A concert tour to Germany, what a glorious plan – hatched next door 3 years ago, in England after a successful experience touring. But a country with such a rich history of music, and so many personal connections for me – it could only be a huge success or a massive disaster. I wouldn’t write about it if it was the latter… The trip was intensely beautiful, with so many moments of being touched, elated, taut as a bow with emotion, filled to the brink, to overflowing. Family, friends, music, inspiration, the spirit. So much joy and excitement, such a vibrant sense of being alive with anticipation and presence, a beaming smile that just wouldn’t go away, and if it did for a moment, re-ignited immediately upon the slightest touch.

We were off to a great start with my sister Claudia picking me up in Munich, filling me in on the preparations in Burgau and Unterschneidheim, serving me a wonderful evening meal, and then building out Saturday’s joint concert program with the Kammerchor with last minute details. Thankfully we had one more day to mentally get ready, and got to hang out with my brother Walter and his wife Renate for Kaffee und Kuchen, the avant garde of the Frick family who turned out in full force the next evening.

Arriving in Roggenburg to meet up with the choir was a thrill, having already been filled with so much excitement and anticipation, and then getting to dive headlong into a whole week of singing and sharing and fun. I also had just seen an email from the American Embassy in Addis Abbeba, reminding me of the other big event about to happen in my life – picking up our little girls whom we await with great joy and anticipation.

I’ll never forget sitting in the garden in Roggenburg that evening, looking out over the fields with the setting sun caressing my face, listening to the CD and singing my heart out. There is something about this space in between – almost ready to touch something so long awaited, so imminent – a sense of suspension, heightened awareness, bursting with pure presence.

Christian, an English teacher and Kammerchor member, did a fabulous job welcoming us in and leading us through Guenzburg the next morning. This was much more than a guided tour, this was about our hosts extending themselves, a symbolic gesture underscoring this choir exchange which in so many ways had rested solely on my sister’s and my shoulders up till then. Christian formed another piece of glue and did so amiably and gracefully throughout the rest of the day and the evenig.

The concert in Burgau was the glorious culimination of many months of effort and intense preparation. Every little piece, from running into the former Kammerchor president Weinsheimer and his family on the way to the church and building the first relationships to meeting the artistic director and conductor Nerdinger who was instantly accessible and sympathico, to getting the two choir directors talking, to concocting a scheme to hand over the funds we had collected at home – it all came together and magically unfolded.

Sitting on the balcony during mass was nerve-wrecking – knees weak with both tension and excitement, we nervously awaited our entrance, complicated further by our fearless leader Steve’s desire to sing Salmo 150 from the aisles. It was not entirely “clean” but probably stumped the audience so much in its format and content that the lack of perfection didn’t matter one bit. Three days later when one of our basses showed me the article in the Augsburger Allgemeine in Trossingen, the morning of yet another joint concert anxiously anticipated, I couldn’t help but break into a huge smile at the laudable write-up.

The rest is history – our performance was well received, the joint O Sacrum with the Kammerchor glorious. It was a good thing to have Nerdinger calling the shots – forget the antiphonals, let’s sing it as one piece with 8 voices – still getting the many parts conversing with each other and echoing back and forth but all to the same music so to speak. When my nieces walked in just before the concert started I had tears in my eyes – all four of them joining my mother, brothers and sisters in the audience. Then, upon exiting, I had the further pleasure to welcome my best friend Renate and spend a few minutes connecting with her before rushing onward to shake more hands, greet more new friends, jubilantly celebrating.

I was starting to like this role – not usually one to seek the limelight, here I found myself thrust into center stage as an ambassador in both directions, connecting people, getting them talking (or simply understanding each other), sharing and bringing across the little things that make up the culture and chemistry of the respective group. I was everywhere – by the conductor’s side, talking to the organist, running out to soak up the presence of my family, helping my ISing friends with the ridiculous (embarrassing, actuall y) English menu in the restaurant. Barely time to grab a sip of wine and a little bite in between. Just a touch of adrenaline in my veins.

