A Christmas to Forget

You would never think that it was the holiday season during the month of December in Mallorca. Temperatures are still in the mid 60's with sunny blue skies and salty ocean breeze. If it weren't for the displays of holiday candy in the stores and the Christmas lights on palm trees along the Paseo Maritimo in downtown Palma, you would never know that the holidays are upon you.

It was my first winter on the island and like most Spainards who worked in tourism, was unemployed for the winter. Fortunately for us, Eva had a year round work contract with the car rental company and still had a job. It brought in enough money for the both of us to barely scrape by. The apartment with the direct ocean view consumed most of the monthy salary, with enough just enough left over to purchase the essentials to survive. Money was in short supply, but we didn't have any bills other than to satisfy our thirst at the local pub while enjoying a few tapas wathching a soccer match. Money didn't matter to me, since I was living my dream in one the most beautiful parts of Europe.

One afternoon, Eva came home after work and announced we were leaving the next day for Germany for the holidays. I was a bit surprised since we were tight on money. I asked how she was able to pay for two tickets, especially on such short notice. She said she had borrowed the money from a friend back in Germany. It turns out that this 'friend' who had loaned us the money for the tickets was man we had met at our old apartment in Germany. His name was Brosel, who was our maintenance guy back at our old apartment back when we lived in Germany.

It turned out that it was not a loan, but a gift from a man named Brosel, who was a man of small stature in his mid fifties. He was from the Tirol area of Austria that I only really knew as an acquantance. He was quiet, balding and for the most part was a loner. I had never really spoken to the man and could sense that he had no interest in talking to me. I had tried at times to make small talk with him while he was at the apartment to do some small repairs, but sensed he had no interest in talking to me, or even acknowledging the fact that I was present. In all honesty, the guy gave me the creeps from day one. To me, he seemed like the kind of guy who you would read about in the news who had committed some henous crime. So this was the guy that was paying for our trip to Germany.

We were going to fly back to a small town in southern Germany called Kuchen, where Eva's mother lived. Or so I thought. I turned out, Brosel lived in the same town and as a 'condition' of the loan for the airline tickets, we would stay at Brosel's place and spend the holidays with him.

The idea of spending the holidays with this recluse oddity of a man did not excite me the slightest. I could see going back to stay with Eva's mother for the holidays, but not like that was much of a great idea either.

Eva's mother was a bit of a character herself and became more so with each nip of Jack Daniels, which was a staple in her diet if you know what I mean. She was often the life of the party. A party that unfortunately began on Monday and ended on Sunday.

I was not excited about the idea of staying with this guy, but I really had no choice in the matter. I chose to look on the bright side. We were going to spend Christmas in Germany and get off the island for a little while. Many people fail to realize how claustrophobic you sometimes feel when you live on an island. Not being able to drive for hours in one direction on the freeway was sometimes a thought that made me feel at times imprisoned. I was always up for a trip somewhere, but usually under different circumstances.

We were picked up from the airport by Brosel on a cold winter day by Brosel. It was gloomy and cold, much like the personality of Brosel. He was somewhat emotionless as always, but I could tell he was happy that Eva had taken him up on his offer. I said my hello, and as expected, was not acknowledged that I had said anything or was even present. I expected nothing else but right then and there made me feel uneasy. I knew going into this situation that this was going to be a long 10 days, and yes, I did say 10 days of living in this guys house.

We arrived at the house in the small German village just outside of the little cow town called Kuchen. Not much going on there outside of a church, a few small family owned businesses and a few pubs.

We walked in the front door of the house and I immediately noticed a picture of Eva on a small table. Next to the picture was a small base of flowers. Brosel told Eva that he puts fresh flowers in the vase every week. So where did this picture come from in the first place was my first thought.

I wasn't to thrilled to say the least. The thought of any kind of jealeousy was the furthest thing from my mind. To me, the guy had the resemblance of a small troll...but now, my mind was spinning thinking that this guy was some sort of psycopath and wasn't playing with a full deck.

We put our suitcases down in a spare room where we were going to stay. Brosel and Eva decided they needed to go to the store before it closed in order to have food around the house for the coming days. I stayed behind with thoughts of the Eva shrine and what should I do or say. I already had a feeling in my stomach that made me feel uneasy about staying in this man's house. Something just didn't seem right.

Upon coming back from the store about 45 minutes later, Eva said she urgently needed to tell me something. Brosel had dropped her off along with the groceries and needed to go run a few errands around town. I sensed a bit of panic in her voice after coming back from the store.

