In some things my name is a very good name. I don't drink. I would like to drink, but I do not drink. See, I obey the law, and in my country I can't drink for another year and a half. I don't smoke either. That's not because I can't, it's because I have no desire to. Ikky, ikky smoke.

Recently I went to Germany, and more recently I came back from Germany. I was in Germany for a month. For the first two weeks of that month I was lodged in a house in Bergisch-Gladbach, more commonly known amongst the Aussie students as "B-G". Those two weeks were when we were put up with various students of a school in B-G. My student happened to be totally awesome, but at the same time she wasn't the sort of person a parent would probably like little Susie staying with in a foreign country for so far away.

We were going cocktailing. That was the plan. Cocktailing but we mustn't tell the parents. My student was fifteen. One year too young to drink beer, three years too young to drink anything heavier. But we got two of her friends and me and we went into B-G. The place we went to was in the main shopping area, though that's today and not in a few years. At the moment, the Colosseum-like thing by the bus/train station has not been finished yet.

The place was small and filled with low lounges and small tables and on one side was what seemed to be a massive bar. It probably wasn't but the seats were pretty low down. Or maybe it was just gigantic.

We sat down and looked at the menu. They tried explaining it too me but their English wasn't always fantastic and my German is certainly not up the standard it needed that night. I managed to understand that here they didn't care about age. Promise money and you can get whatever. We went around the circle: a coke, something short and pinkish, something green and gross, a pina colada for me. It was the first thing that came to mind. And damn I'm glad. That drink was nice.

Then it was down to business. What flavor water pipe should we have? Now, I had no idea what they were talking about. I had never heard of one before. I know what they look like, but not what they're called.

It's not something I'd be in a rush to try again. It dried out my throat and burned my tongue. I don't know what flavor it was because I couldn't taste it that well. I didn't cough, though they all watched me, waiting for me to burst out in hacking heaving noise.

We had another of whatever was in those water pipes. This time cherry cola and this time I could taste it. I breathed in more deeply and let the smoke roll around on my tongue and it tasted good. I watched as the others tried to get smoke rings. I didn't bother. I wasn't about to embarrass myself like that. Another cocktail, this one to share but I ended up having most of the sex on the beach.

Going home my student and friends decided to light one up. They offered to me and I laughed. Why not? One drag. I didn't cough and I didn't come close but it was not tasty. Last one for me, I thought. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The next night. Eight Germans. One Aussie. A hell of a lot of smoke. Half a bottle of vodka downed by two members of the party very early on. The same CD on repeat over and over and over again. For some reason they thought that their music, though English in lyrics, should be totally foreign to me. I got strange looks when I started singing along. I was one of the oldest there, mixed in with the smoke and the music. I sat on a couch and watched the others talk and laugh and sometimes I understood enough to join in.

There was a lot of smoke. When a new one was lit it sat there for so long I wanted to reach across and smoke it just so it wasn't wasted. I didn't, though. I love my lungs too much, but I still sat there and breathed it in and accepted different brands to try. One of them, one of the drunk ones, fell asleep smoking, every time. His cigarette would burn out and we'd take it away from him and then he'd wake up. 'Mein Kippe, mein Kippe.' He fumbled around on the ash-littered tabled until he found another one. Never mind if it was torn in half, or already half smoked. He'd light it up and fall asleep and we'd replay the whole scene.

A week later. My last night in B-G and they wanted to do something special for us Aussies. So they took as to a pub and we all sat down, one long row of noisy Australian teenagers. One thing I learned while I was there is this: Australians are loud. Very loud. We sit with our knees touching and we scream across the table to each other. Our laughter bounces off the walls. The Germans are loud, but not as loud as us.

My student was fifteen and this place was the sort of place where they don't ignore your age. So I bought five beers that night. I only had one, maybe two. I went to pay and told them 'Funf Kölsch'. They stared at me as I paid and walked out straight legged. The night was cold and clear and as I breathed in and out I felt the air rushing into my lungs and and I knew what it meant to be alive.

I loved Germany. Not just because of the beer. I just loved it.