Woman in a gilded Cage

Now this was an unusual take on the debate of working women. “Stop the government from forcing our women to abandon their children during the first three years of their childhood by making them go back to work.” Huh, are these people in Germany?

In Germany you can receive up to three years financial government support if you decide to stay home with your Baby during its first three years of life. Parents (yes, even the guys) are encouraged to take time out with their kids, if they want to. Your Employer, although not paying you wages during this time, cannot fire you. Your job should be waiting for you when you get back.

On the other hand many families that need to and want to return to work lament the lack of adequate facilities for their youngest and many and expensive solutions are being offered my companies themselves to allow family life and a career to be possible for both men and women. It´s generally accepted that employees, that are well-trained and gifted, should be given many incentives to return and stay with their companies as long as possible.

That is what is happening and then this leaflet? Government forcing women back to work? Maybe I should mention that this leaflet found its way into my mailbox during the current election campaign and is a political flyer distributed by those who should not be named, but must, the NPD. They are what remains of a once massive movement that promised “The Third Reich” and ended in Tears for the whole world.

Oh, them.

And it is interesting that the statement apparently is made by one of their female representatives. (Imagine steam coming out of my ears at this point.)

The fact is that german Government likes the women to stay at home at the hearth and have done many things to ensure that they stay where she could not be a competitor for precious jobs. After WWII she was. Men were being wasted in the war, but the “home front” needed to keep on working, so women had taken  over the jobs that had been dominated by men until then. Ironic that the war did so much for women´s lib. But this had not been the plan and the backlash came during the Fifties for many women and not only the German ones.

My italian grandmother, who had organized food where there was none, in “Rome Open City” and was twenty during the twenties, found herself reprimanded when her knee showed under her dress. It was unsuitable that she should run her own business, as this somehow implied that her husband was not able to provide enough for the family.

The truth of course was a little more complicated. Men, returning from war hardships, needed jobs. So women were told to go home. The fact that they had proven they were not the weaker gender after all, was suddenly irrelevant.

Germany gilded the cage in the course of the years. Elterngeld, Kindergeld – money paid out by the State to Stay-at-home-Mums made it financially viable to live off one income only and have children. That women were giving up careers, higher incomes and in the long run higher pensions was partially compensated with tax exemptions for families and recognition of family time as payment into your pension scheme. All seemed well and dandy.

But the truth is a lot of Women like working, if they can establish their own career. The truth is a lot of Women are better Mums if they can. The truth is Women always have worked and Women deserve to have the choice where they work, at home or outside of the home. Oh yes, I have met  “The Mum” too. Great ladies that educate and nourish their kids, plunge themselves into school commitees and find total fulfillment in making a home. They are happy with their choice. But too often I have met women who were trying to live that ideal and found that it worked for them as little as it does for most men.

They pick at the lock of the gilded cage.

I have met ladies in other countries that reacted enthousiastically to the news of Elterngeld and Kindergeld. WOW, they said. It would be nice to take break, but if they had to choose, they declared they´d rather have the career.

That´s a difficult choice for a woman in Germany, even today. With all these financial incentives to stay at home who wouldn´t. It must be a Rabenmutter, that doesn´t really care about her kids. Why did she have them in the first place?! She should be worried about her bedsheets coming out of wash in the brightest of bright whites rather than establishing a career. Who cares for her personal fulfillment other than that of being a mother! Yikes…

Guilt can be quite unsubtle. It´s purpose less so.

Indeed a lot of women put off having children or decide not to have them, when they want a career. They choose university courses that suit their future family plans and not their personal talents. So much that the lack of women in the engineering and science fields has been noted and of the women that do study in these subjects, the numbers that actually go on to work in these fields is sad. I realized how used to this concept I was, when I was surprised how many young french female engineers I met in an international environment. Why was I surprised they were Engineers?

I come from a family that moved several times and I have three siblings. My mum stayed at home most of the time, but I know she would have liked to work outside of the house more. She had a great time when she did and worked for interesting people. I know she liked that learning never stopped, even though she had to leave school early due to financial considerations. Maybe if we had stayed in London, where all-day schools are in place, she could have returned to work. But we came to Germany and my parents decided we should attend local schools so we could integrate into our environment. But schools run only half-days and hours were and still are irregular and my Mum paid the price of the Stay-at-home Mum, as so many women still do. Unless you are so strapped for cash, that there is no other option than making your kids a Schlüsselkind (child that carried his house keys with him, comes home to empty house and makes his own lunch), mothers opt to be at home whenever their child returns from school.

