A brief hiatus

Some of you may have noticed I have been MIA over the past few weeks. Highland Nomad has been very busy moving house and is now installed in the suburbs of Heidelberg (something I swore I would never, ever do) – in an exciting place called Walldorf. You have all heard of Walldorf, right?! Just in case you haven’t, Walldorf is famous for headquartering the world’s fourth largest software company, and is also the birthplace of John Jacob Astor, creator of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and the Waldorf salad. It seems a very quiet and civilized little community, although it is hard to tell as it’s been snowing and very cold since moving here and most Germans tend to hibernate during the winter months anyway.

Speaking of hibernation, I went round to say goodbye to our next door neighbours in Heidelberg  the other day and they said how they had been meaning to invite us over and return our invitation (they came over for drinks two years ago), had “somehow” not got round to doing so (yes, yes, whatever), but that we should organise something for the summer. What is wrong with winter? Kaffee and Kuchen anyone? My guess is we’ll never see them again. It reminded me of other German “friends” of ours, who came over for our daughter’s birthday in January. Upon leaving, they said “see you next year then!” It’s a concept of friendship that I will never understand.  

Back to moving house. Moving house is stressful at the best of times, wherever you live and whatever your circumstances. It becomes even more stressful at 8 months pregnant with a tantrum-throwing-two-year-old-Tochter.  Anyway, the week of our move kicked off with the arrival of two bills. The first one: a yearly tax bill for 700 Euros. It turns out that no matter at which point during the year you sell your flat in Germany, be it January or December, you are still liable for paying the property tax and then claiming this back from the new owners (if you can be bothered with the hassle and probably ensuing court-case battle, that is). Luckily, in our case, this only meant paying one extra month, so Highland Nomad remained calm. The second: a bill for 100 Euros from the Hausverwaltung (house management company) for the role they played in in selling our property. Come again? I did phone up to query what they actually did, but apparently, as always, this is documented somewhere in some contract in the tiniest, tiniest of prints. Highland Nomad huffed a bit and reluctantly paid.  

Next, a phone call from our removal company to say that they could not move us in as planned on Friday, because of the Christmas markets and Walldorf town council would not permit trucks to park in the main street. Our stuff was then loaded on Friday, kept in storage for the weekend, and unloaded on Monday. Picture the coldest weekend of the year so far, with snow, and us “camping” in our new flat over the weekend. It turned out we could have stayed in the old flat over the weekend, because our buyers “forgot” to transfer a third of the money. Not to worry, we thought, this is why we paid an estate agent and a notary thousands of Euros to step in and help us out. No, silly me, once the sale has gone through, the estate agent has no further interest in you or your property. The notary was also unwilling to act on our behalf, so it was up to us to summon our most polite, but to-the-point German and phone the buyers and deal with the bank and interest payments resulting in the late payment. In the meantime, we were dealing with a handover for our new rental accommodation in Walldorf. The family left rubbish in the cellar and even lost one of the front door keys.

Things could definitely only get better. So, once our belongings arrived on Monday and we handed over our old flat on Tuesday, Highland Nomad could finally put her feet up with a cup of tea (wishing it was something a LOT stronger) to celebrate her relief that it was all over (apart from the unpacking), at no longer being a homeowner in Germany and revel in the prospect of never having to attend another Eigentümerversammlung (homeowner’s annual meeting) again in her life. 

Find the chickpeas!

There are an endless number of variations to the “Find the chickpeas” game in Germany. You can replace “chickpeas” with basically anything you are looking to find in a supermarket, or any shop for that matter. The aim of the game is to find what you are looking for; in my case this morning: chickpeas! There is no limit on the number of players, but the game does require patience and time.

My husband and I love curries, so I decided to make a chickpea curry for dinner this evening. For the recipe, I needed two tins of chickpeas. Being pushed for time (I had 20 minutes to shop before my husband had to leave for the airport), I decided to brave the Kaufland supermarket, because in Kaufland I know exactly where to find the chickpeas. Today, however, there wasn’t a chickpea in sight; just an empty shelf where the chickpeas should have been. My curry dinner at stake; the challenge was on.  I had to find the chickpeas.

Let the game begin!

I was convinced there must be someone in the shop, who knew where the chickpeas were. So, the aim of the game was to find a shop assistant, who was 1, willing to help and 2, actually could help.

I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy task, but I was full of energy and up for the challenge. It took me a while to locate some uniformed workers. Finally, in the fruit and vegetables section, I saw two ladies deep in conversation. I approached at my own peril, knowing full well that normally I should allow the conversation to finish before daring to interrupt. But, under time pressure, I approached with caution and politely asked for help.  “That is not our section. Go to the lady around the corner.”

I giggled to myself; this is all part of the fun. Off I headed, in search of the lady around the corner; not sure around which corner, but again, deciphering cryptic clues is all part of the fun. I found her in the cereal section. She looked friendly and at least stopped what she was doing to hear my question. I realized by her hesitant, broken German that she was a foreigner, too, and didn’t have a clue what I was saying or what a “Kirchererbse” (chickpea) was. A dead end after all. But not to worry; it’s still all just part of the game.

My spirits still high, off I went in search of another employee. I found her in the toiletries section. She stopped what she was doing AND she understood the word chickpea. “I don’t know where to find them, but wait a minute.” Off she went and came back with a male co-worker, dressed in a shirt and tie. I had struck gold! He was clearly some kind of floor manager. He informed me that they weren’t stocking their usual brand of chickpeas at the moment. My heart sunk. “But, come with me,” he said, “there are other brands.” Sure enough, it turned out I only had to look behind some tins of green beans and hey presto, there they were – the chickpeas! Game completed in a record 10 minutes!  

And so that’s how you play “Find the chickpeas.” Like I said, it’s a very versatile game and can be applied to just about any shop in Germany. Give it a try for yourself; you’ll be amazed at how much fun you can have!

The stove bonus

It’s official! As of next year, the German government is introducing „Betreuungsgeld:“ a child-care subsidy, known to critics as the „Herdprämie“ (stove bonus). Parents, who choose to take care of their children at home will be entitled to 100 Euros per month in 2013 and as of 2014, 150 Euros per month from the child’s second birthday onwards. Its introduction is highly controversial and has been greatly disputed in Germany; opinion polls, in fact, show that most Germans are actually against it.

Where do I stand? Does it even make sense to go back to work or should I stay at home in front of the stove; which is, contentiously, what the German government seems to be encouraging? As a part-time working mother, with no grandparents nearby and whose distribution of working hours means forking out for a full-time nursery place for her child with a 2^nd on its way; it is certainly food for thought.

On the face of it, 150 Euros per month per child doesn’t seem like much and ultimately not enough to be worth sacrificing even your part-time salary over; 150 Euros certainly isn’t going to pay the rent. That’s what I thought until my husband did the maths. Say you work 75%, earning the “average” German salary: 1050 Euros a month. Once you have paid for two full-time nursery places at 500 Euros each, your salary is already gone. If you choose not to work and stay at home to look after your two children, you would be “earning” 1300 Euros by saving the nursery fees AND receiving the child-care subsidy on top.  Crazy but true. Obviously this doesn’t apply if you are a high-earner and also fails to take into account pension allowance and other benefits.

