Читать книгу Wanderlust: A Tiny Isle in the Northern Sea - Katja Just - Страница 5

The plan was quite different. It was the famous "perfect plan" that we had developed together. My partner spoke of marriage and of children and a beautiful terraced house with garden in the Munich hinterland.

I grew up in Ismaning, a suburb of Munich, and spent the first 25 years of my life there. It was great growing up there. Rural, familiar and sheltered. In that little place they knew each other. In the terraced house settlement where I grew up, we children were a permanent clique. We regularly came up with plans and had some adventures. Our "territory" was huge, freedom seemed limitless. We were outside a lot, built stalls and "baked" sand cakes, which we of course tried extensively. During the time in primary school we were still close together, after that we went to different schools and the interests shifted. We haven't lost sight of each other until today, but we went very different ways.

My own led me to Lufthansa, where I completed a commercial apprenticeship and was subsequently hired. I moved from the parent company to Lufthansa Technik, directly at Munich Airport. There I also met my partner. He was the computer expert and had to solve problems in our department. He saw a motorbike suit hanging from my clothes stand and wanted to know if it was mine. Yes, it was mine, because I drove to work by motorbike every day, and so we got into conversation and very quickly also to the first joint ride, because he was himself a motorcyclist. That was our greatest common passion, as was mountain hiking. The love for nature was given on both sides.

I was in my early twenties when my partner talked about marriage and children. Ismaning was no longer the village where I had grown up. It had grown, became modern and a popular place to live for people who recognised early on the advantage of the constantly growing infrastructure around Munich. The village character was lost, which saddened me, even though I was able to recognize and understand the economic upswing that was slowly turning this small town into an exclusive suburb of Munich. The picture that had developed at the end of the nineties no longer had much in common with my childhood days. The offspring no longer went to school in groups of at least three or four children in wind and weather, but were driven individually by car to the school gate. They weren't cadets, bugs or r4s anymore. They were huge family coaches. Of course the children were also picked up again, because the afternoons were tightly clocked with additional courses, club visits or theatre rehearsals. Sure, we were also in the sports club or had music lessons at that time, but the time we spent together outside clearly prevailed.

All this was present when my partner confronted me with his desire to have children. My memories, which were only a few years old, stood opposite this wish. That made me insecure. Not because I am afraid of development or progress, both are important and existential, especially for the next generation. But the spirit of adventure and freedom that we were able to live out as children in the Munich foothills was hardly possible in the cities even then. It was clear to me that if I had children, they should be able to experience adventures in the great outdoors without having to worry about them all the time. I didn't want to raise children in the surrounding area of Munich and so I said unmistakably: "If children, then only on Hooge!

On the Hallig children can still experience nature to touch and enjoy a great deal of freedom. Although the infrastructure there is capable of expansion and the chance of good earning opportunities is limited, there is still much that can be developed and expanded. The sense of adventure that we have experienced in childhood is a commodity that cannot be produced and developed. Besides, it's priceless! If I hadn't known it then, I wouldn't know what it was today. You can't make up for it, you have to live it! That's exactly what I wanted to offer my children and my partner could understand.

He had just started his own business in the IT sector and was therefore ideally qualified to become a computer and Internet specialist in the far north. I could have joined my parents' small rental business to take it over on a long-term basis. Children would have fitted very well into this construct. A wonderful environment, expanse to the never-ending horizon, cows, calves, horses, sheep, birds, own dogs and the family around it. All the "evil", all the hustle and bustle and bustle that life in large communities or cities can bring would remain on the mainland. But of course also the usual, the hobbies, the friends and in this case also the family of my partner. It would be a big step to tear down the tents in Munich and move the centre of life to a small Hallig in the middle of the North Sea. For him it was ultimately greater than for me, worries and doubts spread to him. We discussed, began to argue, the common dream lost its lightness.

In October 2000 I finally moved to Hallig Hooge alone, because suddenly everything was different and went very fast: I quit the job I always loved, sold my motorcycle with tears in my eyes, stored my belongings in a small van. The partner I wanted a family with, not by my side anymore.

Accompanied by Anne and Lutz, my two best friends, who helped me with words and deeds during my departure, I set off for the north at night. It was a windy, rainy night, but with us in the car we felt three intimacies and security. Anne and I gave our childhood experiences their best, because we have known each other since we were three years old. Lutz and I reminisced about our time together at Lufthansa. In between we forgot the reason for our trip and laughed and were really exuberant. With these two at my side, I could forget the uncertainty that lay deep inside me. Even the rain, which was constantly pelting down the windshield, couldn't spoil our mood.

At ten o'clock von Schlüttsiel left the ferry which brought us to the small island. It still felt like it always did when I came to visit the Hallig, where just about a hundred people live. Arrive, unload, eat. My mother spoiled us and we got the best food you can get after a night out: a hot, homemade vegetable soup. This awakens the maltreated spirits. Lutz was on Hooge for the first time and met my parents only now. And those who are on a North Sea hallig or island for the first time must of course also be served one of the many specialities. So he was able to enjoy a freshly prepared crab bread. The highest for crab lovers! And fresher than here, in the middle of the North Sea, you can't get it anywhere.

In the meantime the sun had prevailed and the cloud cover had disappeared. To straighten our bones, we took a walk to the dike. Also present was my dog Chico, who had been a permanent member of the family for three months. I had last seen him in August when my mother and I had brought him to Hooge together during my last holiday. The joy of the reunion was enormous on both sides. Lutz and Chico played uninterruptedly with a thick rope, Anne and I enjoyed the view of the sea and the infinite vastness, which let me slowly calm down. A deep calm that developed into a pleasant tiredness in the fresh air and after a good meal. The last night was still in our bones and so we went after the extensive walk directly to my new apartment.

For my new start on the Hallig I had rented a two-room apartment in the direct neighbourhood. The apartment on the first floor offered a wonderful view over the Halligland. Since I still had to renovate it, there was nothing in its place yet. So we just set up a makeshift mattress camp in the future bedroom. There were enough pillows and blankets and we didn't need any more. It didn't take long for all three of us to sleep soundly.

One window remained open overnight. When I woke up and went towards the bathroom, I saw that we had visitors from a small "king". A wren flew through my living room. He didn't seem excited at all and let himself easily be guided outside. A "king" as a guest in my apartment - I took this as a sign that I had done everything right. He encouraged me and gave me confidence.

The next morning at eight o'clock the three of us left the Hallig with the ferry and drove the approximately one thousand kilometres to Ismaning again. The last little things still had to be done and farewells had to be carried out. Some even forever. Two days later I drove the route again. Alone this time. During the drive I heard from Nena's Somehow, somewhere, sometime up to Bon Jovis It's my life everything what the radio gave away. And I couldn't have described my feelings more aptly myself. I wasn't really sure whether it was more of a ride with an unfinished finish or a ride to a new beginning. I didn't know if I felt like crying or laughing. My feelings were on a roller coaster. I left so much behind. Was my decision right or unreasonable? What had become of my or our perfect plan? What from my dreams? What would become of my friendships if they could stand the distance? The people I preferred to have around me were now almost a thousand kilometres away. People who told me how much they'd miss me to say goodbye. And I didn't know what my plan was gonna be right now. I didn't have any.

One thing was clear to me, though. It was a farewell to my past 25 years, my childhood, my homeland, a supposedly perfect plan and much more. And it was also certain that this was the beginning of a new phase of life. I moved to the Hallig Hooge and laid the foundation for a new life with many chapters.