Would you risk being called a Rabenmutter?

@Francesca

 

Rabenmutter – Apparently the Raven gets a bad reputation for neglecting its chicks from some bible passages. They are wrong. Ravens do not neglect their chicks.

German Health Care through my Window

I might have mentioned before that I grew up in Germany.  I live german style.

One way of german life is to always have health insurance. I left my parents insurance when I became a student and immediately signed up to a german “public” insurance. I walked into the nearest office, showed them a passport and my student documentation and walked out signed up to a cheap student rate within an hour. Nobody asked me about any history of illnesses in the family or my own. If I ever wanted to change my insurance now, the fact that I had two caesarians would be irrelevant and my payable rate would be based on my income and not my current health status or age or likelyhood of illnesses as long as I stick with a public option, of which we have several to pick from.

Whenever I go to a doctor I show him my card, they pick up my details from the chip on it and I never see a bill or have to worry about the expense. Small charges on medicines or doctors visits for adults might occur, but we are talking in the range of 10 or 15 Euros.  Something negligible, when compared to paying the full price, yet something the public has accepted only grudgingly and is hoping will not last. This summer the monthly fee for our insurance actually went down, so savings the insurances make are passed on to us.

Over the years the insurances have developed many programs and incentives to improve the health of their insured and reward those clients that go for regular check ups by reducing the fee. Overall being healthier and catching illness early on can bring down the cost for healthcare, benefiting all, because this money can be used for other health issues.

While following the recent health debate in the USA I came across the excitement about end of life discussions. I asked a friend if we had similar provisions and where I could sign up for such a program. It turned out she had done it herself. All it meant is that she talked to her doctor about her own personal choices, put them in writing (a document with helpful questions is available) and left a copy with her doctor and children. She wanted to have control over what happened to her in a moment when she might not be responsive and at the same time be able to spare her loved ones the additional anguish of having to second guess her wishes.

This is, she does have a private insurance and they offer many of the features a public health insurance offers, except that they will charge a little more for pretty much everything more than basic. So if you are not younger than 30, healthy and male, expect to pay more and as you grow older, more and more and more. Surprise! It is private after all and they care more about the money than you. Private Insurances are a thriving business in Germany, because there are so many, many things you need insurance for (your car, your house, your trips, your tendency to break other peoples things – PLENTY – they don´t need health insurance to do well and drive around with fancy cars, which I paid for…. Grunt!).

I was able to take advantage of the social side of the system when I was temporarily unemployed. My insurance offered a reduced rate. This arrangement was  available for a limited amount of time. It ensured though that I was still paying into the system, while staying healthy and once I had a full time job again, my premiums automatically were adjusted to my earnings. They stood by me and I am a faithful client since 30 years.

Another very pleasant part are the regular check ups you are expected to make for your children. Until they are teenagers you are encouraged to bring them in at specified intervals to evaluate their development, catch problems early on or simply provide peace of mind. These visits are always voluntary, but many parents subscribe to the idea that better one doctors visit too many than one too few. (See Truegermans blog entry last week –  children are insured for free in the public option)

I know the system is not perfect. My personal grudge is that they are peevish about including homeopathic treatments. But a lobby of patients exists and people are making their opinions and positive experiences known to the insurers, so progress has been made and more will be made, if slowly. We could have single payer, but I´ll take this one in the meantime and enjoy that system when I am in England.

It is believed that a percentage of 0,25 of the population have no insurance due to varying reasons. But “Germany” believes that leaving them to their own devices creates more problems than if solutions were found to integrate this last pocket of insuranceless individuals. Since last year it has become obligatory to be insured and if you should have lost insurance due to extremely hard times the government is forcing insurers to provide affordable rates. Should you be uninsured because you were avoiding to contribute to the pot and expect the rest of us to pick up the tab and pay it from that said pot, well those days are over.

5 Million of the 85% of the population could choose to switch to a private insurance, as they are wealthy enough, to afford paying their own way. But they stay in the public option, although they would be paying cheaper monthly premiums for each individual (No children included. They need their own insurance). Why? Maybe, like me, they were not always that well off and their insurance stood by them. They didn´t forget.

And I have always felt safe. I never wondered if myself or my children should fall sick, if I would be able to afford treatment. I have never had to pay a bill up front, as they go straight to the insurer, saving everybody time and bureaucratic messes, providing myself a lot of peace of mind.

A worry, a big worry less, which is good for my mental health.

