This is the final "Ein Bulldog in Deutschland" column. The Bulldog Weekly is coming out with its last issue for this academic year this week.
Since this is the last issue of The Bulldog Weekly for the ’08 – ’09 academic year, I decided to take my column out for a final drink at the Dreisam Ufercafe.
The Dreisam Ufercafe is a beer garden on the grassy banks of the Donau River. The river flows lazily through the heart of Freiburg, a quiet German city in the Black Forest.
The sun was setting in the west toward France, America, California and Redlands. Children played in the sand near the river and adults and teenagers drank beer and sun bathed, the sky was bluer than a perfect Sunday morning and the air was warm and the flowers that dotted the trees and the lawns were yellow and white.
I sat across a picnic table from my column. I had just informed him that this was the last issue. He didn’t take the news well. There was a far away look in his eyes. He realized that when my pen stopped scribbling on his yellow surface, he’d be done – terminated.
We were quiet for a few moments, looking through the trees and past the river as the sun sank in the distance over the dark hills of the Black Forest. Then he turned to me and asked: “Musst du Ende meine Leben (Must you end my life)?”
“Ja, Ich muss,” I responded. “Yes, I must.”
“Warum?” He asked with panic in his voice. “Why?” And he continued: “Remember the German punk rock show we went to? Remember our time together in Berlin? Remember watching the Godfather trilogy with the Swedes? Remember playing basketball at Seeparkstadion together? Remember…”
“Ja! Ich erinnere mich an!” I interrupted as he rambled on. “Yes! I remember! It has all been great. From Basel to Freiburg to Strasbourg, I love the Rhineland and the Black Forest, especially in the spring time, but I must go.”
“But what about the beer?”
“It is true, German beer is great.”
“What about your suitemates?”
“Yes, my suitemates have been welcoming, kind, and good friends – they’ve been wonderful.”
“What about the food,” a sly smile crossed his face. “The bratwurst and the street side bakeries?”
“Yes, it was all wonderful.”
“Then why must you leave?”
“Weil…” I said. “Because… I’m an American and America is my home and America has a lot of problems that young Americans will have to fix. This is why I must go home.”
Then I put down my pen, finished my beer and started walking down the street, over the river and past the ancient buildings – westbound.
The Dreisam Ufercafe is a beer garden on the grassy banks of the Donau River. The river flows lazily through the heart of Freiburg, a quiet German city in the Black Forest.
The sun was setting in the west toward France, America, California and Redlands. Children played in the sand near the river and adults and teenagers drank beer and sun bathed, the sky was bluer than a perfect Sunday morning and the air was warm and the flowers that dotted the trees and the lawns were yellow and white.
I sat across a picnic table from my column. I had just informed him that this was the last issue. He didn’t take the news well. There was a far away look in his eyes. He realized that when my pen stopped scribbling on his yellow surface, he’d be done – terminated.
We were quiet for a few moments, looking through the trees and past the river as the sun sank in the distance over the dark hills of the Black Forest. Then he turned to me and asked: “Musst du Ende meine Leben (Must you end my life)?”
“Ja, Ich muss,” I responded. “Yes, I must.”
“Warum?” He asked with panic in his voice. “Why?” And he continued: “Remember the German punk rock show we went to? Remember our time together in Berlin? Remember watching the Godfather trilogy with the Swedes? Remember playing basketball at Seeparkstadion together? Remember…”
“Ja! Ich erinnere mich an!” I interrupted as he rambled on. “Yes! I remember! It has all been great. From Basel to Freiburg to Strasbourg, I love the Rhineland and the Black Forest, especially in the spring time, but I must go.”
“But what about the beer?”
“It is true, German beer is great.”
“What about your suitemates?”
“Yes, my suitemates have been welcoming, kind, and good friends – they’ve been wonderful.”
“What about the food,” a sly smile crossed his face. “The bratwurst and the street side bakeries?”
“Yes, it was all wonderful.”
“Then why must you leave?”
“Weil…” I said. “Because… I’m an American and America is my home and America has a lot of problems that young Americans will have to fix. This is why I must go home.”
Then I put down my pen, finished my beer and started walking down the street, over the river and past the ancient buildings – westbound.
I'm glad you guys are coming back.
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