Chapter Seven: Locked Doors

When living in a foreign country, you soon realize that it is the small, but surprising, things that stand out as different or unfamiliar. And of course, it is all these small things that taken altogether really make the country unique. One such small thing we noticed in Germany was the door locks. All exterior, German doors automatically lock when you close them. The locks are part of the door; they are not separate like in America. Thus, when the door shuts, it locks; period.

According to our German realtor, when Americans reside in Germany, they often end up locking themselves out. And we proved to be no exception. It began in the hotel where we were living. Despite this prior knowledge and warning, our oldest daughter began repeatedly locking herself out of her hotel room. We resided in three different rooms; a one bedroom apartment and two single rooms across the hall. Our teenage son slept in one of the single rooms and our preteen daughter in the other one. Our two younger girls slept in the living room of the apartment with us.


The first time our ten-year-old, Elizabeth, locked herself out, it occurred at bedtime. This particular hotel only staffed the front desk from about 7am to 7pm Monday through Thursday. The staff locked up by noon on Friday and didn’t return again till Monday morning. So, when Elizabeth realized she was locked out, there was no way to get back into the room until the next morning. She slept on the cot in our tiny living room with both her sisters that night.



The next time it happened, fortunately it was close to dinner time and we were able to get an extra key from the front desk. Then, by the third time, my husband asked at the front desk if we could have extra keys to keep in the apartment for just such an emergency. We used those spare keys many more times in the weeks to come. But when we finally found and moved into our rental house I managed to do the unthinkable; locked myself inside my house instead! Here’s what happened:

We moved in over the weekend and were “camping out” by sleeping on air mattresses and borrowed towels, pillows, and dishes from some other American families. We were still exploring the house and becoming familiar with everything. One day that week, I was standing in front of my front door on the inside and looking at a small metal latch swinging from the wall near the door. I swung it gently back and forth a few times and thought, “What is this?” Finally, I swung it a little harder and it clicked against the door. “Oh, it’s like a dead bolt, “I said aloud to myself.

Then, my eyes widened, as I realized I had no idea how to unlatch it. I moved closer and examined the metal latch. I jiggled it; nothing. I tried sliding it; nothing. I pushed, pulled, shook and banged it; nothing. Then I stood there perplexed. The older kids walked by asking what I was doing and then they each took a turn trying to unlatch it. My husband was at work at the time and upon relaying the story to him later, he thought this would have been a good time to call Blond Star. After all, “they are always on, because I am always blond,” but alas I didn’t think of that at the time.


Finally, I did think, that maybe my neighbor would know how to unlatch it. I walked out the back patio door, across the backyard, through the back gate, down the driveway (past the locked door) and down the street to my next door neighbor’s house. If you have ever done something a bit foolish and then had to explain it to someone else in a language that is not native to them, you know exactly how I was feeling as I stood on my neighbor’s doorstep ringing the bell. When my neighbor answered her door, I stood there sheepishly and flushed and tried to explain what I had done. Of course, she didn’t understand. I finally said, please come and I will show you.


Thus, she followed me down the street, across the driveway, through the back gate, across the yard and into the house by way of the back patio door. I showed her the latch and jiggled it, indicating my predicament. Now, to my justification, she also spent at least five minutes squeezing, pushing, and twisting, trying to unlatch it. But much to my relief, she did eventually find the small metal clip on the underside of the latch and pressed it to slide it open. And that is the story of how I managed to be what was probably the first ever American who locked myself on the inside of my German house!

Chapter Six: Bathroom Word Confusion or a Willingness to Look Foolish

At about the same time we relocated to the Stuttgart, Germany area, so did another American family who we would soon meet. We had children of similar ages and we both ended up in the same beginner’s German language class at a local International Baptist Church. Jessica, the Mom, pictured above, related this humorous experience to me during the course of the class.

When Jessica’s family arrived in Germany they quickly familiarized themselves with German words relating to house, apartment, room, etc. in the process of looking for a rental house. They learned the German word for bathroom, bad, in looking at advertisements for five room (Zimmer) and two bath (bad) houses and duplexes. The following week, their family was out to dinner and one of their daughters needed to use the bathroom. Applying their new found German vocabulary, they asked for the “bad, bitte?” (bathroom, please?), and received a perplexed expression from the waiter in response.

The waiter quizzically replied, “bad?”

And they again answered, “Ja, bad, for kinder, bitte.”