She told me that while they were in the car, Brosel told her that he was in love with her and wanted to be with her. That was no surprise to me, especially after seeing the little shrine he had of Eva in the living room. She went on to say that he wanted to move to Mallorca to be with her and start a business in heating and air conditioning repair on the island. She told him he was dreaming and had somehow gotten the wrong idea from her. He went on to say he would 'get rid of the American', so they could live happily ever after.

I could only imagine what his plans were for me while I stayed there. I could only assume the worst case scenerio and new that I would not spend another minute in that house. I grabbed my suitcase and said we were going to stay at her mother's house who lived about 5 miles down the road.

I was out of the house in about two minutes, walking down the street without even thinking of calling for a taxi to get out of there. I proceeded to walk down the street with Eva behind me. It was freezing cold with left over snow from a recent storm lingering on the ground. I could only think about what would of happened had I spent the night there.

I rang the doorbell of Eva's mother's apartment, wondering how she would react to our unannounced visit. She came to the door with a coffee cup in hand in typical fashion. I knew from earlier visits that the coffee cup usually consisted of her whiskey of choice. I could sense that Magdeline was already in good spirits and was quite happy to see us.

We came in from the bitter cold to the non-stop chatter of her mother as we slowly thawed out. Magdeline was quite talkative, even more so with each drink.

We told her about the little incident with Brosel and his apparent plans to do away with me. She said we were more than welcome to stay with her and should of planned on staying at her place from the start.

I felt a sense of relief getting out of Brosel's place, but the thought of staying with Eva's mother would also be a challenge. At least I wouldn't have to fear for my life.

The 10 days went by rather quickly. I never saw Brosel during the remainder of our stay. He had called a few times asking why we left and Eva gave him some excuse about her mother not being in good health and that was it. I never wanted to see that lunatic again.

It was Christmas Eve and I had hoped that the constant bickering between Eva and her mother would settle. All I wanted was an evening of peace and quiet between the two. Wishful thinking on my part.

I suggested going out to a nice dinner in downtown Stuttgart, since I could see that no preparations of cooking anything for the occassion was in place. I thought we could all take the train into the city, since neither mother or daughter was sober enough to drive after 1 p.m. on any given day anyway. I anticipated that the drinking may be a little more intense this evening since it was a holiday, so why not be safe.

We borded the train to Stuttgart which was practically empty with the exception of a few people that looked like they had nowhere to go and were on the train most likely to get out of the cold. Eva's mother began pointing out the fact that no proper people are on the train on Christmas Eve with her tall can of beer in hand. Funny you should say that, I thought to myself. She was in prime shape and ready for an evening on the town with two or three more tall cans in her purse.

We arrived in Stuttgart which appeared to be a ghost town. Totally unlike the typical hustle and bustle of the big southern German life that I was used to seeing when I worked there as an English teacher. I had thought some of the nicer restaurants would at least be open. It was freezing cold that night with a strong east wind. We walked through the pedestrian zone hoping to find a restaurant without any luck. All the while with Eva's mother constantly reminding me of what a brilliant idea I had to think we could go out for dinner on Christmas Eve in Germany. At this point, I just held my breath and counted to ten without saying anything in response. It was best not to say anything at this point to avoid throwing more fuel on an already burning fire.

After wandering aimlessly around downtown Stuttgart in the bitter cold looking for a place to eat, I noticed a small pub that appeared to be open. We went inside and was greated by a curtain of second hand smoke. It was a dimly lit pub with a few local down and out regulars hovering over their drinks with the qualm of their cigarette smoke adding to the stale air parked inside the bar.

I was happy to finally find someplace where I could sit down and get out of the cold. I was hoping to at least be able to get some kind of bar food. Unfortunately, living in Germany I knew better than to expect to find hot wings or a quesadilla on a menu. The only options we had was shelled peanuts and pretzel sticks. I ordered a beer and began my feast of the peanuts that more than likely had been sitting on that table for who knows how long. Eva's mother was still complaining in her loud, ear piercing voice for all to hear. At this point, all I wanted to do is throw down a few beers to ease my nerves.

I asked the bar owner if he knew of anyplace that was open to eat. He told us there was a Chinese restaurant that may be open. It was on the way back to the main train station, so I thought we could take a look on the way back.

