Relocated to Berlin: Not Quite Home for the Holidays

It seemed somehow fitting that we would be returning to the United States from Berlin five months to the day after we had originally left.  We were going home for the holidays (Christmas with my family in Washington, DC, New Year with my wife's family in Pittsburgh), and we were more than a little apprehensive about the emotions that we would confront returning to our roots.  Would we feel overcome with homesickness when seeing our family and our old friends?  Would we feel overwhelming nostalgia when visiting our old favorite restaurants?  Would we feel relief that we could finally understand and be understood by everybody we met?

The answers to all of these questions were a little bit surprising.  After all, I have lived overseas before, and was already acquainted with the feelings associated with being physically disconnected from "my people" for an extended period of time.  Then again, that was over 20 years ago, when the world was a very different and less connected place.  That was back before the Internet and e-mail were ubiquitous.  That was back when "foreign cuisine" in many parts of Europe (and the U.S. for that matter) was merely a slightly spicier version of the local favorites  That was back when international travel was still something of a novelty rather than an essential part of conducting everyday business.

Perhaps the biggest surprise to me and my family was that, as soon as we got off the airplane in Washington, DC, it felt like the previous five months had been nothing more than an extended vacation.  As we drove up the Dulles Toll Road toward my mother's apartment in Georgetown where we would be staying, passing our old neighborhood in Vienna, passing by our old haunts in Arlington, we were struck by - despite how radically everything in our own lives had changed - how very little in our old world seemed to be different.  Perhaps most disconcerting of all, when we drove past our old house, absolutely nothing looked any different from the outside than when we last pulled out of the driveway.  Almost instinctively, I wanted to reach for the garage door opener, half-expecting to walk into the house to be welcomed by a hot meal and a cold beer.

And yet, as we spent the Christmas week in Washington visiting friends and family, and as we then moved on to Pittsburgh to do the same over New Year, we came to realize how little our motivations for moving had changed over our time away.  To be certain, it was wonderful to see all of our loved-ones again.  But everything else that had driven us away - the politics, the traffic, the horrible horrible prime time CBS television lineup - was still there.  And with our experience of spectacular public transportation, walkable neighborhoods, and not knowing enough German to get sucked into politics or local television, the differences were even more stark in our minds now.

It was a good trip.  I am very glad that we went.  But by the end of our two weeks in the United States, we were ready to return home to Berlin.  It turns out that my favorite restaurants really were not as good as I remembered them.  It turns out that, as much as I love driving, driving on the Beltway still really sucks.  It turns out that, while it is nice to understand people and to be understood by them, there is not much being said that is really very important.

On the other hand, Skippy peanut butter really is the creamiest after all.

Relocated to Berlin: The Special Thanksgiving Episode

My family and I have been in Berlin now for just over four months.  In some respects, it feels like we just got here.  In other respects, it feels like we have been here forever.  But as we roll inexorably toward the holiday season, one becomes somewhat introspective. 

Despite complaints from my American friends that the Christmas decorations go up earlier and earlier every year, Berlin transformed itself into a Weinachts wonderland promptly on November 1.  After all, without the Halloween sugar hangover to recover from, and without that pesky Thanksgiving holiday getting in the way, Christmas is pretty much all Berliners have to make the fleeting hour or two of daylight between freezing rain showers tolerable.

Even though they don't celebrate Thanksgiving, or really anything like it that I have found yet, I have been able to cobble together an ersatz one here in Germany.  I can watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade live online, as well as every NFL game that airs before I fall asleep.  Because both today and tomorrow are school/work days, we are planning our big Thanksgiving dinner for Saturday evening so that we can have most of the day to cook our favorites (mine is stuffing, and LOTS of it!).  We haven't really made friends with any other Americans in our neighborhood yet, so we might invite some of our new German ones over for an after dinner drink.  We would invite them over for dinner itself, but we couldn't find a turkey bigger than a few pounds, and even if we could, there would be no way to fit it into our oven.  We even found some pumpkin with which to make pumpkin pie.  Considering how far we have traveled, it's remarkable how small the world has become through the marvels of the Internet and the international distribution of foodstuffs.

But since this is a very special Thanksgiving in my household, I wanted to take a few moments to reflect on what I am thankful for here in my new home in Berlin. 

