European Trip 1991 - Part One

Characters have been combined and events have been condensed. These are my memories; I am the teller of my own story. Certain episodes are imaginative recreation. To protect the privacy of others, names have been changed and characters conflated. Etc.



   Growing up in the hot and dry South Eastern desert of New Mexico during the early 90’s was an interesting experience to say the least. In 1991, I was fifteen years old and living with my mother on the South side of Roswell. It was a year plagued with grunge music, flannel tops, and a surplus of teen spirit. My life was a psychedelic whirlwind of drugs, skateboarding, graffiti and sexual debauchery. Although I was heavily immersed in the skateboard sub-culture, I had begun spending more time getting into trouble and partying with my friends. While other kids were at home playing with their Super Nintendo or trying out for the high school basketball team, my friends and I were out skating the streets, tagging and dropping acid twice a week.

   I was attending a private school that year and summer was quickly approaching.  I had some extended family that was living in Germany at the time, my aunt Liz, her two teen daughters Alexandra and Nadja.  Aunt Liz is my dad’s sister and I knew her and my cousins from previous family events but she had recently remarried and was living with some new guy whom I’d never met. My mother thought that it would be a great opportunity for me to travel to Europe and stay with Aunt Liz for a couple of weeks during the summer. Although I had done some traveling with my mother in the past, I’d never been to Europe and the thought of going alone intrigued me. There was definitely a part of me that wanted to stay in Roswell and spend the summer skateboarding with my friends rather than dorking out with some distant relatives in Germany. I eventually agreed and after acquiring the appropriate documents, arrangements were made for me to fly out of El Paso International Airport. I was bringing the usual traveling amenities with me and anything else that was deemed essential. What I distinctly remember about preparing for my trip to Germany was that instead of packing up my skateboard, skate shoes and regular apparel, I decided to change up my style and bring some clothes that actually fit properly. I picked up some short cargo shorts, a few conservative looking polo shirts, a fanny pack and the ugliest pair of K-Swiss walking shoes that were currently being produced. In retrospect, this type of clothing would have probably been worn by any average tourist but in my mind, I was shooting for something completely opposite of who I was and the life that I was living. If was gonna go dorking around Germany, I might as well go full dork, right?

   Amongst the other items that I had prepared for travel was a smoking pipe that my father had personally given me earlier that year. It was a simple, rectangular wooden pipe that I had already used to smoke weed many times before. Haphazardly, I threw it in a plastic zip lock bag, neatly folded and tucked it away in the front compartment of my suitcase. Figuring that I would have an ample amount of time to retrieve it from my luggage once in El Paso, my plan was to transfer the pipe from the suitcase to the front pocket of my shorts before boarding the plane. So without any regard for airport security or customs, I made the decision that I was going to carry this stinky pipe with me all the way to Germany in the front pocket of my cargo shorts. Things moved pretty quickly after arriving in El Paso and I wasn’t able to break away from my mother long enough to grab the pipe from my luggage. I soon found myself being taxied to the airport and I was becoming a bit nervous, I had no idea what would happen if airport security were to discover the drug paraphernalia that was concealed in my luggage. If I didn’t get to it in time, I would be forced to hand it over to them at the check in counter. We arrived at the El Paso International Airport and it seemed like an eternity walking through the parking lot as my mother and I made our way to the terminal. I was praying for some type of distraction to divert my mom’s attention long enough so that I could make the switch but nothing happened. We entered the terminal and without any delay, we walked straight up to the check in counter. An older, rather attractive Mexican lady greeted us and asked for my ticket. After mindlessly punching away at the keyboard for what seemed like another eternity, she refocused her pretty brown eyes back on me and asked for my luggage. The sweat on my brow must have been visible at this point, my breath became uneven and my posture slightly changed. As I nervously looked back and forth between my mother and her, I could see the growing look of concern in their faces. “Please excuse me for a moment” I said as I slowly backed up clutching my suitcase, I heard my mother tell the lady “Sorry about this, he has a fear of flying.” I retreated back to the sliding doors at the terminal entrance and began to frantically dig for the pipe in the front compartment of the suitcase. I was trying not to bring any more attention to myself than I already had. Once I had it in my hand, I discreetly slid it into the right front pocket of my shorts. I managed to get everything squared away and promptly returned back to the counter. Walking back with a new found confidence, I smiled at the lady as if nothing had just happened and without any reluctance, handed over my suitcase. I am assuming the fact that I was a fifteen year old kid was the only reason that airport security wasn’t alerted about my suspicious behavior. I proceeded through each security checkpoint without any further complications, arrived at my gate on time and boarded the plane.