Here I got to violate the rules, and thoroughly enjoyed that too: everywhere we went, people were commenting on the incredible discipline of the group. Such commentary coming from the Germans, oh my. They got the biggest kick out of the count-off – although admittedly still the most effective method at ensuring no-one gets left behind that I’ve ever seen – and even the bus driver was amazed that people showed up when they were supposed to. That night in Roeffingen I was 10 minutes late without penalty – having sailed on the winds of joy and not willing to break the spell. I got to repeat that one more time in Unterschneidheim the next day.

Hindsight is 20-20. It was touch and go whether I would be able to go on this trip. For two months, all my sights had been set on Ethiopia, where a completely different adventure awaits us. Far more life-changing although this trip was one of a kind, and will not be easily forgotten. As the last few weeks prior to departure crept by each day was a gamble: would we get that notification that would take me to Addis Abbeba instead of Munich? I was pulled between the intense desire to see things through, to be there as the bridge builder, the glue, the enabler, and the fact that nothing else would matter if we got that call to pick up our children.

So Unterschneidheim was a last minute thing. It was on the schedule but I deliberately did not make arrangements, not wanting to mobilize the whole village not knowing if I would be there or not. To my surprise and delight, within a few days after I had finally decided it would happen Claudia had worked out a plan – not only would she talk to the priest to get the ok, but she had already put the wheels in motion for a little reception at my mom’s house that would give everyone a chance to really connect with that moment. It was glorious. Steve let me pick the music, surprised me by announcing the concert as a thank you to me, and I was able to dedicate the Ave Maria to my mother, a moment that I had so often dreamt of. Then, to top it all off, we sang Shenandoa under the eaves of the barn, champagne in hand.

I climbed the 768 steps to the top of the Ulm Minster that evening, all in a daze. To say I was elated is an understatement. The narrowing Gothic latticework at the final ascent, the flying arches and varying frames the dark grey stones provided for the red tile roofs of the houses and the lush green of the fields in the distance, the exuberance and joy I was filled with was almost too much. It was otherwordly and yet oddly present, a one-pointed sense of fulfillment, nothing else existed. I was – and still am – savouring that moment to the last drop. At dinner that night the waitress Frau Mueller thought she was “in the wrong film” when we sang Salmo 150 in the restaurant – but nothing could have provided a better end to the day than the “fiery Brazilian” intonation of this psalm.

After such an intense beginning, I felt like the tour might as well be over, I had my fill. Yet Monday morning held yet another delightful surprise in store: Nerdinger had dropped off some music for Steve while we were travelling, a sure sign the exchange reverberated for him as well. We blasted through the university town of Tuebingen – where I had never visited before so the two hours were hardly enough to take in all the staircases and hidden lanes and bookstores and the gorgeous city hall even if the tour of the early artifacts made popular by Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams didn’t pan out. The tour of the castle at Hohenzollern in turn was awful but we were rewarded with some stunning singing in St. Michael’s Chapel which was richly applauded by the folks having escaped their own tour guide. Evidence of our presence there is supposedly going to be on their web site soon.

Trossingen greeted us with a “garden party” – a perfect excursion into the real world of everyday people in Swabia drinking beer and simply having a good time being together. A few of us deliberately chose to sit with the folks from the Liederkranz that promptly started singing old-fashioned German folk songs – long forgotten memories for me. These were songs celebrating the simple joys of youth, of the longing to climb mountains and cross oceans, to ride “high on the yellow wagon”, the German president’s favorite. Songs of lost – and found – love, of the need to leave in pursuit of ones chosen profession, of forests and meadows, of the nightingale and the babbling brook. Nothing like that to start out our official sister city exchange.

We would hear more of that the following day, after our successful concert with the Liederkranz, to the point where some of the ISingers decided to hide behind bushes as they felt otherwise the singing would never stop. It was a blast to see the exuberance of the host choir, and to see the concert coming together once again amidst a degree of chaos and confusion, in the heat of the German summer in a non-climatized concert hall. Here, too, relationships were built quickly and solidly, the mayor spoke, the city celebrated, and wine and beer were flowing in abundance. Afterwards, the Liederkranz was wistful – having a “good conductor” does make all the difference.