1. I am thankful for my family.  If a normal guy went to his wife and said, "Hey honey, I'm bored.  I want to give up my lifelong career and secure mid-six-figure income, sell the house, sell the cars, take our daughter out of a top-ranked private school, leave our friends and family, and move to a country where we have no jobs, no friends, and can't speak the language," she would be perfectly rational and within her rights to file for divorce and have him involuntarily committed to an asylum.  My wife said, "Alright, let's do it!"  And the rest is history.  As for my daughter, she is the most loving, adaptable, and forgiving person I have ever known.  She is my inspiration, and every day she makes me want to be better.
2. I am thankful for my life up until now.  After all, let's be honest, if I hadn't been so fortunate in developing a stable and lucrative career that gave me the background, the skills, and the financial resources to move half way around the world and to be able to take up to a year or two to find work, this would all have been a wild pipe dream.  Yeah, I complained (a LOT) about how bored I was at my old career, and about how meaningless it all felt.  And yeah, it was boring and largely meaningless.  But it made this entire adventure possible.
3. I am thankful for my new friends in Berlin.  My family and I have all been blessed by the remarkable people who have gone out of their ways to welcome us to our new home.  A lot of Germans that I have spoken to both before and after we arrived here have told me how cold and unfriendly Berliners are.  We have found the exact opposite to be true.  From our first full day in this city, people have reached out to loan (or give) us furniture until our things arrived from the U.S., have offered to loan us their cars so that we can get to shops to purchase large household items, have offered to help translate important information, have offered to bring us with them on holidays, and have offered to introduce us to business contacts and organizations to help us find work.  
4. I am thankful that pretty much everything related to our relocation has gone better than expected.  From finding a buyer for our American house who was willing to let us stay for free in the house between closing and moving in exchange for all the furniture we didn't want to bring with us, to finding a spectacular apartment in a wonderful neighborhood, to finding a space in an excellent public school for my daughter, to finding excellent ice hockey teams for me and my daughter, to my wife finding the perfect job doing PR for an English language publisher.  I am not inclined to believe in fate, and I'm 50/50 on whether luck is a tangible thing, but it sure seems that we are pretty lucky that the fates aligned so perfectly to make this relocation so successful.
5. I am thankful for all of my old friends who have been supportive of this relocation from the start.  It is incredibly difficult to leave behind the relationships that have lasted for years - and sometimes decades.  But through all of the upheaval of the 10 months since my family and I finally pulled the trigger on starting this relocation, everybody has offered us unfailing encouragement and support.  In our darkest hours, when we sometimes wondered if we were making the worst decision of our lives, our friends always helped to remind us that they are always with us no matter where in the world we are.  Plus we gave them all the perfect excuse to come to Europe for vacation.

I thank you all, my dear readers, for making it this far through my little bout of self-indulgence here.  I wish you all the very happiest of Thanksgivings, and if you're in either Washington, DC or Pittsburgh around Christmas/New Year's, I hope to see you then when we come back to visit.

Relocated to Berlin: Finding Something to Do

I've mentioned this before, but my wife and I have been planning this move to Berlin for over a decade.  I got my MBA back in 2005 as part of my effort to make myself more professionally marketable in Berlin.  We sent our daughter to a German school in the United States for four years to ensure that her transition to a Berlin public school would be as seamless as possible.  But one nut that we could never quite crack while still living in the United States was finding a job in Berlin before we moved over.

This is one of those things that has always driven me absolutely nuts.  We have tons of friends who want nothing more than a quiet life in the American suburbs, when their boss calls them in one morning to tell them that they need to move to some exotic location on the other side of the world.  As I have mentioned before, we would avidly watch House Hunters International, and the "stars" more often than not had neither the desire nor the intent to live overseas, until they got a job transfer that was too good to pass up.  I see no point in jealousy, but I sure did seethe with some mysterious emotion that felt a lot like jealousy.

As for me, I have wanted to live and travel abroad for as long as I can remember.  I got my BA in International Politics because I wanted to live and work abroad.  I built up my professional skills and experience in areas that I thought would give me greater opportunities to work abroad.  I married a woman who shares my love of travel and desire to live and work abroad.  And yet, the one company that provided me the greatest opportunities for professional growth - and to which I dedicated my professional career so far - is also probably the only company in Washington, DC that neither conducted any business further abroad than Windsor, Ontario, nor ever seemed to want to.

God almighty, it was frustrating to be "housebound" to the domestic market!  But the golden handcuffs of a substantial paycheck coming from a successful business is difficult to unlock.

Until the day that I finally ripped them off.

Being a true American, I find that few things focus the mind and motivate efforts more than desperation.  I couldn't dedicate myself fully to finding new work if I was already fully occupied at my old job.  But if I am living solely on savings while trying to find work, I have a strong encouragement to find that work as quickly as possible.  And so, without any idea of how I would find a job in Berlin, I resigned from my old job.  I have skills.  I have experience.  I am ambitious.  And if I may be allowed to brag, I like to think that I am slightly less -ahem- not-so-bright than many people out there (of course, most people think that about themselves, so that probably just makes me about average).  Surely, so I convinced myself, somebody in Berlin would need what I have to offer.