It remains to be seen what kind of effect this new subsidy will have in Germany, particularly at a time when there is a severe shortage of nursery places. In Scandinavia, where an even higher child-care subsidy is paid, statistics show that mothers have been discouraged from returning to work, especially those who worked or would work part-time.  The statistics there also show that a high percentage of people claiming the benefit are immigrants; arguably those who would benefit the most from integrating their children into schools to learn the language from a young age.

Personally, I still think that the two billion Euros, which is the estimated cost of the new subsidy, would be better spent investing in providing more nursery places for 1-3 year olds. My priority as a working mum will always be spending as much time as possible with my daughter, but I also value having the opportunity to be able to maintain my career; even if only part-time.

It’s official; I am un-officially German

Just for the record, no, I haven’t given up my British nationality. And no, I haven’t acquired a German passport. But at the weekend I did do something that makes me OUG (Officially Unofficially German).

In my books, there are a number of things that one has to have accomplished before one can, hand on heart, lay claim to the OUG status. Here is my top 10, in no particular order:

-          Go on holiday to the Ostsee

-          Eat ice-cream in mid-winter

-          Keep a supply of “Apfelsaftschorle” (apple juice spritzer) in your kitchen cupboard

-          Call your child  “kleine Maus”

-          Drive at speeds of 180km per hour on the Autobahn

-          Partake in a naked sauna

-          Say “Mahlzeit”

-          Only buy German cars and kitchen appliances

-          Throw a dinner party and ask each guest to bring a course

-          Shop for Aldi “Angebote” (special offers) for children

If, in addition to these 10, you also own a Jack Wolfskin jacket and regularly enjoy a “Kaffee und Kuchen” (coffee and cake), you should definitely consider changing your nationality. The only one remaining on my list until last weekend was shopping for Aldi offers for children. And I would quickly like to point out that I do not own a Jack Wolfskin jacket, so no imminent changes of nationality for me.

The Germans are a nation of bargain-hunters and you will often find them checking the weekly offers in Aldi and rushing down before opening to make sure they get what they want. Last week, for example, the offer was a range of ski equipment for children. I honestly didn’t expect anything to be left by the weekend, but I rummaged around, as you do, to find a pair of ski trousers and snow boots for 7.99 and 9.99 Euros respectively. I have my doubts about the quality, but at that price, and given how quickly children grow out of clothes and shoes anyway, I figured I would give it a go to see what all the fuss is about. Many ladies in my office swear by Aldi offers, so there must be something in it. Watch this space!

Everything is forbidden; apart from that, do what you like

“Hey, das ist hier keine Strasse!” („Hey, this isn’t a street!”)

These precise words were shouted at me last Friday by a worker at a local company as I cut a corner on my bike through the company’s property. For the record, the street is open, there are no “no entry” signs and everyone uses it. But, of course, in Germany, a rule is a rule, even if it’s unwritten, and ze rules must not be broken.

There are so many quirky rules here that I just don’t know where to start. I suppose the fact that I now think of so many of these rules as completely normal bears testimony to how Germanised (“eingedeutscht”) I have become.  For example, a “quiet” time (“Ruhezeit”) must be observed between noon and 3pm, after 9pm every evening and all day on a Sunday during which it is forbidden to mow the lawn, wash cars, play loud music, hammer nails, drill, etc. No playing at playgrounds is allowed during the Ruhezeit or after 8pm. I even read once that it’s forbidden to hang out your washing on a Sunday (although nothing has ever happened to me for doing that yet!) There are also lots of rules on rubbish and rubbish sorting – but more on that in another blog.

While out and about, be sure to observe pedestrian zones, cycle paths, cycle down the right side of the road and never on the pathway. Make sure you give way to the right when you are not on a main road. Accelerate off quickly at traffic lights – if you don’t move fast enough, you will be tooted at. If you are breaking a rule or doing something wrong, you will be told. I was once shouted at for parking on the street outside my flat even though I was only unloading my shopping; I was still blocking the pathway for pedestrians. One of the funniest occasions was when my husband was told off for parking up on the curb near the nursery while he waited for me to fetch our daughter, because there were no other places to park. He pulled away, only to see the driver who had complained in the first place move straight into his spot afterwards!

Also, beware that people are watching you; waiting for their chance to report you to the police if they see anything suspicious or think you are breaking the rules. You will sometimes see a face suddenly appear from behind a curtain, mostly elderly faces, watching the comings and goings. The window will then open and they will even just ask you what you are doing (this happened a few times when I was looking for flats and waiting outside for the estate agents to show me around). Somebody once reported a friend of mine to the police for practicing her driving illegally in an empty parking lot. She was fined. Another friend got a phone call from the police to say that someone had reported her scratching another car and driving off without reporting it. My husband’s friend got caught accidentally dropping a piece of paper while taking his rubbish out. Unfortunately, it was a receipt with his card details on it. Someone must have phoned the police, who promptly turned up at his house to give him his fine.

You have been warned!

A breath of fresh air

When I get into work in the morning, I often leave the windows wide open to let some clean air in, particularly if, like today, the sun is shining. There is nothing better than a bit of “Stoßlüften” (hardcore airing) to get rid of any lingering body odour from the day before and to enjoy the smell of fresh air before the influx of colleagues, who take their shoes off and put their Birkenstock sandals on (which they have permanently stored under their desks). Once this has occurred, you know you have had it; the smell of foosty feet once again gradually starts to penetrate the whole corridor. I then leave the windows on tilt, knowing that if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to fully open the windows again when they all disappear for lunch at 11.15am.

This morning, my colleague arrived and I could see the look of horror in her eyes as she caught sight of the dreaded tilted windows. She told me that she had to close them immediately; at the weekend she had slept with the window open and caught a draft: “ich habe mir einen Zug geholt.” (literally I got myself a train) She’s now apparently fighting off a cold and her son also can’t stop coughing. She has since then told this story to at least another two friends on the phone this morning. I’m just surprised that she is actually in the office. Normally these kind of deadly breezes knock the Germans into their sick bed for days. They can also cause all types of problems with your “Kreislauf” (circulation) and much, much more.

Yes, believe it or not, fresh air is dangerous.  All windows (whether in the office, in the car, on the train, etc.) must therefore be shut and the fresh air kept outside where it belongs. “Es zieht!” (it’s drafty!”) is a phrase that you will hear a lot in Germany. Germans paradoxically love the outdoors and fresh air while enjoying an outdoors activity is considered healthy; just don’t allow the fresh air to creep indoors.

Perhaps this is why the concept of (evil) air conditioning has never really taken off over here, despite hot summers. It can get up to 40 degrees Celsius and so on some days the atmosphere in my office is unbearable; imagine sweaty, sticky, smelly bodies and colleagues, who still insist on taking their shoes off. 

The childcare challenge

"So, have you signed your child up for nursery yet?"

At 7 months pregnant with my first child, I literally almost fell off my chair when a friend asked me this question. Say what? No, not yet, I am more concerned about buying cots, car seats, cute outfits, and first and foremost, getting this big baby out of my belly.  Plus I don’t plan on going back to work for a whole year, so surely that gives me enough time to think about childcare options.

“No, really, you have to sign up now and you have to sign up to all of them to secure even the remotest chance of a place. There are waiting lists of at least a year in all nurseries in the Heidelberg area.”

