Im Fernzug* nach Göttingen, circa 9pm (GMT +2)
The pilot plunges us into a thick soup of cloud that seems to stretch forever. For several rather wonderful minutes we are lost in a turbulent sea of white**, until suddenly – wham! – an impossibly vivid sunset crashes into view. The black undersides of the rain clouds are streaked through with überdramatic crimson, in a scene that would have black metal CD sleeve designers wetting their laced-up leather pants in delight.
This cycle repeats itself a couple of times (disappearing into cloud, re-emerging into the black metal sunset) until finally we are clear, and descending rapidly onto the biggest airport I've ever seen. In fact, it's not just bigger than other airports – it's a whole different kind of beast. In the same way that a whale isn't just a big fish, so the 'Fraport' in Frankfurt isn't just a big airport. It's a colossal City of Planes, with an infrastructure so complex that it makes me think they must employ Einstein's, Heisenberg's and Planck's direct lineal descendants to handle air traffic control duties.
We land and immediately join a long line of traffic, rolling along behind an Air China jet as though the two were cars on a motorway. We pause periodically at intersections, where sleek Lufthansa giants heading away from the terminal appear to have right of way. At one point, I see two of these giants heading diagonally towards each other, one turning at the last moment in obeyance of lane markings that I can't see from where I'm sitting. Not one to be overawed by machinery, but honestly, I've never seen anything quite like this. There are planes everywhere!
We disembark, and after a brief wait in the 'non-EU' line, I'm out in the street smoking, thinking, and preparing to enter the Deutsche Bahn rail network for the first time in nearly a decade.
Ok, skip forward. Everything I wrote above actually happened about two-and-a-half hours ago. On the flight over here I wrote lots of stuff about KZ, about the things I'll miss (and won't miss), and about my attempts to get acquainted with some of the country's further reaches during my third year there. Then I decided to delete all of that, and to put up a 'photo log' at some time in the not-too-distant future.
Instead, let me tell you what's happening now.
I'm on a train to Göttingen, about two hours north of Frankfurt. My flight was a little late, and it took me a while to sort out some 'arrival issues', so I just hope the hotel will be saving my room for me, despite the late check-in.
(Once, while on holiday in Sweden, my ex- Natalie and I lost our accommodation booking because our plane landed two hours late, and the owner gave our room to someone else. The result was a night spent walking the streets of Stockholm with our enormous bags ... nice city, but not a pleasant way to be introduced to it! Since then, arriving late to hotels and hostels has always made me a bit nervous.)
"So, Mr. Nerd ... any first impressions upon returning to Germany?"
Well, yeeeah. Lots of 'em, in fact. Let me share a few, as is my habit.
Firstly, Europe is not 'Europe'. I mean, as I learned somewhat to my horror this evening, the cost of a 90-minute train trip in Germany is roughly equivalent to a decent week's wage in Ukraine. You can easily see where the money is (and isn't) on this continent.
Secondly: if people here need a light for their cigarette, they say (in German, obviously) "Excuse me. May I have a light, please?" Then they explain apologetically how they came to be without their own lighter, and finish with a cheerful "Many thanks". This is a wild contrast to some more eastern-lying countries I could name, where you often get no more than a two-handed 'lighting my cigarette whilst sheltering the flame from the wind' gesture, followed by a grunt of thanks (and the grunt is optional).
I'm not saying that I prefer one to the other – in fact, the economy of Russian discourse is one of the things I admire about it. Russian-speakers can say so much with one or two words, it sometimes makes English with all of its clumsy auxiliaries ("Did you xxxx yesterday?", "Have you been xxxxing lately?") and elaborate politeness strategies ("Would you kindly pass the xxxx?") seem a little absurd. I'm just saying that it's a striking difference, when you come here from a place with a very different 'culture of communication'.
