You wouldn't think a person could hold a grudge against a country, but I think I have. Like most grudges, mine was harbored for a long time - long after any evidence to the contrary could have swayed me to change my mind. Like most grudges, mine was based on a complete lack of firsthand knowledge, but rather on a deeper personal history. My grudge was against Germany. When Peter's friend from work, Bart, and his wife Johanna invited us to stay with them for the weekend at their home in Germany, my first reflexive response was to say, "Yes. Of course." Here was yet another opportunity to make good on our promise to get out and explore the world while we are living in Amsterdam. Then the little part of my brain where the grudge lay in wait wondered what it would be like for me to finally go to Germany, to see it for myself, and to give up the grudge.

Growing up in a family who were cultural rather than religious Jews, I celebrated important Jewish holidays, like the days Woody Allen films were released, and "Jewish" Christmas - going to the movies, followed by a chaser of large quantities of American-style Chinese food. I did go to religious school, where I learned a little Hebrew, and a lot about the Holocaust. And I also learned that Jews just did not buy German products and didn't travel to Germany. It was an unspoken boycott, but one that seeped into my bones. It turns out that there was a formal American boycott of German goods for one day, in 1933. That boycott came in response to the German boycott of Jewish stores. But when I was a child in the late-60's and 70's in Trenton, N.J., I somehow knew you were not "supposed to" buy a German car. Nowadays, American Jews happily drive Mercedes, Audis, and B.M.W's, and apparently German cars are ubiquitous in Israel. I guess the desire for a well-made car eventually won out over any moral compunctions Jews may have had. Or maybe people realize now that "never forget" doesn't mean you can't forgive a country.

Any thoughts I had about the importance of cars in Germany were laid to rest when I saw a giant Mercedes emblem atop this church-like building. I guess cars are a religion to some. — Any thoughts I had about the importance of cars in Germany were laid to rest when I saw a giant Mercedes emblem atop this church-like building. I guess cars are a religion to some.

Since we were invited to spend the weekend with people we knew (who, by the way, are Dutch), this gave me the chance to dip my toe in the water, visiting their little slice of Germany before committing to the whole country. Before we packed our bags, I had to Google the name of their town - Bad Wimpfen - to see where it was. I discovered it's about mid-way between Stuttgart and Frankfurt. I arrived at the Frankfurt airport, and was greeted by the sight of that most German of German icons: the pretzel.

Somehow, I resisted the temptation to get one, but could not resist on the morning of our return flight. Yup, at 8 a.m., I ate a pretzel for breakfast. And loved it!

Our host, Bart, drove us from Frankfurt to his house, giving us the chance to experience another famous German icon: the autobahn. Somehow, in my imagination, the Autobahn was a mega-lanes highway cutting through the center of Germany, where cars were allowed to drive at mega speeds. It turns out that the word autobahn is German for highway, and there are loads of them throughout the country, not just a single Autobahn. It's also not true that there are no speed limits on roads in Germany. But there is no speed limit on some of the roads, including the one we took out of Frankfurt. And we zipped along for at least part of the time at 150 k.m.'s per hour. Impressive, even when converted to miles (93 m.p.h.). Because we were in a German-made car, however, the trip was smooth. Bart told us that even without a speed limit, because of the better cars and better roads, as well as better drivers, there are fewer accidents. I didn't argue with his facts, since he was driving at 150 k.m.'s and I didn't want to rile him up. Also, I was a bit distracted by the many signs I saw with the word Auhsfart in giant letters. Turns out that means exit in German, but it was good for an interior chuckle each and every time I saw it.

The differences between Germany and the Netherlands were quite visible, even to this novice. Here's the house across the street, which looks just like our friends' house. Notice the solar panels, which you don't often see in Amsterdam (just not enou… — The differences between Germany and the Netherlands were quite visible, even to this novice. Here's the house across the street, which looks just like our friends' house. Notice the solar panels, which you don't often see in Amsterdam (just not enough sun). There was also no trash blowing around.

Yes, I know I promised not to compare countries back when I blogged about Switzerland. It's just so tempting when it comes to comparing two countries like The Netherlands and Germany, which share a border and some words, but have a completely different character, or dare I say: gestalt. (It's not every day that a writer gets to use that word, so there it is). The truth is, since our hosts are Dutch, and have lived in Germany for twenty-some years, they seemed highly-qualified to discuss the differences with us. On a very basic level, there's the question of meat. Germany has more of it, and people eat more of it.

This photo was taken at an amazing food market in Stuttgart. Peter can verify that even at 6 a.m., you can smell sausages starting their day at the Frankfurt airport. — This photo was taken at an amazing food market in Stuttgart. Peter can verify that even at 6 a.m., you can smell sausages starting their day at the Frankfurt airport.

Stuttgart was an interesting medium-sized city. We visited the state art gallery, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, where we saw an exhibit of ultra-modern art, the kind my father would have said could have been painted by a five year old, or by my dad himself. We had lunch at an outdoor café, and tasted some typical German food. I had something called spätzle, the German answer to pasta, which to me was like a grown-up mac and cheese and really delicious. I could have laid down and taken a nap on the ground afterwards, however.

