to go. I didn't see how it was possible to feel any more content than I did in that moment, and I thought it would be a good time to slip away. Being pleasantly tipsy in a park, in a summer evening, having run around a bit playing football. I didn't see how it could get any better.
Despite the perfect-ness of the opportunity I didn't die on my back in a park in Hannover in 1985, although I might well have done a couple of hours later. Instead of popping off, I jumped back on my borrowed bicycle and my friends and I rode erratically around the streets and cycle paths of Hannover back to our host families. We did some absolutely crazy cycling manoeuvres and were lucky not to arrested for being drunk in charge of bikes, but luckily there weren't any police or cars around, so we didn't get either arrested or run over.
The rest of the trip was fantastic too. Going to school with lots of guys in denim who looked like Jim out of Taxi and lots of tall girls in three quarter length trousers (including Heike Sander, who I briefly fell in love with but only from afar, I managed to take her picture once, that was all). Catching the underground from terminus to terminus on the spotless German underground system in hour after hour of pointless 'Bahnwanderungs'. Having a dancing competition for hours in the local disco with Andy Ramsden. And that isn't even mentioning the most incredible part of the trip, which was the day trip to Berlin, to see the Wall. I'll have to write about that another time. It was possibly the most unreal experience I've ever had.
(I did eventually go back and write about Berlin and the blog post for that can be found here)
Going to Berlin proved to be a very good reason for not dying the week before in the park, as have countless experiences since, but I hope when I do pop off, it's in as nice a place as that, surrounded by friends and after having had so much fun.
Again the format was the same. The Germans came over to England in the Spring, and we went back there in the summer. For some reason we were sent over to Germany on the cross channel ferry in July without a teacher to keep an eye on us, and if there's ever a situation that is bound to end in disaster, it's probably seven 17 year olds on a ferry for 4 hours with unlimited access to the duty free shop.
(The full story of having to drag my drunk school friends off the ferry can be found here)
The German leg of the trip was timed to coincide with the end of the school summer term, so we got to spend some time going to lessons in the Herschelschule in Hannover as well as hanging around in Germany being teenagers. The best thing about school in Germany is a thing called Hitzefrei. If it's too hot, you don't have to go to school, and they let you go about 11 in the morning. We had Hitzefrei almost every day while we were there.
The whole trip was amazing, although I wish I'd been kinder to my exchange partner Sebastian. In my defence I was 17 then, and in many ways an idiot. I was particularly rude to him regarding his taste in music, which I was unnecessarily scathing about (Judas Priest I think). And that was coming from someone who was into Def Leppard and ELO, so I should have kept my mouth shut. But the first few days were the best of all.
The first Sunday I was there was the Men's Wimbledon Singles Final (from Wimbledon) and against the odds the unseeded German Boris Becker was in the final. This was in the days when the Germans were normally about as competitive as the Brits at Wimbledon. I sat and watched the final with the entire Barth family and almost unbelievably the 17 year old Boris won. It was extra special watching it in Germany, but it was also the first time I'd seen someone my age or younger win something big in sport. These days there's only archeryists and crown green bowlers who are older than me in sport.
The evening following the final we were off to something called the Handelfest. It was a massive celebration to mark the 300th Anniversary of the birth of Handel (you know the Messiah guy). There was lots of music of his played and an enormous firework display and it was incredible, but almost as incredible was that every conversation that I overheard wasn't about Handel, it was about Boris Becker. There were elderly Germans everywhere just unable to contain their excitement at what they'd seen. And it was great to be there.
The other day of that trip I remember the best is the day we played football against the German army in the park. It was so not Escape to Victory you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure what the German army were doing in the park. We were there on borrowed bicycles having a picnic and enjoying the evening summer sun.
Somehow we got talking to them and they challenged us to a football match, but they were so gentlemanly they agreed to play in bare feet, so as not to kick our shins to pieces with their army boots. They also shared a crate of beer with us, which they had brought along. I think even with the bare feet they probably won, but the result didn't really matter.
I have no idea why I felt like this, but I can remember reclining on the grass, after the barefoot football match, probably a bit drunk on beer (but not a horrible kind of drunk, just that kind of drunk where you love everybody) and I remember looking up at the sky and enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and feeling happy enough to die. I know that sounds bizarre. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want to die. I just felt like it would be a good time to go. I didn't see how it was possible to feel any more content than I did in that moment, and I thought it would be a good time to slip away. Being pleasantly tipsy in a park, in a summer evening, having run around a bit playing football. I didn't see how it could get any better.
Despite the perfect-ness of the opportunity I didn't die on my back in a park in Hannover in 1985, although I might well have done a couple of hours later. Instead of popping off, I jumped back on my borrowed bicycle and my friends and I rode erratically around the streets and cycle paths of Hannover back to our host families. We did some absolutely crazy cycling manoeuvres and were lucky not to arrested for being drunk in charge of bikes, but luckily there weren't any police or cars around, so we didn't get either arrested or run over.
The rest of the trip was fantastic too. Going to school with lots of guys in denim who looked like Jim out of Taxi and lots of tall girls in three quarter length trousers (including Heike Sander, who I briefly fell in love with but only from afar, I managed to take her picture once, that was all). Catching the underground from terminus to terminus on the spotless German underground system in hour after hour of pointless 'Bahnwanderungs'. Having a dancing competition for hours in the local disco with Andy Ramsden. And that isn't even mentioning the most incredible part of the trip, which was the day trip to Berlin, to see the Wall. I'll have to write about that another time. It was possibly the most unreal experience I've ever had.
(I did eventually go back and write about Berlin and the blog post for that can be found here)
Going to Berlin proved to be a very good reason for not dying the week before in the park, as have countless experiences since, but I hope when I do pop off, it's in as nice a place as that, surrounded by friends and after having had so much fun.
I know exactly what you mean about the perfect day with the feeling you can now die in peace. I remember having that feeling over the years growing up....at odd moments. You are a wonderful writer, Jonathan! I am happy you finally started blogging.
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