It turned out she had signed her daughter up when she was only 3 months pregnant. For goodness sake, your child has barely been conceived, you definitely aren’t showing yet and you have probably only just started to tell everyone you are pregnant. Are you insane?

Of course, when you are told something like this, you start to think, worry, and panic inevitably kicks in. I definitely want to go back to work, so I need one of those places. One of those places is MINE. I went on the Internet and wrote down a list of all nurseries and their phone numbers. I proceeded to phone them all and get my name on every waiting list there was – for the full day, morning, afternoon, extended morning spots, you name it, I signed up for it.

In doing so, I also tried to find out what my chances were like; still convinced that my friend must be overreacting and exaggerating the entire situation. After being told by several that I was number 150 + on the waiting list or that they couldn’t tell me, because of data protection, or that they generally only give six weeks’ notice if a place becomes available, I finally understood what she was talking about. How are you supposed to explain that to your boss? It seemed hopeless - what a nightmare.

Luckily my company offers a limited number of nursery places in the area and I was fortunate to be given one. This saved me from the fate of other friends, who out of sheer desperation, were forced to literally beg the nurseries for a place by phoning incessantly, praising the nursery staff and facilities; basically doing whatever it took to get one of the sought-after spots. I never took my name off any of the lists and believe it or not, at the time I went back to work, I hadn’t received a single phone call from a nursery to offer me a place. It was only 3 or 4 months later that I was finally offered a few places directly from the nurseries themselves. I know it’s much easier in Spain – imagine the luxury of actually being able to choose which nursery you think is most suitable for your child. I have no idea what the situation is like in the UK.

I fell off my chair again when I found out how much the nursery was going to cost me. There are, of course, state-funded nurseries (but only for single parents, people on income support, etc.), otherwise, you have to pay for a privately-run one. For a full-time spot from 7.30am – 6pm, you are looking at paying between 500 and 1000 Euros (nearer the 1000) per month.

Given that in 2011, the average gross salary in Germany was 28,300 Euros (according to the Bundesministerium der Finanzen), it is no wonder that many German mothers don’t go back to work, because they simply can’t afford the childcare. Take off roughly 40% tax from this amount, divide this by 12 months and you have a disposable income of say 1415 Euros per month. No wonder either then, that the birth rate in Germany is the lowest in Europe; the average person can simply not afford more than one child, if that. Merkel, however, is on the case, and plans to provide more nursery places, so that by 2013, every child between the ages of one and three will have the right to a place; let’s see if she also reduces how much they cost.

Brutal honesty

Germans will very often tell you exactly what they think – and be prepared, it isn’t always what you want to hear. I find it a tricky one to call; on the one hand, I find it almost refreshing that people don’t beat around the bush and there is no such thing as the overly polite superficiality that is socially expected in the UK. On the other hand, the extreme directness and “honesty” here often verges on the rude and there has been many a time in Germany where I’ve been left gobsmacked, wishing I had told the person to shut up and mind their own business.

I’ve noticed that the Germans are particularly frank when it comes to matters to do with children. The question is, is this kind of upfront approach for the greater good of being honest and to help you and your baby or is it just being rude, overly opinionated and downright nosey? One thing is for sure; if you are bringing up a child in Germany, you have to quickly develop some thick skin and learn to appreciate the no-nonsense approach. Either that or it will drive you mad!    

In Germany, it is common for a midwife to visit you every day for the first couple of weeks that you are home with your first child, which I have to say, is very reassuring and a great help. However, I vividly remember the first time our midwife, Ortrud, came to our house and whirl-winded around our home telling us how wrong the set-up was for our daughter; the changing table should have been in the bathroom, the cot along an internal wall for extra warmth, etc. We also urgently needed a “Heizlampe” (heat lamp) for her bedroom, because otherwise she would get too cold while having her nappy changed. By-the-way, it is usually 21 degrees in our house in mid-winter without the heating on.  She also told me I didn’t dress her warmly enough (quote “du bist soo Englisch!” You are soo English!”) or use enough blankets and how silly I was for taking her outside for a walk in the freezing cold mid-January.

One of the first times I did venture outside with my daughter, a bike pulled up alongside the pram. The lady proceeded to tell me that she was a nurse and that the toys hanging from the pram were too close to my daughter’s eyes and would damage them. I think I politely thanked her for sharing her wisdom and knowledge with me (blatantly lying through my teeth and not following her “admirable” honest approach!)

Good friends of ours, who have since left Germany, were also offered some friendly child “advice” from their neighbour downstairs.  According to the neighbour, their baby screamed too much. As an “Erzieherin” (child care worker), she knew when a child was screaming too much and they should really do something about it (as if they weren’t already trying.) 

So, my advice to you all is to grin and bear it. Tell your tale to your other expat friends, laugh and/or blog about it. Wouldn’t life be boring if everyone were polite and nice to you the whole time anyway? 

Mahlzeit!

In Germany there is no such thing as sandwich and crisps for lunch. It is the norm for people to have a “warme Mahlzeit” (hot meal) slap-bang in the middle of the day. For supper, they will have “Abendbrot” (literally evening bread), usually eaten around 6pm and consisting of a few slices of bread, cheese, cold meat, and the ubiquitous gherkin. It struck me as a bit upside-down to start with and it took me a while to get used to a heavy meal during my working day and having to fight off the lethargy that ensued in the afternoon. The idea does grow on you, though, and it is even apparently healthier than having a big meal in the evening, because you have all day to work off what you ate.

A lot of my colleagues go for lunch at 11.15am on the dot. Just for the record, we are not talking brunch or mid-morning snack – no - they actually have their hot, three course, main meal of the day at his time. Preparation starts at 11.10am when you start to hear people shuffling, putting their jackets on, and then walking up and down the corridors saying “Mahlzeit,” This is a common expression – a greeting used around lunch time – to which you answer “Mahlzeit” back. I suppose it can also loosely be translated as “enjoy your meal.” Other common expressions used here to indicate the intention of going for lunch and indirectly asking whether you would like to join are “happie happie,” or “mangiare.”

Why go so early? I’ve managed to come up with a few logical explanations. Firstly, my company is full of computer geeks, some of whom start programming at 7am, so, by 11am half their working day is over and they are understandably hungry. Secondly, my company also has around 12,000 employees here at its headquarters – that’s one hell of a lot of lunches – and therefore also very long queues if you choose your time badly. And thirdly, if there is something popular like “Fleischsalat” (meat salad) or “Kaiserschmarrn” (pancakes) on the menu for that day, then if you leave lunch until the more “normal” time of 1pm, there will be nothing left but reheated noodles from the day before.

Lunches in the company are generally good, despite what my husband will tell you (he is Spanish after all and therefore has higher standards than a Scottish highland nomad.) There is a big salad bar, a choice of three main courses, including a vegetarian option, various “Beilagen” (side dishes), and always two puddings to choose from.  Lunch is also a “geldwerter Vorteil” – a so-called non-cash benefit that you don’t pay for, but that is taxable. I think it works out as roughly 2 Euros a day, so it’s basically free, and boy do computer geeks love free things. Trays are always full to the brim and you will even see people taking extra rolls wrapped in napkins for their “Abendbrot.” You will also see people stuffing their pockets with bananas and apples from the fruit bar, and if there is cake or a yummy pudding, you will see people with stacks of two, three or even four bowls leaving the canteen. No wonder then that there are never any strawberries left for me when I go at 1pm! It is also a well-known fact that people have been fired, because they were caught taking their weekend supplies of salt, pepper, coffee, even toilet rolls, home with them.

