Kempten and I go way back. Not as far back as Kempten does with the Romans (or arguably the Celts, although that's been disputed), but as far back as the '70s. Just like Kempten became the first urban settlement in Germany, Kempten became the first settlement for me in Germany, period.

Let's go back to 1978. Here I am, a kid from Southern California, being told that we are to move to Germany, my mother's native country. Okay, then. It couldn't be such a bad place, I reasoned. My German grandma would send us all of that delicious chocolate for Christmas. Mom was listening to all of these fine German classical records. Add the fact that I wanted to make a snowman in the worst way thanks to my obsession with Peanuts (Charles M. Schulz was from Minnesota, no wonder), and it was a win-win for everybody, I figured. What I didn't count on was that Germany would be so radically different, especially in the 1970s.

So off we go. American Airlines to New York. Pan Am (remember them?) to Frankfurt. Lufthansa to Munich. But then came the best part of the trip. Train to Munich and past all of those wonderful meadows and mountains. The place was so gorgeous. 

On this piping hot summer day in 2020, I walk toward the Goethestrasse, my first residence in Germany...it was me, my five siblings, and my mom...all in Granny's apartment. That couldn't last long, us all crammed together like that, and it didn't. From there we moved into a two-bedroom apartment (the parents slept in the living room), with one bedroom for the girls, one for the boys. Then the first snowing (and my first snowman), then a bigger apartment so the parents could have a bedroom. Then I learn German, and the rest is history. We were doing the exact reverse of immigrants coming to America. We were coming to Germany and living the German dream, if there ever was such a thing.

I walk past the St. Lorenz Cathedral, the most famous church in catholic stronghold Kempten. I always admired St. Lorenz, but the doors are closed this time around, no doubt a victim of the COVID pandemic. Too bad, but there's nothing I can do. Next, it's through the pedestrian zone and the old town hall. There's the oldest church in Kempten near the Iller River, St. Mang with its telltale blue clock. 

There's this playground I visit that my siblings and I used to go to, near the Allgäu Gymnasium school. It has a neat little zip line (as it did then as well, would you believe it), and on a clear day, you can see the Alps. Nearby is a monument dedicated to all fallen soldiers during two world wars. My German grandfather, who died before I was born, fought in World War II and was lucky to come home alive. Kempten, too, had a rich Nazi past.

At our last apartment in Kempten, literally at the very edge of town, there is a huge strip of forest that's still there, although I realize things have changed. On both sides of our apartment complex, there was nothing but open field. Now there are houses everywhere. The secret is out: Kempten is one of the most livable places in Germany. There's nothing to say, really. Progress happens everywhere, even to the old Roman settlement.

I make one last stop at the ultra-modern St. Franziskus church, where I had my confirmation. In winter, they cranked the heat up so high in that place that I fainted several times. Embarrassing, I know, but not my choice.

Time to leave town. Thanks for the memories, Kempten. I hit the autobahn and resist a look in the review mirror. Kempten was then, Frankfurt is now. My personal history aside, it's a great place to visit.