Willkommen in Deutschland- a crisis, country-crossing and a new career

I don’t think there’s anything quite like packing for your year abroad.

It’s not like university, where you can pop back over the Severn Bridge at the weekend for things you forgot, or if it’s desperate, nag your nearest and dearest (I still don’t think my father has quite forgiven me for the reading-glasses incident in Freshers’ Week.) It’s not like a holiday, where even if you forget sensible shoes (this time the finger of blame points to Mutti) you can hobble onto the plane and comfort yourself with the thought that you’ll be home in three hours. No, you literally have to think of everything- personal documents, clothes for all seasons, adaptor plugs by the handful- as well as quintessentially British bits and bobs, like Weetabix. (Yes, Weetabix. Yes, I brought a big box of it. It’s funny the things you miss when you’re away. I recently begged a friend for a voice recording, just so I could hear a lilting Welsh accent again!)

I think the year abroad is akin to the university experience in that nothing can really prepare you totally for it. Lecturers can (and will) hark back to their own experiences, and you may have friends who have taken gap years and tell you it’s the same kind of thing, but at the end of the day it’s just one of those things you have to do for yourself. Expect the unexpected- 40 euro fines for not knowing where to stamp a bus ticket, a cheeky opportunist trying to take a photo up your skirt on the U-Bahn escalators… But also expect to have a really, really fun time. It’s not like a school trip, where you stick to your Anglophone friendship group and leave all the admin to the teacher in charge. You do have to do everything yourself, for example, registering as a citizen of whichever city you happen to be staying in, setting up a bank account, getting to grips with the transport networks and visiting the tax office. It’s all a tad daunting at first, especially if you’ve led a rather sheltered existence, but with every little thing you accomplish, you begin to have more faith in your linguistic ability and your general getting-things-done ability. Give yourself a pat on the back. A wonderful thing about the Vaterland is that there always seems to be something to do, and more than likely you’ll accidentally stumble across it, think it looks like fun and join in, pretending you knew it was going to take place all along.

My own year abroad has, so far, been somewhat more stressful than most. I moved to Berlin at the beginning of July, completed training for a placement involving teaching English to kindergartners, started the job and realised it wasn’t for me, which was a real shame, because Berlin itself is an amazing place to live, absolutely teeming with things to do. But I had not realised that on top of my teaching duties, I would be left to shepherd kids into the cloakroom, make them put shoes and coats on, herd them outside, follow them to the toilets, stop them throwing loo roll and prancing around with their pants down- and all this was expected of someone who had never worked with children before. I was there to teach, not to babysit 25 children who didn’t know German yet, let alone English. A particularly attention-seeking little one lobbed a spade from the sandpit in my face. I resigned that evening and madly started scheduling interviews and house viewings, wishing I could sprout about six extra arms and multitask. Sadly, though, this was no sci-fi film, just a big clump of chaos. I very nearly got conned out of a lot of money by someone offering a non-existent apartment- the housing situation in Munich is notoriously difficult, and many unscrupulous people take advantage of that. When I got on the train with my cases and bottle of Müllermilch, I had nowhere to go on the other side.

Finally, just as I was at the end of my tether, things began to look up. I got an interview in Munich. I went to it. I got the job. My boss had found me a place to stay. It was incredible- something that had taken months to organise in Berlin simply fell into place here. Whoever or whatever was looking out for me deserves the biggest Bienenstich cake in existence. (Google it. Beg, steal, buy or borrow it. You’ll thank me later.)

Now I’m a translator in Munich, six hours from Berlin by train. Here, they only throw spades at me when I deserve it.

So that’s my most important piece of advice, really. Always do what suits you best. Ask questions, and if the employer is being deliberately vague or you don’t feel right about it, just don’t go for it. Think long-term, because you’re going to be spending a significant amount of time doing whatever it is you choose. Don’t just take the first job that’ll have you, like I did, thinking my language skills rudimentary at best- you owe it to yourself to make an informed decision in your own time. Remember it’s a real job, or a real course- if you quit, that is your responsibility, as is finding something else pronto. I half expected to be on a plane home, having to redo the year. You might say it was insane of me to change; I probably would do too, if it wasn’t for the small fact that I am me. Actually, forget that. It was insane of me. There.

But you know what? I haven’t been wholly unlucky, I’ve been unbelievably fortunate. I’ve got to know the people, places and personal quirks of not one, but two beautiful cities. I’ve sung ‘Viel Glück und viel Segen’ to Berlin on its 77th birthday in the Nikolaiviertel, and bellowed ‘Ein Prosit!’ with over 3000 merry Münchners at Oktoberfest. I have learned self-reliance, bits of Bavarian and even how to untangle the spaghetti-like mess which is a Tube map. (London, eat your heart out. For complicatedness, Munich wins hands down.)

Now that everything is organised and I don’t have to worry any more, I wouldn’t change my experience for the world.