For the rest I hope just to keel over on my keyboard one day.

@Francesca

Useful Links:

http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gesetzliche_Krankenversicherung

Versichertenstruktur

Etwa 85 Prozent der Bevölkerung in Deutschland sind bei einer der gesetzlichen Krankenkassen versichert.

Versicherte der gesetzlichen Krankenversicherung in Deutschland. Stand 1. Juli 2006

• Gesamtzahl: 70,2 Millionen; das entspricht 85 % der Bevölkerung
  • Pflichtmitglieder: 28,6 Millionen
  • Kostenfrei mitversicherte Familienangehörige: 20,0 Millionen
  • Rentner: 16,9 Millionen
  • freiwillig versichert: 4,8 Millionen^[12]

http://www.g-k-v.de/gkv/  Information in German about public option

For your Info: Once you have chosen a private option it is not so easy to switch back to a public option. A lot of foreigners coming here, thinking they will stay for only one year, decide for the cheaper private option. Ten years later, married and with kids and still in Germany, they wish they had thought long term. Some friends this happened to swear as well that the private insurer never mentioned they could not switch back so easily, au contraire.

 

NO I am not advertising for these guys, but they were the only ones that have a really good english page on german health insurance (they do have a very good reputation though  – so I feel confident their info will be reliable):

http://www.tk-online.de/tk/tk/english/the-right-choice/156480

Here´s a story that makes me think our system ain´t half bad:

http://www.themudflats.net/2009/09/20/welcome-to-the-death-panel/

I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike

Last week was the first time in two months that I met my writing friends. I was pleasantly surprised, as usual, how easy it is to get back into the routine of writing on command, during our freewriting exercise. Afterwards I declared, “You never forget how, just like riding your bicycle.”

Well my Truegerman, before I continue, I have to clear up a leeetle misunderstanding. I wanted to write about health insurances, but as we agreed to do that next week, I stick to writing it next week. That is something I learned in Germany. Stick to it. It´s okay to be rigid. But as you, dear Truegerman, have been hanging around with foreigners (like me) too much, you have become very, very flexible. Well, maybe you already were before, but hanging around with us made you happy to use that skill! So here I am without my healthcare story and just my bike. That´s it.

I remember the first time I had a bike that was all mine. I´m the third of four children and that means hand me downs most of the time. It also meant that when I received something that was brand new, that was very special and nice.

In my case it was a bicycle I desired.

My dream came true in the shape of a speed bike, light blue, with ten gears that were all the rage 25 years ago. I rode that bike as if it was Rolls Royce, a beauty among its kind, sparkling in the sun because I even cleaned it!

I loved riding it everywhere: to school, to my friends houses, all over town. Nothing was too far. I was happy if it took me an hour to get somewhere. I rode it in the pouring rain and had to dry out in class. I felt independent.  It also was the only “sport” that I could take up without working too hard on perfecting it. Just hop on the thing and take off. No special skill required. No years and years of sweat and toil on style and class. You can just do it. Perfect for Ms. Unsporty.

I felt independent and accomplished when I rode my bike. I didn´t have to wait for the streetcar, ask my Dad to drive me or dish out my few cents on ever more expensive tickets. While riding I loved mulling over my thoughts or just looking around and enjoying what I saw. I liked rides on smooth wood paths, in clean air, with the wind pulling my hair back, giving me a sense of speed. There was no competition, just movement and feeling really alive. I would plan my trips so I could avoid main roads and get to anywhere surrounded by as much green as possible.

While I write this I realize that I still love doing that.

A friend told me she knows how happy it makes me to accompany my son to school on the bike, when she sees me there. I must admit that in those moments  I am usually extra happy because I am not getting stressed sitting in a car, snaking my way to the school in the daily traffic jam and having to figure out how to drop off my sons in relative safety. I feel like quite a bicylce snob and in my head I am writing articles for the schoolpaper about the many advantages of riding bikes in Frankfurt, even in the worst of weathers and imagine sticking signs on my tires that would read “Ride your Bike”  or “It´s just water” as they turn and I coast past the crawling cars. I never do. I keep the snob under lock and key.

And then there was a moment about two years ago. I felt  melancholic and the day was misty and gray. I rode my bike through the park, where the world did not enter with its noise. The weather muffled it. I felt the morning mist on my skin, breathed the cool air and felt that riding through the fog was as if you rode through a cloud. I was alone in the world and all that worried me would have to wait and faded into the accompanying fog. It was okay to feel melancholic, when you felt so alive at the same time.

