Water is so elemental to this Nordic environment, and so much part of my childhood consciousness. This is what I had as a child in Kiel:
Okay, I didn't grow up seeing the beach every day. It was a 20-minute ride from downtown Kiel. My childhood actually took place by this lake, 3 minutes from our street:
Mama and Fredi were smaller back then, of course, and the dog you see now used to be a dog that looked remarkably similar. Her name was Butterfly. She was run over by a car one day on our way to Ikea.
We had some neighbors with a sauna and a private dock on this Schulensee. We used to swim in it in the summers and skate on it in the winters. After my 10th birthday it never froze over again.
This is the street leading to Schulensee:
I emphasize these road drains, because we had to try and avoid them at all costs when rollerskating down this hill. Their unfortunate spacing took up almost the whole width of the road. Its incline was quite imposing to us as kids. An uninhibited thrill ride, if you will, once you passed the drains.
This is the street pavement on our street:
It didn't always look this way. It used to be paved with tar like the hill with the ominous storm drains. But the municipality added some speed bumps to our street, so no car would mow us down. And they plastered the street with blueish and pinkish bricks. The sidewalk is made of dirt and gravel. It was still possible to rollerskate on the pink and blue street. In fact, it was even more fun than before.
This is where we lived when we first moved to Kleiner Eiderkamp. Number 19. I was 4.
We entered through the door on the right and lived on the 2nd floor. We: Mama, Fredi, and I. Later also Butterfly. That was before Mama and Fredi took a hiatus from each other, and mother, son and dog moved next door, to number 21.
Here, we all entered through one door, but mother, son, and dog lived under the roof. It was my paradise, all these nooks and crannies, so much mother to myself. It was here that I performed Cats on a daily basis. All the roles at once, but only the songs I liked. In German. Poor babysitters.
My best friend lived across the street. Her name is Jenny. We used to take a soft mattress and slide down the actually ominously steep staircase that led to our attic apartment. Now, that was a thrill ride if ever there was one. Jenny was my first and only girlfriend. We almost got married. We were 7 and 5.
Jenny's house looks like this, number 16:
Jenny's family half raised me. They have their very own entrance because they live in the whole house. There is a large garden with beautiful rhododendrons. On the day we moved onto Kleiner Eiderkamp, into number 19, when i was 4, Jenny's parents greeted us on the street with champagne. They were those kinds of neighbors.
When Jenny and I were hashing out our wedding plans, we decided that we would get married on January 1, 2000. We were rational, forward thinking kids.
Now, Jenny has another boyfriend. This is Jenny and Daniel overlooking the harbor in Kiel:
Daniel can talk about ships and ship building for hours. Jenny can too. Her official academic title is "Maritime Businesswoman." So German. She is proud of the Baltic summer cruises that stop in Kiel and then terminate in Copenhagen. Me too.
As fate would have it -- many years after Fredi had returned to Kleiner Eiderkamp, my baby brother was born, the dog killed, the parents married, and the inhabitants of number 21 all swept away to start a new life in Vienna -- the two families of old times gathered together for a significant New Year's celebration in Salzburg. It was December 31, 1999: Jenny had brought her Daniel, I had brought my new Austrian grandma, we were celebrating with champagne on the street. The clock struck midnight, glasses clinked, and Jenny and I gave each other a kiss on the lips. Here's to the most brilliant wedding planners ever!
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