“The green, green grass of home’’- Steffi’s story 

My name is Steffi, and while I live today in the beautiful green valleys of Wales, my story begins in Germany, where I was born and raised. I have always had a deep fascination with the United Kingdom. From the age of twelve, I was collecting anything with the Union Jack, handbags, mugs with the Queen’s face, you name it. 

As I got older, I was able to really engage with my passion for all things British as I lived near a British Army base in Germany, and the town became a beautiful mix of British and German people. I made friends from the British forces, and my love for the English language grew stronger than anything else—I even preferred speaking English over German! I loved English music (though not the Spice Girls, funnily enough—I was more into Blur and, embarrassingly, Take That!). Though thankfully my taste in music has drastically changed since then and I’m no longer a Take That fan! 

My love for all things British deepened through events like the Rhine Army Summer Show, an Anglo-German festival with music and community. It was a really, really lovely festival which mixed the nations together. But I never understood why this connection with Britain was so deep. But then one day when I was in my late teens, my mother shared a family secret with me: my real grandfather was British. My mother told me his quirks such as drinking milk straight from the fridge without using a glass and so did I, it seems. Now it all made sense, my obsession wasn’t so random after all. I had British blood. 

The first time I set my feet on British soil was on a school exchange to Reading when I was 14. I met my exchange partner, Camilla, and to this day, we’re still friends. After that, I visited often, especially London. Eventually, love led me further across borders. I fell for a British soldier stationed in Germany. Against all advice from friends and family, I moved to his hometown. But within a week, I fell seriously ill and ended up in hospital. I texted him to bring me a few essentials like pyjamas, a toothbrush and he came by. He asked me what was wrong with me and after I’d explained to him that I didn’t know and that they were going to run further tests, he kissed me goodbye… and I never saw him again. 

He just vanished. 

It was so hard. Heartbroken, sick, and alone, I moved back in with my parents. Around three months after I’d moved back in with them, I remember my dad coming up to me and asking, “How do I get my girl back?” I said, without thinking, “I want to go to the UK. Just for a year.” My mum wasn’t happy at all about it because she didn’t want me to go but my dad was very supportive. So, I packed up a van, closed my eyes, pointed at a map and landed in Bristol. 

To say that my time in Bristol didn’t get off to the best of starts would be an understatement. I moved into a shared house with two guys, and one of them turned out to be mentally unstable. He held me hostage in our home, and the police had to kick the door down to get me out. My very adventurous start to life in the UK was definitely not the start I had in mind. But eventually, I found a peaceful flat in Clifton Village and a great job which I really loved. I began making friends and one year turned into two. And I realised—I didn’t want to leave. I felt like I belonged, that I had finally come home. 

A few years later, I met a Welshman. I moved to Wales, we married, and I gave birth to my beautiful son in Newport. We decided to move back to Germany but the relationship went very wrong, so when my son was four, I fled my marriage and made the difficult decision to leave and return to Wales. I just felt that I needed to be there. My heart ached for Wales. Many people in Germany struggled to understand my decision. But I had itchy feet, I just had to come back. And so, I returned, to the only place that had ever truly felt like my home. 

I settled in a quiet village near Abergavenny and literally started from scratch again. I had nothing, no one. But one day, while moving into my new house, a woman named Kelly saw me struggling and stopped to help. Just like that. She became my first Welsh friend, and we’re still in touch to this day. That’s something I really love about here, people in Wales, especially in the Valleys, are open, warm, and welcoming. It's different from Germany, where it takes longer to get to know people and to be accepted into someone's inner circle. 

The other thing that struck me about Wales was the amazing beauty. Its nature and countryside are unbelievably beautiful. When I was going through my toughest times, I began walking. I explored every trail, every forgotten path, every mountain and every lake. 

Today, my son is nearly 17. He’s Welsh through and through, though he was born to a German mother. He speaks broken German, but his heart belongs here. And I understand that completely. 

I miss Germany sometimes, the cleanliness, the order, the sense of communal living. I miss my family, my friends, the regular community get-togethers, the street festivals, and the tidy streets where people take pride in their homes. Here in Wales, I do get frustrated with the littering, especially in such a beautiful place. It’s hard to see people not care for their own countryside. 

But despite the differences, I have found home here. 

Looking to the future, I have dreams, of course. I want to travel more, to explore the world and see as much of it as possible. I want to share its beauty through my photography. That’s my passion—capturing places and moments so I can share them with those who can’t see them for themselves. That’s my dream. 

If there’s one thing I wish more people understood about here, it's that Wales is not just some corner near London. It’s a country with a soul, a story, and a heartbeat all its own. It deserves to be seen, to be loved. I wish more people would see it as a tourist destination and come and visit. It gave me a second chance, a new beginning, and a sense of belonging I never expected. 

So here I am—German by birth, Welsh by choice, and an explorer always.