Zwischen Himmel und Äd...

A wiser man with as much to say would surely write more frequently. Unfortunately, my current lifestyle of wild, un-tethered Euro-roaming doesn't suit, making posts as epic as they are erratic. However, an adventure so grand and storied was never summarized as quickly as it came... this sleepy, rainy afternoon has brought me time to spin an ample tale.
I'll start with where I've been, working my way to where I am: 
I arrived in Düsseldorf on Monday, in the early morn, having spent the weekend with family in Aylesbury and Alcester. Pub lunches were eaten, neighbors were hugged, tea was had, but for as long as I'd let my beloved Warwickshire hold and keep me, it was time to move on. I have a feeling, though, that I'll be coming back regularly while I'm close. There's an unavoidable draw to sharing a Sunday Roast in Wixford, especially when the company is so dear.  After a tragic and tumultuous summer, my Uncle Stephen, while having developed quite the broad Home Counties drawl working in Berkhamsted, is closer to me now than ever before. We nuncheoned splendidly at the Three Horseshoes with cousins Stuart and Michael on Sunday; an experience as close to time travel as one is likely to find. 
They are of the most gorgeously Cotswold stock whose love and sensitivity is second to none, and whose charmingly bizarre, touchingly nostalgic rhotic Lower Brailes pirate-speech is a linguistics thesis waiting to happen... this idea has legitimately blossomed into a developing scheme which might define my degree: a typology of South Warwickshire English is almost definitely a novel concept, and my list of interview candidates is a regular who's who of local celebrities.
My short salute to Alcester on Sunday was an altogether eerie lot, but not without its moments, and every minute spent there is genuinely worth living. Having survived the culture shock of leaving the beach and the loving arms of the Rileys and landing in my younger cousin's cream-colored, stale, gated-community Aylesbury flat, a properly rural, properly Midlands welcome was much appreciated...

And then the real adventure... a blurry 4am drive on winding country roads to Birmingham, a choked and charnal experience at the BHX security checkpoint (complete with a pat-down that was plenty intrusive), takeoff from England/touchdown in Germany, and a strikingly picturesque journey on the train through Düsseldorf, Köln and into Bonn all ran together as my tired mind struggled to keep up with my train-station pace and heavy luggage. We were welcomed en masse at the International office, where my first conversations of the day were a somewhat lengthy back-and-forth in German with a particularly perky student assistant on the subject of Middle High German (actually the second time I've used this knowledge since coming: a skill apparently worth having), followed by some sleepy, exasperated, ultimately uncomfortable smalltalk with an Irish girl, who would later prove to be quite fun... none of us exactly had our wits about us. I arrived at Römerlager A, my humble, high-rise abode, to be welcomed by perhaps the healthiest serving of woman I've ever met. She was Turkish, bescarved,  and intensely administrative, and yet possibly the savviest conversationalist I've yet had the pleasure of engaging. She showed me around and swept me off my feet in a whirlwind tour of the entire building, leaving me be eventually, after having completely talked my ear off, to focus on the more important things: unpacking my bags and changing shirts for the ensuing festivities.

Beginning with the very first evening, it became apparent that the Germans mean business when inducting their newcomers into their way of life: after an afternoon of joyously filling out the endless paperwork for this, that and the other; insurance, internet, enrollment, tenancy, and lengthy deliberation over which bag of complimentary Haribo bears we should recieve... those mad, Teutonic sadists decided to take us drinking. Not just drinking, but drinking. This is not to say that I consider myself a lightweight or am in any way bottle shy, but truthfully I have never felt so unprepared in my life. International students abounded in our group, as would continue throughout the week as we started from scratch each night, crawling the many Biergärten and Bonn's just as many "Irishpubs" (masc., pl.) from the crack o' 9pm well into the night. I can honestly say, my palate for beer has never been so satiated, even if the variety is decidedly slim. Some notable local brews include Früh Kölsch, Sion and Bönnsch, which, though pale and seemingly meek, are an impressively aromatic sort that go down strong and smooth, but coming back up smelly on the belch when taken at your typical American College-Town pace. Clearly, a new strategy is needed if I am to rival my German counterparts.
That said, meeting new people has never been so obligatory, nor nearly as much fun: Portuguese, English, Irish, Spanish, Peruvian, Bulgarian, Australian, American and German alike have set differences aside night after night and joined together in cozy Gemütlichkeit. The group is fabulous, if mostly Spanish and non-German-speaking, and new friends are in no short supply. I have even found myself acting at optimum linguistic efficiency when conversing with large groups of internationals, having used about as much Spanish as German, with English not far behind.  Needless to say, I'm feeling very cosmopolitan, and it feels very cool to once again be using German. I could get used to this.
Class is a positive experience as well, having been top-streamed for ability in our month-long intensive language course. Our class scheme is reminiscent of the Stu Strecker-system -a long-missed part of my daily routine and a MAJOR reinvigoration of my speaking skills- but twice as wordy, consisting of only able, conversant speakers with cheeky senses of humor, plus one notably swarthy Professor, Herr Volker Weininger.  

On the whole, the news from the front is that Bonn is treating me very well indeed. Lectures, living and life in the Rhineland/at the Biergarten have all been positive experiences so far in our hectic first week of wide-eyed partying and serial friendship, which, while I'm sure it will calm down, shows no signs of growing stale. This weekend, a picnic on the Rhine and subsequent night at Pützchens Markt (a fair, essentially) have unofficially sealed it: this place is the bee's knees. 
It's strange, surreal and ultimately super. The title of this post, "Zwischen Himmel und Äd" came to me, rather perfectly from a bus stop beer poster, written in Kölsch, meaning "between heaven and earth". Fitting.