Lunch in the company is rarely leisurely. In fact, the main aim is getting the food down as quickly as possible while exchanging as few words as possible.  If there must be conversation, make it about a current work topic and certainly nothing too personal. I would say it takes the average person 20 minutes to complete their lunch and so if you go for lunch at 11.15am, followed by a short walk or coffee, you can be back at your desk with a full belly by midday at the very latest.  At this time, I am still just about starting to contemplate going. Mahlzeit!

Scottish smiles

It has only taken me 10 years, but on Sunday I finally discovered the secret to somewhat breaking the ice in Germany. Yes, I inadvertently worked out a way to get people on the streets to look at me in the eye, smile, laugh, and even stop dead in their tracks to admire. This really is quite an achievement, believe me.

Just to clarify, I wasn’t doing anything to unnecessarily draw attention to myself and no, I most certainly wasn’t walking along the street in fancy dress, drunk, or anything like that. So, how did I manage?

Well, the truth be told, it wasn’t actually anything to do with me. On Sunday afternoon we were invited to our first “proper” children’s birthday party. Dressed for the occasion, our daughter donned her little Scottish outfit (thanks to Grandma) – a red tartan dress, white shirt with matching tartan trim on the collar and the sleeves, matching red hairclip, pretty red cardigan (knitted by her Abu), and very cute little court shoes.  She looked adorable (ok, I am completely and utterly biased) and understandably stood out on a Sunday when most children are dressed in their tracksuits and on their way to the nearest play park. 

I’ve never seen so many faces light up in such a short period of time. There were smiles and admiring glances galore on our brief walk through Heidelberg. Clearly I’d better invest in, or commission some more, dresses and cardigans to cheer up the citizens of Heidelberg on the dark and gloomy winter days to come!

Expat revival

After 10 years in Germany, I like to think that my husband and I are fairly well integrated into German society. We both started off in Germany with a large circle of expat friends from our respective countries. Slowly but surely, however, as is the temporary world of expats, they moved on and left us behind. Nowadays, we both still have our token British or Spanish expat friend, but also a lot of German friends and acquaintances.  

Over the last few weeks though, we have experienced an expat revival.  This all started when my husband met another woman (from Spain) in his pilates class and invited her over – along with her French husband and two kids. We got along well, so have since been invited over to their place for two parties, full of expats our age.

According to statistics, in December 2011, there were a total of 6.9 million expats living in Germany – and the figure is rising. Not surprisingly the biggest group is from Turkey (1.6m) closely followed by Italians and Polish. In Baden Württemberg, foreign expats make up 1.21m of the 10.74m population.  Germany at the moment is particularly attractive (if you are willing to put up with the somewhat formal and rigid lifestyle that is). The economy is powerful, unemployment rate is low, the country is interesting and affordable, the standard of schooling is high, public infrastructure is excellent; all of which allows us expats to enjoy a high quality of life.

The expats we met at the parties were all well- qualified, highly-educated middle to upper middle class people who left their countries not out of economic necessity, but rather because of fantastic job offers with high incomes and attractive relocation packages (school tuition fees paid, etc.) They were all typical expats in the sense that several personal traits united them; they were all very open-minded, welcoming, and genuinely interested in meeting new people and making new friends.

We thought we were international. Suddenly, we were plunged into an environment where mixed marriages were the norm, speaking two languages a necessity, speaking three or more languages, well, pretty ordinary really. We thought our trilingual daughter was unique - until we met a 13 year old Mexican girl, who speaks Spanish, English, German, Chinese and French fluently, because her father’s company relocates them every four years.  I lost count of the number of countries she has already lived in. Next time I meet her, I must ask her where she calls home – everywhere?  

It was fun to be back in a truly international environment.  I don’t think it matters how long you have lived in a foreign country and how integrated you feel; it’s always refreshing to meet people in similar situations and share your similar experiences. 

Trilingual Tochter

The decision to bring our daughter up trilingually was an easy one for us. Having grown up as a highland nomad, I have always been exposed to different cultures and languages and believe very strongly that the gift of language is priceless. It can only make you more open-minded and accepting in the long-term as well as open doors for your future. We haven’t done any research on the different approaches and as yet I don’t have any concerns (these, no doubt, will come later once her language use is more advanced, if we notice weaknesses, if she refuses to speak one or the other, etc.) Basically, she gets Spanish and English at home (one parent, one language) and German at nursery. I am hoping that consistency is the key and, as for the rest, only time will tell!

My daughter is 20 months old and has been attending a German nursery for a year now. She goes there most days from 9 until around 3.30, sometimes even longer, and seems to enjoy it (although she can’t speak yet, so still can’t tell me otherwise!) The only way I have of telling that she is happy is the way she picks up her shoes in the morning after breakfast, marches to the door and bangs on it until we are ready to leave. She then runs to the car and once out the other end, pushes the nursery door open, presses the button on the lift impatiently and then attempts to sprint all the way down the corridor until she reaches her home for the day – the Bienchennest (the Little Bee’s House). Once she’s in the room, she happily turns around to me, gives me her regal wave, says “bye bye” and off she goes. Not every day is like this, but thank goodness, and touch wood, most are and will continue to be.

As I said, at home I speak to her in English and my husband always speaks to her in Spanish; but English is the main family language. We have a competition running on how many words she can say in each and which she will pick up the fastest. I succumbed to a Spanish passport (it was cheaper than the British one – much cheaper – we are talking almost 300 Euros cheaper! I’ll resist the jokes about no-one wanting to be Spanish…), so I am obviously even more determined that she learns English first. Spanish was definitely in the lead – I think it’s a much easier language to learn, in terms of the vowel sounds anyway – and she picked up words like “Hola”, “Gato”, Vaca” and “esto” really quickly. Luckily for me, however, her British grandparents have just spent the week here, so for the time being, English is back in pole position. She now happily says words like bye-bye, hello, car, house, apple, fafafly (butterfly) and papapat (Postman Pat; her favourite cartoon).

The only German words we knew she said were “Nein”, “Meins” (mine) and “Auto”. The word “nein” was one of the first words she said in any language – I’m guessing she needed this to defend herself against the other children in nursery. The funniest thing was that she also perfected the wagging finger to go along with it (definitely from nursery as 1. We don’t say “nein” and 2. We don’t finger wag).

We knew therefore that she spoke the odd word in all three languages and that she understands mostly everything you say to her or ask her to do in Spanish and English. But until yesterday we had no clue and to be honest, hadn’t even thought about, how much German she really understood. We went to pick her up as usual and were standing at the door waiting for her to finish her drink. One of the group leaders turned and said to her “Hol bitte dein Oberteil von der Heizung ab!” (pick up your top from the radiator – so not even the most basic of sentences) and so off she ran to the radiator, picked up her top, and brought it over to me. It suddenly dawned on us that our daughter is trilingual…and that it won’t be long until she understands more German than us!

Turn up naked and shop for free!

How about I give you 270 Euros worth of food shopping to celebrate and promote the opening of my new supermarket?

Sounds great, you say, but what’s the catch?