(One thing I want to add, though: "Darf ich Feuer haben?", which translates literally as "May I have fire?", is one of my favourite phrases in any language :-)
This cheerful politeness also extends to any encounter which involves asking for help and information. Germans aren't known worldwide for being effusive, but they're extremely keen to help travellers – perhaps, one could speculate, because they're such a nation of travellers themselves, and so can empathise with the experience of being in a railway station in a foreign country with little or no idea of where to go or what to do next. But whetever the reason, they help you gladly with anything you need to know, and either they're all excellent actors or their cheerful willingness to do all this helping is really genuine. If it's the second one, it's brilliant and I love them for it.
Also, there's the food. This country is full of edibles that don't look like they want to hurt me. Everywhere I look, I see the word "organisch" ... and the place brims with freshly squeezed juices, salads with leaves (a feature noticeably lacking from the former-Soviet diet), succulent pineapples, freshly-baked bread, and other thoroughly wholesome-looking stuff. It seems nothing less than a minor miracle, after having arrived from the Central Asian Culinary Badlands.
Most miraculous of all, though, are the sausages. In Ukraine I was repeatedly warned that under no circumstances should I buy a sausage on the street. This advice was usually offered in the form of a question like "Where do you think all the tramps and stray dogs go?". And when you looked at the sausages there, it took little imagination to convince yourself that the warnings were genuine. So, as a fan of a good sausage, imagine my delight to be in a land where they look not only safe and edible, but actually tasty. My stomach is very happy that we came to this country )))
Lastly, the concern for hygeine here really leaps out at you when you first arrive. A German public toilet experience goes something like this: you go into a pleasant-smelling room and do what you need to, and when you're done, flushing occurs automatically. You then proceed to the sink, where you wave your hand in front of an electronic sensor to receive a generous amount of soap in your palm. A second electronic sensor also awaits your attention, releasing a generous amount of water in response to your hand-wave. You may then choose from a variety of hand-drying methods, all of which are similarly 'remote activated'. And lastly, the doors are usually turnstile gates that respond to forward pressure from any part of the body – a little push from the knee will get you through. So you walk out of the public toilet without having touched a single surface. I just can't tell you how much I love this. Really, I can't.
However, having enthused so much about the wonders of being a traveller in Deutschland after just a few hours back in the country, I have to say that things have changed for me a little since I was last here. I've already had moments when I've felt that there was 'something missing'. I mean, Germany is great, the people are super-nice, and the language is the most wonderful collection of sounds ever assembled outside of an orchestra pit***. And being here gives me lots of reasons to smile, whether at the stunning landscape or in response to the smiles I get from locals. But ... and here's the big "but" ... it somehow feels a little lacklustre compared to the intensity of life in the East, and I'm already missing that. Not sure if I could ever go back to this Western life. I just don't think it's really 'me' anymore.
Btw, what you've just read is one reason why I like working (at least now that I'm in a profession which I actually like). If I don't work, there's nothing to stop me from musing endlessly on questions like this ... and if I did that every day, I'd be as mad as a lemon before long.
(What, you don't think lemons are mad? You clearly haven't observed them very carefully. They're all insane! Just try and stare one down for ten minutes or so, and see how you feel after that.)
Ok, time to stop writing. It's been a ridiculously long day, starting at 5am and considerably lengthened by flying westwards through five time zones. Anything I've said in the last few hours can probably be written off as the delirious ramblings of a lemon ... I mean, of a madman.
Bye!
* Can someone please tell me if it should be Am Fernzug"? I can't make up my mind. Thanks )))
** I love turbulence; it's easily the most enjoyable part of flying. Rough descents are especially good )))
***. I realise that not everyone agrees with me on this, but frankly you'll never convince me that German isn't a gorgeous language. So unless you're going to tell me that Russian is more elegant and more tender – the only counter-argument I'm prepared to hear – please just nod politely and let's move on.
The pilot plunges us into a thick soup of cloud that seems to stretch forever. For several rather wonderful minutes we are lost in a turbulent sea of white**, until suddenly – wham! – an impossibly vivid sunset crashes into view. The black undersides of the rain clouds are streaked through with überdramatic crimson, in a scene that would have black metal CD sleeve designers wetting their laced-up leather pants in delight.