Somehow, the baffled waiter perceived that they were asking for the W/C or water closet and showed them to it. Later someone finally explained the waiter’s confusion to them. To Germans, the word bad does mean bathroom but a more accurate translation would be bath or shower. Bad is like asking for the bathtub or bathing room. Or even, as we found out later, the public swimming pool! My friend, Jessica, had been asking the waiter for a bathtub for their child!!! Of course, there was no such public washing room at the restaurant. Instead, they should have asked for the “toilette, bitte?”

Everyone in the German class received a good chuckle out of their experience because we too had made similar mistakes in trying to learn a new language. And we knew what it is to look silly and ignorant. This is part of the experience of living in another culture and trying to learn another language by trial and error. And also we could just picture the poor bewildered German waiter, walking away and shaking his head at those foolish, eccentric Americans!

Chapter Five: You're In The Army Now!

“Army Community Services, Sondra speaking,” said the friendly voice over the phone.
“Yes, hello,” I said.
“Hello. How can I help you?” Sondra responded.
“Is this the A-C-S?” I inquired.
“Yes, this is ACS. How can I help you?” Sondra once again asked.
“I was calling to talk to someone about the SNO (Stuttgart Newcomers Orientation) class? We just arrived in the country last week and were told by my husband’s supervisor that we are registered for the class.” I answered.
“Name, please?” Sondra asked.
“Cory Isakson. I mean Cory and Angela Isakson.”
“Yes. I have you both registered for the SNO class for week of October 30th. Anything else?” inquired the friendly voice over the phone.
“Well, I was actually wondering if I could sign my two older kids up for the class as well.” I asked.
“What ages are your children, Ma’am?” she quizzed.
“They are ten and thirteen.” I responded.
“Well, your kids are old enough, but the space in the class is limited and so we want to keep the remaining spots open for other adults who are also new to the area. If there is still room by the end of the week, then we can let your kids into the class,” she explained.
“Okay. That makes sense. So, can I ask you about child care for during the class because I have two other younger children as well,” I queried.
“Yes, there is child care offered through the CDC,” Sondra once again responded.
“And what is the C-D-C?” I inquired.
“CDC is Child Development Center, Ma’am,”
“Okay, can I have the number for that?”
“Yes, it is DSN-4564.”
“O--kay and what is a D-S-N?” I posed.

I could tell I was really beginning to test her patience but I really did not know this stuff. I had been in this country all of one week and my husband had never been enlisted in any branch of the military and suddenly people, even Americans, were speaking a foreign language that consisted entirely of acronyms! I wasn’t trying to pester her; I just really needed some answers; that and someone who once again spoke plain English.

“DNS is the direct number service. It is what you call if you are on base,” she answered a bit testily.
“Oh, okay, so how would I dial that when I’m not on base?” I queried.
“You use the local prefix ma’am,” Sondra responded not so patiently now.
“And what would the local prefix be?” I asked sounding now like the most stupid person on the planet to her.
“7-6-1,” she retorted.
“Okay,” I responded slowly, “And I just call the C-D-C and tell them my husband and I are in the SNO class and need child care services that week?”
“Ma’am, you have to have your kids registered with CYS and then you can be reimbursed for child care at the CDC during the SNO class.” Sondra’s cheerful friendliness had evaporated from her voice and she was clearly frustrated.

I took a deep breath and proceeded slowly. “Okay,” I paused and then ever so tentatively and slowly continued, “and what is C-Y-S?” I asked cringing now.

“CYS is Child Youth Services, Ma’am. Ma’am, all this information is in the In-processing binder,” she responded like this was the intro-to-the-army-for-dummies-class and I was the first flunkee.
“The In-processing binder,” I repeated unhurriedly like it would miraculously make everything crystal clear.
“Yes, madam, the In-processing binder,” she rejoined.
Oh, I give up, I thought but I said, “And where would I go about getting an In-processing binder?”
“At In-processing, ma’am!” she quipped. It was official. I was a complete dunce in her mind I’m sure. “Ma’am, your husband would have learned to do all this at In-processing. “ She finally lost it. Her patience was gone and she was clearly flustered.
And I, throwing all reason to the wind, I just asked,”Umm, and what exactly is In-processing?”
“Ma’am, it’s In-Processing! It is the first thing everyone does the first week they arrive. Everyone does In-processing!” she answered exasperated.
“Well, I’m sorry to say, but my husband didn’t do In-processing,” I told her.
“Yes, he did. Who is his commander?” she demanded.
“You mean his supervisor? He doesn’t have a commander because he’s not enlisted. He’s a contractor,” I explained.
“It doesn’t matter. EVERYONE does In-processing!” Sondra yelled incensed.
“Well, we flew into the country last Friday morning and my husband is working at the office this week. I know, for a fact, that he did NOT do In-processing,” I clarified.

