The German word “wanderlust” is often thrown around by English speakers, added to desktop backgrounds or graphic tees. Defined by Merriam-Webster dictionary as “a strong desire to travel,” the word is rarely used in conversational German, but the meaning is evident throughout the culture.
Without having to worry about putting aside thousands of dollars for university, many German students spend their summers traveling Europe or even other continents. Germany’s desire to travel, however, does not stop there, and is perhaps most notable when one comes across a Journeyman.
Clad in wide-bottomed trousers with a matching vest, suitcoat and fedora, the Journeymen take their walking sticks and hitch-hike across the German-speaking nations. Their easily-recognizable outfits make the Journeymen stick out in a crowd, and having arrived in October, I assumed the first Journeyman that I saw was wearing a costume. When I saw a second, I thought that it was simply a coincidence or maybe some sort of a fashion subculture within Germany. By the time I saw a third, I was overwhelmed with curiosity and had to ask another passenger on the train if those outfits meant something. To my surprise and delight, they did.
The Journeymen are craftsmen, such as roofers, bricklayers, carpenters and even bakers, who spend three years and one day traveling a minimum of 60 kilometers from their hometown getting experience for their future professions. All unmarried and under 30 years old, the journeymen are often leaving their home alone for the first time when they begin their journey. They travel without cell phones or any device that could disclose their location at any time. Some travel in groups and some travel alone, but all find housing and food throughout their trip by providing hosts with work in their trade, as they are not supposed to spend money on their own commodities.
When they cannot find work, the journeymen sleep under the stars.
The tradition dates back to Medieval times in Germany, and many of the initiation traditions have remained the same since, such as piercing one’s ear with a nail the night before he leaves.
The next morning, the new initiate climbs over his city’s limits and begins his journey. Along the way, the Journeymen carry a pocket-sized diary that is filled with stamps from visited cities. The books used to serve as a type of resume following the Wanderjahre, or journey years, but today act as more of a travel diary. Because the Journeymen carry no cellphones, they often meet up with each other on sight, running into other Journeymen in train stations or market areas. Occasionally, they’ll meet up for a beer or decide to travel together.
At the end of their Wanderjahre, the Journeymen can return home and start their profession, having gained plenty of experience along the way.
Being 4,442 miles from home for one year, I realized that the one thing that separates the Journeymen from the rest of us self-proclaimed adventurers is certainty.
The Journeymen say goodbye to their family and friends, knowing that they cannot turn back at any point. They are not sure if they will have a bed to sleep in or three meals that day, but they push forward nonetheless. They trust that the generosity of others will be enough to get them through three years away from family, friends and their home.
I get to FaceTime my family every weekend and crawl into the same bed every night, and quickly my apartment felt just like home. For the Journeymen, that feeling of home is one they go years without experiencing, but the adventure that awaits them is one the rest of us will go a lifetime without.
— Shannon Rabotski is a 2016 graduate of Monroe High School and is a junior at Drake University spending the year studying abroad in Tubingen, Germany. She can be reached at shannon.rabotski@drake.edu.