It was getting close to 11 p.m. and wanted to make sure we didn't miss the last train back home and I at least wanted to check to see if the Chinese restaurant was open.

As I turned the corner along the quiet empty street, I saw lighted gondolas in the window of the Chinese restaurant. I felt my rumbling stomach begin to intensify in anticipation of something other than peanuts and pretzels. I was finally going to eat our long sought after dinner.

The rest of the time with Eva's mother went as before. Full of endless arguements about anything and everything. And me counting down the minutes to our flight back to Mallorca. All I wanted was the piece and quiet once again, enjoying the Mediteranean view from the balcony and sound of the waves gently lashing against the rocks below.

We finally made it back from our long, unforgetable Christmas trip to Germany. We arrived at the apartment and I could hardly wait to get inside and open up the balcony doors to let in the fresh air. As I walked in the lobby of the apartments I noticed a strange smell. We made our way down the long hallway towards our apartment. As we got closer, the smell of something burnt became stronger. At the end of the hall, I could see our apartment door. It had a big black hole as if someone had punched their way through the door. A fire extinguisher stood on the ground next to the door in the hallway. My heart began to race.

I opened the door to the apartment and was hit by the smell of ash and lingering smoke. The entire apartment appeared to be charred black, with water standing on the once white tile floor. I could only see from the light of the hallway, that it appeared everything had been destroyed in the apartment by a fire.

I went inside to assess the damage. It looked as if the fire had started on the balcony and made it's way to the couch. The glass balcony door had been shattered and the chair that used to be on the balcony was now a pile of ashes. I had moved a small reclining chair on the balcony before we left on our trip from inside the apartment. I had moved it there to comfortably watch the ships out at sea as I enjoyed the sunset. It was now a pile of springs and charred remains.

I went to the back bedroom to see how bad the damage was. Luckily, I had left the door closed before we left, minimizing the smoke damage to the back side of the apartment. It still smelled strongly of smoke, so I opened the back balcony door to let in some fresh air.

A sick feeling came over my entire body with the question of what happened? I went back out to the balcony once again to look for signs of what started the fire. In the charred remains of the chair appeared to be a large bottle rocket. Fireworks are a big thing on New Year's Eve. It appeared that the cause of the fire was from a rocket that had landed on the chair from the New Year's Eve celebration. I felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that I had not somehow caused the fire out of my own neglect.

Feeling lost as to what to do, we knew we needed to call our landlord, Herr Guenter. We needed to let him know what happened immediately. On the phone, Herr Guenter was as calm as ever, assuring us that everything would be ok and not to worry. He told us that he would come on the next flight in the morning from Germany. He told us to go ahead and check in to a hotel for the night and he would cover the costs. Herr Guenter was more than just a landlord, he was more of the caring grandfatherly type that had indirectly claimed us as his own family.

The next month was spent living in a rented room in the same apartment/hotel. Herr Guenter assured us that the cost to renovate the apartment would be covered by the insurance and not to worry. It even worked out for me that Herr Guenter offered to pay me to help with the renovation of the apartment. It couldn't have come at a better time since there was no work to be found during the winter months on the island. I spent hours on end painting the walls and ceilings of the apartment to hide the damage from the smoke. It took an entire month to revovate the apartment.

Although everything felt like the world was begining to unravel at the time, we fought through it and kept a positive attitude.

That following spring, I started work again at the car rental company. New tourists would come and go by the bus loads. The hot summer nights with revelling party goers in the streets and sleepless nights being dive bombed by mosquitoes had returned. Life on Mallorca went on. I was living my dream my on the small Spanish island. A place that people would save for months on end to afford a two week escape from the hustle and bustle of the 9 to 5 routine. As tough as times occasionally got, I would not of traded places with anyone.

A Living Part of History

One of the most fascinating aspects of travelling and living abroad is meeting new and interesting people. Throughout my travels, I have met so many different people of various backgrounds, all of whom have helped me see the world from a different point of view.

One person who I met along the way, was my landlord during my time in Mallorca. Mr. Guenther was a German man in his mid 70's from Hanover, Germany. He was a retired Civil Engineer who had invested in several rental properties on the island. He was was a very traditional German who had grown up with the typical strict German values of hard work, honesty and integrity during some of the toughest times in Germany's history.

