Dependable Deutschland

The greatest luxury that travel affords one is the time to stop and see, hear, feel, smell and taste a different way of life. At home one is endlessly task-oriented, shuttling from here to there, purposeful and always trying to beat the clock. One is never reflective, never in the moment for the sole purpose of experiencing what every second brings as one is when he is away and unencumbered by work and, well, life. 

 That is where I am in time and place, in between here and there, in transit, so to speak, taking stock of where I’ve been and figuring out where I want to go.  And with much gratitude and, hopefully, grace, I give myself time every day to take long breaks from supposedly serious and dramatic introspection (tongue in cheek) and survey the visual landscape for all things amusing and entertaining to write.

 I do so from Deutschland, the land of the blonde and the home of the fair — and the very, very tall. It is quite a shock in many ways coming from sunny Greece and Italy where the tanned men were all about candy-colored shoes and trousers, linen shirts, dark, slicked-back hair and Persols. The first shock of crossing from Bavaria to Vienna or Germany is the temperature, which still hovers around 15 degrees centigrade, so leather jackets and pullovers in staid blacks and grays remain the order of the day and dramatically contrast with the blond hair and light-colored eyes of very, very tall men.

 From the loudness and liveliness of the Italians who speak with their hands and arms as much as their mouths, we meet the even-tempered Austrians, who take their time in talking as they explain themselves patiently, point by point, in sing-song speech. We then come to the straightforward Germans who are mostly about purpose, precision and performance — a turnabout from the Italians who are known for their passion and pizzazz.

 It is curious why I have this visual when I think of German men: the German chef in the Pixar animated film, Ratatouille: the big, buff, blond dude with a buzz cut and a prominent Michael Schumacher-esque jaw saying his famous line, “I keeled a man weed dees tamb,” (I killed a man with this thumb). The actor Dolph Lungdren is my point of reference; I don’t know why. Weird, right? It may be because I find men with strong jaw lines cute. Seriously, the men here in Munich mostly look like Dolph: tall and blonde with jutting jaws. 

 Another noticeable thing is that they move fast. I’m sure the cold weather has something to do with it.  They walk with long, purposeful strides. They hop onto sidewalks and take the stairs two steps at a time — yes, their legs are that long. No hop-along Daisy strolls, no bird watching on lounge chairs, no contemplative faraway looks while sipping coffee in corner cafes — no nonsense, I tell you. They don’t go to a bar or café to kill time. They do so because they either have a date or they need a drink. When they talk to you, they get to the point. Economy of words and economy of movement is their religion. 

 That’s why they’re exceptional engineers. What can I say? They are precise. Everything needs to have a reason for being; every part a contributing factor to a working whole. Nothing ever breaks down in Germany. There are no repair shops anywhere. If you have something German-made, you’ll never need to replace it, even if you’re dying to. 

I’ve had these Paul Greene leather travel shoes for 40,000 years and they’ve seen one too many museums and cathedrals and they simply won’t break down. I’m itching to replace them so I don’t have to live with the guilt of getting another pair I don’t need; but no, they refuse to die.

 Let’s not even get started on their cars and motorbikes. Why did it take forever for them to impose speed limits on autobahns, which nobody follows anyway? It’s because they’re so dang confident that their cars are as safe as armored personnel carriers even at lightning speeds. Do you ever notice how there are no shoulders at the autobahns? That’s because they are dead certain their cars won’t break down. Those you see stalled with flashers blinking are the French and Italian makes — something a German told me, by the way, not my personal observation.

Let’s talk knives. Arguably, theirs are the best. My kitchen knives are German — precision-forged knives made from one piece of especially tempered high carbon steel with superior sharpness that can decapitate Conan the Barbarian, I bet. (I mean Arnold Schwarzenegger, sorry, especially after what he did to Maria Shriver. But I digress.)

What about their beer? I’m not a beer connoisseur but my best friend is and he told me to have a beer on him while I’m here so I take that as a vote of confidence. Anyway, if taste comes up short, the gargantuan size of their beer steins more than makes up for it. But then German beer has a solid reputation for having raised the bar for taste the world over.  They know their hops.

They know their sausages too. They have over 1,500 types of sausages or wurst as they call it. My favorite is blutwurst, which literally translates to blood sausage because it is made from blood with some beef and pork, of course. It’s a taste of heaven, I promise, but increasingly hard to find.

Germans are pleasant company because of their matter-of-fact disposition. They immediately project authenticity because they don’t resort to small talk and flattery. I’ve been wondering why German men seem like a happy lot and I might — just might — have a bit of handle on it. If any man had excellent cars, exceptional beer, delicious sausages and razor-sharp knives wouldn’t he be happy, too?

Man’s primal instinct is to mate, hunt, kill and provide but these have since evolved into other forms in this postmodern age. Man still has the same primal urges but must temper them into acceptable behavior.  With hunting and providing stone-age style eradicated from our daily lives, the element of danger and excitement a man craves has found its expression in sport or hobbies: activities that present danger and excitement in the form of speed and violence among other things. We’re talking fast cars, good food and drink and dangerous weapons. 

It’s not a wonder, then, that Germany produced the likes of Albert Einstein, Johann Sebastian Bach, Ludwig van Beethoven, Sigmund Freud, Johann Wolfgang Goethe, The Brothers Grimm, Keith Haring, Georg Hegel, Immanuel Kant, Franz Liszt, Johann Mendelssohn, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Friedrich Nietzsche, Richard Wagner, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Michael Schumacher to name a few. The older cultural heroes were raised on the world’s best musical instruments, apparatus and education. The latter ones were raised on the world’s best automobiles, weapons, beer and sausages. Well, except for Adolf Hitler. That one must have got a bad sausage.

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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.