Germany Report

Nov. 1, 2012

GERMANY REPORT

Forty years ago I went to Europe for the summer and visited eleven countries. I was a hippie then. For a number of years I desired to return but never did until this past October. My friend and brother in Christ, Vinci, a Brazilian apostle, invited me to join him and his wife Samia. She runs a travel agency in which her daughter Queren works. Queren worked super hard, and got me a good ticket with aisle seats for every flight. My first one was an overnight from Boston to Munich. I am too tall to fit comfortably into a regular airline seat (some day I'd like to do first class, just once) and so can't sleep on planes. From Munich I flew to Düsseldorf, which is in the northwestern corner of the country. My understanding was that my plane would come in about an hour earlier than Samia's, who was flying in from Canada. What I had not coordinated was how we were to meet in the airport, or how to connect with Sergio, who lives in Germany, and was coming to pick us up. I had no phone access, and didn't know which airline or flight was bringing Samia. So I stood outside for over an hour waiting for Sergio, whom I had met in Brazil the previous year at the Missionary Conference, to arrive. While I waited I made friends with a young German parking attendant who spoke a little English. Most younger Germans know some English, which was a blessing as my German vocabulary is about 12 words learned from World War II movies. Finally I went back inside and tried to figure out how to use the public Internet. It could use a credit card (I like to pay cash to avoid identity theft) or Euro coins. I had Euro cash but no coins. I went to the money exchange but it was too expensive to change. I was beginning to despair when I heard a voice call my name. Samia sat in regal splendor surrounded by luggage waiting for Sergio to appear. She was a welcome sight.

We waited a short time and then Marco Aurelio appeared. He is a leader of a church near Manahuacu in Minas, a cheerful man, who is learning English. Somewhere around 3 PM, Sergio came and we piled people and suitcases into his VW. To this point I thought he lived in Düsseldorf but it turned out that he actually resided in Aachen, about ninety minutes away. Aachen was the former capital of Charlemagne, originator of something that historians refer to as the Holy Roman Empire, although it was neither holy nor Roman nor an empire. We traveled on the Autobahn, the German highway system, which in many places has no upper speed limit. Readers of my Brazil report may recall my allusion to Brazilian driving habits. Let it suffice to say that they really enjoy the autobahn.

Sergio and his wife Margherita live in a condo across the street from a little wooded park. They provided the wonderful hospitality that is so welcome to travelers. Vinci came in from Mozambique, where he had encouraged and blessed the brethren. I also met Maria and Viviani, two sisters in the Lord from Brazil. Marco Aurelio very graciously gave up his quarters for me and slept on a mattress in the living room. (Matthew 10:42, brother)

Saturday was a very busy day. Vinci had rented a Renault Van, and Marcello, a friend from the States, had rented a car. About a dozen of us piled into these and went to a place overlooking the borders of three countries- Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands. Most of my companions had digital cameras and took thousands of pictures during our trip.

I'm not sure why my friends, all Brazilians, wanted to go but the next place we visited was a U.S. Military grave site, the physical resting place of over 8,300 soldiers slain in the Second World War. Those who may remember the opening scene of the film “Saving Private Ryan” recall the hero as an elderly man visiting one of these. There was a wide boulevard, flanked by a single row of shade trees on each side, and endless curving rows of precisely spaced white crosses. I happened to walk down the boulevard with a German named Rolf, a friendly man. Such an irony that we could walk together having a nice conversation in a place that commemorated our countrymen slaughtering one another. Then we went into Holland. What amazed me was that there was no border guards or customs. One minute we were in Germany, the next we were in the Netherlands. We pulled up to a house with a outer courtyard. I had no idea who these people were but they ushered us in and shortly were feeding about twenty people. It turned out that they belong to a Spanish speaking congregation whom Sergio ministers too.

That evening some of the brothers invited me to a combination spa and water park. By this time our crew was complete, Vinci and Samia, Gislane, whom I had met at the Missionary Conference last year, Viviani and Maria, who turned out to be the sister of Kaila, wife of Marcello, Tiago and Liliani, missionaries in an Islamic country, Gilberto, a friend I had met last year who was now residing in the U.K., and Marco Aurelio. Marco, Gilberto, Tiago and I went with Ricardo, a Ph. D student in Mechanical Engineering, studying in Aachen, and married to Michelli, who had accompanied us on our jaunt that day. Ricardo is a very nice man (gente boa, I think is the Portuguese expression). He goes to San Diego annually for a conference. We hope he can stop off in Boston the next time.