It’s really simple - the first 100 people to show up naked and shop naked can take advantage of the special offer!

This is exactly what happened in Süderlügum, a town in the North of Germany in June this year. Apparently it was such a hit that the police had to get involved to control the amount of people entering at any one time. 

You don’t believe me?

Read about it in German in the Bild (and see the pictures!): 

http://www.bild.de/news/inland/nackt/gratis-einkauf-wenn-kunden-nackt-kommen-24695332.bild.html

Or in  English on ABC news:

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2012/06/nude-grocery-shopping-spree-turns-heads/

Food frenzies 2 - queuing

The true horror and culture shock kicks in at the checkouts. Queues in supermarkets here are nearly always long and there are never enough checkouts open. You try to choose your queue wisely, but you invariably always end up in the slowest lane. Last week  you thought you had made a good choice of queues, but the two guys in front of you actually divided their shopping pile into four and paid four times, prolonging your agony.

After 10 years sufferance, you have learned that there is no time to be British, i.e. polite and patient at the checkout, or indeed, in any queue, in Germany. You either push in or get pushed out. Don’t hesitate and whatever you do, don’t leave a gap between you and the person in front; there will always be someone who tries to sneak in.  

And that’s when it happens. The loudspeaker rings and informs you that a new check out is opening.  Again, there is no time to ask the person in front of you kindly if they would like to go first. No, this is your one chance to jump the queue and beat everyone else. You ram your shopping trolley into the new lane as quickly as possible with complete disregard to any previously existing lines. 

As you load all your items onto the conveyor belt, you get more and more nervous as you near your turn at the till. You know you will need to execute every move perfectly over the next few minutes in order to avoid a long line of angry Germans (and even grumpier cashier). Bagging areas in Germany are tiny and the speed at which the ladies at the till work is astonishing. Your items are whisked through the scanner and you desperately try to pack all your items in keeping with the cashier’s pace, before you are basically pushed out of the supermarket by the next customer in line.

After years of training, you and your husband have perfected the technique. You no longer fumble for your EC Karte (bank card) in a sweaty panic while trying to finish the packing and balancing the remaining items in your hands. You always pay by bank card these days, as you also know that if you pay by cash you will inevitably be given change – change that is usually slammed down onto a plastic area near the till, complicating the process further, as you then have to pick up all the coins individually and put them back in your purse.

The cashier, who hasn’t once looked up, asks you “War alles in Ordnung mit dem Einkauf?” (was everything ok with your shopping experience), but you can tell she has no interest in hearing your answer and you often wonder whether she would even notice if you said no. 

And so it is all over for another week. The weekend can finally begin. 

Food frenzies 1 - shopping

Finally it’s the weekend! You wake up on a Saturday morning and don’t have to get up, jump in the shower, get your daughter ready for nursery, have breakfast and run out the door to work.

No, far, far worse than that.

It is Saturday and Saturday means weekly food shopping day. You and your husband love food and enjoy cooking, but you both hate your weekly food shop with a passion (unless you go to France, which you try to do as often as possible).   You won’t find any supermarkets in Germany open on a Sunday, so you have no choice but to face up to the fact that it’s either shop or starve. You know you have to be there early or all the fresh produce will be gone (what’s the point in restocking shelves anyway?) and if you leave it any later than say 10am, you will be fighting half the population of Heidelberg for the remainder of said fresh produce. There is also no such thing as online food shopping in Germany yet (at least not for fresh produce.) But in their favour, nowadays at least supermarkets here will accept credit cards, in Rewe they have even started offering cash-back, and the opening times are far better than when I first moved here (back in 1998, they shut at 2pm on Saturday and didn’t reopen until Monday morning).

You and your husband always go food shopping together to provide each other with moral support. There are certain supermarkets that you hate more than others. Your local Kaufland, for example, is also where the local drunks go to buy their beer for breakfast and the first shelf you encounter on entering the shop is stacked with “Hundefütter”. Yes, dog food, really enticing. Nevertheless, you often go there, simply because it’s the closest and most convenient supermarket.

Before leaving, you double-check that you have enough bags to pack your shopping into (it’s either bring your own or pay for them), and that you have a 1 Euro coin for the trolley. You then bite the bullet and off you go.

The selection of brands in Kaufland is limited and if you are looking for more “exciting” products, like curry spices, or even international products like your baked beans or digestives, go straight to a Rewe or an Edeka (more upmarket supermarkets). Alnatura is also a really nice place to shop. Also, don’t expect much selection of meat (apart from everything pork) or a fresh fish counter. The only advantage of a warehouse-like shop, such as Kaufland, is that because there is no choice, you can whizz up and down the aisles, getting your weekly shop done in no time at all.

You are extra careful in the fruit and vegetable section of the supermarket. Under no circumstances must you forget to weigh all your fruit and veg. The last thing you want is to face a long line of outraged shoppers in the queue behind you as you are forced to weigh the celeriac you were convinced was charged by the piece.

After a quick stop to drop off some empty beer bottles to collect your so-called “Pfand” (bottle deposit), which can be as much as 25 cents per bottle (so don't throw any away by mistake!), it’s time to pay.

Pregnant pilates

This evening I started a “Pilates für Schwangere” class (pregnant pilates). There are a lot of good things about being pregnant and having children in Germany and one of them is that your health insurance company pays for a fitness class as long as you attend on a regular basis. Last time I did yoga, so this time I thought I’d give pilates a go. The class just also happens to take place from 5.30pm – 6.45pm; exactly during my daughter’s dinner and bedtime, so a fantastic reason to have a night off per week.

The class was pretty boring really, but although I prefer more active sports like running and tennis, I can see that the stretching and core stability exercises are beneficial for pregnant women and hey, if they make the birth and recovery from birth easier, then I am all for it.  

I had a good laugh during the class as I was reminded of my blog. In fact, the class brought together three recent blog topics all in the one room. 

First of all, surprise, surprise, I walked in to find the teacher airing the room. Then, once she had let enough fresh, cold air into the room, she took off all her clothes and changed into her sports gear. A few minutes later and I still didn’t know where to look as three more ladies joined and also proceeded to strip down to their bra and pants in front of me.  Finally, no one spoke a word. The class has already been running for a few weeks and I was the only new person to join this evening. The only person’s voice I heard before, after and during the entire class was the teacher’s.

I got home and my daughter was still up having her dinner. So much for my night off!

Is silence really golden?

Yesterday I took my daughter to the hairdressers in Heidelberg. It wasn’t the first time she’s had her hair cut – she has already been in Spain twice and in Scotland once – not to mention the crooked attempts at fringe-trimming that I have made. All experiences so far have been successful in the sense that she always leaves with a hair trim of some sort, but on all three occasions, she certainly made life extremely difficult for the poor unsuspecting hairdresser. Last time in Scotland, for example, she wriggled in the chair, shook her head and screamed her head off until the whole experience was over. The 5 minute trim felt like a lifetime to me, but luckily they were very understanding, kind to her and still managed to get the job done.

Nevertheless, I knew I couldn’t really put off having her hair cut for any longer, and yesterday I was feeling brave, so I picked up the phone to make an appointment at the nearest hairdressers. I found a hairdressers that cut children’s hair (with my flat-hunting experience fresh in my mind I was half expecting the response, “no, we are a child-free hairdressers.”) and that cost 16 Euros. A bit steep, I thought (in Spain they did it for free and in the UK for 5 pounds), but I’ll give it a go.