This was just one example of the many, many frustrating conversations whether in person or over the telephone that I experienced those first days and weeks in a new country with the good ‘ol US of A helping me along in fine form. Suddenly I was a stupid person who knew nothing and could do nothing right. It was quite an experience. I noted to my family back in the states that we were adjusting to two new sets of languages and cultures; one was German and the other--the US military; probably the largest bureaucracy in the world.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/isaksonfamily/sets/72157594414014489/

Chapter Four: Large Family in a small (i.e. European) world

I think our family is quite a sight here in Germany. We have yet to meet a German family larger than four. And Germans stare. At least these Southern Germans stare. It’s not considered rude I guess. So our family of six gets stared at EVERYWHERE we go. It’s a bit unnerving. I’m never sure if we are doing something “wrong” or they are just amazed at our family size or if they never see families with kids of all ages together or what. I’ve just started smiling and waving at the onlookers and then they usually turn away. But you still have this sense that you are part of the circus or something.

When we first arrived, the rental car they gave us was a Mercedes Van that seats nine but it was very out of place in a world of hatch backs and smart cars. It BARELY fit in the below-ground parking garage at the hotel and it was quite difficult for Cory to maneuver it. Thus, we switched to a 7 passenger VW van. The vast majority of cars here are manual stick shifts so both our vans were as well. Cory has managed to kill the vans several times already amidst shifting. I wasn’t even brave enough to get behind the wheel for the first several weeks. I didn’t want to drive the huge Mercedes Van on the little, narrow, windy roads and I didn’t want to drive before I understood some of the major rules of the road. After studying for my German/American military driving examination, then I was willing to drive.


And the mention of windy roads makes me remember that motion-sickness-prone-children (i.e. my girls) and German roads don’t go together very well. We’ve had many instances of “Mom, Dad I don’t feel very good.” And even one emergency stop and consequent emergency laundry episode thus far. (I will leave the details to the imagination of the reader) We’ve learned to always carry plastic sacks in the automobile and to pull off more quickly, and that one can never have enough chewable Dramamine on hand. I need to ask my Mom (a nurse) if there is any potential problem with “too much Dramamine.”

Chapter Three: Hotel Living

The first six weeks we resided over in Germany, we lived in a hotel. Hotels in general aren’t actually designed for large families and by European standards ours, with four children, is a large family. And secondly, hotels are not designed for living; just for sleeping. Thus, we were in for some long, interesting days ahead as we squeezed all six of us into a place that was designed for two, day and night, seven days a week. Cory took our only vehicle, the nine passenger rental van, to work each morning while the kids and I stayed behind to do school and attempt to entertain ourselves with a few toys, card games, books, German television and a laptop computer with limited and expensive internet access.

There were only enough sparse dishes in the cupboards for one meal for our family. Thus, hand washing the dishes after each and every meal also became part of our daily routine. In fact, there were only four of each kitchen utensil and dishware in our hotel apartment and we actually had to scrounge several dishes from the two single rooms across the hall, where my older kids were sleeping, to have enough for everyone. We quickly tired of Hamburger Helper and Rice-A-Roni as these quick and easy prep meals were our staple diet in our tiny hotel kitchen.


The dining room table was a fold-down table in the living room that only seated two people at a time. We either took turns eating in shifts of two or we seated the two youngest (ages 2 and 5) at the table while the rest of us sat on the couch or floor sharing the tiny coffee table. German television (at least in the hotel) was an interesting experience. In the afternoons we would tune in to old 1990 sitcoms like The Nanny or Step-by-Step with Suzanne Somers and Patrick Duffy that were voiced over in German.

The older kids learned to retreat with their school books to their own rooms across the hall after breakfast was consumed and cleaned up. In between breakfast and lunch, I was helping the kids with school work and trying to help them pass the time creatively. Homeschooling is illegal in Germany and even though it was legal for us as Americans living and working there under international agreements, it was still very rare, misunderstood and viewed as highly suspect. Thus, the older, school aged kids were bound to the small hotel rooms from early in the morning until about lunchtime as the local schools were only in session from about 7:30am to 1:00pm most week days.

