I think we Americans with European roots are kind of funny about the whole land of our ancestors thing. We usually pick one country to identify with often leaving out another 5, 6, or even more that in reality could be given equal weight. “We’re Swiss.” “They’re Norwegian.” “She’s Italian. You know how Italian girls are right?” No, I don’t know how Italian girls are. I’ve never met one. Furthermore, the girl you’re referring to is American. And my all time favorite: The Irish. It’s always amazed at how many full blooded Irish-Americans I meet on St. Patrick’s Day.
I know some people can trace these things back better than others, especially more recent immigrants. It’s also true that some immigrant groups hold on to their group identity more than others for various reasons. I’m not trying to say it’s totally ridiculous to seek you ancestral past out. I would follow my family’s tracks from the beginning of human history if the data were readily available. It’s just the oversimplification of it all that bugs me.
Most of my life I thought about my European roots in this way. My family’s last name comes from a German speaking part of Switzerland so I have always thought about my ancestors as being Swiss-German. It doesn’t help that every time I have been abroad I have been mistaken for a German at some point. In my Afrikaans language course I took while studying abroad in South Africa my teacher mistook me for a German more than half the semester. I imagine this was one part appearance, one part cultural. When she finally realized I was American she told me I was the quietest American she had ever met. Most recently here in Spain out our introductory meeting for this program, one German girl asked me where I was from in the process of seeking out German companions amidst the mounds of English speakers. She told me I looked very German but in the end my extremely American Chiefs sweatshirt kind of gave it away.
Although I’ve grown to think more critically about ancestral roots in the past few years, I still couldn’t quite help myself from thinking I had some connection to Germany, or at least this region of Europe. And I do. But to me, it’s more about understanding the social me than the personal me. Certainly, being of Swiss-German descent has affected how I have existed socially as a white person in the United States of America with our history of racial discrimination in the paths most important for social mobility. It probably has less to do with why I like Bratwurst so much.
Ok, now to why you really clicked on this blog. The pictures.
I flew into Frankfurt friday afternoon and met my friend Elisabeth who I met while studying abroad in South Africa. We then took an hour long train ride to Marburg where she studies. My first impression was a less than steller-looking train station. Elisabeth told me it would get better. She was right. Here is historical Marburg with the castle on top of the hill.
We went out that night with a bunch of her friends. Fortunately there was plenty of good english among them. To get to the old part of town you actually take an elevator connected to a car garage 15 or so flights (or take the stairs). I had my first German beer. It could have been in my head, but it was probably the best beer I've ever had. Here are some of the German christmas festivities in the town.
Ah, bratwurst.
Visiting the Castle.
I once read in one of my classes about how the children and grandchildren of immigrants view their identity. The first children born in the new country (or those brought over as young children) often try to break with their ancestral identity to assert themselves as members of the new land. The next generation, however, becomes so fully assimiliated (this model was probably based on industrial immigration in the U.S., not all immigrants assimilate) that they actually seek out the customs and language of their ancestral past in order to assert their own uniqueness amidst the masses. I think many of us with European roots are stuck in the phase. Maybe we cling to these identities for the same reason third generationers do.