Going to the hairdresser in any country involves a certain amount of risk and trying to explain what you want done in foreign language even more so.  I admit that I also have a going-to-the-hairdresser-in-Germany-phobia and I still always get my haircut at a salon in Glasgow. Partly because I have never been entirely happy with the result here and partly because the whole hairdressing experience there is more enjoyable than here; I get a welcome drink, a free head massage, friendly staff and friendly chit chat.

Yesterday I walked into a completely silent hairdressers; the only noise being the hum of the hairdryer and the only interaction I got was when I explained what I wanted done. There were 2 other clients having their hair done in complete silence and no music playing in the background to hide the fact. The man who cut my daughter’s hair didn’t utter a word during the whole haircut; not a word of encouragement to her, he didn’t ask me her name, how old she is; there was absolutely no attempt at any kind of small talk. My daughter was also clearly stunned into silence, because by some miracle, she sat quietly in the chair for 15 minutes and only slightly grimaced when the hairdresser sprayed her hair wet and brought out the dreaded hairdryer.

Now, I don’t like it when a hairdresser asks too many questions either or if they start telling me their life story, but complete silence in a social situation makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Strike up a conversation for goodness sake; break the ice! Germans famously don’t waste any time on small talk. It is almost as if there is almost some kind of unspoken rule that it’s either a proper, serious, or meaningful talk or no talk at all; especially not with strangers in hairdressers. 

The customer doesn’t come first

I was reminded this morning of why I do most of my shopping these days from the safety of my own four walls.

For the first time in a long time, I decided to venture into the centre of town to get a few bits and pieces, enjoy my morning of peace without husband and daughter, and then reward myself with a coffee from the French bakery. The great thing about shopping in Heidelberg is that everything is so close – you can easily cycle into town, park your bike wherever you need to, and shop to your heart’s content.

My first stop: the material shop. I love the material shop in Heidelberg, because I know I am nearly always guaranteed a certain level of customer service (when they aren’t busy that is.)  The only unusual thing is that I have been in the shop an uncountable number of times and spent hundreds of Euros in there, but they still don’t seem to remember who I am. No smile of recognition, no superficial friendliness for a regular customer. Today I wasn’t greeted with smile or a friendly “Good morning! How can I help you? What are you after today? Oh, what is it your mum is making now?” (That would probably have shocked me more!) But, when I did ask for help, I breathed a sigh of relief, because for once while out shopping, I wasn’t treated as if I were causing the shop assistant some dreadful inconvenience, because she actually had to stop what she was “busy” doing to help me. Imagine that! 

I expect too much? A bit harsh, you say? Perhaps; and obviously there are always exceptions to the rule. But, after so many years living here and being made to feel almost guilty asking for help has taken its toll. Even the girls in my local bakery, which I go to practically every day, don’t even begin to pretend to recognize me and remember my order. The result: I have now lowered my high expectations in order to minimize the number of nasty shocks and resulting anger fits I have when faced with rude and unresponsive sales assistants. 

So, these days even barely satisfactory customer service makes me smile and makes me want to shop more, so on I went. 

Next stop: a wellness shop. I saw from their window that they were offering 25% off their products – what better reason then, than to go in and spend some money. The time was 9:55am and I wasn’t entirely sure if they opened at 9.30am or 10am, but I pushed the door and it opened. In I walked, assuming that if the door is open, the shop is also open. Oh no, silly me. A lady very quickly appeared from the back room and in her most kind and welcoming voice, shouted, “wir sind geschlossen” (we are closed). I felt one of those anger fits coming on. Stay calm and don’t yell. If there is one thing you have learned, it is that it won’t get you anywhere and the grass is not greener in the shop down the road. Shall I try and reason with her that if she opens at 10am, it’s only a matter of 5 minutes or less, and that I do actually plan on spending money in the shop? Shall I make some sarcastic comment and thank her for her friendly customer service? In the end I decided not to waste my time. I held up my hands as if to surrender and left the shop.

I am yet to be overwhelmed with friendliness and excellent customer service in Germany. Until then, I think I’ll stick to Internet shopping. 

Part 3: The Privacy Paradox

The third and final installment of my series on the naked truth about Germany.

I would say that the German nation is more private than any other nation I know – but paradoxically, as you’ve already read, they seem to protect the privacy of everything apart from their private parts.

Privacy law is taken very seriously in Germany; much more so than in the UK, where we have an incredibly intrusive media. Due to historical reasons, privacy law in Germany is one of the strictest in the world. Under the Nazi regime and in GDR times, people were under constant surveillance and faced persecution. The Gestapo and the Stasi used methods that severely infringed people’s privacy and had a terrifying impact on their personal lives. Memories of this are still strong and have a massive impact on people’s attitudes and therefore also privacy law itself. Germany, for example, has 17 official bodies responsible for enforcing data protection; one federal one and one for each of the 16 Länder/states. Both Facebook and Google have faced difficulties in dealing with breaches of privacy here. Google have even abandoned Street View in Germany after huge privacy opposition when they first sent their cars in. Before this, Google were forced to agree to allow German residents to opt-out of having their homes or business pictured online by blurring the images; 3% of households chose this option.

When they first meet you, Germans will make a point of shaking your hand – establishing touch, but at arm’s length. This for me summarizes the German attitude – they will be perfectly polite, but that’s often as far as it goes. Maybe it’s just me, but if I move house, whether it be into a new building of flats or a house, I go and make a point of introducing myself to my new neighbours. The Germans, despite being completely willing to strip off naked and reveal all in a sauna, generally don’t have any contact with their neighbours – or take a long while to establish contact – and certainly don’t go around knocking on doors to introduce  themselves. I’ve been living in my building for almost 3 years now and I still don’t know all my neighbours.  It took at least 6 months before a single neighbour even spoke to me – and another 6 months before we were invited up for drinks (and we speak the language). To this day, I wouldn’t be able to tell you much about this neighbour – they simply don’t reveal much about themselves (just of themselves in the sauna that is) and it is difficult, although not impossible, to establish friendships because of this.

At work, privacy is also rife. I once shared an office with a guy who used to bike into work. He would go as far as changing out of his biking clothes into his work clothes in front of me (and hanging them on the radiator to dry), but otherwise only managed a “Guten Morgen” and “Tschüss” to me all day long. I once tried asking him a more personal question to break the ice. “So how was your weekend?” He looked surprised, looked up briefly, and answered, “Good, thanks”, and that was that. A colleague, who joined the company from Brazil told me a similar story. On his first day at work, he went to lunch with his colleagues. He started chatting and asking questions about their families, and so on. One guy actually turned around and asked him to stop asking such personal questions.

I like my colleagues, but I honestly couldn’t tell you anything about who they are. I now know that it has nothing to do with me and that they are not being rude; they simply like to clearly separate their work life from their private life. Nevertheless, I’m sure that if I were to pop down to the work sauna tonight, I would discover more than I ever wanted to know. 

