Notes

Baumholder Base

by Ella Aquino


Our story begins at Newport News, Virginia, near Fort Eustis in a little suburban circle. The fort is not visible, but nearby, a constant presence, a watching eye, a reassurance of security for some. Children are playing kickball in the grassy area in the middle of the circle. One of these children is my mother. Now, decades later, she sits on the bright red couch, stillness unfolding across the living room like a warm blanket. Relaxed and composed, she retells her childhood with an air of nostalgia and a calm cadence to her voice. She describes her early life, eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and contemplation as she recounts her adventures.


A center of Colonial history and national identity, she tells me the easygoing town of Newport News fostered both a love of history and respect for the military and the work that they do, a foundation for her later years. She recounts to me that when she moved to Germany, she didn’t want to move, and when she left Germany, the same circumstance occurred. "The GI's who lived on the base, they moved once every 1-3 years, and it was the same at every base for them. But we lived in town, and our moves were every 6 to 7 years, so we'd just put down our roots and then get lifted away," she tells me, resting her hand on her cheek as the dog curls up in front of the unlit fireplace.


In 6th grade, she moved to Baumholder Base, which at the time housed the world’s largest single GI population. She remembers how her mother was immensely jealous of the German healthcare coverage, which allowed paid week-long trips to hot springs. However, the minute amount of cons associated with not being a German citizen didn’t faze my mother, her siblings, or my grandparents. Her family took frequent visits around Germany and in addition to many other European countries, and often they would decide on a whim to "spend the day in France." During her time there, she traveled all over Europe, absorbing different cultures.


She talks about how German culture affected the base, how there were German Carols and activities on the holidays, how she rode on horseback through the wild German countryside or ate Strudel hot out of the oven in a castle. There is an inexplicable feeling of impossible levels of age and soul, the second you set foot in a castle. Although every castle is different, some small yet opulent, some large with crumbling towers and struggling supports, in the middle of towns or in remote hills, they all share a similar feeling as soon as you step inside them. A haven for storms, a place of wonder, and of refuge. A place in between a home and a cathedral, something as equally practical in its use as it is magnificent. That is the paradox of the castle.


“It had a profound effect on me,” she says, telling me about her many travels. “It inspired a love of history, of culture, of respect.” She tells me about the stark difference between Germany and America. “It’s a bit underwhelming when your 6th-grade trip was 3 days in France and your Senior trip was to a tennis club,” she explains. Her sister Margaret, who had seen the hall of mirrors in Versailles, and a replica in Crazy King Louis’ palace, was disappointed when it came to her class trip to see a model that didn’t compare.


I ask her a profound memory that sticks out in particular for her. She recounts a trip to the Berlin Wall, "Checkpoint Charlie", before the wall that separated millions of families and caused so much heartbreak and despair was torn down. She vividly describes the transition between West and East Berlin. Her tone is still reflective, her voice reverberating off the walls, solemn yet still nostalgic of days gone by. “It was like crossing into a different dimension.” The vibrant, flashy, modern West Berlin, with its full streets, rushing cars, and loud noises. “You drove through a gate, through a dead zone, with wires and big barriers, through another gate with armed guards. You came out through the other side, and I just remember it was all gray and still and quiet.” No lights, no people, no cars. Everything was silent, a desolate, tall gray expanse of cobbled concrete. “It is still burned into my memory, the stark reality of going a hundred feet,” she says.


I ask her what advice she would give to those without the same opportunities she had, who haven’t yet gotten a chance to explore the world around them. She says with renewed vigor, “Regardless of the budget you have, there is always a chance for adventure. Every state has national parks, there are exchange scholarships, cheap flights, youth hostels for 12 bucks a night. Save up, and in between high school and college, go backpack across Europe, travel the world. No matter what, it is always possible.”