A Note on Hospiltality

Talk about a small world. Sommer and I are waiting at the bus station for a man, who we think is named Berd, to come pick us up and drive us to his family's cow farm. Each car that drives by could be him, but they all zoom around the parking lot and speed off. Finally, one little hatchback pulls up to the curb and turns off the engine. A skinny man with a long pony tail gets out of the car and raises both hands high "allo!"

"So, where are you from?" he asks us as more than 10 flies perch on his legs.
"America." He waits expectantly, "A state called New Mexico" I elaborate.
"Ahh yes, New Mexico! My aunt lives there!" I turn back to look at Sommer in disbelief. He explains that she met a soldier who was in Frankfurt during the war and she moved back with him and settled in Albuquerque. What's more, is that Bert (named after Bertolt Brecht), went to visit her in Albuquerque in 1980 and thus already knew our city, its street names and all general geography of the homeland. We spent the next ten minutes marveling at the chances and at what a small world we live in.

Sommer and I found ourselves in this position due to lack of planning and adventurous spirits. We had a week to kill in Frankfurt but nothing to do and a desire to not spend any money (quite difficult when you have no place to stay, no fridge, and all museums cost at least 5 euros. There are only so many park naps a girl can take!). So we decided to Wwoof. We hopped online, paid the fee, and started looking up farms near Frankfurt that would be easy to get to and would let us come for only a few days. That was Tuesday and on Wednesday we were on a train to Marburg, Germany. Bert had answered the phone and in the English he could manage told us about his family, his farm, what they could offer us, and how to get to the farm. On the train ride there Sommer and I had a brief moment of doubt, in which we questioned what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into. Thankfully though, our doubts were quelled the moment we met Bert and then even more so the moment we arrived at the farm.

I only spent two days with them but they were thought provoking, glorious, and fun. Bert and Sylvia were versed in politics, cow facts, and hospitality. They welcomed us into their home without question. We ate richly, even though Bert talk us how hard times are now for family farms. We slept comfortably in a caravan that lived behind their house. It was an old trailer painted pink and yellow. It was a glorious abode. Our days were spent, feeding the cows, moving them to new pastures, cleaning out the barn, picking beans, picking sprouts off of last year's potato crop (over 2 thousand potatoes!) and cooking or cutting. It was simple and easy work. Our days were filled with coffee breaks in which Bert would teach us something new about the world, about farming, or tell us about his travels. We discussed the holocaust and traveling with Sylvia. After meals, Lutz, their youngest son, would quiz us on capitals of countries.

I don't know when but I would love to return there someday and get to know them even better. And how knows? Maybe Bert will come visit his aunt and get to see how Albuquerque has changed!