The hotel staff came in once a week and changed the sheets and towels, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom and emptied the garbage. We had a few sparse cleaning supplies to use in between times to keep up with everything. Emptying the small garbage cans and carrying it downstairs to the dumpsters in the parking garage became an almost daily task since we were eating so many ready-made kinds of foods. We tried to keep a plastic grocery sack or two on the kitchen floor for recycling kinds of things (glass, cardboard, metal cans) and when it got full Cory took it to the recycling on base. It was getting us in the practice of recycling which would be an absolute necessity once we moved into a rental house.

We quickly found a small neighborhood park just a block from the hotel. I started daily jaunts there with the two youngest girls while the older ones were doing their school work in the mornings. Or the young ones would go out the glass patio door into the back patio courtyard for some fresh air and exercise instead. The interesting thing about this “private” patio was that our apartment truly was the only one with access to it. However, the hotel was built with one entire wing around this central patio. So, it was like a fish bowl with every nearby back window looking down onto it. And with concrete, stucco, exterior walls on every side, sounds bounced and reverberated around the entire square. My two and five year old children are not quiet children and so all their noisy, rambunctious play echoed around and was shared with each and every nearby hotel room. Fortunately, most of the hotel guests were business travelers and hopefully they were already awake or better yet gone by mid mornings but the back patio situation was still a bit uncomfortable for me.


We had laundry facilities at the hotel but they were expensive. They had one washing machine and it cost 3 Euros per load. They had two dryers and drying is free but extremely slow. The German washing machines are much smaller and slower than American ones so you can only fit less than half of a “normal” load into it. So, once a week we drove to the nearest Army Base (Panzer) and did our laundry at the 24 hour laundry mat there. It only cost $1.25 to wash and just 25 cents to dry (for 15 minutes of time). So, with all the washing machines I could usually have 5 to 7 loads done in 20 minutes and then it would take another half hour to 45 minutes to dry everything. While I did the laundry, Cory usually took the kids across the parking lot to the bowling alley for dinner and bowling. We found that there was half price bowling on Mondays so that was usually when we were there doing laundry in the evenings.

During the afternoon time after lunch I would put my two year old down for a nap and use the internet to try and find a rental house large enough for our family that was affordable and nearby to my husband’s job location. This seemed like a monumental task at the time. Germans don’t have a central database for accessing rental information and I couldn’t exactly pick up a local paper and read it. Each realtor has their own individual listings and when you rent a place through them, you are expected to pay at least the equivalent of one month’s rent toward their realtor’s fees. The places we were looking at renting were going to cost almost $2000/month, that’s some expensive realtor fees for finding a place to rent! But after a couple of weeks in the hotel our family was highly motivated to find a different place to live.

Chapter Two: Cashless First Weekend

When we first arrived in Germany, we walked off the plane into the sunshine on a new continent after flying all night to get there. After collecting our mountains of luggage and piling it into three separate cars, we headed to the hotel. This was to be our new “home” for the next several weeks. After dragging all our belongings into the large, quadruple room, I practically collapsed onto the hotel beds. I knew the quickest way to adjust to the new time zone was to stay awake all day and go to bed early, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. So after all our helpers left the hotel room, I lay down and napped with my two and five year olds for a couple of hours.

Thus we didn’t have an opportunity to get to a bank before they all closed that Friday afternoon. We didn’t have any Euros and no way to exchange our dollars. While I napped my husband took off with one of his co-workers to go pick up the rental van and get his military ID at the nearby Army base. These two tasks took him the entire afternoon, so he also didn’t make it to the bank before closing time that day.

Therefore, we were left without any useable cash for our first weekend in Germany. Luckily, our airport greeters had stocked our hotel room with some very basic and necessary items such as bread, milk, cereal, lunch meat and cheese. We just didn’t realize that most small shops and markets in Germany still close on Saturday afternoon and don’t reopen till Monday morning. We also had grown accustomed to our American cashless society and it was a bit of a shock to us that we now needed cash (Euros) for most everything, everywhere we went; museums, markets, grocery stores, bakeries, post office, etc.

