Life takes funny twists and turns; convolutions of high-speed spins along unexpected autobahns. Complete disconnects become knit together when family need meets adventure. A big brother with a troublesome back is how one might surprisingly end up here: Dusseldorf, Germany.
Comrades on a medical mission to undo chronic back pain, my brother, my husband, my 81 year old mother and I, headed east in search of relief that Canadian doctors could not promise. We boarded plane, after plane, after flugzeug to end up on the other side of the pond.
Germany, the land where words run together, unabashedly, like the coaches of a runaway bullet train. Take for example schweinefleischschnitzel (pork cutlet), a staple on every menu. Geschwindigkeitsbegrenzung (speed limit), the reason traffic signs stretch over and across 6 lanes of highway. Deutschlanders unapologetically poo-poo hyphens, randomlycompressingsentencesintowordsearchpuzzles,
space keys surperfluous on the keyboard.
In Germany beer runs through the Rhine. It is the sustenance on which babes are raised, the axis point on which a country revolves. It trickles through their veins into kegs and then steins. There are no pints available here.
Week 1 begins with surgery in a high tech facility virtually devoid of doctors and nurses. We make the trek daily across the small, imaculately-staged suburb of Recklinghausen to bolster the spirits of my brother Gerry (now Garry as Germans don't see the "J" in Gerry).
He's been rebuilt - new discs to replace the old, riveted with titanium bolts.
On the in-between times we traverse the world-renowned German train system, my mother's childhood Germanic upbringing proving useful en route.
One tram, 3 trains and 1 1/2 hours later we arrive where the Rhine greets Dusseldorf.
And we celebrate our accomplishment through the transit maze
over a stein and a heaping plate of rindfleischbraten mit kartoffeln und salat.
Week 2 sees us to Gelsenkirchen for a week of physiotherapy in a posh hotel/physio complex. The Grand Budapest Hotel of kinesiology. Hooked up with all the amenities of fine living the patients make the trek daily through a set of sliding glass doors, across 4 floors of rehab corridors to gymnasiums, swimming pools, massage rooms and every imaginable treatment known to the 21st century. In the evening they gather in the 5 star restaurant for cocktails, sharing stories
(and possibly some really fab painkillers).
Those of us on the outside of all the action need to create our own so we board a bullet train to Amsterdam for a night of hedonistic research. We just need to find out if all the stories are true.
And, yup, they are!
Old Amsterdam is a grand collection of narrow cobblestone streets, canals and tall early 19th century buildings pressed together, teetering with age and screaming with antiquity and charm.
Bicycles and sneakers are the transportation of choice. Pedestrians and cyclists interplay in a dance on the sidewalks and streets, narrow brushes with handlebars and calamity a way of life.
The night comes alive with hipsters of all ages.
Returning to Gelsenkirchen we find Gerry in a ready-state to take on a little of Deutschland himself.
And so we skip physio class on the last day for a trip to Cologne and the grand Cathedral, built over a 600 year span and completed in the 1800's.
The limber among us took the daunting 509 step climb to the top of the 157 meter spire by way of narrow winding staircase
sharing a breathless high-five at the summit.
The view of Cologne from the heavenly vantage point was breathtaking.
It was a whirlwind trip with a priceless reward - the promise of painfree living and the hope that golf season come spring will look very different for a big brother who deserves to enjoy life. May you now move forward Gerry and accomplish your ultimate dream - to surpass your golf handicap and play with the "big boys."
