Recently my blogs have covered Plumcake, motorcycling and walks in Rome.  Right now Germany is hosting a major keg fest in Munich –  Oktoberfest.  And I’m in the middle of Heimweh, or homesickness.  So  for now  I invite you on a weekly tour of my attic (read: mind), where in one corner I’ve jammed (with affection) things German.  Bear  with me as I dust off memory and attempt to make the exploration  pleasing.

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s all right. Maya Angelou

 “Heimweh!” Like the song of a siren, the lure of home never fails to tempt.

For me the seduction begins in quiet — in winter, in bookstores.  Browsing the cornucopia of calendars, looking for inspiration, I’m inevitably drawn to those with tantalizing photos of places I’ve visited, long to return to (England, Italy) or aspire to explore: Crete; Ireland.

Spring arrives and with it email alerts tumble like babbling brooks over unseen wires to flow into my mailbox.  The subject lines tease my travel addiction with announcements: Ireland on Sale; Cruise the Rhine.  Any recovering addict knows: resist temptation — avoid your poison.  I should unsubscribe from these emails but the wanderlust is too strong, my will weak.

And so the compulsion grows.

By mid-summer the occasional Expedia search swells to a weekly obsession.  Come September, if I’m not headed to Europe, home sickness growls: Feed Me! Usual result: added pounds from  many slices of Schwarzwalder Kirsch Torte.

Taste, scent, sound — heralds of home.

Each year I yearn to  visit homeland favorites.  One destination is Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Bavaria,  about 50 miles south of Oktoberfest headquarters.   There I have found sanctuary in summer, winter and fall, alone and with family.

Join me next week and together we’ll traipse through this German treasure.