On Saturday we slept late, ate breakfast, got dressed and then walked to town in the late afternoon. By the time we reached, what appeared to be the city center, everything was closed. There was one small grocery store still open but they were cash only. And there was one Schlecker store open (a German drugstore chain) but again, they only took cash. So we enjoyed our walk and seeing the small town center and the fresh air, but everything was closed.

Back in America, I could write personal checks at most all places but Europeans had already removed most personal checks from their banking and commerce at the time we lived in Germany. Now that we are back in America, our country is also moving that direction. Most places in my hometown that use to accept checks, now remove those funds electronically, on the spot, and then hand my paper check back to me. Thus, it now makes a debit card a better choice for payment at those places.

So I learned in Germany to always, always, take my keys, cell phone and cash (Euros) before leaving the house. Large department stores and highly touristy places would take credit cards and especially on large purchases but most places still wanted and preferred to use cash.

Chapter One: Leaving on a Jet Plane

Our adventure began in the summer of 2006 when we received the official offer for my husband to work overseas. We spent the next two to three months organizing and itemizing our belongings into three groups; the air shipment, the sea shipment, and the storage items. We were to be living out of suitcases for several weeks in a hotel in transition. Thus, the air shipment included our winter coats, hats, gloves, school books for the kids, and my son’s keyboard. The sea shipment was to include most of our important everyday household items minus the electronics. And the items to be stored were garage items, photos, a few antiques, and most all our household electronics since they couldn’t be used in Europe. We contracted with a property management firm, sold one of our cars, and began to itemize, describe and price every single item we owned for insurance purposes for the moving company. We had three separate moving companies come into our home and give us a bid on packing, shipping, and storing our things. Then, my husband’s company picked the winning bid and we awaited the appointed day of chaos. Actually, it was three days of chaos; the first day for packing our sea shipment and air shipment items, a second day for loading our sea shipment items into the shipping container, and finally, the last day for packing and loading our storage items. Then we had to clean the empty house and get on an airplane for a really long ride. Following is my 13-year-old son’s account of the airplane trip from his perspective: What happened to the Isaksons when they moved to Stuttgart, Germany We woke up at 4:15am Mountain time. We got all of our stuff together, and had a taxi come pick us up at 5. The taxi driver of course had to tell us his life story and all that jazz. Anyway, when the taxis (it took two) dropped us off at the airport, we of course, had to carry the luggage all in, this took about 15 minutes. No joke-then of course check them which took another 15 minutes. Once we were done with the luggage part, we went of course, as all people do, through security. You’re probably wondering why I started with the boring part at the beginning now. Well, it just-so-happens that Elizabeth managed to bring along a pair of scissors in her carrying case that, of course, she didn’t know of. By some miracle, she managed to get through security without being caught. Then we waited for the plane. And waited, and waited. We realized we were 2 hours early for the flight, so we really had to wait and wait and wait. Once we actually got on the plane we were pretty worn out. On the plane, I think we were supposed to have breakfast, which apparently they gave to us. All I got though was a few crackers and some cheese. (Editor’s comment: Phillip slept through breakfast on the plane and only awoke for the snack.) Now don’t get me wrong, I love cheese and crackers, but when you get up at 4:15 in the morning, and it's 9:30, you’re hungry for some food! I, by another miracle, managed to get through with my cheese and crackers. About halfway through the flight, we were informed that the toilet was full. Of course, when you’re on a plane for 6 hours, you REALLY need to go. I hadn’t gone yet and was forced to hold it for 3 more hours. I once again managed to survive. When we got off in Atlanta, I took in the surroundings, of the bathroom. Wait a minute; shouldn’t that be “I went to the bathroom”? Oh well, it sounds better this way. Anyway, now to describe the part of the airport we were in. When we got off in Atlanta, (haven’t we been here before?) I was appalled by the floor! It was covered in black electric tape. Apparently, we were in the dumpiest part of the entire airport (Editor’s comment: that part of the airport was in the process of being remodeled). Which I didn’t realize until the floor turned to the best quality tile I think I’ve ever seen. We enjoyed banging around in the underground train in Atlanta. You could easily pick us out and tell we were new to it because every time it moved we went “Whoa!” and were tossed around profusely. Oops, I forgot to tell you about the stores and everything in Atlanta! Pause…rewind… When we got off in Atlanta and had got onto the tile, there were stores on both sides of us. There was a hair-cutting salon, all kinds of restaurants, three video stores that I saw; a book store. And just about every store you can think of! Before we went on the train, we, of course, had to go down, way down. We found an escalator, and went down, further down and further down! It was the longest escalator I’ve ever seen! Okay, fast forward now… When we got off the underground train, we found a food court and ate Arby’s for lunch. We went to gate E4 (There were about 38 gates in each section and the highest section was “T”!) 