In Year 13, Chrisi came to our high school on a year-long exchange from Germany and was quickly integrated into our little friend group. She was always independent, warm, and capable, a 17 year old diving right in to whatever this foreign country had to offer. She joined local hiking and climbing groups, went on solo trips, and commuted around wherever she needed to go on a bike. We’d cap the year off on the Milford Track with two other friends, a trip that still takes #1 spot out of all my tramping experiences for the alchemical group dynamics.

Since Year 13, we’ve been pen pals exchanging snail mail for 15 years. I visited her in Dresden once before, spending Christmas with her family at the end of 2012 while I was teaching English in Czech Republic over the uni summer holidays. She came to NZ about 6 years ago and we walked the Travers-Sabine in Nelson Lakes. Since that last visit, she has got married and had two kids - and I hadn’t even met her husband yet! So I was very excited see her and to meet her family, to see how life in Dresden has evolved since that Christmas of 2012.

On my third day of cycling from Berlin, my route slipped me off the EV7/Elbe cycleway and slotted me through the main street of the most beautiful village I had seen on my ride yet - cobblestones, a greengrocer, and old pastel houses with wooden shutters. As my route rolled me up to one of these 1800s homes, I realised the address I’d been mailing the past many years was actually in this gorgeous village! I rang the bell on the gate with a tentative “hello?”, and like magic, it swung open and Chrisi was there, in the flesh! It was a very surreal moment.

Shake-off walkies

After a delightful first evening catching up and meeting her family (husband Paul, 5 year old Lotta, nearly 2 year old Theo), I spent the next morning, a Friday morning, up the hilly vineyards of a historic winery called Hoflößnitz. The winery dates back to 1401!

One can’t always be happy, even when gallivanting through Europe. So despite my happy locale, in that moment surrounded by elderly couples taking their constitutionals and groups of friends jogging together, I felt a bit apprehensive thinking about what life might look like back in Christchurch after this tour de friends. The grey clouds and cawing of crows felt appropriately dramatic, so I did some brooding on the hilltop. I soon felt better and wandered back down for a cheesecake from the local bakery (a Dresdner Eierschecke, a local specialty!).

Birthday bonanza in Ostrov

Friday afternoon was a flurry of preparations for weekend's plans. I had timed my arrival to coincide with a big party that Chrisi and Paul had been organising with friends - a 4-way joint 30th-ish birthday bush bash. We set off in the late afternoon with the van all loaded, crossing the border into Czech Republic and the heart of the Saxon Switzerland mountains.

We got to the campground and set up in drizzle. Soon, the field was full of converted vans with pop-top roofs and awnings, tents, bikes, tarps, and camping chairs. There were over a dozen families, couples, and friends joining, most of whom were part of their tight-knit climbing club/friend group.

On Saturday, the rain let up in the afternoon so we went for a short walk through the forest. This area is well known for its particular type of trad climbing, where one is required to use “slings”, knotted lengths of rope, instead of bolts (called sport climbing) or cams (the usual metal tools used for trad climbing), in order to protect the rock. This is considered pretty hardcore in other parts of the world, so I was surprised that this is the norm here. Their climbing club is actually called “Die Schlingel” which is a play on the words “Schling” (for sling) and “Schlingel” (like “rascal” or “scallywag”). Such a good name. I was thinking how much Fergus would have loved this trip, surrounded by people who lived and breathed climbing. Unfortunately it was too wet for climbing, to many people’s great disappointment.

Momentary angsty digression

There were many friends of Chrisi & Paul’s our age at the party with kids, as well as those without. Her friends without kids (and those with) were all so easeful around them, throwing them in the air, mollifying them, helping feed and change their clothes. I suddenly felt so profoundly incompetent around children that I had an alarming prick of tears from shame, right in the middle of the camping chair circle, which I had to pretend was an aborted sneeze.

It also reminded me of my friends, including the ones who have already made up their mind not to have kids, who all seem to be excellent with kids, cooing and booping and bopping (the women at least; I could do a very long tangent here about the relative expectations, effort and intent the genders put into the decision around parenthood but I will not). I watched with private dismay as all of Chrisi’s friends confidently hoisted the kids by an arm and settled them on their hips like pros. Kids don’t care about the quality of conversation, the work you do, or the hobbies you have; they ride on vibes. I’m not sure my vibes were it, which I thought was surely an indictment against my innermost aura. Obviously the solution is to a) get over it because it’s not that deep, or b) practice, but I’d already drunk society’s messaging that these are fundamental skills a woman should be born with, otherwise you’re defective.

The angst went away after a while, and I did admit to myself that the language barrier is probably a big part of my awkwardness (but… aren’t I also like this around kids back home??). And Chrisi did say that these friends have been around her kids since they were born, so there’s that!