   After multiple flight transfers and delays, I arrived in Frankfurt, Germany. The length of the flight had just about made me crazy and I was desperate to get off the plane. After disembarking the aircraft, I stopped to sit down for a second so that I could gather my senses. I was suffering from motion sickness and was beginning to feel fatigued. It wasn’t long after sitting down that I heard some heavy footsteps headed in my direction. It sounded menacing and as I gradually lifted my head, I saw the combat boots of three German soldiers walking my way. These guys looked dangerous and I quickly became aware of the sub-machines that were slung around their shoulders. This was the first time in my life that I had seen soldiers armed with machine guns patrolling the inside of an airport. I would later learn that security had recently been beefed up due to certain threats that were present during that time. One of the guards looked at me for a brief moment and I tried to look as if I wasn’t at all moved by their presence. The thought of having to explain to my aunt that I was being detained because I was caught carrying drug paraphernalia was unbearable. As soon as they were out of sight, I located a map nearby and searched for an exit. As I was making my way through one of the gated areas, I caught the attention of a security guard. He approached me and began to lightly interrogate me about my destination. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he starts to frisk me! He must have felt the muscles in my leg tense up as his hands slid up and around my front pockets. His left hand immediately zeroed in on the pipe that was in the right front pocket of my shorts. As he grasped it through the outside of my shorts, he kept trying to define it with his fingers.  He then asks me with a firm voice and heavy German accent “Vhat is dis?” I felt as if I was about to come unglued right then but managed to keep my composure. I looked him in the eyes and told him that it was a keychain. After a momentary pause, he waived me through and I made my way to baggage claim. Soon after, I was greeted by my aunt Liz and her husband David near the terminal exit. It was getting late and it had been a very long and stressful day. We got the luggage situated in the car and commenced with our journey back to their house which was just about an hour South of Frankfurt.

   My aunt and her husband lived in the city of Worms. The name is of Celtic origin and is pronounced “Vorms”. One of Germany’s oldest cities, Worms has a population of about eighty five thousand people and is situated in the Rhine valley on the Western banks of the Rhine River. My aunt Liz had been living there for quite some time. A soft spoken woman, fluent in English, German, and Spanish, she carried herself well. Taller than most other women, she had a thin build, long dark hair with high cheek bones. A previous marriage had brought her to Germany and after a divorce, she decided to stay there and continue working on the American base in Worms. She had been living in Germany for so long that I was unable to detect any remanence of her New Mexican upbringing. Even when she spoke English, it was with a thick German accent. Her new husband David, who also worked on the base, seemed like an alright guy. Right off the bat, he explained to me that I was old enough to drink alcohol in Germany and then proceeded to instruct me on how to order beer in German. Contrary to what some people may believe, it was sound advice for a fifteen year old at that particular time and place. Although David hadn’t assimilated into German culture like Aunt Liz, he was a big fan of German beer, a connoisseur of sorts. His favorite brand was Kristallweizen and he suggested that I drink that during my stay.

   The morning after arriving in Germany, we all sat at the table for breakfast. It was the first time that I had seen my cousins Alexandra and her younger sister Nadja in years. They were both born and raised in Germany but we had met on several different occasions back in New Mexico as children. They were truly excited to see me and they had grown so much since the last time that I had seen them. They were constantly exchanging looks, giggling and whispering to each other in German as we ate our breakfast. Alexandra was the same age as me and spoke some English. Nadja was somewhat of a tomboy and spoke even less English than Alexandra. They lived with their father on the other side of the city but had come to stay with their mother for the occasion. Alexandra seemed to have a certain interest in me and was obviously excited to have an American boy staying with them. I would be lying if I said there weren’t a few taboo looks that were being exchanged between her and I at the table that morning.