The Spa has a large indoor pool with a number of adjacent small pools, and several outdoor pools of varying temperatures along with a sauna . Brazilians like water and they had a great time. Their favorite was a pool with a strong current along the perimeter that acted like the flow of a river. As with most things German, the arrangements were very efficient. They even had hair drying units on the walls which you could adjust to your own height.

Sunday was another busy day. Traveling with Vinci and Samia is like falling into a flooded river and being swept away by the current. From Düsseldorf we sped to Bonn, former capital of west Germany when the country was divided into two parts during the Cold War. Here we worshiped with an international congregation led by Mario, a German pastor, who had been born in Brazil. To my surprise I was approached just before the first service started by a young black woman who gave me a headset. Vinci would preach in Portuguese, translated on stage into German, which Nakoto, born in Germany of Ugandan parents, would translate into English for me. Once we got the technology worked out this worked very well. Vinci's translator was another young woman named Helena (or Elena) who had learned Portuguese during a six month stint in Brazil. Marcelo commented to me that her Portuguese was so flawless that she had no discernible German accent when she spoke. Vinci preached twice, and then we went downstairs for another feast made by Latin members of the congregation. Retracing our steps at top speed to Aachen we arrived in time for the evening service at the church that Sergio pastors. In the morning there is a service in German; in the evening they have the Latin service for Brazilians and Spanish speakers. Vinci preached again, which was three separate messages in one day, each for the better part of an hour. This time a middle aged lady, Patricia, whom I learned later spoke six languages (Helena only spoke five) translated. While they were taking the offering an elderly woman whom I had seen earlier, and who looked like she would have difficulty walking down the street, sat down at the piano and began to play. It turns out that she was a former concert pianist who, at the age of eighty-six could still play marvelously.

Monday morning we were on our way to Berlin in what I jokingly called Vinci's Traveling Language School. There were eight of us with English ability ranging from fluent to non-existent. Both of my seat mates, Gilberto and Marco Aurelio, were actively trying to learn, and I try to add to my smattering of Portuguese when I can. We stopped eventually to use the facilities and eat lunch. This was one of the two times that I had to pay to use the bathroom. The fee was E .70. (The Euro was worth about $1.30 or 2.5 Brazilian Reals at the time of my trip.) In exchange we each received a little receipt with a .50 discount to use. The Brazilians gathered these together (12 in all) and purchased French fries, known as pommes frites, the French language term, in Germany. (The word “potato” in French is pomme de la terre, literally apple of the earth.)

When we approached Berlin, Samia asked me to give an impromptu history lecture on the history of the city. Although I realize that most people are bored by history, I did, hoping that my listeners got something out of it. We found our hotel on Xantener Eck Strasse (Strasse means street) and went up to our rooms. Gilberto and Marco Aurelio kindly took the two smaller beds leaving the largest for me. We continued our informal language studies and I remember explaining how the word “paint” could be both a verb and a noun as in, “I paint the wall with paint.”

Then we gathered in the lobby before going out on the Kurfenstenddamm Strasse, a long shopping street. My friends love to take pictures, and, at times, I felt like I was surrounded by paparazzi. We ambled down to a monument, and eventually into a restaurant for dinner. After our non- English speaking waiter was switched for one that did, we proceeded to order. He did a lot of work to serve us, and to provide separate bills. Here I encountered one of the interesting cultural differences between Brazilians and Americans. In Brazil, as in Europe the final bill contains a Value Added Tax, or VAT. In Germany at least the percentage is available to see, in this case nineteen percent. My understanding (and all of this is just my possibly misinformed opinion) is that in Brazil the percentage is unknown, which means it could potentially be padded. The next morning I inquired and learned that if tips are given at all ten percent is the limit. In the U.S. to not give a tip would indicate extreme displeasure with the service, ten percent is for adequate service, fifteen percent is the norm, with twenty percent or higher for good service. The comment from my informant was that “Americans are generous people.” Of course it is easier when you are paying only seven or eight percent meal tax rather than the 19 to 25 % I found in Germany.

In the morning we found a breakfast buffet at the German restaurant on the corner before we left for our tourist day in Berlin. Samia negotiated passage on a double decker On/Off bus and we climbed on board. We stopped at the remnant of the Berlin Wall, about a block long. Vinci asked me to give a brief talk about the Wall, which I did, mentioning the Berlin Airlift, and the famous speeches given by President Kennedy ca. 1962, and President Reagan, ca. 1987.

We stopped on an island with a number of museums and inquired about a boat tour but did not take it. Then we went to the Brandenburg gate, taking numerous pictures all the while. Some of us stopped at a Dunkin Donuts, ( I know, all the way to Germany for Dunkin Donuts, silly) where I paid half a Euro to use the facilities. That day I adopted Viviani, a joyful young woman about my own daughter's age. Upon exiting the bus we divided into several groups. Six of us ended up at a pizza restaurant. Afterwards we walked back to the hotel where Marcelo came up and spoke with Marco, and I allegedly snored.