Most times we ride our bikes to move us from point A to point B. Or we want to exercise and build muscle or be the fastest person on the block. But that day I experienced the soothing and healing power of just having taken a ride for the sake of taking a ride, not trying to get anywhere specific, but arriving at myself.

@Francesca

On health insurance and bicycles

We wanted to write about cycling. Now I see the head of Francesca´s post — obviously she wants to write about health insurance.

Hmmm.

I know there was thunder and lightening in the US about Barack Obamas proposals for a new health insurance system. When we last met, Francesca got excited, too. I couldn´t. Health insurance isn´t an issue, it is a fact.

Everybody in Germany is insured, from the first to the last day of his or her life. Everybody in need is cared for. My health insurance covers medical treatment in all of Europe. I show my card, the doctor accepts it, my treatments are paid, that´s it. If I earn a lot of money, I pay more; if I earn less money, I pay less. Children and spouses without income are covered by my insurance as well.

If I earn enough money to be able to advance the medical bills before  my insurance company reimburses the bill, I´m allowed to go private. But I can decide to stay with the public system as well. In this system, my insurance rate depends only on the amount of money I earn, not on the money the insurance company spends on my medical bills. When I´m young I pay more than I cost the insurance. When I´m old I kind of get this money back, because then the medical costs are higher while the insurance rates still stay the same. There are several insurance companies in the public health system I can choose from. Each of them has a slightly different profile. But all of them have to stand by me when when I´m ill. They can´t end the contract the moment I need health insurance. They can pick me, but they can´t leave me. One of them even has to take anybody who pays the rates – no questions asked.

Pretty simple, isn´t it?

My duty done,  I can proceed to the joy of cycling.

Though this turns out to be an health issue, too. Cycling burns fat, kills stress and strenghtens the immune system.

Cycling is a natural part of German life. You will find at least one bicycle in 80 percent of the German households–there are more households with a bike than with a car!  On average, there are 1,8 bicycles in a household. Family with kids always have bicycles. Chances are fifty-fifty that their over-80 year old grandparents own a bicycle, too.

So, bicycles are omnipresent, though they are not always present. In my lifetime, from when I learnt cycling at the age of 7, I have owned and lost a lot of bicycles. Most of them were stolen. Each year, roughly 400 000 bikes are stolen in Germany, ten times as much as cars. Especially in cities like Frankfurt chances are high that you loose a good bike within a year. Therefore, city-dwellers often have two bikes: an old, dull, undesirable  working-bicycle for Monday to Friday,  that can be left outside like a horse in front of a saloon, and a sparkling sleek machine for the weekend, which is kept protected in cellars specially designed for bicycles.

To ride a bike to work is common practice in Germany, at least in the cities. It takes less time to go by bike than by car or by public transport. These bikes are practical: wide tires so you don´t get stuck in the tramway rails, a sturdy carrier for the laptop case or the shopping bag, a mudguard so you don´t end up with a strip of dirt on your shirt on a rainy day.

If these bicycles equal marriage, weekend bikes are love affairs. There is no end to how much a bicycle may cost. Though, as in extramarital affairs, men are the main actors here. Women can resist the temptation of superefficent brakes, superlight frames and superhigh gears. Men can´t.

This said, I must confess that I can´t, either. Though I don´t look the type. I learned this the hard way when, one Saturday morning, the whole family set out to get new bicycles: first my husband, then my son, then me. While the men discussed the merits of this Shimano gear system over that Shimano gear system, I strolled through the shop and found my bike.

“Which bike would you like?”, the salesman adressed me, having to leave a highly satisfying talk of experts for the mundane task of  earning some more money.

“I would like this one”,  I said.

“This one?” he cried in disbelief, as his expression of professional friendliness changed to incredulous surprise.

“Yes, this one. Is there anything wrong with the bike?” I inquired. “Can´t you recommend it?”

“It´s good. But … women  like you .. never ask for this bike.”

Maybe my black racing bike with dropped handlebars equals the red sports car middleaged men buy after their 45th birthday. It certainly offers open-top riding. But where is the blonde 20something to go with it?

@Truegerman

Queue – yes, we do

Yesterday I wanted to  buy a railway ticket. I put on comfortable shoes, expecting to have to wait in line for a long time.  Then, the big surprise at the station. I had to wait, but I could sit on cushioned red sofas. The queueing was done by a number system: push the button, get your placement in line, then sit down, relax, and wait for your number to show on the monitor.

