A Wolfrum's triumphant return to Germany
We awoke early for our trek into Germany. We left Strasboug at first light, prepared for a long, arduous journey. Fifteen minutes later, we had crossed the border. We were in Germany. I had returned to Germany, nearly 80 years after my great-grandfather took his family to the U.S.
During our 30-minute stay in Germany, everything seemed more like home. The ground felt better. The wild-haired bartender who served us coffee seemed like a brother. The German Shepherd that walked by seemed more authentic. The German Playboy that I bought seemed more nasty.
Oh Germany, this Wolfrum has returned to your soil.
Oh, sure, it wasn’t that much of a return. The fact is, my wife and I were spending time in Strasboug, France (for the longest time a German holding!) and enjoying a tour of wine country of the Alsace region. For golfers, Alsace is like a dream. You’ll be surrounded by quaint wine villages where you can enjoy wine tastings and wholesale prices on wine, while having numerous golf courses to choose from such as the Alstation Golf Club and the Alsace Golf Club. It’s no wonder it’s a prime stop on many golf-themed cruises.
But as Alsace tempted me with wine tours and golf - Germany was calling me.
So our voyage was planned. We didn’t have much time, so my wife and I would get up early, make the drive over the border to Germany, and I could be complete. The drive was, in fact, treacherous, as a wrong turn caused us to lose eight minutes in traffic. Luckily, nowadays in Europe, everyone is born with a GPS system attached to them.
My great-grandfather had seen the light in the 1920s, and got his family out of Germany and took them to the U.S. and a land of opportunity. As my wife and I crossed into Germany, I was amazed how much easier my trip had been. But here I was. Germany. A city in Germany. The city in Germany just across from Strasboug in France. A great city. Ok, I’m not sure what the name of the city is. You got me.
We spent only a half-hour in Germany, as I desperately looked for a sign that said “Welcome to Germany!” None was found. Apparently they aren’t proud of their heritage. Not as much as I, at least. It was the highlight of my trip to Europe. A 30-minute trip, highlighted by a cup of coffee and a German Playboy in a town I can’t name. It was glorious. Germany, I salute thee.
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