Trossingen not only gave us a lovely tour of the legacy of its most famous son, Matthias Hohner, but also the proximity to Rottweil where the German carnival has a strong tradition. In addition to Roman bath ruins and mosaics, Rottweil also has beautiful old houses with richly decorated bay windows, and the High Tower from which one can enjoy a 360 degree view of the surrounding countryside which Mark and I did in about 15 minutes. I was not happy about another two hour stint that inevitably meant rushing and trying to decide between lunch and sight-seeing but grateful for the opportunity to take a rest at Kunstwerk B before heading out to sing our hearts out.

With our last formal concert behind us, we were now free to enjoy the social part of the tour. And we were entering some stunning scenery – leaving the proximity of the Black Forest, Swabian Alps and Neckar valley, making our way South East to Lake Constance. Wasserburg was a flop – the pre-booked tour at Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein had us rushing onward. The bus driver even went through a red light trying to get us to the ticket booth on time. We got to look at the “Swabian Sea” for exactly 5 minutes to get an idea of its idyllic setting – those of us that weren’t on a desperate hunt for bathrooms, that is.

Fuessen, and the Schwan castles, were worth it for the landscape – one can surely imagine Wagner getting inspired here, nestled in the midst of steep mountainsides and awe-inspiring peaks. St Mary’s Bridge over a high gorge was lovely but once again the logistics of the whole thing got in the way, and by the time we left the area we were 2 hours behind schedule. Thankfully Palotti-Haus was exceedingly flexible and kind to us – so we promptly promised them a concert the following evening! Their garden was beautiful even at night, lit up by lightning bugs and illuminating conversation about music and the transcendence it can create. The next day I wandered amongst the labyrinth of roses trying to regain my composure after a hectic day dealing with a laptop virus, singing at the Frauenkirche and Palotti-Haus, and diving deep into the past over dinner with my friends Isabel, Brigitte, and Isabel’s new husband.

Finally, the last leg of the journey arrived – Salzburg! We were lodging in Schloss Leopoldskron – well, actually, the Maierhof which is next to it but still on the grounds – otherwise made famous by the Sound of Music. After a crowning finale singing in the Salzburg Dom, I chose to take some time out to simply sit and wander in the Schlosspark, looking out over the lake. I was grateful for this opportunity to decompress – it had been an emotionally charged trip and I was drained. Then I made my way to the city on foot, crossing a nature preserve of meadows and ponds while it started misting – a nice atmospheric aligment of the weather with my mood. Unfortunately it completely turned by the time I arrived in the old part of town so I chose to forego the sight-seeing and wandered in and out of galleries instead.

One thing I couldn’t resist though was the temptation to attend a piano concerto that just happened to be scheduled for that night. After a suitably fancy dinner in the Stiftskeller of St Peter – a restaurant that has been in business since 803 and seen many famous guests – we sat down in the Romanesque Hall to have the sounds of Mozart’s most famous sonatas and a thunderous encore of Schuman and Rachmaninov fill our ears. It only seemed fitting to be listening to Salzburg’s most famous son right here in his home town. Turns out, there was a concert up on high at Hohensalzburg castle too – but I was definitely done with castles by then.

The Salt theme continued on our way back to Munich with a tour of the salt works in Berchtesgaden. Things have definitely changed since I’ve been there last, it’s all multi media now, bringing the mystery of this underground world to life. We even got to sing a few bars of O Nata Lux on the way out on the train! The bus driver also had a surprise for us that last day, after a little stroll at the Koenigssee – the oldest gentian distillery of the world. Just in case anyone was looking for an opportunity to spend their last Euros on schnaps and other delectable items, this shop was perfectly set up for it. A nice mellow way to end the trip, after the breathtaking views of the Alps in some of the sweetest spots this area has to offer.

Back to Freising for our last supper at Weihenstephan, the oldest beer brewery in the world - probably nothing to impress us at this point. Maybe it was just me but a tinge of sadness already hung in the air, the mood was subdued – how much more could we possibly take in at this point. We’d had our fill, and more than enough. Even so, I still felt like I was on an adrenaline rush – I needed to walk to the Dom after dinner and say my good-byes privately, take one more look at these old walls and imposing buildings, silent witness to a power whose days of glory are long gone. Nonetheless, every stone in this part of the country is permeated with that history, noble and holy men in state and church, and if you stand quietly you can still feel their presence today.