This number system isn´t new in Germany, though before it seemed to be reserved for the unpleasant situations in life, like unemployment agencies and tax offices. There I would sit on hard chairs and mentally brave myself for the confrontation with the civil servant.

What´s new at the Deutsche Bahn is the nice atmosphere they create. I love those red sofas. They remind me of Starbucks, that´s probably why I was expecting a waiter to come by with a Latte or a glass of water.  Normally queuing isn´t that pleasant in Germany.

A lot of foreignersthink that Germans don´t queue. Believe me, there are lines in Germany, though not always at places where you would expect it.

In Germany, we don´t queue at busses, trams or railways. To get in first demands a great amount of calculation and knowledge of the territory: Where exactly will the bus stop? Does the door open to the left or the right? How will people move once they get out of the vehicle?

The most valuable of these skills I  didn´t learn in Germany, but in Australia. Before, it often happened that I placed myself in the wrong position, because I ignored the automatic movement of the masses. Sheep taught me what I had to know, the thousands  of sheep I had to bring from one paddock to the other. How do you force a flock of sheep through the bottleneck of a gate? Shouting? Pushing from behind? Swearing and firing a colt? No, you place yourself in the center of the crow,  the sheep have to circle around you. Then you move in such a way that the first sheep in the outer circle runs through the gate. Where one sheep goes, the others will follow.

While Darwin rules in public transportation, there are strict rules for queueing at the butchers or any place with a long counter. Normally, there is no space for a orderly line. Therefore there is an invisible queue. My duty as a customer is to remember who was already waiting when I came in. The sales person will ask: “Der Nächste bitte – Who comes next”? Then I must be quick, lift my hand and start my order. Sometimes, there is a feeling in the room that somebody will try to cheat. Then I get nervous, mark my territory by pushing closer to the counter. I square my shoulders and let my eyes wander around, sending silent warnings to anybody I suspect of breaching the line. If this doesn´t help I have to stop the line jumper with a sharp ” Ich war vor Ihnen dran – I came first” .

When there are several counters, queuing rules have become a bit unclear over the last decades.Traditionally, there would be a line to every counter. Choose your line well! Otherwise latecomers will pass by to your left and to your right. Nothing more frustrating than this. It always happens to me. I have never been in the fastest lane in my life. I used to spend a lot of brainwork to choose my line: I counted the people in front of me, measured the amount of products they wanted to buy or tried to figure out the complexity of the problem they were due to present to the man behind the counter. It never worked: the swift business man wanted to rearrange a trip to five cities, the teenager had to count each Euro and Cent three times, the man with only three products in his basket couldn´t find his credit card.

Today, I leave my position in line to destiny. Or the number system of the Deutsche Bahn.

Whatever comes first.

But this is another story.

© Truegerman

If Castles were made of Sand and my Home is my Castle

Yep, I wish my castle/home were made of sand. Then I wouldn´t have to have nightmares about asbestos, that we found in the floors of our new house and which can only be removed once a “real” expert makes a report. Oh, we did have a so-called expert come in before we bought, but he was a recommendation by the Estate Agent. Did you think you can trust Estate Agents in Germany? At least the big names in the business?  Well I thought I could. This is Germany after all. Rules rule. Well, the first thing the lawyer said to us last Friday, “There is no such thing as a trustworthy Estate Agent.” Spang, bang and another illusion about Germany gone down the drain. The kind I cherished and this is not good.

I don´t intend to rant about this experience and how it is spoiling my adventure into remodelling my dream home (and it will be one day, despite my current heartache. If you want names, so you can avoid the same mistakes, you can send me an e-mail via the comment page.)

The story reminds me of another illusion gone. I grew up in the shadow of a rather famous ruin und zwar im Schatten der Burg Frankenstein.

Oh, yeah!

No monster in sight and it seems Mary Shelley never got near the place, but she picked up the name during her travels in Germany and that is why it was so appropriate when the German-American Club Contact celebrated Halloween there for the first time.

The two towers, a little chapel and the surrounding walls are all that remain of its former glory, but a quick look across the Rhine valley reminds us why these castles were chosen as homes by the knights. Access was difficult, but they had the overview. Anybody crossing their borders was charged a toll and there were quite a few of those borders. Like pearls on a chain the castles line the Bergstraße, looking across the valley towards the Rhine.

The only thing in my early days, that I would have considered scary up there, was the restaurant – a cement monstrosity from the seventies. But then came Contact and they gave horror a good name. They designed their own posters, costumes and show and for a few days in October turned the Frankenstein into the residence of horror thrills.