And so, I have hit the ground in Berlin running.  I have been talking to everybody I can find who has any kind of entrepreneurial or business contacts.  I have been seeking out startup businesses that need an experienced manager who can help them expand into the North American market.  I have been seeking out American companies that are expanding operations in Europe, and who need experienced people who are already on the ground here.  I have been contacted about starting a European chapter of a professional association to which I belonged in the U.S.  I have been war gaming my own entrepreneurial ideas.  I have even been working pro bono on a strategy paper for a neighbor of mine who is interested in fielding a new marketing concept in the renewable energy industry.  In the meantime, I send out at least one resume a day in the hope that I can generate some interest.  If life has taught me anything, it is that the biggest opportunities are the ones you least expect, so I have tried to avoid focusing too laser-like on a single career path.  Rather, I have been advertising my skills and experience, and have invited companies to utilize those assets where they think they would be most profitable.

At this point, this job search isn't even about making money (yet).  I have a freelance work visa here in Berlin, so I can do pretty much whatever I want to do from home.  I just miss working in an office with other professionals.

I know there are jobs out there for me in Berlin.  Everybody I talk to says that there are companies here that would trip over themselves to hire me.  The trick is finding them. 

Relocated to Berlin: Signing Up for School

I will admit to not knowing much about the German public school system when we started looking for a place for my daughter to go to school.  For the past four years, my daughter had attended the Deutsche Schule just outside of Washington, DC, and this school follows German standards and curriculum.  But the Deutsche Schule is an exclusive private school that caters to the children of diplomats and Volkswagen/Audi executives, and we would be sending our daughter to a Berlin neighborhood public school.

Our minds were not set at ease when, before we left Washington, our daughter's former Kindergarten teacher warned us that we were making a horrible mistake by not sending our daughter to Berlin's private and exclusive John F. Kennedy School.  While she had never lived nor taught there herself, this teacher said she has friends who live in Berlin who tell her horror stories about Berlin public schools.

At the same time, we had no desire to send our daughter to some private American enclave on the other side of the city.  The whole purpose of our move was to at least try to "go native."  We were tired of long commutes to and from school.  We were tired of our daughter not having any neighborhood friends because she went to a different school from everybody else.  We were determined to go the neighborhood public school route.  If it really turned out to be a disaster, we could always transfer our daughter to JFK or some other private school at some point in the future.

Fortunately, as with public schools around the world, much of whether a school is good or bad depends on the engagement of the parents in the educational process.  In Berlin, all schools receive the same amount of funding per student, regardless of neighborhood or school district.  But some schools are extremely successful, while others fail, because the parents take an active part in supporting the teachers and school administration while pushing their own children to take advantage of their educational opportunities.  Our daughter's school is one of these places where parental involvement has bred success.

Admittedly, it was something of a surprise to visit the school for the first time.  While it would look familiar to anybody who ever attended a Midwestern Catholic parochial school - as both my wife and I have at some point in our lives - with ancient red brick walls, heavily worn stone staircases, and Spartan looking decor, it was a far cry from our daughter's former digs.  Her "new" school was built between 1873 and 1877, making it one of the oldest remaining elementary school buildings in Berlin (although it was renovated in 2006).  Unlike the bucolic suburban splendor of her previous school, her new school has no green space to speak of - although the classes do make regular trips to some spectacular local parks if the kids need to run around more than the sandy school playground allows.

Perhaps the most stark reminder that our daughter is not going to a suburban private school in the United States any more comes from the lyrics of her new school's official school song.  I clearly remember my own school's official song waxing poetic about the waving school colors.  Our daughter's new school's song reminisces over how the children used to have to "stand firm" for the Kaiser, about how they would have to learn how to dodge falling bombs to get to school, and about how they tasted freedom for the first time - just 24 years ago - when the Wall fell.

Despite the stark differences, our daughter loves her new school.  She has teachers who challenge her.  She has friends from all over the world with whom she can visit regularly after school.  Her new school is even in the process of building a brand new gymnasium which is scheduled to open in the fall.  As parents, my wife and I could not be happier.

Relocated to Berlin: Getting New Stuff

After having previously sung the praises of getting rid of old stuff, after arriving in Berlin, and after quickly coming to the realization that at least some stuff is necessary for the basic function of life in the modern world, we reluctantly unwrapped our new Deutsche Bank debit cards and headed out to the stores to restuffify ourselves.

