As a child (as in, until like three years ago) I proudly considered myself a rootless cosmopolitan. I didn’t really see myself fitting in with the very rural culture of the state I grew up in. But now, having been a city-dweller for a good part of my life, I start longing for the little things from my childhood. Sure, a proper boeuf bourguignon paired with a Cabernet Sauvignon is absolutely delicious, but it just doesn’t scratch the same itch as Bohnensterz and Uhudler.

The Danger of Taking Things for Granted

Back then of course these were anything but exceptional. In fact I often preferred the ubiquitous, anonymous and cosmopolitan version. When it wasn’t available to me a warm, sugary milkshake passed off as coffee was something I craved, because I wanted to be part of the cool crowd. These days I know that there are few places with better coffee and bagels than where I used to spend the hour waiting for a connecting bus back in high school. There are few chips better than the staple of every local attraction, despite me not finding them particularly interesting back when I had easy access to them.

Don’t get me wrong, a large part of that is nostalgia, I have no doubts about that. But I certainly consider myself to have developed somewhat of a refined pallete and I can certainly recognize and appreciate good food and some of that stuff is actually really fucking good.

From the Youthful Desire to fit in to the Adult Confidence of Being Your own Person

When I was young, fitting in was very much trying not to stick out. I spoke a very half-assed attempt at accent-free German. I described everything from my surroundings instead of just mentioning things by name. I even did cultural translations, completely obscuring my entire upbringing. Let’s be honest, when you’re 17 and terminally online being from a calm down-to-earth wine region just isn’t cool.

And then I started traveling. I saw lots of Europe, the Americas, some of the Middle East, and I’ve met a colorful cast of characters, many of which I found interesting exactly because of where they’re from. Sure, these days everyone lives in Vienna, London, Berlin, Amsterdam, San Francisco or New York. But actually having been born there is the exception, not the norm among my friends. And every single one of them has shown me something from the hyperlocal culture they’re from that has genuinely enriched my life and, let’s face it, made me jealous of being able to claim that as part of themselves.

So, what exactly is “Home”?

And now, reflecting on all that I ask myself what home is. And for all the big words of great writers, I can’t define it as anything but “the place that gives you that irrational warm and fuzzy feeling whenever you’re there or are reminded of it” and maybe “a place that has left its particular mark on you and given you highly specific brain damage”. And maybe it doesn’t have to be more than that. As the path I’ve plotted for my life in the next couple of years draws me to ever bigger and more international, anonymous cities because I’ve grown tired of the village of 2 million that is Vienna I start taking stock of what really keeps me in Austria and there are few things I really depend on. But damn, am I gonna miss my pumpkin seed oil, my Uhudler, and my Hesperidenessig. And I know for a fact I’ll take some of those with me every time I visit home.

You might know it’s Berlin that is currently drawing me in with its cosmopolitan aura and relentless Americanization. And I know how much that seems like I’m continuing the pattern from my childhood, going for ever bigger cities (and I know it’s only a matter of time until I end up in London or New York). But I’m not going there to be part of the anonymous crowd of city-dwellers. I’m going there as the girl from an eastern Austrian town that has spent a significant amount of time in Vienna, having absorbed all kinds of mannerisms from both making her way in the world. And honestly I just know that’s exactly who I’m meant to be.

Going ever further but never forgetting where I’m from

ncl

Back to Home