This cycle repeats itself a couple of times (disappearing into cloud, re-emerging into the black metal sunset) until finally we are clear, and descending rapidly onto the biggest airport I've ever seen. In fact, it's not just bigger than other airports – it's a whole different kind of beast. In the same way that a whale isn't just a big fish, so the 'Fraport' in Frankfurt isn't just a big airport. It's a colossal City of Planes, with an infrastructure so complex that it makes me think they must employ Einstein's, Heisenberg's and Planck's direct lineal descendants to handle air traffic control duties.
We land and immediately join a long line of traffic, rolling along behind an Air China jet as though the two were cars on a motorway. We pause periodically at intersections, where sleek Lufthansa giants heading away from the terminal appear to have right of way. At one point, I see two of these giants heading diagonally towards each other, one turning at the last moment in obeyance of lane markings that I can't see from where I'm sitting. Not one to be overawed by machinery, but honestly, I've never seen anything quite like this. There are planes everywhere!
We disembark, and after a brief wait in the 'non-EU' line, I'm out in the street smoking, thinking, and preparing to enter the Deutsche Bahn rail network for the first time in nearly a decade.
Ok, skip forward. Everything I wrote above actually happened about two-and-a-half hours ago. On the flight over here I wrote lots of stuff about KZ, about the things I'll miss (and won't miss), and about my attempts to get acquainted with some of the country's further reaches during my third year there. Then I decided to delete all of that, and to put up a 'photo log' at some time in the not-too-distant future.
Instead, let me tell you what's happening now.
I'm on a train to Göttingen, about two hours north of Frankfurt. My flight was a little late, and it took me a while to sort out some 'arrival issues', so I just hope the hotel will be saving my room for me, despite the late check-in.
(Once, while on holiday in Sweden, my ex- Natalie and I lost our accommodation booking because our plane landed two hours late, and the owner gave our room to someone else. The result was a night spent walking the streets of Stockholm with our enormous bags ... nice city, but not a pleasant way to be introduced to it! Since then, arriving late to hotels and hostels has always made me a bit nervous.)
"So, Mr. Nerd ... any first impressions upon returning to Germany?"
Well, yeeeah. Lots of 'em, in fact. Let me share a few, as is my habit.
Firstly, Europe is not 'Europe'. I mean, as I learned somewhat to my horror this evening, the cost of a 90-minute train trip in Germany is roughly equivalent to a decent week's wage in Ukraine. You can easily see where the money is (and isn't) on this continent.
Secondly: if people here need a light for their cigarette, they say (in German, obviously) "Excuse me. May I have a light, please?" Then they explain apologetically how they came to be without their own lighter, and finish with a cheerful "Many thanks". This is a wild contrast to some more eastern-lying countries I could name, where you often get no more than a two-handed 'lighting my cigarette whilst sheltering the flame from the wind' gesture, followed by a grunt of thanks (and the grunt is optional).
I'm not saying that I prefer one to the other – in fact, the economy of Russian discourse is one of the things I admire about it. Russian-speakers can say so much with one or two words, it sometimes makes English with all of its clumsy auxiliaries ("Did you xxxx yesterday?", "Have you been xxxxing lately?") and elaborate politeness strategies ("Would you kindly pass the xxxx?") seem a little absurd. I'm just saying that it's a striking difference, when you come here from a place with a very different 'culture of communication'.
(One thing I want to add, though: "Darf ich Feuer haben?", which translates literally as "May I have fire?", is one of my favourite phrases in any language :-)
This cheerful politeness also extends to any encounter which involves asking for help and information. Germans aren't known worldwide for being effusive, but they're extremely keen to help travellers – perhaps, one could speculate, because they're such a nation of travellers themselves, and so can empathise with the experience of being in a railway station in a foreign country with little or no idea of where to go or what to do next. But whetever the reason, they help you gladly with anything you need to know, and either they're all excellent actors or their cheerful willingness to do all this helping is really genuine. If it's the second one, it's brilliant and I love them for it.