Stuttgart just before the spätzle coma set in. — Stuttgart just before the spätzle coma set in.

From Stuttgart, we headed to a smaller town called Tübingen, a university town where our friends' two daughters live. When I first heard the name of the town, I pictured people rafting in inner tubes, and that wasn't far from what we found.

The Neckar River, which cuts through town, was great for people watching. It was full of boats with bachelor and bachelorette parties, and even a wedding party. — The Neckar River, which cuts through town, was great for people watching. It was full of boats with bachelor and bachelorette parties, and even a wedding party.

And Tübingen isn't just known for its university and party river. I saw my first castle there, Hohentübingen Castle, where in 1869, Friedrich Miescher isolated a substance from human cells and discovered DNA. So I can now say I visited the birthplace of DNA. That may be the closest I get to a science lesson in the near future, so I'll take it.

Here's the real reason I loved Tübingen: not the beer (delicious), not the river (scenic), not the castle (majestic), but the chance to meet Bart and Johanna's new grandson Ari (adorable).

On our last day in Germany, we explored Bad Wimpfen, the town where we were staying. As if they planned it in our honor, the town was in the midst of a festival, complete with costumes, ceremonies, and reenactments of ye olden days. It may have all been a grand scheme to chase away any fears I had about Germany. And the festivities helped rid my mind of darker days. For some reason, the ominous tone of this song fits the bill.

These cheery German tunes could chase away anyone's feelings of doom and gloom. It turns out that this band was from Rottweiler, so that means they knew Casey's ancestors (since we have always assumed he is part Rottweiler). That made me feel more at home, knowing we were among Casey's peeps.

We were enjoying a relaxing lunch in a garden restaurant. That is, until this group of soldiers let loose with a volley of gunfire that caused Peter to loose some of his beer in mid-sip. It was beyond loud, and quite authentic-looking and sounding, … — We were enjoying a relaxing lunch in a garden restaurant. That is, until this group of soldiers let loose with a volley of gunfire that caused Peter to loose some of his beer in mid-sip. It was beyond loud, and quite authentic-looking and sounding, I'll give them that.

Picturesque scenes greeted us wherever we turned.

The more time we spent walking around town, the more I forgot any fears I may have harbored about Germany. I was enjoying myself. In fact, I spent a great deal of time trying to conceal my giggles and control myself in front of new friends; I didn't want them to know just how immature my sense of humor really is. So I surreptitiously snapped some photos whenever I could.

This one needs no explanation. It was located right next to a charming little Italian restaurant we went to. I kid you not!

Who shops in this store, you ask? Actually, schmuck is German for jewelry. Talk about a word whose sound bears no relationship to its meaning. The French word for jewelry is bijou. That sounds sparkly. Schmuck? Not so much. — Who shops in this store, you ask? Actually, *schmuck* is German for jewelry. Talk about a word whose sound bears no relationship to its meaning. The French word for jewelry is bijou. That sounds sparkly. Schmuck? Not so much.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention a Drucker-Vine family joke we have about my footwear. Whenever Peter catches me wearing sandals with socks, he accuses me of being a German tourist. I wanted to keep an open mind and allow for the fact that this well-worn stereotype might be outdated. However, the evidence all pointed to the contrary.

Apparently, the custom started in the days of yore.

And the tradition is destined to carry on into the next generation and beyond!

So, although we only spent a weekend in Germany, and saw only one small slice of it, I can now say that my grudge is over. I realized it's possible (albeit difficult) for people to learn to get beyond conceptions and misconceptions they have of other people and other countries. I think it has something to do with finding small ways to connect. This year, I learned a new word from Rachel: microaggressions. It describes the subtle and not so subtle slights and snubs designed to marginalize and demean groups of people. Maybe we need to come up with a new word (microextensions?) to describe the way we can begin to overcome "grudges" against groups of people or countries. If we can reach out in small ways, like a smile, eating some local food, even making a friend, then we can begin to get beyond broadbrushing an entire nation as being one way or another. I think Al Green was onto something in his song L.O.V.E. when he sings, "Love is a walk down Main Street. Love is an apple that is so sweet. Love is a feeling that's a friend of mine." In my case, as we walked down the streets, ate some spätzle, and smiled at the people who greeted us, I realized that it was time to let my grudge go.

And then we saw this plaque on a building, and it was literally a sign telling me that I had made the right decision in visiting Germany. Our friends told us that it explains that the listed families had lived in the town, were murdered during … — And then we saw this plaque on a building, and it was literally a sign telling me that I had made the right decision in visiting Germany. Our friends told us that it explains that the listed families had lived in the town, were murdered during the Holocaust, and would not be forgotten. And one way not to forget is to go visit these places for yourself.

Johanna painted this for a class she is taking. Thank you, Johanna and Bart, for a lovely weekend with you in your town. Next stop: Berlin!