Deutschland Schottland

“Maybe someone can help you – if they can be bothered.”

That was the MediaMarkt employee’s damning response to my plea for aid, overwhelmed and just trying to buy myself a German SIM. I admit it must be annoying being addressed in a grammatically insecure, rather mispronounced version of your mother tongue, but after a day of endless admin, this was enough. A tear escaped my eye as I waited for the bus home (not realising that SIM card installation just required sticking an earring into the slot). However, this wasn’t really the bullying I had indignantly insisted to myself it was: it was just incredibly German.

In the run up to there was one buzzword jammed constantly into my head: bureaucracy. “Why are there fifteen thousand steps to everything?” my mother and I have chorused during many long nights filling out Visa forms and module applications. 

Germany had previously been somewhere I’d had short, very structured stays, which made it easy to idealise. A stint working in an East German school in the countryside was greatly helped by the presence of numerous Oxbridge students readily available to debrief each day of teaching together. A summer course in South Germany was an even divide between English class and trips to the ice cream parlour and local pool in 30 degree heat. 

This, however, was the real deal. I began the first day of class waking up at 6:30am — tutorial times aren’t always so kind here — and headed to a classically sterile university building. Upon entry, it didn’t feel much different to a class back in Scotland. In an attempt to prove their bookishness and girl-next-door, romantic lead appeal, myself and other humanities students assume a uniform. A totally unrelated book to the course must be held under the arm, alongside a performative notebook (no iPads), while wearing a slightly quirky jumper and Doc Martens. To the English student romanticising your life, I’m sorry to inform you that you are not as alternative as you think, and in the land of Dirndls and bratwurst, a parallel mob exists. However, amidst this continental group of Ladybird wannabes, I was confused by the lack of professor, who sidled airily in fifteen minutes late. I only later discovered the meaning of ‘c.t’, that professors in Germany can say a class starts at 8, then via this prefix, indicate that they get another quarter hour in bed. Then, once the class begins, it‘s a pretty full on two hours of academic German, sometimes, unhelpfully, with no PowerPoint.

Much of Bonn, where I’m living, resembles a southern English high street: McDonald’s and Primark impose as you exit the main station, with largely the same offerings as back in the UK. A pack of cigarettes at the offy followed by a terrible club is routine. 

Perhaps the reason this is so odd is that it totally conflicts with the view of Germany many people, including myself, have historically held: dirndls with a hefty beer in hand, a diet consisting of sausages and maybe a little sauerkraut (if you‘re lucky), and brass bands whose members huff into trumpets with ruddy cheeks. 

One of my first missions upon arrival was to join a German gym — after all, the endless cheap and tasty beer was already not doing my Bauch any favours. Immediately, I encountered an obsessive, technological fitness world of its own. Each member has a wristband, tracking their every action in the gym. Scores of treadmills surround an inner warehouse space, complete with massage machines and free soda refills, all accompanied by throbbing dance music and instructors barking out instructions. On the walls, cancellable mottos like ´excuses don’t burn calories‘ are inscribed. 

Men in Germany are also a different breed. In the past week, I’ve been asked on an alpine walk complete with wine, been quizzed by another man about how many babies we can have together, and used men rizzing me as German speaking practice a regrettable number of times. 

The Germans just seem to spend a lot more time outside doing, and less time rotting on their phone. Or if they are, it‘s deeply engaged in an actual phone call while idly smoking a cigarette — as three separate women are in this cafe at the time of writing. And you can‘t write about Germany without mentioning the bikes, with every railing in the city bejewelled. Designated cycle paths are marked on nearly every pavement — complete with riders whose speed would fit right into the Tour de France — of all ages. 

It‘s not a surprise that bikes are so popular here, as other forms of transport aren‘t so straightforward. Deutsche Bahn, the main train operator in Germany, is notoriously inconsistent, with trains cancelled or delayed at little notice. As a student, however, it‘s difficult to complain, when the majority of trains are free for those studying here. Plus, upon boarding, it couldn‘t be further from the average UK train experience, with barely any rubbish in sight, and even a double decker format. Anyone desperate to visit the rest of Europe, is not necessarily in luck — from Bonn, at least, the nearest cities are Cologne and Düsseldorf, with Belgium the nearest country. Hoping to visit Berlin? Germany is so unexpectedly enormous that it takes five hours. 

Certain innovations, like the Pfand system, are testament to Germany‘s innovation. Rumoured to be rolled out soon in the UK, every purchase of a drink in a glass or plastic bottle carries an extra charge of a few cents, which can be redeemed by bringing it back to any store to be recycled. Every path of Bonn‘s Hofgarten is littered with discarded beer bottles, or so you might believe — in fact, these will be picked up by the less fortunate in what can be a lucrative enterprise.

Having a beer is not only environmentally friendly here, but cheap too. A brand we would consider fancy and continental in the UK basically costs the same as a bottle of water, so it‘s no wonder that there’s a healthy dose of day drinking in every park. Radler, a light beer lemonade mix, is also pretty popular, and hits the spot after a particularly perplexing German lecture. 

Yes, they’re a little alien in their directness, but Germans just have less time for constant apologising and reasoning as we Brits do. A few more beers in the park could do us some good.

Image from Wikimedia Commons