Goodbye Turkey, Hello Europe!
On May 9, 2023, I pack my bags, say goodbye to Yildiray and Anife at the Golden Pension, take a taxi, and head to the airport near Fethiye.
This is my first time Germany. I have a blind passion for rules, regulations, guidelines, and straight lines in general. Nuremberg Airport meets all expectations — passport control here, luggage there, trains to the right, buses to the left, taxis upstairs, and parking below. Achtung, Achtung, and I am already on a bus heading to the home of Dani and Andy.
Like my Canadian friend, I also used the TrustedHouseSitters website and found four bunnies looking for a sitter for a period of seventeen days in the town of Erlangen, not far from Nuremberg. This method of taking care of other people's homes and pets is one of the cheapest ways to explore foreign countries. Aside from a little food I buy during my stay, I have no expenses. In contrast, I have a bike, a bed, a shower, a toilet, a fully equipped kitchen, and everything at a five-star level. Yes, and there are bunnies that you just can't help but fall in love with.
To my great delight, I discover that Erlangen has bike paths along every road and route, through forests, fields, and along riverbanks. After encountering some waving hands and receiving some snarky comments from a few local cyclists, I realize that direction matters. In other words, you need to ride on the right hand side of the road, in the same direction as the cars. Order is order. After feeling offended by the fist waving I understand that order is indeed order, I am on cloud nine.
On the second day, I wake up early and, just like yesterday, I go straight to the rabbit terrace to feed them, water them, and make sure everyone is okay. I noticed that only three of them come to greet me, and then I see the large male, Viccan, sitting on his elevated shelf with his eyes half-closed, completely oblivious to the world around him. My heart begins to race. "Oh Jesus! The last thing I need is for one of the rabbits to die on my watch." Despite everything I had told my lovely hosts, I didn't really know very much about rabbits. The only experience I had was when I worked at an after-preschool program that had a rabbit cage, and once a week there was petting session during which I usually spent my time chasing after bunnies that were desperately trying to escape from dozens of small, chubby, sticky hands.
For a long time, I watch Viccan, who seems "frozen" in place, not moving at all. "That's it," I tell myself. "The rabbit is dying! Soon he'll be dead, and knowing the Germans, they'll sue me. I wouldn't be surprised if it ends with me in some German women's prison..." (which, in itself, is not such a bad idea). I leave the terrace, make myself a cup of coffee in the progressive percolator, and realize that I have no choice but to inform the owners.
From her vacation spot in Croatia, the rabbit’s owner finds a veterinarian in Erlangen who agrees to come for a house visit and check on the sick Viccan. "It will cost 56 euros, and there will be an additional charge for the examination and medications..." the rabbit owner warns. I say, "No problem, I’ll pay any price required." She, being a good German, replies, "When we return, I'll pay you back," and I, like a guilty Jew, respond, "No, no. It's fine. Don't worry, the treatment is on me!"
I am sure that despite the fact that the rabbit hasn't moved for a day and a half, he is actually completely healthy, and all this "dying" is his personal vendetta on this Middle Eastern babysitter, especially after the owner says she thinks Viccan is suffering from abandonment anxiety. I believe that a second after the veterinarian leaves, the big Viccan will dance a waltz, and I will have ruined two days of the rabbit's owner's vacation and it will cost me a hundred Euro.
A small, slender veterinarian arrives at the house, looks me with a bit of a squint and doesn't really speak any English. From her gestures, I understand that I am the one who has to catch Viccan, wrap him in a towel, and hold him on the dining table while she performs the examination. There's no way to describe the pressure I feel. I, who have always preferred not to pick up creatures at all, and certainly not soft, furry ones weighing less than two kilograms, understand I can't escape from this challenging situation. I find a towel, take a deep breath, and approach Viccan, who to my astonishment jumps once but then allows me to wrap him in the towel and carry him to the dining table. I think to myself "If he didn't flee from me he really must be dying!"
The veterinarian finishes listening to his breathing, heartbeat, and tummy and moves on to inspect his ears, mouth, eyes, and intimate areas, and then in broken English says that she can't find anything indicating illness, let alone dying or a life-threatening malady. She gives the rabbit an injection and I breathe a sigh of relief and begin to calm down. Then the veterinarian says, "I will leave three different kinds of Homeopathic medicine for you to give to the rabbit. These drops three times a day, and this one only twice a day." "What are the medications?" I ask. "Homeopathic remedies to boost energy," the doctor replies. "How do I administer the drops?" I ask calmly, remembering the homeopathic drops I had to drip under my tongue once a day a very long time ago. "Let me show you," she said, and with a little pipette, she drips "eins, zwei, drei" three drops into the rabbit's mouth and looks at me. "Yah?" she asks, and I nod, "Yah."
I pay her about a hundred euros and say goodbye to the veterinarian. I return to the kitchen, and all the medications are immediately thrown in the trash. Just as I had expected, after the veterinarian's visit Viccan looks good, gives his box a few resounding kicks, regains his appetite, and even dances the waltz for me.
So, here’s the thing. In Germany, there are public Olympic swimming pools. When I say Olympic, I don’t just mean the length, width, and depth of the pool itself, but also the changing rooms, showers, lawns, and the overall maintenance level of the facility. Moreover, there is not a hint of the chlorine smell so common in our regions, and the water is crystal clear. And I won't mention again that everyone knows which direction to swim — always on the right side of the lane.
As I am convinced all the bunnies are alive and kicking (ha ha) I search Google Maps for a swimming pool and discover that 400 meters from my temporary residence is an Olympic pool. I hop on Dani's bike and ride there.
I won’t deny that by the fifth day of my stay in this place, I have some thoughts about preventing in various ways the return of the rabbit owners to Erlangen. I could continue living here forever.
During this whole time, I also do my work online, earning a living, and start to plan and breakdown the transition to a digital nomad lifestyle. After all, what is the purpose of this entire journey if not traveling the world? But I will tell you about traveling in general and specifically in a camper van, in the next posts.
Here are some photos from when I was in Erlangen and from a trip to Nuremberg.
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