   We finished up with breakfast and David showed me around the interior and exterior areas of their house. It was a very German type of house in a very German looking neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. It seemed appropriate that they lived off base being that my aunt Liz considered herself to be German and not American. I wasn’t quite sure where the hell I was but it felt rural, I could smell it in the air. David and I snuck away for short drive through the surrounding area which consisted of mostly vineyards, beautiful vineyards with varying shades of green that stretched in every direction. As we drove, David explained to me about the wine culture having a very strong presence in Worms and how it has been a 2000 year old tradition in that area. As I listened and gazed across the vineyards, I began to feel a deep sense of independence and freedom that I had never quite experienced before. It was exciting to be so far away from home and away from my sometimes overbearing mother. When we returned to the house, he grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator and took me down into the basement where he kept his airbrush paintings and equipment. It was a decent size workspace that was filled with a plethora of finished works that he had painted himself. He handed me a beer with one hand as he positioned his favorite Tommy James and the Shondells record on the turntable with the other. ”So what type of music do you listen to Damian?” he casually inquired. A truly unique man, David had a mullet that coordinated with his furry beard. He wore a fanny pack and Birkenstocks as if he were the one on vacation. We must have spent the next hour or so going through all of his airbrush paintings. They were mostly beach scenes with dolphins and things of that nature, not really to my liking but he was definitely talented at what he did.

   After becoming acquainted with things there at the house, I spent the next few days dorking around the city on foot. Both my Aunt Liz and David worked during the day so I would be dropped off in the center of the city early in the morning and they would pick me up later in the day when they got out of work. I spent a considerable amount of time exploring the city, taking pictures of local graffiti and guzzling down half liter glasses of Kristallweizen . I was surrounded by some of the finest High Romanesque architecture in the entire country. Gothic looking cathedrals and cobblestone pathways that, at times, made me feel as if I had stepped through a time warp. Trinity Church, the time disk in Market Square, home to five Romanesque churches and one of the three great imperial cathedrals on the Upper Rhine, Worms is truly a fascinating place. One morning in particular, I was trying find a decent place to eat some breakfast but all that Worms had to offer me was pastries. Block after block, an abundance of pastry shops. I began to lose hope that I would ever find anything to fulfill my early morning American appetite.  As I rounded the next corner, I was astonished to find a McDonalds. There they were, as plain as day, those golden arches staring right back at me! Already fantasizing about sausage biscuits and hash browns as I walked through the front doors, I impatiently scanned the menu for breakfast items but quickly realized that there were none. There was no way that I had missed breakfast, it was eight o’ clock in the morning! Something wasn’t right. One of the employees that spoke English noticed my distress and informed that breakfast isn’t served at McDonalds in Germany. I’m thinking “What the fuck!? That’s some of the most backwards shit that I’ve ever heard!”  I settled for a Big Mac, headed to the nearest bar and washed it down with a beer.

   I had learned about some day trip tours that were available through a travel agency located on base and decided to look into it. I stopped in at the travel agency and went through some of the brochures that they had on display. Two places in particular that caught my attention were Paris and Amsterdam. “Man, if I could only make it to Amsterdam”, I thought, “They’ve got some high quality weed in Amsterdam and I might even have enough time in one day to get a prostitute!” Later that day, I took the brochures with me back to the house and presented them to Aunt Liz and David. Needless to say, they tried to discourage any ideas that I had about going to Amsterdam and insisted that I visit Paris instead. Not willing to give up on Amsterdam, I attempted to plead with them and reassure them that I would stay out of trouble if I were allowed to go. They held their position and were adamant about me not going to Amsterdam.  The next day, I purchased my ticket for Paris and was instructed to meet back in two days at the bus station there on base. Aunt Liz told me about some close friends of hers that lived on base and explained that I should stay with them for the next two days until my bus departs for Paris. I have to say that it was a bit strange and I felt a little as if I were being dumped off on some total strangers but hey, it added to the excitement of my trip.

To be continued...