Everything Goes Wrong the Moment I Leave

One year out of Bavaria and the whole place is apparently falling apart. The CSU—Bavaria’s permanent ruling party—is hemorrhaging support, FC Bayern keeps dropping points, and my family has quietly decided that important birthdays no longer require anyone to show up in the same room. I’ve done the math: Bavaria is crumbling because I left. Because I just had to move north, to what every proud Bavarian calls "those bloody Prussians."

Anyone born in Munich who ends up in Berlin collects the same set of jokes. The wall around Bavaria. FC Bayern representing the whole country at the World Cup alone. Ten minutes to the Hauptbahnhof if you want to leave. Both sides of the border recite these like catechism, and I’ve been on the receiving end of all of them.

But it’s not hopeless. Someday the pull will get too strong—the mountains, the meadows—and I’ll drift back south. Before that, though, Berlin is giving way to London. Decided that recently. My mother lived there once, so arguably it’s in the blood. Hold on, Bayern. I’ll be back.