Heimaturlaub: [ˈhaɪ̯maːtuːɐ̯laʊ̯p], a period of time that soldiers are allowed to leave the battle field and return home.
There have been many trips that I have anticipated in my life so far. But I actually think I have never been this psyched to go somewhere. In some 15 hours I will be sitting with my dearest Marita. And then I will enjoy a six-day-long series of meeting inspiring, beloved people. At this time, Sweden hosts the greatest number of people I long for. (Ingrid and I are working on an incentive program to make these move to Hamburg.) It will be a temporary break from my German struggle trying to understand transportation systems, administrative rules (well, I do actually have to do my taxes while in Sweden, but still), and finding a good fika place.
It does not get much better than that, does it?
I can say that this prospect has been the main motivation to live through endless days of completely idiotic work days, of dealing with the bad parts of German culture, of carrying on all together. Today, despite the eight and a half hours of typing numbers into an excel sheet, I have been walking up and down the corridor at work with a bright smile on my face, imaging myself in the cafés of Stockholm, on Carolinabacken in Uppsala. Going “home” and seeing you is the main source of my resilience.