You are as delicious as gnocci

This week it occurred to me that I’ve been living here a month. I’ll do something lovely for Dan to celebrate, I thought. But when I looked up on my calendar to find the exact one month anniversary, I realised I’d already missed it. Time goes so fast out here.

The weekdays pass with reading and writing and coffee and cooking and the weekends are Dan time. I find I’m never not looking forward to tomorrow.

Last Friday morning, Dan and I caught the first U-Bahn. We spent the weekend in Hannover attending an exhibition at the IAA of Dan’s work for Mercedes and hunting for Indian food. We stayed in a ridiculously cheap Airbnb with a ridiculously comfy bed and a gorgeous view.

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It rained constantly and was freezing. Stuttgart is in a big dip and therefore never has any wind, which we realised we’d been taking for granted when we had to buy coats and jumpers over there. When we arrived we sought shelter in a simple and beautiful Italian restaurant and I had my first glass of red wine since last winter with a seafood pizza.
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Obscurely, I’m learning more Italian out here than German. Angela, who lives next door to Dan in Stuttgart has been teaching me the language over beers and introducing me to her Italian friends. My very favourite thing to say is, ‘tu sei gnocco’. It means (when said to a man) ‘you are as delicious as gnocci’.

We’re going to her flat tonight and she’s cooking us a traditional Italian meal. We’re bringing extra plates and cutlery, flowers and, of course, prosecco.

I still have no idea what I’ve done to deserve this life of free rent, Riesling, creativity and self-care. I’m so extremely aware of how fortunate I am. It’s the first time I’ve not had a job since I was thirteen.

Someone pinch me.

Aside from our apartment, there are three places in Bad Cannstatt I love to write. For my early morning sessions, an Italian café, for mid-morning and lunchtime, a French bistro, and for the afternoons a German brauhaus.

This new story I’m writing I get more and more interested in every day. Angela says when I talk about it there’s a light in my eyes and Floss and I have been laughing about the characters like they’re our friends.

With any luck, there’s something wonderful brewing, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned since being here is that wonder breeds wonder.

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Guilt Trip

She’s a welcoming sight in her favourite velvet skirt and her usual burgundy red smile. In front of her are two glasses of white wine, misty on the outside from the cold condensation and fingerprinted at their bases from her fiddling.

‘Will you hate me if I say I knew you’d come?’ she asks.

‘Not forever.’ I assure her.

‘Cheers,’ she offers, her fingers curling exquisitely around the stem of her glass.

‘To us,’ I say.

But my glass stays on the granite top of the bar and hers is lost somewhere between us as I take her powdery face in my hands and kiss her.

‘We’re in public,’ she mumbles.

‘And in fourteen hours we’ll be in Tokyo,’ I tell her. ‘And I’ll kiss you there, too.’

She pulls me into her then and her lips find my neck and my ears and the top of my chest. This woman, like water, is cool and fresh with diamond eyes that fill and glitter.

‘Every day I want to drink you,’ she says. ‘That doesn’t make sense, I know it doesn’t.’

‘I want to drink you, too,’ I reply.

With pure and unbreaking eye-contact we sit on the high leather stools and drink the wine. When the man in the green waistcoat asks if he can get us anything else I say, ‘the same again, please.’

‘I’m so impressed by you,’ she says. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Good.’

‘Guilty?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ I tell her honestly, ‘but we knew that would happen.’

‘We did.’

‘I wasn’t happy with him. I haven’t been for such a long time.’

She says nothing. She knows I am only talking to myself and she lets me.

‘He wasn’t good to me.’

‘Sweetheart, he was awful,’ she says, slowly, carefully.

‘Look,’ she says, glancing up at the board. ‘Gate fifty. Are you ready?’

‘Very much.’

What was once my husband’s backpack, I swing over my shoulder.

‘Wait,’ she calls, a little too loudly. She tips what was left from the glasses onto a black serviette and twists my arm sharply towards her. Our eyes met, but only for a second, because I think, in each other’s eyes, we see something that suddenly isn’t easy anymore.

I watch, as she scrubs dry crimson red off the inside of my wrist.

‘Okay,’ she breathes.

 

DAS WAR LECKER

“DAS WAR LECKER!”

Compared to its much softer English equivalent: it was delicious, the hard consonants make it so aggressive, or as I like to think of it, passionate. The louder you say it, the truer it is.

It’s my favourite German phrase (out of the 6 I know).

I learned it to make sure that when I’m eating and drinking out I can use it to compensate for my lack of language knowledge of everything else.

Restaurants and bars are where it started, but it’s also wonderfully applicable to cold showers on hot days, fresh morning walks and my time so far with Dan in Germany.

I haven’t worn make-up in a week. No one does here. My beautiful boots are gathering dust and I’m living in trainers. My hair has been treated to bountiful and cheap conditioning treatments and is softer and shinier than ever, rolling down my shoulders like silk. I’m fitting in. Not because I want to change myself, but because my mindset has been purely ‘explore and embrace’. It’s not a question of why, as much as why not?

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For a few hours each day, I visit Sophie’s Brauhaus. The waitresses bring me coffee and help me with my German (just this minute she’s told me we’re only speaking in German from now on). I write and write.

My new book is brewing, bubbling and steaming at the back of my head. It’s gradually making its way forward. I’m doing the research and prep I can to coax it closer to the front of my head, so I’ll be able to shut my eyes and watch it play out.

Quitting my job and giving up our lovely flat was really difficult. For the few weeks after when the whole ‘I’m voluntarily unemployed what am I doing??!’ doubts were loud and harsh, I was so worried I’d not made the right decision.

Now I’m here and so totally happy and relaxed, eating, drinking, reading and writing all day, I’m still just a tiny bit worried because it’s so perfect and what on earth have I done to deserve this life? Will I wake up to discover it was just a few too many glasses of wine that lulled me into a long delirious dream? Even now, writing this, I’m beaming.

Stress has always been a driver of mine. Heat and pressure have made me thrive. Before I arrived I was terrified of boredom and slowness to the point of stopping, but Germany has even given me an answer to that: there are wasps everywhere. I just moved my bum further backwards onto the bench I’m sitting on and felt a sting. Happily it was just a prickly hedge.

Granted, the goosebumps I get when I can feel a wasp land on my hair aren’t quite of the same calibre to when I get a tricky brief and a tight time limit from a client, but goosebumps are goosebumps (right?).

But the very best part of being here? Every day for the last seven years Dan’s asked me the same question ‘how was your day?’

And every day for the last week and a bit, my answer has been truthful, instinctive and unfaltering.

‘Lecker. Absolutely bloody lecker.’