On Consumption

So in rereading the last post, I realized that I did not make explicit the purpose of the anecdote about the two people asking for directions and signatures for political petitions. I like to think it shows that I do not automatically appear American. At least not to everyone. At least not until I open my mouth.

Oh yes! It took me three days, but I ran into my first German who didn`t speak decent English yesterday. (Or so he claimed.) It was exciting. He was one of the ones who asked me for directions. He was about 50. Perhaps he learned Russian before the Wall fell? Now everyone learns English.

The person across from me at this internet cafe is playing Zuma. At 1.5 euros per hour, that could become a very expensive addiction.

Lodgings have been secured in Frankfurt. Hooray! In the process, I learned that internet booking is absolutely worthless if you want to make reservations for the the day-of or even the next day. I think I`ll only use the internet when I have about a week`s notice. Which will probably be never on this trip. Even for the hostel with the really fancy webpage. Both times I have tried it, it has not helped at all. So now I just call or visit the place in-person when I am trying for a room.

Man that guy sucks at Zuma. You don`t destroy the balls when there are only three of them. You get way more points if you wait and destroy a string of 10 or 20.

A few hours ago, I was sitting outside the Starbucks, drinking my coffee and looking up a few words in my dictionary. I was interrupted by the German version of "Der Kommisar" blaring loudly behind me. So I turned around, seeking the source of the music. (Good thing it was "Der Komissar." There are only three songs in German I can recognize. The other two: "99 Red Balloons" and "Yein.")

The music was coming from a vehicle . . . a very strange vehicle. It took me a few moments to work out how it was moving. It drove on the regular roads, right alongside cars.

So imagine a biker, facing forward on a seat, controlling the handlebars and peddling. Exactly as on a normal bike right? Now cut off the back half of the bike and attach a long wooden dining table instead. Put eight people on stools, along either side of the table facing each other. Then put a set of pedals below each of the eight people. Mount it all on wheels, add a kegerator at the front, and a roof on top. Now, rain-or-shine, you have a mobile, pedal-powered pub.

I immediately thought about finding schematics for this on the internet and emailing them to all the bike-modification enthusiasts and bike-taxi companies in Portland. It would be a smashing success. (I myself am far too lazy to be actually pedal while I drink. Well, to pedal in general. But others would!)

Then reality set in. In Germany, I believe the law is that passengers can drink in the cars, but the driver can`t drink any. But I don`t think US public drinking or vehicular drinking laws would allow it. Sadness. (Well, people can drink in the back of limos . . . hrm.)

The public drinking in Germany was definitely a shock the first time I saw it. People walk around with beer as nonchalantly as they walk around with a coke. I have yet to partake of this delightful custom. But I did run into a few American girls of my acquaintance the other night, carrying a half-full bottle of champange and drinking from two plastic glasses, as they strolled through the lovely park that runs alongside the Main. It looked like great fun.

I refrained from joining them at that moment. As a general rule in Germany, when all other things are equal, I try to hang out with Germans as much as possible. And I had fallen in with a group of people staying at the hostel who were headed to the fair. There were about . . . 10 of us? 2 Americans and 8 Germans. (No native Frankfurters of course, as they were staying at the hostel.)

Last night, the Germans I was with said that if the Americans they had met in Germany, I obtained the distinction of not-the-worst-speaker-of-German! I am thinking of making myself a plaque to celebrate this achievement.

Next post: my (mostly) inadvertent role in inflaming North-South German rivalries.

P. S. My one dirty German joke (which I created a few weeks ago) went over quite well. (So my friend taught me a traditional Bavarian greeting . . . .)