Part 2: Free body culture (FKK)

A thin metallic rope separates my garden from that of my neighbour’s. If I look to the left, I have a direct view of their entire terrace and part of their living room; not very private at all. My neighbours are medicine students and they often parade their roughly 25 year-old, muscly, gym-toned bodies wearing just their tight boxers outside on said terrace while rubbing suncream into each other’s backs (they both have girlfriends, by the way).  Ok, I admit that I secretly enjoy this.  That was, until a few weeks ago, when I was quietly enjoying my dinner outside with my husband.  I glanced over to my neighbour’s flat and saw my neighbour completely au naturel. Yes, you heard it, in the nuddy. The worst thing about this was that the balcony door was wide open and I could hear him talking to his flatmate as if he were also standing there in the very same room. I resisted the urge to keep my head turned long enough to see if he was also baring all.

Go down to your local gym and you will find changing rooms full of people getting undressed,  dressed, showered, etc. in big, open rooms, all naked, all together. Who needs separate shower cubicles or separate changing cubicles anyway? (Me!) Go to your doctor for an ankle examination and he will ask you to take off your trousers first. Go for a quiet Sunday walk along the river in Heidelberg and you will find unofficially designated areas for naked sunbathers, who take naked showers beside the river. Switch on the TV after midnight and you will be confronted with even more naked bodies.

Germany is famous for starting FKK (Freikörperkultur) – the free body culture movement, which basically boils down to enjoying the experience of being nude, whether in a club, on a beach, pool, park, etc. The first FKK club was formed in 1898 and events, summer camps, even holidays organized according to FKK principles continue to this day, albeit to a lesser extent. According to the Guardian, German nudity is on the decline at a rate of 2% per year due to falling birth rates and increased immigrants coming from countries with strong religious beliefs.

 A few years ago now, I remember hearing about naturist holidays in Germany. FKK has always been more of an Eastern German phenomenon and these holidays catered towards the former East Germans, fondly known as the “Ossis”. Not just FKK in a resort though – FKK im Flugzeug (in the aeroplane), too. Jawohl, they were offering naked flights to Germany’s Baltic Sea (which is also literally baltic by the way, but that is beside the point.) Passengers were allowed to undress once in the aeroplane and dress again on landing. For safety reasons, however, pilots and air hostesses had to remain fully clothed. What a relief.

As the famous German folk song goes, “Über den Wolken muss die Freiheit wohl grenzenlos sein.” Above the clouds (as well as on the ground) in Germany, freedom, it would seem, does indeed know no bounds.    

Part 1.5: Sausage Saunas

Has anyone ever tried a Bavarian Weißwurst? I have and they taste good.

Weißwurst, literally white sausage, is a traditional Bavarian sausage made from minced veal and pork bacon. They are generally eaten as a snack between breakfast and lunch. The sausage is brought to the table in a big bowl together with the cooking liquid (so they don’t cool down too much) and then eaten without the skin. You can literally bite or cut the end of the sausage open and suck the meat out from the skin (or of course be more couth, cut out the contents and eat with a knife and fork). It is usually served with sweet mustard and a pretzel and washed down with Bavarian Weissbier.

Yesterday, the Weißwurst took on a whole new meaning for me. Upon reading my blog post about saunas in Germany, a German colleague told me a story about a visit to her favourite sauna last week. It made my day and so I have to share it with you all, hence part 1.5.

In her sauna, they are offering Oktoberfest specials.  It is the season of the Oktoberfest and perhaps they offer you a free beer after your sauna, you think? Oh no, far, far more than that. Read on.

The Aufguss (infusion) – so, essentially, the scent of the sauna, was Weißwurst: made from the water the sausages had been cooked in along with some rosemary and thyme. The guy responsible for pouring the infusion over the hot coals was also naked, wearing only a Lederhosen apron. Apparently he entered singing Nena’s 99 Luftballons song and then during the whole infusion, Oktoberfest party songs were played. So what happened to the sausages they cooked in the water?  Here is your answer: they were served up after the sauna to the naked sauna goers.

I have eaten lots of sausages during my time here, and I am a big fan, but I have never, ever eaten a sausage naked. Give me a few more years here and perhaps I will be converted, just like I was with the "normal" sauna. My colleague assures me it was a “special” experience. Even for a German.

Part 1: Anyone for a naked sauna?

1998: I am British and I don’t do naked.

My first experience of a German sauna was in 1998 while on a group skiing trip in the alps. I went along with my fellow British friend in our swimsuits. Clutching our towels, we opened the sauna door and walked in. “Keine Badeanzüge in der Sauna – Textilfrei,” (no bathing suits – textile-free) came a voice from within. Of course we had heard that German saunas are naked, but I suppose we still had a vague British hope that we would be able to “choose” whether we went in naked or not.  No, it was strip off or get lost. We giggled, turned red (and not from the heat of the sauna) and made a run for it. At that point in time the thought of being squeezed into a small hot room of nudity with the rest of my ski class including my ski instructor was too much to bear. The trick is not to look, my German friend said. Nobody looks. Yeah right. How could I possibly look my ski instructor in the eyes with a straight face on the ski slopes the following day after that? A German sauna is all about health and relaxation, my friend said. It’s not sexy (no, definitely not); there are all kinds of body shapes and sizes, male and female in the sauna. It’s just bodies at the end of the day; naked bodies = normal. I was not convinced. It took me years to pluck up the courage to go again. And this time not in the alps and not with my skiing class, but with my boyfriend in a sauna far from home and full of people we had never met before and would, hopefully, never meet again.

2012: I am a German sauna convert – a veteran to the whole experience.

Well, almost.

I go to my mum’s spa club in Scotland and laugh almost condescendingly at those who go to the sauna and steam rooms in their bathing suits and don’t shower down the surface they were sitting on afterwards – how unhygienic! Do they not know that it is unhealthy to block the skin? The idea is to allow the toxins and sweat to release from your body. Put a bathing suit on and all you do is overheat.

However, I say almost, because I do still draw the line at a sauna experience with my in-laws, friends and in particular, work colleagues. Yes – at my company, we have two sauna rooms and whereas usually the sessions are mixed, you can sign up for a female or male only session. Sign up? Yes. There is an intranet page where you can actually reserve your place in the sauna and declare your intention of going to the sauna on a particular day at a particular time to anyone in the company who cares to look. Why on earth would you risk meeting someone you work with directly or worse still, your boss, in the sauna? I’ve even heard of colleagues going on team building trips and then spending the evening in the sauna together. The mere thought horrifies me.

How should one sauna? Obviously this is up to you; but it is said that in order to maximize the benefits, you should stay in the sauna for 12-15 minutes a session. You can then take a cold shower, relax on a lounger and then repeat the process as you please. There are of course also certain rules that should be obeyed to avoid the scorn of the sauna-ing Germans. For example, be sure to enter or leave the sauna quickly and not to leave the door open for long. Put your towel down on the wood and do not allow your skin to touch it – not even your feet (skin oils are bad for the wood apparently). Also, try to avoid entering a sauna during an “Aufguss” – infusion – these are scented oils in buckets of water that are poured over the coals giving extra heat to the sauna.

So, do as the Germans do and leave your modesty (and all of your clothes) behind in the changing rooms. Once you get used to it, you will never look back. There is nothing better than a naked German sauna – particularly during a cold, German winter. 

Local festivities of the non-reunification nature

The Germans have a saying “Man muss die Feste feiern, wie sie fallen”, which basically means celebrate whenever you get the chance.