We heard about it and flocked up the hill walking, by bus or in cars to be scared out of our skins, even if the sun was still high up in the skies. What a bit of paint and some acting can do. Just being touched on the shoulder made us run for cover. Of course there were the more sophisticated acts, such as Dracula who was found residing in a coffin in one of the towers. The entrance was tight and busy and yet we merrily stepped into this dark cave to see Him. The problem was he didn´t keep still. Suddenly he opened his eyes, stepped out of his tilted coffin, slowly, slowly and wandered towards us, with pale skin, slicked back hair and very elegant. He spied a pretty woman and put his arms around her. She was hysterical and wanted to run, but her husband pushed her back into Dracula`s arm and said, “Hold it while I take a picture!” ARGHHHHH…. Dracula never smiled.

Of course a lot of Americans came, but the Germans quickly caught on, the show became more elaborate and all week-ends in October were Halloween week-ends. Buses had to ship the Thrill-Hungry up the hill, because the parking near the castle was soon exhausted, and everybody was happy, being silly, having fun and making some money too for the Contact Club, for the Castle and for the Bus Drivers.

Until.

Part of the show were tapes with scary noises and of course the crowds of people were not exactly quiet. Apparently the surrounding wild-life was suffering and somebody took it upon themselves to forbid the fun for all. Of course Contact had no intention of harming the wildlife and compromises were offered, but all were refused. No way. The idea died and for a few years there was no Halloween party.

Until.

A private and commercial organization took over.

I wonder if the wildlife could tell the difference.

@Francesca

My home is my sandcastle

“Castles? Castles  … I don´t know .. I´ll write about sandcastles!”

Children all over the world build their fantasy worlds in sand, but only the Germans make the beach a construction site for temporary homes.  A ring of sand, fortified with stones and decorated with shells, tells everybody who owns the place. Invariably the family will come back to this place. Nobody else will dare to enter this holiday home, even when the inhabitants – beware – should be late one morning. My sandcastle is my home, and my home is my castle – every German accepts this.

The sandwalls on the beach are the fragile equivalent to the Jägerzaun, a crisscross fence. This special fence  of crossed and spiked wooden bars became the epitome of the middle class suburb of the 50ies and 60ies. It clearly signals: Keep out. At the same time, its low dimensions allow anybody to see what is going on in the garden. No limit of control.

As the Jägerzaun, sandcastles are all about marking the territory. Co-Germans understand the need for it: How can I relax if I worry about who might take my favorite spot? Being flexible is not a typical German trait. The insecurity that lies in not knowing where to get sunburnt the next day can spoil any holiday. Therefore the sandcastle–or the towel on the deckchair at the pool.

Of course, there are more practical purposes, too. When I was a child, my family used to go to the Baltic sea for summer break. The beaches are long, the sea is blue, everything invites to spend the day on the beach. Everything, but the constant breeze of fresh air that makes you shiver even in sunshine. As long as going to the Baltic sea was still the privilege of the rich, Strandkörbe, little movable basket huts, protected from the cool eastwinds. Later, the sandcastles took over, till Aldi, the famous German discount retailer, spread a new device: the Strandmuschel. This little half-tent does what a sandcastle never did: protect from the sun. For cancer-conscious Germans, this is it: the ultimate solution to any beach problem. And it only costs 10 Euros.

This years Strandmuschel will be on sale at Aldi next Wednesday. What a pity that we don´t go to the beach this summer break.

But this is another story.

©Truegerman

Turnfest or Where to look for the Real Fun

 “Today, the Internationale Deutsches Turnfest starts” I said to Francesca. “Let´s write about Turnen (gymnastics)”. 

“Okay” Francesca said “I have done gymnastics in a Turnverein as a child. Where does the Turnfest take place?”

Sometimes it shows that Francesca´s children don´t attend a public school in Frankfurt. I first heard about the Turnfest six month ago when the headmistress of my son´s school informed the parents association that in June all schools in Frankfurt would be closed for a week because of the Turnfest.

Schools in Germany never close outside the holidays. In  school life, everything is regulated. I even know the exact date when summer break will start in 2017. School is sacred. Turnen is even more sacred.

Its importance for the German lifestyle goes way back into the 19th century. Then,  part of the identity of the developping  Bürgertum-middle class based on the leisure time they could afford  to enjoy. As dutiful Untertanen-subjects to the emperor, they combined pleasure with work: to keep fit became an act of patriotism.

