Every summer, during my annual obligatory trip to visit my family and friends, I happen to fall in love with Germany all over again. I don’t know if it’s simply the nostalgia involved in seeing places where all my childhood memories were created, or if it’s the Germans’ politeness, traditional food and the way they drink beer as if it’s water. Perhaps it’s the way they can talk just as passionately about cars and technology and politics as they would do about their recent purchase of Levi’s jeans in an outlet shop and their previous appointment at the dentist. Germans seem to have an ability to talk equally seriously about absolutely anything, because why waste time on discussing something that’s not of high importance?
After having lived abroad for six years, I find myself moving further away from identifying with the German part of my nationality. Their sense of humour, which some might argue is pretty much non-existent, has become the catalyser of me laughing in a fake and nervous manner. Not necessarily to please anyone and try to fit in, but rather to say Yes, I got the joke, and no, I didn’t exactly find it funny but I’m trying to integrate into German culture again okay. You can say a hell of a lot of stuff just by laughing synchronically with other people. It’s just like an act you play together. It’s teamwork. We’re playing tennis, and I don’t want anyone to lose because of me.
A couple of days after participating enthusiastically in their infamous drinking culture and adapting to their drinking-sleeping pattern (which basically means you compensate for the time you spent drinking instead of sleeping by being accompanied by your bed and some Ibuprofen for at least eight hours, only so you’re able to do it all over again) I actually started to see the world in black, red and gold again. Other supportive contributors less harmful to my liver were surprisingly enough, and this is going to sound stupid, songs that you usually only handle to listen to when being stupidly drunk. Which is, as a side note, basically every German’s summer in Mallorca or Ibiza in a nutshell. We weren’t in Spain and neither were we drunk, but man, was it fun to scream that three word lyrics while passing other cars on the Autobahn.
“Hey! German pop culture isn’t actually that shit after all” Was my immediate response when we had only been into a couple of minutes and a few dry jokes of Der Nanny. “Damn, that Mathias Schweighöfer reminds me that not all German men have beer bellies and wear Lederhosen 90% of the time” being my second thought after I saw how sexily Schweighöfer played his role of a rich and arrogant, overwhelmed, single father with a pool full of expensive fish that could pay for a year’s rent. My belief based on personal experience that pop culture can help one to integrate themselves or feel more connected to a country’s identity is something I’ve explained more thoroughly, sprinkled with the usual amount of attempts at witty jokes, in a previous blog post a couple of months back. So thank you, films of Mathias Schweighöfer and Till Schweiger and everything else that my best friend Lisa so kindly made me watch. No matter how much I made fun of her favourite show ‘Tüll und Tränen’ (= Tulle and tears”).
I spent the third week of my German holiday at my Grandparent’s in Sachsen. ‘Grandparents’ being spelt with a capital G because that’s the least my Grandmother deserves for her excellent cooking and ability to make us all have breakfast at 8 am, and my Grandfather for his Sahara-dry jokes that are still as funny as they were back when I was eight years old. We did what we always do, which involves going for a swim, having oh-so German meals that somehow always result in political debates and discussion of some kind, drinking alcohol every afternoon as if that’s the norm and of course putting oil in our salad, because the only time salad cream, or rather mayonnaise, is an acceptable ingredient in a salad is when making potato salad, which we, of course, also had.
So after weeks of eating and drinking, which is all I do when I’m in Germany, I eventually made it to my last destination. To describe it all as romantically as I can, Udrzyn is a peaceful place where dogs dominate the streets and chronically drunk, although harmless, farmers can be found in front of the place’s only shop at any time of the day. One might put it in a more poetic way, but it’s really just a village isolated from civilisation, with gossip and chickens sprinting funnily being the main source of entertainment. There’s not much else to do there than to think about the probability of anyone being able to become an alcoholic there, if only staying long enough, completely disconnected from society without any properly functioning Wi-Fi connection. However, if you really want to find yourself or get lost in reading three books a week (because trust me, you will do) then this is the perfect place for you. And the ice cream, that was basically my 8 year old Self's main source of food when we visited Poland, is super cheap. So there's not much to complain about, really.
After all, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve had some wonderful weeks away from what has become my daily life in England. Oh how I enjoyed the privilege of doing absolutely nothing all day without facing any consequences other than the horrifying thought of having wasted hours of my life I’ll never get back. My liver and brain, and whole body if I’m being completely honest, are slowly recovering from the excessive amount of alcohol and carbs and inhumanly large lack of sleep, and it feels like I’m finally ready to start getting back on track again. After all, I realised I couldn’t live that Utopian Summer Life forever, neither would my liver survive it, but I can’t wait to do it all over again.
Auf Wiedersehen, Deutschland. Bis bald.