Back to partying

By evening, the rain was well and truly gone and it was a lovely temperature for merrymaking. There were hammocks, slacklines, volleyball, frisbee, and a game like four-square except you're in a circle and you bounce the ball off a tiny trampoline. I attempted facepainting on Lotta and her friend with middling success. Fortunately there were no mirrors so it’s not like they would have seen themselves anyway.

The potluck table was astounding and very much up my alley. There was one epic roast (courtesy of Chrisi's dad) and about 20 different salads and breads. The salads had so many variants of seeds, nuts, spices, and herbs that it all tasted quite exotic to me. There were also more than 10 types of butters and dips! Sundried tomato & garlic butter, turmericky herb butter, many hummuses, yoghurt dips, the list goes on. Germans take their things-on-bread seriously. Given that I'm also partial to a lazy bread-and-toppings dinner, this was very exciting. I was amazed that anyone would go for the vat of gulash provided by the campground restaurant, which I'd tried the night before and it hadn't met my (high) expectations. But apparently this sort of potluck fare was pretty standard, and the Czech gulash was what was novel to them!

Chrisi’s Tomato Garlic Butter

Thoroughly mix/blend together:

• Butter

• Sundried tomatoes

• Tomato paste

• Crushed garlic

• Fresh herbs (basil, oregano, etc.)

The ratios are such that the result should be quite orange, like the colour of the Microsoft Powerpoint logo (the only reference that comes to mind currently). Enjoy as a more exciting alternative to plain butter, e.g. on bread!

With the kids snoozing peacefully back in the campervans by 9pm, we ended the night with a furious dance party. One of the dads (now grand-dad) was DJ'ing, lights and smoke machine and all. Songs included belt-along German classics (one of these was Monsoon by Tokyo Hotel which I hadn't heard since I owned an mp3 player), electronic classics (like Sandstorm by Darude), and that particular genre of music which I think is popular in this part of the world. I don't know the word for the genre, but it sounds a bit folks-y, an accordian might be involved, and it brings to mind a stamping of feet and twirling of skirts. Then there was Mr Brightside and Killing In The Name Of, where I think I scared some people with my enthusiasm. I selfishly thought it was a good thing no one had been able to climb because then we wouldn't have lasted through to 3am.

A slice of life

After the successful party in Czech, we were back home and into the work week. Whenever I could, I'd join for the kids' kindergarten drop-off in the chariot (an all-terrain pram/cargo trailer combo), a 10 minute walk away. The kindergarten had a vege garden and fruit trees we picked and ate many cherries. Chrisi and Paul would go to work, I would go exploring, then if I got home in time I’d join them for the pickup.

I got plenty of beginner’s German practice. It worked out well because my approach to German is quite similar to Theo’s - repeat some random words and hope for the best.

German vocabulary learnt from Theo (2 years old)

• nein! (“no!”)

• auch nicht! (“also no!”)

• mehr! (“more!”)

• mit? (“With/together?” with a hand held out for me to hold and come with - adorable 🥹)

• Chao cacao! (preferred way of saying good night)

• Stopp! (“stop!” followed by hastily pulling him away from whatever risky endeavour he was on)

• Essen (“eat”)

• Hallo Jenny~ (heart-melting phrase bleated at random times throughout the day. The cutest part is that Theo has inherited Chrisi and my New Zealand English pronunciation, so it’s very much the flat Kiwi “jee-ny” and not the British/European “jaeh-ny”)

German vocabulary learnt from Lotta (5 years old)

• Erdbeerinchen - “Little Strawberry Girl”, a devilishly tricky word for my anglophone tongue, and main character of a book that Lotta wanted me to read her.

• Prinzessinnen (“princesses”, another book)

• Oder (“or”, used for negotiations; also colloquially used in the same way that we use as “aye?” or “right?” at the end of a sentence, like "that was fun, aye?")

Reading to Lotta involved sounding out entire paragraphs of polysyllabic German words (again, a language that I do not actually speak). She must have understood at least some of it, because she later requested that I be the one to read her bedtime story (what an honour, self-esteem in Interacting With Children skill tree restored). This was, again, a German book involving paragraphs despite Chrisi’s best efforts to convince her to pick an English book. Lotta helpfully corrected my pronunciation throughout. I enjoyed it mightily even though it was a large exertion for the noggin.

Grand old Dresden

Dresden is only the 12th most populous city in Germany, but it was the home of Saxon kings for centuries. This is obvious from the mind-boggling array of magnificent historical buildings in Altstadt (Old town). While cities like Paris and Berlin have historical buildings scattered around the inner city, Dresden’s are all in one place. This makes it feel all the more immersive.

The astounding thing is that this entire grand city centre was destroyed during the Allies’ carpet bombing of Dresden in WW2, and has since been rebuilt. Original materials were painstakingly catalogued from the ruins and re-used where possible. You can see stones that have been blackened from the fire-bombing next to newer blocks, a stark reminder and now a symbol of reconciliation.