As early as 1811 Turnvater Jahn, the founder of the movement. opened the first Turnplatz in Berlin. He gave the movement its rules, its slogan (Frisch, fromm, fröhlich, frei) and its equipment (Reck, Pferd. Kasten, Barren).   The first Deutsches Turnfest took place nearly  nearly 200 years ago. Its aim: the battle against effeminacy of the German manhood. 

That is one of the reasons why schools in Frankfurt are closed for the Turnfest: The 100 000 participants will sleep on the floor in the classrooms and eat on wooden benches in the gymn halls. This is part of the spirit: no eiderdowns and  soft matresses, but hard floors and thin blankets. In a German sports club  hardship is part of the fun.

I learnt this – the hard way – when  I joined a rowing club. After a year of rather dull excercise I was allowed to take part in a Wanderfahrt, a rowing excursion down the river Mosel. ” That´s great” I rejoiced and started to dream of cosy Gasthäuser, little inns,  where I would snuggle under feathercuvets in a romantic attic room, drowsy from a sunny day, a glass of Mosel wine and a hot bath in the tub to relax my sports-strained muscles.

“Do you want me to organize the rooms in the Gasthäuser?” I offered, prepared to do my share of work.

“We sleep in the club houses.”

“Oh … Do other rowing clubs offer guestrooms?”

The old lady opposite me had been a member from this club for 50 years. She had carried heavy wooden rowing boats on her shoulders to the station 2 miles away for her first Wanderfahrt before World War II. She weighed a 100 pounds– a 100 pounds of steel.

“We sleep on the floor of the boat hangar. If you must, you can bring a camping mat. Though most of us do without.”

I will do without Wanderfahrten, I swore after the trip. My muscles where sore as a grapefruit, my back ached and I wasn´t able to bend my legs for a week. When the pain faded, I realised what hardships are good for: exciting stories. How boring would it be to read  about the trip in the Vereinsmagazin, the club magazine: “The weather was good, the food excellent and the beds warm and soft.” Oh no, we could write about boats hanging dangerously above our heads, of cold-water showers, of mysterious dark corners in rooms we couldn´t switch on lights in, of spiders running down the walls, and of the difficulty of getting some sleep in a room full of people groaning because of sore muscles.

I´m sure that the people camping in my son´s school  will report in the same way: “The water fountains at the opening ceremony were great. Do you know what happened afterwards? ” And they will tell the tale how they couldn´t find their room in the middle of the night because they didn´t realise that there were two staircases, how they had to get down again to find the toilets and it turned out that they were outside, on the other side of the school court, that  they had only two showers for two hundred people and no hot water after 6 a.m, that John und Jane were found sharing a sleeping bag …. 

Depending on the size of the sleeping bag, this shows remarkable  gymnastic talents. 

In Germany, most romances start either at the workplace or in the sportsclub. 

But this is another story.

©Truegerman

The story of …. Tanz in den Mai

 

“Now that I start to pay attention, I realize that Germans find a lot of reasons to party”, I said when Francesca proposed to write  about Tanz in den Mai-Dance into 1st of May”. 

This night resembles those Christian churches you find all over Europe, which were erected on former pagan sacred sites. When I grew up, everybody in our village spent the afternoon of the 30th of April clearing the yard from anything moveable, because the night to come was  the night of practical jokes. In the dark, the male village youth  would gather and look for wheelbarrows, carts, or machinery left alone under  the open sky. The next morning, negligent owners would find their  possessions high up in a tree, fixed to a lamppost or heaved onto a roof.

My parents always where proud of securely  stowing away  everything. Nobody could get the better of them, nobody. Till one First of May, when my mother wanted to drive to a “Kaffee und Kuchen”  invitation. At three a clock, she went out to get her car she parked on the curb. “Call the police”, she cried when she rushed back in 30 seconds later. “My car is stolen”. My  father grabbed the phone. While he dialled, he looked out of the window. His eyes hit a red object sitting on the garage roof: my  mother’s tiny Fiat 126.

 

In my village, this night strictly was “boys only”. Later I learnt  that the 30th of April for centuries was the night out for the women.  In mediveal belief, at Walpurgisnacht, witches mounted their  sweeps and rode to the Brocken, a montain in the Harz, where they were  to meet their master, the Devil, to a wild orgiastic dance. Goethe wrote about this myth in his  “Faust”, the  most classical of German classics. A  he did it in part 2, which nobody ever reads, this Tanz in den Mai was forgotten for two centuries.