45 minutes later we found out we were supposed to be in E32, across the airport we went! Once again we waited for our flight, this time to Stuttgart. And this time the flight was 9 hours. *groan* This flight however had only one mishap. When we got on the plane, we waited, and waited and waited, and waited. We weren’t moving! What was wrong? The pilot informed us that there were 26 planes waiting to take off and that it would be another 45 minutes before we could take off. It took an hour. Yes, we did sleep on the plane, considering that the plane landed in Germany at 9 o’clock A.M. their time, it was hard not to sleep. For me anyway… I slept 4 and ½ hours on the plane, Grace slept 6 hours, Liz and Mariel 1, and I don’t think Mom or Dad got any sleep at all. Not that I knew of anyway. When we, at last, reached Stuttgart, we were pooped. I felt like it was 11:00 p.m. and that I had run in circles for an hour. Yeah, I had just awakened when they said, “We are now approaching Stuttgart, Germany.” So I was way tired still. Yeah! We were finally done flying! We had got our passports stamped back in Atlanta, so we didn’t need to go through that, but we had to get our bags still. (Editor’s note: This shows how truly half-asleep Phillip was at the time. We stood in line for quite some time at the passport booth, then had to have each and every one of our family’s passports inspected and stamped before moving on down the walkway and then through the airport to find our luggage. We did have to show our passports back in Atlanta to board the plane but they were not stamped there.) We had to hire someone with a cart to haul all of our stuff to the car. One of my dad’s friends, (the one probably all know as the reason we didn’t get to Germany 3 years ago. Yeah, this was the one that “stole” dad’s job) drove us to our hotel and helped settle us in. Of course, this, as all things, didn’t go perfectly either. I got stuck in the car that had my dad and Grace in it. You know how parents like to talk? Well, my dad’s friend got distracted with talking to my dad and, you guessed it, missed the turn. We still made it though; it just took…a little bit longer to get here. We got a peek at the autobahn, and a few other things we wouldn’t have gotten to see, but still, it’s funny how nothing goes as planned! Part of getting us settled in was getting us our military IDs so that we could go on-base. Once again, this didn’t quite go as planned. *eye roll* We got on-base using my dad’s friends’ ID and went to activate my Dad’s P.O. Box. We realized though that this required an ID, so we went to go get the ID. My dad (Cory) got his picture taken, he filled out 15 minutes of paperwork, and then we were done, well…almost done. Then we had to get the ID activated which was next door, the lady that was supposed to do this was not there, and we waited, again, for 5 minutes *phew* this time. Once that was dealt with, we had lunch on-base, which was full of surprises. We had a choice of “Subway, Taco Bell or McDonald's” no kidding! We chose Subway. We walked into Subway and I was totally surprised that there was 90’s music playing, and it was EXACTLY the same as a Subway back in Idaho! I once again was blown back. Oh yeah, I forgot, everyone on-base speaks English! Yeah! We got a tour of the base. The base, has two haircut places, three restaurants, a general store, a clothing store, the three fast food places I mentioned before, and hot-dog stand, and chicken stand; five baseball fields, a track, two tennis courts; tons of people, 1/6 of which are in full military uniform, a piece of the Berlin wall; the list goes on. We got a lecture on taking out the garbage, because, in Germany, they recycle everything, well, almost everything. Also, you can’t put the trash out from 12-2 o’clock p.m. and you can’t after 9 p.m. because that’s “quiet hour.” Another strange, errrr…different, thing is that on Sunday you cannot mow the lawn, you cannot do any noisy yard work, almost everything’s closed; You cannot hang clothes up to dry outside on Sunday. And, once again, the list goes on. When you’re driving down a road, a lot of the time you’ll all of the sudden find yourself in the forest, with CDs hanging off of trees, “To keep the animals away from the road.” I think that my favorite thing so far is “the walker’s rule” when you’re walking, you can go anywhere, you can walk through farms, through the woods, anywhere, and no one cares! And the best part about it is that say you are walking through an orchard; you can reach up, pick an apple, and eat it! And no one cares! Everything here is automatic; another cool thing. Keep in mind we’re still in the middle of day two here, and we’re not yet finished. Unfortunately, though, there are no more mishaps to speak of. After the tour and once we “learned our way around” my dad filled out more paperwork, I’m not sure what for, but I think it had to do something to the effect of “Americans don’t have to pay German taxes” because so far as Germany’s concerned, we’re in America. Because the base is separate from Germany altogether; even though we’re not living on-base. And that is the end of day two… Hope you had a good laugh! By Phillip Isakson (age 13)

