Differences between the South and North

As with most countries, there is a North South divide in Germany. Generally, the South is better than the North. The North, in all the best countries, is composed of wild, impoverished yurt-herders, capable only of monosyllabic grunts whilst stumbling towards the nearest kebab van.

Although some of these elements are applicable to Germany, it’s much harder to determine which of the country’s two compass points is preferable. Unlike everywhere else.

The North, or, at least, what I’ve seen of it, which consists of some months in apparently “different” Berlin and flashed past the window whilst bombing it Southwards from Denmark as my mother’s navigational skills accidentally landed us in the wrong country on a family holiday, appears to be a civilised sort of place.

As does the South.

Which leaves a key indicator of evaluation useless.

However, I did notice some other, less relevant factors:

1. The people in the south are nicer. (This is a reversal of the UK’s orientation; but you must remember “nicer” does not mean “better”. In fact, normally the opposite is true.) Unlike in Berlin, people do not stare at you. When Southerners do occasionally make eye-contact they do not continue their intimidating glare, but break out into a smile, and may even add a cheery “Groß Gut” (German for “alrite, ducks”).

2. The people in the South say goodbye properly. Since I arrived in Germany, no one has once said “Auf Wiedersehen”. Instead, Berliners prefer the more informal “tschüss” or, almost sickingly, “ciao”. Then, all of a sudden, all these Bavarians chirp out the formal farewell. I thought they were all Geordies.

3. The shops are completely different. True, that.

4. The beer all has different names, but, despite the completely different labelling and different brewery, tastes much like beer in the North.

5. The sun always shines in the South. It’s much like England in that way.

Now I’m home

I’m back in Berlin now, after Christmasing in Bavaria. I knew that I had arrived, because I saw a bloke pissing near the tracks as my train pulled into Berlin Central Station. This was not a site often enjoyed in the South.

Many tourist books point out Berlin’s famous “pissing man”. This ubiquitous feature has filled Berlin’s landscape with pleasant surprises in even the most unexpected place.

A crisp winter’s walk through the Teirgarten is usually a tedious landscape of trees, cluttered amongst the over-natural greenery. However, with the addition of a kindly reveller from last night’s excesses to volunteer his pleasing silhouette to augment your appreciation of the prospect, and your view is improved markedly.

Indeed, my first memory, and perhaps most lingering, if unwanted, reminiscence will be of a distinguished looking gentleman, relieving himself of the cares of the modern world, but, unfortunately for me, he decided to do so whilst pointing in the wrong direction.

Nazi memorials, imperial monoliths and the fine architecture of a dozen inspired generations will fade into a distant pang compared to the intense horror that this image has singed onto my mind.

Berlin’s urban environment is rich with detail: every corner, ever nook and especially every cranny is splashed with intricate gold-gilted fountains. It’s almost as if as these civic-minded men act as the finishing touches to the city austere clothing, they’re the delicate filigree, the accessories of the Berlin’s dry ensemble.

But I do wish they wouldn’t accessorise in front of me.

Germans going crazy at Christmas

The Germans are a restrained bunch. They are not ones for going over the top.

Celebrations come and go, there is no reason to go over-board. They'll be plenty more to come, Fritz, calm yourself.

This is the usual Germanic response to events that any self-respecting

Midetarranean would go balastic at.

No. The Germans are a cool lot. Most of the time, that is.

At Christmas, however, Germans go absolutely mental.

As I calmly walked out of my apartment yesterday, I found that, not only had the entire local constabulary closed the street to traffic, but my quiet little road had been converted into a biker’s Christmas procession.

The confluence of Christmas, music, bikers and the distant reassurance of half the Berlin police force, brought out a fervor in the Germans that I am never likely to witness again.

Do Germans sleep?

It’s annoying to find out how cool Germans are. That most parties here don’t get going until 12 is cool. That the last two weekends, I have got back into bed about seven, however, is not so cool.

The Germans are amused, if a little amazed, at the English night out. In the pub at six, out by 11 and in bed by 12. Then, it’s Ikea first thing the next morning.

With the English approach, German evenings can be exhausting. You’re practiced at getting in as many pints as possible before closing time; the speed ensures you that are you are suitably inebriated and fired up for the fighting that follows.

Now, in Berlin, you have to sit around for hours and hours. Talking. It’s as if they enjoy each other’s company.

But, this general nighttime longevity does not stop at painting the town red. Sunday night, eleven o’clock. Any sane, normal civilisation would be thinking about bed and getting ready for the start of the working week.

Not the Germans. The Germans would invite their friends around for Glühwein and biscuits. The Germans would stay until 2 o’clock in the morning, discussing society and its ills.

Then, they get up at six am, run three laps of the nearest racing course and have three bowls of muesli before work at eight.

Whereas the rest of us are staggering around the office, downing coffee and pleading for an easy death.

London Strikes!

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