The feminist movement dug the legend out again, dusted it off,  and made the 3oth of April a night out for the girls. This time, strictly no men. In lila dungarees I danced to Patti Smith  or listened to Ina Deter wailing: Neue Maenner braucht das Land–what we need are new men.

 

As the new man still were in the making and the old type of men struck back in the conservative 90ies,  the feminist movement lost power. The trade unions tried to pick up the newly neglected date and declared it the opening night of  First of May, workers day, a public holiday in Germany. Now I drank beer for a good cause and listened  to the Songs of International Solidarity.

As we got globalization and international recession instead, Tanz in den Mai was orphaned again. Today, the Club scene adopts the idea. As I walk through the streets, posters like this announce Tanz in den Mai in many of the many hip clubs in town.

  Maybe I will try this one and listen to DJ Maxi. I don´t know his message, but at least this club admits people over 30, as Ü30 tells me. 

Those age-brackets  sprang up during the last few years. As nobody wants to get old but gets old anyway, the entertainment industry adapted to unchanged habits. Recently I even spotted a Ü40 sign, for all those who lived through the Ü30 parties of the last decade and still don´t want to give up on partying.

I´m one of them, though for a long time I didn´t go dancing because I wasn´t energetic enough any more to go out at 11 0´clock at night, dance till 2 0´clock in the morning, and then go to my office the next day – and even work there.

For people like me, the club owners invented the after-work party: it opens at 5 o´clock in the afternoon, dance starts at 8 o´clock. Thus, I can leave, pleasantly  exhausted by hard dancing, at 10 o´clock. Sometimes I even can kiss my son good night. 

Though I would prefer a Ü40 option here too. Last time I queued to get in the guard told me: “If you are here to get your son, maybe you would rather call him on his mobile.” 

But this is another story.

@Truegerman

 

 

 

 

 

Know your Easter Egg

They have been around for months now and that is probably why, when Easter finally comes around, I am surprised.

I mean all the Easter chocolates in their various shapes and sizes, such as Easter Bunnies, Eggs or Chickens. I have whined about this before (it´s my blog and I whine if I want to, whine if I want, whiiine if I want to). As soon as one festivity is over the chocolates or other typical foods for the next one pop up in all the shops, even if the celebration is still months away. So there they were all these months and me ignoring them until the very week Easter is actually happening. And then I say “Already?”.

If my children were still in german pre-school I would have had some warning when the teachers ask  for empty eggshells to be provided for the ritual painting of the eggs. At home you can boil your white eggs with onion skin or paint them with special food colours, if you can stand eating eggs that when you peel them they might be blue.

I was amused when a german educator at an international school, complained that she could not get the parents to join in the fun and bring in empty eggshells for their children to paint. Of course I only stated to the Educator that most of her parents are not used to this tradition, while I thought to myself that those parents might object to the rather yucky part of emptying an egg for the purpose.

Another way of knowing it really is time is when garden trees suddenly grow the colourful egg fruit. Trees that just barely are showing the first signs of spring, get a little push of cheer. It is not as widespread as decorating for Christmas and I still remember when I saw my first “Eggtree” in a village in the Taunus. The eggs were beautiful handpainted affairs and a little message of good cheer was attached to the fence. Maybe it all started in that little garden.

I remember Easter Egg hunts in my childhood. It was exciting scrabbling through the bushes and looking behind trees to find the treasures. By and by colourful “real” eggs, where replaced by the chocolate variety. One Easter brought a surprise which cannot be beat to this day: the birth of my baby sister. The eggs I remember from that easter, where the ones my Dad tried to fry, while my Mother was in hospital, and which he burnt.

The TV would be on on those Easter Sunday mornings, while we waited for the blessings by the Pope to be shown. It was always amazing and moving to see the crowds in Rome, waving their little flags from all over the world. As my older sisters moved out, it became part of the tradition that they would invite everybody for Easter Breakfast. If Easter coincided with a sunnier spring season this was a great way to start the day and later enjoy a walk in the fields or woods, along with all the Germans who love walking or rambling.

I always  wondered why a Rabbit brought the eggs until I read that it wasn´t always a Rabbit. Other regions had other animals bringing the eggs. And Eggs are brought because they are symbols of the new life every spring brings, a symbol which was already celebrated in ancient times by Egyptians and Persians.

I wonder if the pre-school Educators of those times made a call for empty egg shells.

Happy Easter.

@Francesca