So, what did we need?  Unlike many Berlin city apartments, we have ample space not just for a full-size clothes washer, but for a full-size dryer as well.   Unfortunately, the previous tenant took their washer and dryer with them, meaning we would have to act fast to ensure that we wouldn't get too stinky by wearing the same underpants more than 5 days in a row.

Second, we needed a coffee maker.  This was not optional, and it could not be delayed.

After that, pretty much every common electrical appliance needed to be replaced, as our American electronics would not have worked here.  That included a TV, a stereo, an alarm clock, a vacuum cleaner, a slow-cooker for my wife, new telephones, a new printer/scanner, plug adapters for our iPads and iPhones, and plug adapters for our laptop computers.  One of the most urgent questions we asked our relocation adviser, after "Can you pick us up at the airport?" was "Where can we buy all of this stuff?"

For anybody leaving one country and moving to another, a useful first step in getting acquainted with your new consumer milieu is to find new analogs for old consumer habits.

As any American will tell you, big box stores are the embodiment of evil.  After telling you that, they will then immediately hop in their SUV and will drive to Walmart or Target.  While we could never quite get over the feeling that we were doing Lucifer's dark bidding by shopping at Walmart, we did regularly shop at other big box stores like Best Buy for home electronics and Home Depot for tools and general home maintenance supplies. 

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), Germany has also succumbed to the allure of the big box store.  In place of America's Best Buy, there is Germany's Media Markt.  In place of America's Home Depot, there is Germany's Obi.  Both stores are almost identical to their American analogs, and both stores are almost ubiquitous - even in Berlin's urban jungle.

Fortunately, both Media Markt and Obi were also a quick tram ride away from our new apartment.  Every day, for three weeks, my wife and I took the tram up to the conveniently adjacent stores on the corner of Greifswalder Straße and Ostseestraße.  Every day, we trudged back home, past the lunchtime crowds sitting outside our street's multiple Indian restaurants, bakeries, and coffee shops, with our arms aching from the weight of some new appliance or accessory.

When it was all over, I almost felt sad that I would not be making those daily trips any more.  After three weeks, our apartment was (more or less) fully furnished and equipped with the latest German home appliances.  And the best part was, despite our not having a car to transport all this new stuff home, we could easily get most of it there using public transportation. 

Relocated to Berlin: Settling In

In those first confusing days after touching down in Berlin, we faced the unsettling reality that we simultaneously had far too much and far too little.

As I have mentioned before, we arrived on July 24.  But under the best case scenario, we would not have anywhere to live until the previous tenants of our new apartment moved out on July 27.  Under the worst case scenario, we would not have anywhere to live until our lease officially began on July 30.

In the meantime, we had to find somewhere to stay that was relatively near to our new home; somewhere that had adequate space for two adults both who snore like jet engines and a little girl who goes to bed at 8:00 pm; somewhere that would let us keep our cat; and somewhere that would not cost the equivalent of a month's rent for the three to six nights that we would need it.  Unlike tourists, we were hauling along with us the possessions that we thought we would need until our household goods arrived via ship.  It wasn't much in absolute terms, but it was certainly more than a toothbrush and a few changes of summer clothing.

As it turns out, there is a lovely little hotel just four blocks away that fit the bill almost perfectly. 

Tucked away inside an unassuming street-front building, on a lovely cobbled street in Prenzlauer Berg, is the Myer's Hotel.  Here we would find our refuge until our permanent housing would become available.  While our room was small, it was comfortable.  And best of all, they allow pets!  ...check that. . . And best of all, they have an awesome breakfast buffet.

In the meantime, it was becoming increasingly unclear when we would actually be able to leave the hotel and move into our apartment.  The previous tenants would leave on July 27, and our relocation adviser arranged for them to hand over the keys then.  We would be meeting with the building managers on July 30, at which point we would officially take over the lease, and could move in.  But that left open the question of what would happen in the intervening three days.  Since we already had our keys, could we simply move in?  Could we bring our baggage over, but continue to sleep at the hotel?  Would there be any legal issues if it was discovered that we were inside the apartment without permission from the landlord?  We asked our relocation adviser what our options, risks, and liabilities were, but she was reluctant to ever give us a straight answer.

Finally, as July 27 arrived, we could wait for an answer no longer.  As far as the hotel was concerned, we were leaving that day, and arranging for an extension might be a problem as the weekend was approaching.  Exasperated and panicked, as we could not reach our adviser, I booked us for one additional night in the hotel, but was told that no additional nights would be possible.  As we later met at our new apartment, I quietly cornered my adviser and would not let her go until she gave me a straight answer; could we stay in the apartment or not?