Last weekend was the annual “Heidelberger Herbst” festival (Autumn Festival) in the centre of Heidelberg and I really enjoy it (or at least used to enjoy it – dragging a one and a half year old around packed streets just doesn’t have quite the same appeal.) Festivals are something the Germans do well; they love their festivals and September/October time in this region is jam-packed full of them. Apart from carnival or the classic Oktoberfest or Love Parade that everyone knows, every little town around here finds an excuse to whack out the Bier, Wein, and Bratwurst stands.  And in Heidelberg’s case last weekend, the Federweizen and Zwiebelkuchen (new wine and onion cake). Lecker, lecker. Yum, yum.

There is something for everyone at the Heidelberger Herbst; live musical entertainment, an artisan’s market, a medieval market square, flea markets, face-painting, etc.  for kids – no excuse just to install yourself at one Bier and Bratwurst stand all day long.

The other festival I enjoy at this time of the year is the Kastanienfest (Chestnut Festival) in Edenkoben where you really can sample everything chestnut – chestnut sausage, chestnut burgers, chestnut Saumagen (stuffed pig’s stomach – bit like a German haggis) or just have a bag of roasted chestnuts accompanied by a local Riesling or Sekt.

My third festival of choice is the Spargelfest (Asparagus Festival) in Schwetzingen, which takes place in  May.  Here you can sample the traditional local white asparagus with hollandaise sauce, have an asparagus schnapps or taste some asparagus chocolate. Have you ever seen an asparagus-shaped chocolate? Either let your imagination run wild or run a quick google.de images search typing in “asparagus Schokolade” and check out the first two pictures that appear. Then imagine the look of horror on my friend’s colleagues’ faces in Scotland when he took them some back after a trip over here.

There are many more. Not to mention, of course, the world-famous “Weihnachtsmärkte” or Christmas Markets, but more on that one nearer the time.

Where are my German reunification fireworks?

Once the Berlin Wall fell on the 9^th of November, 1989, Germany began the process of reunification and the official treaty was signed in 1990. Die deutsche Einheit (German unity) is celebrated on the 3^rd of October every year with a public holiday. It isn’t celebrated on the day the wall fell, ironically, because this just happens to also be the anniversary of the first large-scale Nazi-led pogrom against the Jews in 1938 (the Kristallnacht), so was rightly considered an inappropriate date for a national holiday.

I usually enjoy going to the odd German festival – and festivals is definitely something the Germans do a lot of – so a few years ago now, I looked into what kind of local celebrations I could attend. I couldn’t come up with anything. Why don’t the Germans celebrate their day of unity in the same way as the Americans on the 4^th of July, for example? It seemed odd to me. I learned that there is a big official celebration that rotates every year – this year it took place in Munich – but otherwise no flags, no parades, no fireworks, no celebrations on a more local level. The nearest the Germans get to a national festival it would seem is the annual Oktoberfest (which once you have experienced once, you want to steer well clear of for the rest of your life.)

Ask a German why there are no celebrations and you don’t get any clear answers – they don’t know (or won’t say.) Is it really indifference to their country becoming one again? Are they silently protesting against the “Solidaritätszuschlag” or “Soli”? I doubt it. This is, by the way, a reunification tax introduced in 1991 to help finance the reunification. I pay around 18 Euros a month on this tax – and there is no way of opting out like with the church tax. So, what is my money being spent on and why isn’t my being spent on some pretty fireworks? Over 10 years of work here, I roughly calculate my contribution at 2500 Euros worth of reunification tax. Multiply that by some 80 million Einwohner and you get a sizeable sum. So, again, some pretty fireworks would be nice, please. Or even a free Bratwurst would do me.

Perhaps the fact that my money isn’t being spent on fireworks or Bratwurst can be put down to the fact that the average German is still very hesitant about displaying any kind of national pride. A lingering sense of shame and difficulty coming to terms with the past (the so-called Vergangenheitsbewältigung) alongside the simple fact that it is always hard to attach a specific date to a reunification and it is ultimately a process that will take years to truly achieve probably all go some way towards explaining the non-existent fireworks. I did have a brief glimmer of hope of finally getting my fireworks when Germany hosted the World Cup in 2006 - it was nice to see the Germans regain some form of “healthy” patriotism; showing the world they were proud to be German. Clearly not enough patriotism, however, as several years later, still no fireworks or Bratwurst in sight on the 3^rd of October.

Does anyone else have a logical explanation for the lack of celebrations? In any case, we (and I’m sure I speak on behalf of all Germans when I say this) remain grateful for the extra day off work – long live a reunified Germany.

Handing in Your Notice (on a flat)- the Kündigung

My first flat as a young professional in Germany was shared with another girl who was studying law. It was a conscious decision – I wanted to live with a German to improve my German and coming straight from university, I was used to living in shared accommodation. I knew I had to move out when over the course of several weeks, the buzzer started ringing at all hours of the day and night. I heard voices; lots of different male voices, giggling. One evening I got home around 5pm, tired after a hard day’s work. All I wanted was a cup of tea and to watch some TV in peace. I turn the key and shut the door behind me. I see a pair of shoes; male shoes.  A pair of trousers.  A shirt. I get to the entrance of my room and I find underwear that I have to literally climb over in order to get into my room. The trail continues all the way to her bedroom. Thank goodness they weren’t in mine, I suppose.

So I handed in my notice or “Kündigung”. In Germany, you have to give 3 months’ notice to your landlord that you want to move out and do so by sending an official letter.  Otherwise you are still liable to pay the rent or find someone else to move in after you – a so-called “Nachmieter.” I wrote the letter, got a colleague to check my German and posted it using good old Deutsche Post. I then moved out and the landlady (lawyer student’s mother) verbally promised to transfer my deposit to my bank account.

Two months later I received a threatening letter with lots of capital letters, exclamation marks and bold print from said landlady stating that I still owed her rent, money for bills, etc. because I hadn’t moved out the flat. Help! I am only 21 and this is my first really serious confrontation in German, in Germany and I know nothing about the law here or my legal rights. Little did I know then that it would not be my last …

I was advised to go to the “Mieterverein” – a tenants’ protection union and learned that problems with landlords are a common occurrence in Germany. They will literally try anything on given half a chance.  Surely there was no way she could get away with this though? She was wrong – I was right! Is there no justice in Germany? Put bluntly; no. Resistance is futile. I was essentially guilty until proven innocent.  

The “Mieterverein” were very friendly and very sympathetic and once I paid my yearly contribution of around 70 Euros, they wrote a few letters on my behalf. This probably saved me from a court battle (I had no legal insurance anyway) and meant that I ended up “only” losing my deposit and not having to pay her any additional money.

Why did I lose? Well, I learned that my beloved Deutsche Post provides not just one, but three different registered post services:

 “Rückschein”: someone has to sign on receipt – this can be your neighbour, literally anyone, who picks up the letter on your behalf

“Eigenhändig”: the letter is only delivered to the addressee, who then also has to sign for it

“Einschreiben Einwurf”: nobody has to sign – it is simply documented that the letter was delivered to the addressee’s letter box

Apparently, the only option that would have stood up in a court of law in my case was registered post “Eigenhändig”. Otherwise I could say what I like; I had no proof I had actually handed in my notice.