But I Had to be Polite

While I can’t say I regret going to Germany, I will say that out of the four countries I visited on that World Is Our Classroom trip…I enjoyed the others more. I won’t say anything bad about Germany, because I have to be polite.

Honestly, I should have known as soon as the first meal I had in that country was served. 

We arrived in Germany after dark after a 9-plus hour flight in April. We were late for our appointment with the restaurant that was supposed to serve us dinner. They fed us nonetheless.

………

You ever had unseasoned pork and noodles? With like, no sauce or anything? Had to add your own salt and black pepper?

Growing up in a multi-ethnic town where everyone is black, Hispanic, or Middle-Eastern, where spices are put in literally everything I ate,  I never thought I would.

But I thanked the waiter for the food and finished my meal without saying a word. Because I had to be polite.

Germany in April was very wet and cold.  The weather was dreary the whole time we were there. We walked in the drizzling rain as our tour guide spoke to us. I was shivering and uncomfortable, but I didn’t complain. Because I had to be polite.

Our tour guide told us about a German dessert. In Germany, there’s a pastry called a snowball cookie. They’re essentially a ball of cookie flavored in various ways (the most iconic being with powdered sugar to make it look like an actual snowball). I was told that they were soft. I bought two large ones from a nearby bakery. They were hard. And crumbly. But I didn’t moan as I felt them before leaving the store. Because I had to be polite.

I had custard for dessert on that trip. Three different restaurants gave it to us. However, they only ever just gave us custard, no fruit, pastries, or anything with it. Custard, while nice, is quite bland on its own. But I didn’t grumble in the restaurant. Because I had to be polite.

Now, you may not know this, but on Easter Sunday, Berlin essentially shuts down. No shops or other businesses are open. That day we ended up just sitting in the cold Square doing nothing. I didn’t kick up a fuss. Because I had to be polite.

We were on top of a mountain and it was time for lunch. I ordered currywurst. In my mind was the delicious curry-goat that my mother, thousands of miles away from me at the moment, always made. They gave me bread and a sausage with red sauce on it. The red sauce was sprinkled with what I assumed was curry powder on top of it(thinking back now, it may have just been turmeric). 

A white man (European or American, I don’t know, but him being white is important, for I don’t know if he’ll ever have proper curry)   asked me if it was good. I was sitting next to where they prepared and served the food. If I said anything, the chef would hear me. My mother’s cooking came to my mind. Spices perfectly mixed and flavorful.  I compared it to the sausage and “curry” I had before me. Improperly mixed and bland. 

My response will haunt me for the rest of my days. 

I hid my disappointment. I smiled. Lord forgive me, I lied to that man. 

Because I had to be polite.