Returning to Cologne

It's Valentine's Day, February 14th, and in exactly 2 weeks (February 28th, naturally) I'm off. There's a sweet symmetry in those dates, and an even sweeter one when I think about where I'm entering Germany.

Cologne is the first place I ever saw outside of the United States. I was 14 years old and fascinated by foreign languages on the wind, train departure/arrival boards with clacking, moving type, and the unthinkable prospect of naked adults in the hotel steamroom. Despite my eager best intentions, the trip was a mess. We came during a cold snap, without proper clothing, we didn't understand the public transportation, none of us spoke a word of German (or any other language), and my mom was so prepared to hate German food that in fact we never tried any. We ate at Cologne's Hardrock Cafe (a.k.a. the American Embassy) every single night of our stay.

I never thought of coming back. Certainly not as a college student, preparing to spend six months in the country perfecting my German. I couldn't have imagined that I'd have a good friend, a native of Cologne, waiting for me when I got off the plane. To me, the city is a strange place only half remembered - a city of cold wind and grey and intelligibility. And of course, the Cathedral looms - the first Cathedral I had ever seen - such a huge, strong building, with such a heavy and frightening darkness about it. Afterwards, no other cathedral has been able to affect me the same way. The Notre Dame only a week later was already something of a disappointment.

When I think of Cologne, I only think of cold mornings, mystery, and confusion - wandering around in the shadow of that huge cathedral, the gargoyles and statues above the doors staring at me silently, the pigeons, as coal black as the cathedral itself, flying up past its towers. It will be good to go back. To see if it's real, and anything like I remember.