Around the corner from Frauenkirche and the old palace is the Fürstenzug, a mural and the largest porcelain artwork in the world. It depicts rulers of Saxony from the 12th to 19th century. The scale and detail was incredible. I looked closely at the progression of dress (fur hats to feathers to napoleonic bicornes to military caps) and weaponry (chain mail to plate, swords to rifles).

The one museum-y thing I went to was the Albertinum, an art museum covering the past 200 years. I’m used to seeing galleries list a source as “on loan from [X] museum” or “gift from [X] family”, but many of the works here were “purchased from the artist” - where the “artist” is like, Rodin. I guess that’s possible if you’re a gallery that’s been around for 150 years. Another “wow, NZ is a young country” moment.

I didn’t have time to see everything, but here’s some I found intriguing:

At the opera house/Jenny indulges in creative writing practice

One evening, I met up with Chrisi at the Zwinger, the old royal palace gardens, for a quick takeaway dinner (a totally normal sentence when you live in Dresden). We were going to a concert at the opera house! Her grandparents had kindly gave us tickets. The Semperoper is, like so many of the other buildings in this part of Dresden, a huge grand thing. The interior is in a early Renaissance and Baroque style (according to Wikipedia), with a lot of pastels and sparse, almost geometric patterns around colourful frescoes.

Tonight the Saxon State Orchestra was playing Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major and Dvořák’s Symphony No. 7. It had been such a long time since I’d seen an orchestra live. The last might have been the Dresden Philharmonic with Chrisi back in 2012!

Orchestras are subtle spectacles. It was a strings-heavy makeup, with the entire lower stage area entirely strings including 6 double basses. The collective swaying and buttery whips of their bows were mesmerising. The percussion section consisted of just the timpani, but there was still plenty to focus on - the switching of the soft mallets, the drum rolls, the gentle sweep of the hand to dampen the reverb. The conductor was, of course, very fun to watch, almost crossing over into interpretive dance at some points.

I will admit to nodding off a couple of times during the Beethoven in the first half (it was one of his uncharacteristically bright and peppy works, which isn’t my preference). I decided not to feel bad about it because it was such a honey-ish experience to be dozing in, full, warm, and comfortable while my ears were being pampered by the most delicious soundwaves.

I did however later regret having missed some of the violinist's playing when I heard him play a departing solo after the first half (he left after the Beethoven violin concerto). He performed the girl with the flaxen hair by Debussy so exquisitely, with such novel detailing, we were all leaning out over the balcony transfixed. I hardly dared breathe towards the end, the notes became so delicate. I could almost see the notes spooling out like gossamer threads and floating from his instrument to our ears (okay I’ll stop now). The violinist was Augustin Hadelich. I have downloaded some of his albums and I'm looking forward to listening to them on my next bike ride.

They said there would be be a casual performance of contemporary and electronic music in the foyer by some of the orchestra members afterwards. We stuck around but only had time for some show tunes by a brass quintet ("I Feel Pretty", "New York, New York" etc.), and then one song by an intriguing electronic music setup with beat pads, synthesisers, and other more eclectic looking machines. They remixed a recording of the performance we had just watched with electronic improvisations on the spot! The result sounded like a mix of 2001 Space Odyssey and an 80s arcade soundtrack - unfamiliar, but tickled my brain nicely. I would love to find more examples of orchestral/electronic remixes like this (send recs if you have any!).

New town

If Altstadt (Old Town) is grand, Neustadt (New Town) is cool. It was much more modern, grungy, and bustling with young people. In Kunsthofpassage (literally “art courtyard passage”), there were small artist-operated boutiques with unique handmade wares. One of the shops called Schmidtig, where I bought a little rubber stamp of a bicycle, had a postcard stating “Trends come and go… Dresden stays clueless”. I thought this was a funny encapsulation of how this hip side of town feels about their stately home.

On the road again

My next stop would be to meet up with Fergus in Warsaw. Once again, I was keen to see how much of it I could do by bike, and planned out a 3 day route with trains on either side. So before long, it was my last evening following a wonderful week with Chrisi and her family.

After the kids had gone to bed, Chrisi and I sat outside in the warm evening and looked through some photo albums. There were photos of us from high school: school discos, tramping trips, the school formal. I also saw photos from her wedding, which had happened not long before Ferg and my wedding. I now recognised many of the faces as I had met them over the weekend at the party.

Paul came out and said goodbye; he had an early start. We talked about the possibility of all meeting up, Fergus included, in Fontainebleue for some bouldering in a few weeks (unfortunately unlikely to work with logistics/timings). I half-joked that I’ll see him again when we’re 40.

The morning of, Chrisi and I biked into Dresden together, her commuting to work, me on my way to Poland. We had a tearful goodbye at a junction on the Elbe river cycleway. In the olden days, family and friends would often go away with no certainty of when you’d see them next. But in this modern age, it’s rare that you say goodbye to someone you actually care about, without knowing when or where you’ll see them again. I found myself quite taken aback by the feeling.