Well. . . yes and no.  Officially, the apartment still belonged to the previous tenants.  But they were giving us their keys, making us their "guests" until they officially relinquished residency.  We could bring our things over.  We could sleep there.  But we should probably pack everything back up for official transfer on July 30, just to - you know - not raise too many awkward questions.

Fair enough!  That's all I needed to know.  Keys were handed over.  We immediately hauled our bags and the cat from the hotel to our new apartment, at which point we realized how little we actually had that is necessary for normal life.  While we have a fitted kitchen (unusual in Berlin apartments), we had no dishes or cookware to prepare food.  We had a week's change of clothing, but no way of washing them.  We had no lighting, as German apartment tenants typically take their lighting fixtures with them when they move.  We had no beds and extremely limited bedding, although we had borrowed inflatable mattresses from our relocation adviser.  And perhaps worst of all, we had no chairs.  As a society, we take for granted the comfort that is offered by the simple act of sitting on something other than the floor.

That first night in our Berlin apartment was staggeringly uncomfortable - a condition not helped by it being the hottest day of the year, with temperatures reaching nearly 100 degrees.  But now, at least we were home!  Or, at least we were in a place that would become a home with the judicious addition of seating.

Relocating to Berlin: Goodbyeee

When you add up all of the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the upset stomachs, the moments when you believe that you are making the biggest mistake of your entire life, you get to the point when almost everything you own - including your house - has been sold, you have quit your job, you have withdrawn your child from school.  All you have left in the world is your family, your life's savings, and a plane ticket. 

On July 23, 2013, that is all I had left.

To be overly dramatic, I was reminded of my own ancestors who came to the United States under similar circumstances.  They too were leaving behind all they knew; their home; all their friends; most of their family; to start a new life in a new country where they didn't know the culture and they didn't know the language.  Of course, we have certain advantages now that my ancestors did not.  We had been to Berlin before many times.  We have ample professional skills and enough money to live comfortably until we get settled in.  And best of all, we have a really top-notch relocation adviser.  That, and our voyage wouldn't last several weeks confined to Steerage.

Although, we were booked to fly coach through Newark.  So that is the rough modern equivalent.

And so, with one suitcase and one carry-on bag each - one of which containing the heavily sedated cat - we locked up our house for the last time and hit the road to Baltimore, where we would begin the first leg of our journey.

Of course, any time a trip goes through Newark, you can rely on something going wrong.  And we were not disappointed.  Immediately upon checking in, we were informed that our flight from Baltimore to Newark would be delayed by at least one hour.  We had a two hour layover in Newark, so we were already cutting things pretty fine.  And if prior experience was any guide, this one hour delay could turn into a cancelled flight in the blink of an eye.  We would have nowhere to go if we could not make our connection in Newark, and with a cat in tow, we could not be assured of finding a hotel that would take us in.

Visions of running for the Acela train from Baltimore to Newark ran through our heads as we tried to come up with alternatives.  If we left the airport right now, we might just make it in time.  But we would have to leave all of our luggage behind.  It was not an appealing option.

But fate smiled on us that day.  The weather briefly cleared.  Our flight to Newark was assigned a very small window through which to fly.  And, after six months of planning, we were finally off.

Baltimore to Newark was otherwise fairly ordinary.  We had adequate time in Newark to find our departing gate to Berlin, and to use the restrooms, although not to get a drink to help calm us down for the next leg of the journey.  Newark to Berlin was similarly uneventful, although sleep on the red-eye flight was fitful at best.  Even the cat, whose kitty Valium had worn off long ago, seemed surprisingly mellow and content with her new adventure.

And on the morning of July 24, 2013, we finally touched down at Berlin's Tegel Airport.

We quickly retrieved our bags and passed through Tegel's remarkably casual Customs and immigration line.  Our cat's paperwork, painstakingly assembled and certified by my wife, was barely glanced at.  Ellis Island, it certainly wasn't.  But at least it was quick, relatively tuberculosis free (as far as we could tell), and we didn't have to change our names.

We were met at the airport by our relocation adviser, who immediately whisked us to her office to sign several dozen forms relating to banking, schools for our daughter, immigration, residency, work permits, and health care.  And from there we were dropped off at our hotel, where we would stay until our apartment would become available on July 27.

And through all of this, what was our first impression upon arriving in Berlin?  My God, it's hot!!!!  We arrived just at the beginning of over a week of 90+ degree temperatures (that's 32+ degrees to my non-American readers), with temperatures hitting almost 100 (38!!!!) for a couple of days, and almost nobody here has air conditioning.

But after all we had gone through, we weren't complaining. . . well, not much anyway.