Ein Zuhause in der Ferne

It’s been two weeks, and there are still a few more to go before we set off for Switzerland and then back to Australia. I’m sitting in my room—well, my room in my German home—curled up on the windowsill, looking out over the green fields below. I imagine them in winter, bare and quiet, but right now, they’re alive, stretching toward the warm summer air.

Before this trip, the school paired us with our host families, and they did a ridiculously good job. My sister, S, is the sweetest. We exchanged letters and emails before I arrived, and she sent photos of her horse, their garden, little glimpses into her world. And then suddenly, I was stepping off the train, jetlagged and feeling like I had been dropped into another dimension, and there she was, standing with her dad, waiting for me. Saxony-Anhalt, a name I’ve repeated in my head over and over, you are a real place.

Before heading home, we stopped at Aldi, where her dad asked me about my favorite snacks, but my head was still spinning from travel, and all I could do was giggle with S as he cheerfully picked out random things for me to try. The perfect first impression. When we finally arrived at the house, she took me upstairs to my room, just around the corner from hers. It smelled like fresh linen and gardenia—tiny white flowers arranged neatly on the bedside table. And the window, this slanted window I’m sitting at now, was already wide open, inviting in the warm air and the sounds of the countryside.

That first night, we went out to dinner, where her mum met us. She delivers babies for a living, works long hours, and carries a quiet strength about her. She’s kind, but more serious than S’s dad. She told me English was fine for the first few days, but after that, she’d only speak to me in German. I nodded, gulped, and told myself being thrown into the deep end is the best way, right?

The restaurant felt like a time warp—candlelit, dark wooden beams, waitstaff in traditional German dress, like we had stepped back into medieval times. Maybe I really had traveled through time.

The past week has been full of school, every day feeling both familiar and strange. I’ve changed countries before, languages, climates. I know how the body and mind switch gears when placed in a new world. So when S and I were dropped off that first morning and we stepped into her school, walking through the halls, entering different classrooms together, I felt that old rush of adrenaline. That wake-up, you’re somewhere new feeling.

I haven’t felt nervous, not once. I think knowing how temporary it is makes it even more special. I sit in classrooms, students’ eyes flicking toward me, but I just smile or look out the window and daydream. I’ve been giving short answers in class, but when I raise my hand and actually speak, my heart pounds in my ears, and I feel brave.

Lunchtime is a highlight—S’s dad makes us baguette-sized sandwiches stuffed with everything good. And at the end of the day, we have our dedicated waiting spot where he picks us up. Two days ago, he arrived with the top down in a full convertible moment, blasting ‘Bulletproof’ by La Roux. S turned bright red, muttered, "Oh my god" under her breath, and I just lost it. We danced and sang the whole drive home, and now that song belongs to this memory forever. It’s a great song, to be fair.

Tonight, as the sun set, we all went for a walk through the forest behind the house. It was quiet, peaceful. I practiced my German with S, telling her about the Isle of Man, about the horses I used to ride.

"Es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht irgendwo aufregender lebe," she said, apologizing that she didn’t live somewhere more exciting.

"Es ist wunderschön," I told her. "Vielleicht ist es für dich zu vertraut, aber ich bin so glücklich, hier zu sein."

She smiled at me, her voice warm. "Ich hatte nie eine Schwester, aber jetzt denke ich, dass ich eine habe."

I never had a sister, but now I think I do.

Observing my classmates here with their own host families has also been so fun. We all live in different neighborhoods, different houses, and some of us are further apart. But when we cross paths in the hallways, we immediately know—we see each other and burst out laughing, because we look so out of place. We pass notes, ask quick questions about how things are going, and when we end up in the same class, we just exchange knowing looks. We’re all experiencing the same thing in twelve completely different ways.

Last night, I barely slept. Because we were supposed to just be going for a family drive. And then suddenly—"Oh, but you must see Berlin before everyone else!"—I turned to face S, and she put her hands up in defense, rolling her eyes. The look on her face clearly said, ‘Just go with it.’ And before I could blink, we were on the Autobahn, speeding toward Berlin in the middle of the night. I have never felt speed like that before. My brain felt like it was bouncing around the back of my skull.

We wandered through the city, my eyes drinking in every inch of it, my mind struggling to keep up. S linked her elbow through mine, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. We rented bikes and flew through the streets, past the Brandenburg Gate, glowing against the night sky. It didn’t look real, feel real. We stopped for ice cream, laughed until our stomachs hurt, and when we finally got back to the car, we passed out.

In the softest voice, her dad woke us when we pulled into the driveway. "Wach auf, Prinzessinnen, eure Kutsche ist angekommen."

Wake up, princesses, your carriage has arrived.

There’s so much more to say. I’ve been journaling every day, trying to capture everything before it slips away.

