My German halo

In white, she felt just right.

It just never gets old. It is always a stupendously wonderful moment where the dealer hands over the keys to your new car without much pomp or vigor. And you grab them in your slightly cold hands with a silent exhale. I count myself fairly lucky to have had this happen to me four times. Every time it has been in the evening. Every time it has been just a perfect day.

After just a crushing and a saddening blow of losing both my cars, she brings much delight with her. In her smallish and sporty stance she fills in the craving I have for performance. In her carpeted leather and technological luxury she satisfies my need for comfort in my arduous road trips. Between the mutually exhaustive natures of my previous vehicles, she stands unruffled in her own Venn diagram. Perhaps, the only point of intersection being that this would be second rear wheel drive car. This time though, a white angel with ringed eyes.

My first BMW then, with a Bavarian frame. BMW’s have always maintained simplicity in the construction of their vehicles. Put a nice engine in the front. Put a manual transmission in the middle and connect the drive in the rear while maintaining near 50:50 balance, almost like how God intended drive trains to be. This pristine equation remains unchanged for good reason. It allows the cars seats to cradle the driver while he finesses his way through twisted roads with a delightfully small steering wheel. At the same time, it allows for the car to remain steadfast in slightly higher than average Autobahn speeds. Of course, you could argue about aesthetics and the interiors. And mostly on basis of prettiness there would hardly be an argument. But in her stoic German nature, high quality and incredibly functional switch gear and plastics, I find a strange solace. She is not the one for being coy or petite. And strangely, in Germany I find that vastly appealing. It is just the way here.

She joins my new old life in the third country. Eagerly I hope, as I spend gaze quietly at maps, plotting, planning my next adventure. On a grey asphalt ribbon my white one would traverse; under a blue sky and between the white Alps. To allow me to pick up where I last left off. Amassing roads as if they were memories, regardless of the continent or the currency and then to bring me back home, safely.