Preface

“Flight attendants please prepare for departure,” boomed the familiar expression over the loud speaker on the airplane. We taxied around the last corner and then came to a halt as the jet engines began to roar louder and louder. Then in an instant, we were all pressed back into our seats as the plane raced down the runway, shaking and rattling as it lifted quickly into the early-morning, pink, autumn sky. Spread out below us was our home town of the last nine years, Boise, Idaho. As the buildings and cars grew smaller and smaller below, I looked fondly and a bit sadly on the home we were saying good-bye to for at least the next two years. As the city turned into farms and then merged with the endless desert below, I turned my head back to the front of the plane and relaxed as the plane leveled off in the sky.



I realize that most Americans would not pack up their household goods and fly on an airplane across the ocean to relocate their lives to a foreign country. But then, we’ve never been “most Americans.” Almost everything in our adult lives has been a bit unconventional or a little to the side of “normal.” Not that being different is the goal within itself. We’ve never set out to be different, just for the sake of being different. No; it is that this life of faith has led us down a different path than most others.

My husband and I fell in love and got married before we finished college. We had a child within the first year of our marriage (10 months afterwards—to be exact). I chose to stay home full time with my newborn son , even though I was the one with the college degree, at the time, and my husband was working a job that paid less than $5 an hour; a pretty meager wage even back in 1993. And when our son turned five years old, we began homeschooling him. He’s sixteen now and we are still home schooling him as well as his three younger sisters. We have now been married to each other for seventeen years which is also something of an anomaly these days.

So, we are used to being a bit different and to taking risks. For us, it is a life of faith and a wonderful adventure. Not that we expect everything to work out wonderfully or even as planned, as you will see in the following pages, but we do expect to learn and grow along the way; to learn about this great, big wonderful world and the great, big wonderful God who created it and to grow closer to Him and to each other throughout our lives.

I think the dream of taking our kids to live in another culture began a long time ago for me, probably in high school as I had considered being an exchange student even then. But for my husband, Cory, it began with our trip to Italy in 1999. Cory came home from work one day and while he was in the kitchen putting together a salad for dinner, he casually asked, “So, how about going to Venice for Valentine’s Day?” He had a slight smirk on his face and I thought it was a joke. Now, I know of Venice, California but I was thinking, ‘Is there a Venice, Idaho?’ because if there is, surely that is what he is thinking about.

I questioned, “Venice?”

And Cory replied almost laughing now, “Yes, Venice.”

“Venice, California?” I said still not catching on.

“No, Venice, Italy, you silly.”

“Well, yeah! I’d love to go to Venice, Italy for Valentine’s Day but how exactly would we afford that?” I replied.

So, Cory finally revealed his poker hand and handed over the day’s mail which included an offer from our frequent flyer program of not one, but TWO round trip tickets from ANYWHERE in the US to several locations in Europe for $199 roundtrip plus 10,000 frequent flyer miles. You just had to call and book the tickets in the next few weeks and you had to use them by the end of March or something like that. I had been flying the same national airline since my college years when I would go visit my grandparents in Oklahoma or on other trips and had never used up all my frequent flyer miles. So, we immediately picked up the phone and called Cory’s parents to see if they would be willing to have their grandkids come visit for a week or so.

We ended up flying from Seattle to Bologna, Italy and then took trains to Venice, Rome and Florence before returning to Bologna and then back to Seattle 10 days later. It was wonderful. We loved Italy and the Italian people. We loved the fresh food, walking everywhere and exploring old churches and neighborhoods and we loved their open, public plazas. And so the dream began, “We have got to come back and bring the kids.”

Fast forward seven years and two more kids later and we still hadn’t gotten there. But, neither had we forgotten. And so, when the fateful call or email job offer came in the mid-summer of 2006, we immediately said, “Yes! We will go.” Actually, at first, I didn’t believe it was really going to happen, but if it did, the answer was a resounding yes!