Monday will be two weeks in Kiel. It doesn’t feel like two weeks. I’m not sure what it feels like. We spent six weeks apart and that felt like an eternity. Kiel is quickly becoming home with its cobblestone streets, berry stands (best strawberries we’ve ever had! Taste like jam was injected into each), 8-block long flea markets, great public transportation, meeting up with friends and living one block from a bakery and two blocks from the best Thai food we’ve had in the last three years (maybe we were starving…not sure, but we brought home leftovers and that’s typically a faux pas). 


Bicycles everywhere and we haven’t met a soul. We’re just reading on the balcony, going for walks, waiting in day long German Rathaus line (the name suits the line) and walking up the long stairwell to the foreign registration office with families scattered throughout seeking asylum, clearly living out of their suitcases, sitting atop their suitcases.


We used to joke that we’re the type of couple who spends an exciting weekend night making a trip out to Home Depot (and maybe if we had time we’d go to Bed,Bath&Beyond—it was a joke, but not too far from the truth) Well, we’re happy to say that we found an IKEA,…so, if you’re looking for us on a late Saturday night, you know where to find us.  

What we haven't gotten used to, what is really foreign and foreign to think about is how light has affected our lives. It's sunny by five am and stays that way until sometimes past ten. We can never tell what time it is and have unfortunately gotten busy and started making dinner thinking it was six, maybe seven to find out that it was past nine.

And the rain, the RAIN comes down at the spur of a moment and sometimes for days on end. It reminds us of a little ditty:

Hello Muddah,
Hello Fadduh.
Here I am at
Camp Granada.
Camp is very
And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining

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