The next morning we gathered in one of the rooms, and had a good time of prayer. Vinci talked about his “killer” schedule (which would finish off the average person), and mentioned his desire for a man with his heart to follow him in ministry, (someone with the same gifting of the Spirit), something he and I had talked about on the drive to Berlin. We laid hands on him and prayed. After a late breakfast we embarked for Nidda, a little German town where the missionary conference (Encontro) would be held. We were accompanied by a man called Brother Simeon, a Christian Brazilian musician who had been famous back in the day. He gave a wild testimony that included a desire long ago

to reform the Beatles.

Again we traveled at breakneck speed (about 90MPH). I attempted to get a little exercise during our stops by walking back and forth, something that amused my friends. I have not observed that walking for exercise is part of the Brazilian culture. We arrived late afternoon in Nidda (actually a hamlet called Bad Salhausen) to a missionary conference center hosted by a Brazilian woman who had lived in Germany for a number of years and spoke German. She and her colleagues proceeded to feed us prodigiously. At the conference itself there were two speakers, Vinci, and a brother named Jaime Nobre, I believe, from the Sao Paulo area. At the peak there were about sixty adults, mostly Brazilians, some of whom lived in Europe and others who had traveled from Brazil, along with a few Portuguese, two Englishmen, and the lone American. We lived in eleven different countries including Luxembourg. That night I was placed in a nice room by myself.

The next day I had an opportunity to take a long walk in which I was able to use three of my total German vocabulary of about a dozen words. A man stopped to offer me a ride. I couldn't hear him clearly at first so I said “Bitte” (please), then “Nein,” (No), and “Danke” (thanks). It was a heavily traveled road for being out in the country.

A brother named Mauricio, who lives in the U.K., did most of the translating for me and the two Englishmen. I set next to a very nice brother who lives in Luxembourg, and speaks French, whose name escapes me. I also met Tiana, a young woman from Vitoria, who is studying law in English in Munich. She said she was struggling to learn German; her English was excellent.

We parted ways Friday, with Vinci and a van load of people going to Frankfurt, while Sergio, Margherita, and a missionary sister named Alda, and I traveled back to Aachen. I had met Alda the year before at the missionary conference. She had served in an Islamic country and then come to Germany. She studies German every day. Saturday we went to the Spanish speaking service in Holland. Sergio asked me to give my testimony and preach a little, which I did to about twenty people. At the end a Dutch brother named Leo called me over and we talked for about fifteen minutes. He belongs to the Dutch church that uses the building in the morning, and for the past three years has volunteered to open the church and help out the Spanish speakers even though he doesn't speak their language. His English was good.

Sunday morning Margherita was not feeling well so we skipped the German service, and went to the Portuguese one in the evening. There I saw my friend Ricardo, who is in charge of the sound system. Sergio preached. He is a quiet man but can be quite humorous in a public setting. Sergio 's older son Levi translated for me. Just prior to the service Alda and I prayed together. She received a vision from the Lord but my Portuguese was insufficient to grasp what she was saying, and she doesn't speak English. Afterwards she asked Helena to help us communicate. Helena said it was difficult for her to go back and forth in two foreign languages rather than her native German but she got the idea across that God had a surprise in store for me.

Monday I got up around 4 in the morning to return to the US. Lucas, Sergio's younger son accompanied me. He is in University. Sergio took us to the train station in Aachen. At first there were very few people. As we got closer to Düsseldorf the train got crowded. I haven't been on a train in a very long time so it is hard to compare but it seemed quiet, efficient, and fast. We switched trains at the main station in Düsseldorf to take a different one to the airport. There I put my passport in to get the boarding pass to discover that my flight was canceled. I am used to American media hyping up any type of bad weather to make it seem worse than it really is, so I didn't realize the impact of hurricane Sandy. My flight was to Newark of all places. So Lucas and I turned around and went back to Aachen. He has lived in Germany since he was nine and says that his German is better than his Portuguese. His English is conversational so he knows three languages.

Sergio and Margherita put me up again, fed me constantly, and I tried it again the next day. An extremely helpful Lufthansa agent found me a Swiss Air flight to Zürich, and from there to Boston. Lucas had to go to class so with God's help negotiated this on my own even though I ended up taking a different train from Düsseldorf to the airport. From Düsseldorf to Zürich I had two seats to myself, which was wonderful. Unfortunately the much longer flight from Zürich to the US was full. My friend and brother in Christ, Matt, picked me up at the airport.