Breakfast in Koblenz

The cold meats and cheeses that I had for my first breakfast in Germany were a whole new experience to me.

I’ve written quite a lot in previous posts about childhood memories of food. How living in Malta for a few years broadened my tastes at an early age, what an adventurous cook my mother was and also about my grandmothers cooking. One memory from those times that I haven’t touched on is a school trip to Koblenz in Germany. I’m not sure if they still happen but this was a school exchange where I and a number of school friends went to live with German families for a week, before our opposite numbers came and stayed with us a few weeks later. The days were spent either in a German school or on organised trips but first thing in the morning and in the evening it was just you, your exchange partner and his family

I was fourteen years old and had been taking German lessons for about a year. A long day of coach and ferry travel had seen us arrive late the evening before. Our hosts and their parents had been there to meet us and for the next five days this was going to be home. We’d gone to bed very soon after arriving so breakfast was the first real challenge.

Joachim, my German partner, and his parents were already up. I’d stayed in bed as long as I could worrying about my limited German skills, rehearsing my “Guten morgen” and “Danke”. Seriously doubting that I could cope. However five minutes at the breakfast table was all it took to allay my fears.

This wasn’t due to any new found fluency in German, it was all due to Joachim’s mother. She apparently had been taking English lessons for months and was thrilled to have someone in the house that she could practice on.I’d like to say that I declined and insisted that we speak German, but the truth is that I was a hungry schoolboy who wanted his breakfast..and what a breakfast it was. Along with the cheese and meats there was juice, fresh fruits and breads unlike any I had ever tasted before. To this day the taste of dark, sticky rye bread takes me back to that trip.  I think this might also have been where I had my first experience of coffee. Up until then I’d always drunk tea, with coffee being that ‘grown up’ thing that mum and dad had. 

Having got over that first hurdle the week flew by. I’d be lying if I said I could remember too much about the time in school or the trips to local sites. But I do remember some mazing sausages being eaten and the fact that there was cake every evening. As well as revelling in the chance to practice her English Joachim’s mother also loved to bake.

I’m not sure that the trip did my German skills a great deal of good, a failed O’level is testament to that, but it left food memories that have never faded.

I never did keep in touch with Joachim but it would be interesting to know if his time in England a few weeks later left any comparable memories.