Silvesternacht insanity

There are many times in my life, where words have failed me. It’s not as if there isn’t ample opportunity to pontificate freely on whatever freely floats into my ill-considered little mind. The problem is one of semantics – language disconnects experience from sematics, there are sometimes no adequate words to convey the strength of the feeling.

So, if you will indulge me, I would like us to, temporarily, with do away with words and punctuation, and ask you to imagine, if you can, fear. True gripping, overwhelming fear.

Hold that emotion in your mind for a moment. Swirl it around your mind, and allow the tremerous evocations to lap over your reasoned and sane mind, and let deranged, babbling terror take over.

Well then. You are now in the correct mindset to appreciate an Auslander’s impression of the German New Year celebrations.

Weirdly, 2009 started off with a Spanish tradition. Being in the company of Madridans, I was required to stuff an unlikely amount of grapes into my mouth within an unlikely timeframe. After the whole business of the pips, the timing and the appalling state of the champagne situation, if was time to head out and face the world. Feeling sufficiently queasy after my Spanish indulgences, I decided to lead the way onto the street below.

Now, this is where the above fear training has come in handy.

Upon opening the door from my apartment to the street, I bumped into a man. A man holding a firework in his hand. A lit, primed and ready firework. He was holding enough explosives to blow his arm off, and he was standing three feet away from me. He considered me gormlessly as I tried not evacuate.

The madness that followed will be a unique experience in my life. I sincerely hope.

Every family, from every house was on the street. And they were armed. Fathers let off fireworks, with pleasing horizontal trajectories reminded me rather of Exocet missiles, at least they did after I picked myself up from cowering on the floor. Small children chucked out fizzing grenades. And mothers considerately met you in the eye before they threw deafening, terrifying death-crackers at your feet.

The run, from my house to the underground train station was an adrenaline fuelled gauntlet through roaring explosions, a fog of blinding gunsmoke and crowds of weirdly calm people.

The sure power of the experience was overwhelming. The noise, The smell, the dizzying quantity of explosions about me was simply too much to take in. It was as if every last Berliner, coolly and meditatively filled their houses with gas; set their hair on fire and jumped in.

Anyway, I survived. The fireworks continued at the same Somme-like intensity until three in the morning. Germans: utterly, utterly crazy.

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.

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.

How to connect with Germans

The British probably consider the Germans their closest friends in Europe. The Scandinavians are boring, the Mediterraneans are bonkers and the French come from France.

But the Germans hold a special place in our hearts. They like sausage and beer. So do we. They like football hooliganism. So do we. They also enjoy a large section of society that sits about, drinking at all hours, contributing nothing but strong opinions and hearty odours. Which is excellent; these are all things we can relate to.

They also achieve feats that the British can only dream of. The transport system works: respect. The donor kebabs don’t poison you: respect. Their politicians never force you to endure their perfect, wretched little families: respect.

So, it was with these shared bonds, that one can easily engage in cultural diplomacy.

If you are seeking to forge a relationship with a German, you might consider using the following areas of shared experience:

1) Ask them what colour they turn when they take their shirts off whilst drinking lagers during a barbeque. I bet it’ll be the same colour as you, matey.

2) Ask them how they feel when they witness a fellow citizen, contravene the rules slightly when you have obeyed the clearly visible signs perfectly. (Although the Germans tend to be a little more militant on this one. They are liable to send photographic or video evidence of the observed misdemeanour to the relevant authorities; whereas the Brits will just bleat on about it for days.)

3) Ask them what they think of random people approaching them in the street. “They’re mad, or after something, in any case, I quicken my pace and slither off.” It’s just like being in London again, isn’t it?

4) What’s the maximum acceptable size for a sausage? A German simply won’t understand this question. Thus earning your admiration and esteem.

5) Lastly, ask them their opinion of noisy people. This is fertile ground when communing with the Germans. They’ll probably forget themselves here and launch upon a lengthy diatribe on “those noisy buggers”, whereupon it’s easy to join in with an occasional “Yeah” or a “Really? That’s terrible”. After the tirade is finished, and unbreakable bond between the nations is forged.