One of my favourite days so far was when we hiked up through the Harz mountains, climbing higher and higher through pine forests, the scent of fresh earth and wood all around us. Halfway up, a steam train passed us, whistling through the trees like something out of a fairy tale. At the summit, we reached a monument with a silver sundial, surrounded by plaques marking distances to different countries. I walked in circles, whispering each place under my breath, thinking about all the paths that led me here.

Last weekend, our whole class visited Wernigerode Castle, and a bunch of us girls sat on the edge of the old stone walls, staring out at the rivers and hills below. Butterflies danced in the wildflowers at our feet as we talked about life, about how we’d return home and try to explain this feeling, about how this trip was already changing us.

"The boys are impossible," someone sighed.

"They don’t listen to any of the history," another groaned.

We laughed, wishing we had arrived here centuries ago, that we could wear long gowns, walk these halls as noblewomen. We made up lives for ourselves—who we would have been if we belonged to the past. Then we wandered back to the centre of the courtyard and gasped—on the other side, a bride and groom stood in the golden light, eating ice cream. I snapped a blurry photo. So romantic.

And soon, Switzerland.

I already know the mountains will be like something from a dream, the way I’ve seen them in my Ouma’s photo albums from when she and my Oupa travelled in the ’80s and ’90s. The swans, the stillness of Lucerne, the way the light hits the water.

I’ve been taking so many photos, documenting everything, memorising the way the air smells in each place, how every window I look out of shows me something new. The afternoons where we fly kites with the younger students near the school, the way we’re exhausted by nightfall, but still so full.

If I were to write a love letter to Germany, it would be a scroll that never ends—just thanks, awe, thanks, awe, over and over again. This chapter is still unfolding, and I don’t want to turn the page just yet.

For now, I’m just going to sit here for a little while longer, looking out at the green field below. Then I’ll go see what S is up to. Maybe we’ll go for a walk. Maybe we’ll visit the horses.

Jugend ist eine Reise ohne Karte.

Youth is a journey without a map.

Since being here I’ve realised this part of Germany makes you feel like you’re stepping into a history book, a fairy tale, or sometimes both at the same time.

Saxony-Anhalt, Dresden, and Berlin all have their own magic—some ancient, some modern, all unforgettable. I have noted a few places I would really recommend.

Saxony-Anhalt

This part of Germany is full of medieval towns, forests, and castles straight out of storybooks. If you find yourself here, these are the places you have to see:

Quedlinburg – This whole town feels like it was plucked out of a painting. Half-timbered houses, cobblestone streets, and one of the best-preserved medieval town centers in Europe. The castle & cathedral overlook the town, and walking through it feels like time traveling.

The Harz Mountains – Pine forests, winding trails, and steam trains chugging up the mountainsides. Hiking here feels like stepping into a German folklore tale, and if you reach the top of the Brocken, the highest peak, you can see for miles.

Wernigerode Castle – A castle straight out of a Disney film, perched above the town of Wernigerode. Walking up to it and seeing the view is so worth it. Inside, it’s grand and gothic, like something from another era.

Buchenwald Concentration Camp Memorial – A deeply moving experience, a place that makes you stop and reflect. It’s a heavy visit but an important one. History lives here, and it should never be forgotten.

Dresden

Dresden is stunning. Rebuilt after being almost completely destroyed in WWII, the city is a mix of old-world beauty and modern energy. Must-sees:

Zwinger Palace – One of the most breathtaking Baroque buildings in Germany. Fountains, gardens, and art museums all wrapped up in one.

Frauenkirche – Dresden’s most famous church, destroyed during the war and completely rebuilt. You can climb to the top for a panoramic view of the city.

Brühl’s Terrace – Known as “The Balcony of Europe,” this promenade along the River Elbe is perfect for a slow walk, watching boats and taking in the city’s beauty.

Dresden Royal Palace – Home to the Green Vault, one of the most incredible collections of royal treasures. Think crowns, jewels, and golden artifacts.

Berlin

Berlin is alive. History and modern life collide here in the most fascinating way. A mix of past and present, serious and fun.

Brandenburg Gate – You have to stand in front of it at least once. It’s Berlin’s symbol, and it looks stunning, especially lit up at night.

The Berlin Wall & East Side Gallery – Parts of the wall still stand, covered in murals and graffiti, each telling a story. It’s a powerful mix of history and art.

Museum Island – If you love history, this is heaven. The Pergamon Museum has ancient Greek and Babylonian artifacts that will leave you speechless.

The Holocaust Memorial – Rows and rows of towering concrete blocks that make you feel the weight of history as you walk through them. It’s an experience that stays with you.

Tempelhof Airport Park – A former airport turned massive public space. People cycle down the old runways, have picnics, and fly kites. It’s Berlin in its weird, wonderful glory.

Checkpoint Charlie – The famous crossing point between East and West Berlin during the Cold War. The museum nearby is fascinating, full of escape stories and history.

Whether it’s the forests of Saxony-Anhalt, the Baroque beauty of Dresden, or the electric pulse of Berlin, this part of Germany now hums in the back of my mind.