Also, there's the food. This country is full of edibles that don't look like they want to hurt me. Everywhere I look, I see the word "organisch" ... and the place brims with freshly squeezed juices, salads with leaves (a feature noticeably lacking from the former-Soviet diet), succulent pineapples, freshly-baked bread, and other thoroughly wholesome-looking stuff. It seems nothing less than a minor miracle, after having arrived from the Central Asian Culinary Badlands.
Most miraculous of all, though, are the sausages. In Ukraine I was repeatedly warned that under no circumstances should I buy a sausage on the street. This advice was usually offered in the form of a question like "Where do you think all the tramps and stray dogs go?". And when you looked at the sausages there, it took little imagination to convince yourself that the warnings were genuine. So, as a fan of a good sausage, imagine my delight to be in a land where they look not only safe and edible, but actually tasty. My stomach is very happy that we came to this country )))
Lastly, the concern for hygeine here really leaps out at you when you first arrive. A German public toilet experience goes something like this: you go into a pleasant-smelling room and do what you need to, and when you're done, flushing occurs automatically. You then proceed to the sink, where you wave your hand in front of an electronic sensor to receive a generous amount of soap in your palm. A second electronic sensor also awaits your attention, releasing a generous amount of water in response to your hand-wave. You may then choose from a variety of hand-drying methods, all of which are similarly 'remote activated'. And lastly, the doors are usually turnstile gates that respond to forward pressure from any part of the body – a little push from the knee will get you through. So you walk out of the public toilet without having touched a single surface. I just can't tell you how much I love this. Really, I can't.
However, having enthused so much about the wonders of being a traveller in Deutschland after just a few hours back in the country, I have to say that things have changed for me a little since I was last here. I've already had moments when I've felt that there was 'something missing'. I mean, Germany is great, the people are super-nice, and the language is the most wonderful collection of sounds ever assembled outside of an orchestra pit***. And being here gives me lots of reasons to smile, whether at the stunning landscape or in response to the smiles I get from locals. But ... and here's the big "but" ... it somehow feels a little lacklustre compared to the intensity of life in the East, and I'm already missing that. Not sure if I could ever go back to this Western life. I just don't think it's really 'me' anymore.
Btw, what you've just read is one reason why I like working (at least now that I'm in a profession which I actually like). If I don't work, there's nothing to stop me from musing endlessly on questions like this ... and if I did that every day, I'd be as mad as a lemon before long.
(What, you don't think lemons are mad? You clearly haven't observed them very carefully. They're all insane! Just try and stare one down for ten minutes or so, and see how you feel after that.)
Ok, time to stop writing. It's been a ridiculously long day, starting at 5am and considerably lengthened by flying westwards through five time zones. Anything I've said in the last few hours can probably be written off as the delirious ramblings of a lemon ... I mean, of a madman.
Bye!
* Can someone please tell me if it should be Am Fernzug"? I can't make up my mind. Thanks )))
** I love turbulence; it's easily the most enjoyable part of flying. Rough descents are especially good )))
***. I realise that not everyone agrees with me on this, but frankly you'll never convince me that German isn't a gorgeous language. So unless you're going to tell me that Russian is more elegant and more tender – the only counter-argument I'm prepared to hear – please just nod politely and let's move on.
"Im Fernzug" is the right one. :)
ReplyDeleteUnlike yours, my latest Deutschland trek has just further cemented my opinion that that's the country I should have been born in, dammit.
Always enjoy the Ranting, though!
PS: Ah, yes, that first night in Sweden. Thank crap that's an experience I haven't had to repeat. Although Sweden did make up for it RATHER impressively the rest of the week. :D
Hmmm ... hope I didn't give too negative an impression here. I actually LOVED being back, and wished I'd had far more time. Germany is just a great country, interesting and admirable and fun in SO many ways. I'll always have a soft spot for it )))
ReplyDeleteI do think it's true to say, though, that the East has really 'snared' me now. Can't quite imagine going back West (though I might still consider Finland or NZ).
Oooh, and thanks for the grammar advice ... help with prepositions is always appreciated. What evil little words they are!
ReplyDelete