It was one afternoon that Herr Guenther had scheduled a time to come by the apartment to do some kitchen repairs. He had arrived at 2 p.m. right on the dot as he had promised. I learned from my time living in Germany that punctuality is a notable trait of the Germans, as is attention to detail and one hundred percent accuracy. I always enjoyed times when he would stop by, since he reminded me a lot of my own grandfather who had immigrated to the U.S. prior to World War II. Herr Guenther always enjoyed talking with Eva and I, and we could tell he enjoyed our company as well.

I have always been interested in World War II history and knowing that Herr Guenther was of the war time generation, I was dying to ask him questions about what he did during this time, but was afraid to ask. It was one of those things you are never sure how to approach, with it being such a dark subject that many would like to forget.

I had bought a sword a few weeks prior to Herr Guenther's visit at a flea market in Santa Maria in the central part of the island. I bought it from a German that who said it was found buried in a vegtable garden in Berlin. It was rusted and worn from over 50 years of constant rain and cold German weather. I would spend hours trying all kinds of chemicals to remove the rust and restore it back to it's original gleam.

It was this afternoon that that Herr Guenther was to stop by for some kitchen repairs in the apartment. I was excited to take out to show Herr Guenther my find at the flea market to break the ice and see if he would open up and talk a little about his war time experience. I mentioned that I had recently bought an old German sword and asked Herr Guenther if he would be interested in taking a look to see if he could tell me anything about it. I could tell that he was quite eager and was anxious to see my newly purchased treasure.

I hurridly went to grab the sword out of the back closet. As I came back into the living room with the sword in hand, I could see Herr Guenther's face light up like a little kid on Christmas day. I handed him the sword and he said it was a German officer's sword. He went on to say that it was part of the German formal dress uniform during the Second World War. With the sword in his hand, he made a few sweeps and jabs, as if he were fighting an invisible foe. It looked like something out of a Zoro movie you would see on t.v.

Since we were on the topic of the war, I decided to ask what he did during the war years. I had always wanted to ask and figured this was a good time. He looked at me with a proud look and said he was in the Waffen SS, which was the Nazi elite fighting and most feared unit during the German's reign of terror throughout the war. I could sense his feeling of pride in his response, so I continued to probe and find out what role he had during this time period.

He went on to tell me that he was part of Operation Barbarosa, which was the infamous attack on Stalingrad in 1941. He and over 90,000 of the Waffen SS were under orders to bombard the strategic city of Russia into submission. They had made their push to take the city during the summer months expecting a quick and fierce overthrow of the city. Taking Stalingrad would of been devastating for the morale of the Russian people and lead to an inevitable defeat. To their surprise, they would end up fighting long into the winter months, cut off from re-inforcements from Germany and still equipped with summer uniforms. They had not anticipated fighting during the harsh winter months and the level of resistance they encountered. The Germans suffered heavy losses, many of his fellow soldiers who weren't killed in battle would end up freezing to death from the bitter cold.

I had seen many documentaries on this topic over the years, but in front of me was someone who had experienced what I had only read about first hand.

I will never forget asking the question of whether he thought the Germans were going to win the war and take over the world. He stopped for a moment, and looked at me with an ice cold glare in his eyes that sent a chill down my spine. He paused and said, 'there was no doubt in my mind that nobody could stop us...we were going to take over the world.' It was as if for a moment it was Nazi Germany in 1940 all over again there in my apartment. I could see the intense look in his eyes, formulated from the years of Nazi propaganda, leading them to believe they were superhuman...an unstopable machine.

It was in Stalingrad where the momentum of the German war machine was stopped it it's tracks. The 90,000 man army was soon surrounded by 1 million Russian troops. The Germans had no where to run and were under strict orders from Hitler to fight to the end. The Germans were physically and emotionially defeated at this point, and were left with no alternative but to surrender.

Herr Guenther went on to tell the story of how his fellow soldiers had shamefully surrendered. He was taken by the Russians to a prisoner of war camp for a short period of time somewhere in Siberia. He was later involved in a prisoner of war exchange with the United States. He was then sent to an American prisoner of war camp in what is now the Czech Republic for the remainder of the war. He said this move was what saved his life. Many of his fellow soldiers in the Russian camps died from the harsh conditions they endured in the Russian prisoner of war camps.

Mr. Guenther spoke freely about his role during the war with still a sense of pride on one hand, yet traces of shame that they were defeated. It was an eery feeling to speak with someone from the other side that took part in such a horrible period of our history.

Over the next few years, I would ask questions about post war Germany and what it was like re-building their country during the post war years. I learned a great deal speaking with Herr Guenther, who was a living part of history.