| 24.09.2009 |
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| When I first came to Germany in 2005, I was surprised to discover that every large town was able to boast its own metro system. With only two such systems outside of London and busses being both hideously expensive and unreliable, a car is essential equipment for anyone wishing to be mobile in Britain. Lacking this during my teen years, I was dependant upon the kind will of my father who often served as my personal taxi service. Thanks Dad! But after using the Hamburg and Berlin metros as my primary mode of transport during my time there, I came to value the freedom they awarded. Although the first weeks were filled with trying to decipher unintelligible maps and timetables, travelling in the metro soon became second nature. If I was ever bored, I could simply hop on the metro and be in the centre after only 5 minutes. It may sound strange, but it was an experience that I enjoyed. It was a rare opportunity to relax, listen to some music, and read a book. But sometimes it pays not to be too engrossed in your book as every journey on the metro is an adventure into the unknown. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of any such adventure is the people that one encounters. In no other sphere of life do so many people of such differing backgrounds meet in such a closely-confined space. One can gain interesting insights by quietly observing how these people interact and behave. Isn't it strange how we desperately try to avoid the stare of those we are travelling with? Or how we become visibily uncomfortable when our personal space is invaded and someone takes the empty seat next to us? There is also a wealth of interesting personalities, familiar faces that one encounters every day. A journey in the Berlin metro is sometimes accompanied by free music as a man carrying a battered accordion and a small boy jump into the carriage. Some passengers appear visibly pleased to hear some musical acompaniement and gleefully drop a euro or two into the paper cup that the boy holds under their noses. Others are not so pleased and do their best to ignore the boy as he walks down the carriage. For these buskers, the metro provides an income and puts food on the table. At night, the hustle and bustle of the metro fades as the stations become home to the city's homeless, providing relative warmth and shelter from elements. But their lives are not the only ones which revolve around the metro. Indeed, it also affects our lives in ways we don't even consider. Our lives are dictated by the departure and arrives times of the metro. Our primary task each morning is to ensure that we are ready on time and don't miss the train to work. And if this train is late, then it's the end of the world! Any night on the tiles is governed by the time the last metro departs to carry our drunken selves home. Our only exercise comes either from running to catch the train when we're late or having to stand and hold on tight in a packed out carriage on the way home from work. So the next time you're travelling on a German metro system, take a moment to consider how difficult our lives would be without it. Instead of cursing when the train is late, we should perhaps be thankful that it arrives at all. |
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| 14.09.2009 |
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| Germans take recycling very seriously. Coming from an island where this concept is still in its infancy, I found their interest in saving the world most intriguing. Before my first stint in Germany, all of our waste landed into one large black bin and only recently have we started to catch up. Still, the range of recyclable materials is puny in comparison to our German counterparts over on the mainland. They are not newcomers to this arena. It was in the early 1990s that an elaborate system of separating waste into different categories was first introduced into German households. This is something that the Germans chose to follow with religious diligence and they are not afraid to point out if you've messed up. It's not unknown for neighbourly disputes to erupt over improper sorting. It is perhaps not surprising that the system and the pressure to adhere to the rules can be daunting for newcomers to Germany. To explain the system is beyond this scope of this post but suffice to say there are a multitude of different containers intended for different kinds of rubbish. Break one of the cardinal rules of rubbish separation, and you run the risk of being charged with gross recycling misconduct. But there appears to be some confusion over the classification of certain types of waste. Does a cigarette butt belong in the organic waste container for composting, or does it belong with the residual waste? Or the next time you are enjoying a cup of tea, consider how the teabag should be properly disposed of. A trivial matter on the face of it, but one which has no doubt been the subject of debate in many German households. Picture the scene. You have just enjoyed a nice cup of tea and are just about to dispose of the teabag. As it hangs over the organic container, however, a voice interjects, "you surely weren't going to dispose of the teabag without separating it were you?" So if we are going to be pedantic, then the tea leaves are organic waste, but what about the bag itself? Organic or paper? "And there is a label attached!" After carefully removing the small piece of paper, that is not the end of it. "But there is a staple in it! Doesn't that belong in the container for metal recycling?" But what about the piece of string? "In the paper-container? No, the wood-container!" Maybe there is a clear demand here for string-containers? This debate is a caricature of the German psyche. There exists a deep love of structure and rules. This may explain the German love affair with paperwork and maybe even their ausweisen (proving one's identity) addiction. My Polish girlfriend experienced this first-hand when she received a letter from the Ausländeramt (lit: office for foreigners) requesting she come in person and produce a dozen documents proving both her identity and income. Why this was at all necessary was unclear, although she put it down to the German need to "cause problems." She is not the only one who has experienced such "problems." Why, for example, is it necessary for me to produce my passport whenever I enter a certain bank to try to withdraw my money? Apparently my signature isn't proof enough of my identity! Likewise I was puzzled by the request to not only show my passport, but also certification of residency when joining the local library. Although annoying, perhaps we can forgive the Germans for this oddity when we receive well-run public and private services in return. |
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| 01.09.2009 |
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| Andrew Shale was born and raised in the English county of Leicestershire. He studied European Studies and German, during which he spent his third year as a Foreign Language Assistant in Hamburg. After leaving student life behind, he returned once more to Germany after winning a scholarship to work in the European Commission in Berlin. Now, Andrew is a trainee at the Deutsche Welle where he is learning the art of journalism. When he is not working, he can be found either engrossed in a book or imporoving his Polish language skills. | ||||||||
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