The election results in Bavaria and Austria were landslides. In Austria the dirt is brown, in Bavaria rather black. Austrians and Bavarians were very frustrated by parties that only talk to the people but don’t listen to them. Politicians freely used the programmes of the opposing parties. There were hardly any points of view left, just pap.
Who wins under such conditions is clear: anyone who makes a name for themselves as extreme. Bavaria will soon have a latex dominatrix in government. That’s still halfway funny because she will probably continue to wear black clothes. But I feel sorry for Austria. In some districts of Vienna, the right-wingers got over 50% of the vote. Are Austrians the better Nazis, or have they finally shouted out their Leyd? (more…)
Munich
Munich is exactly the same as always: everyone drives like idiots, the beer is expensive and nobody speaks Bavarian. I visit David. We move from roast pork to the Isarauen and beer garden to gyros one Sunday. I’ve been here before. Everything is strangely familiar and far away. Another European Championship quarter-final is on in the evening. I sleep through half of it.
Business appointments drive me through Munich on my bike in temperatures of over 30 degrees. I don’t want to live here, I’m glad I’m only here for two days. Everything dissolves a little, even customers. In this case positively, from now on there are two separate HPs to look after. I’m not standing still, but I’m not moving either. I look out onto the street. A summer storm scatters its hailstones over Munich. (more…)
Germany is peculiar
The flight home is good. A large sticker is emblazoned on the tail fin: “We also brake for idiots”. In the skies above Berlin, the pilot flies holding patterns for almost an hour. Bush’s Airforce One has priority. I don’t arrive in Nuremberg until late in the evening. My emails have got stuck, my parents don’t know I’ve arrived.
I’m lying in bed between 400 printed pages for my tax return. I immediately feel German again. Enjoy fast, stable WiFi. Work. Eat pretzels, bread cake, red fruit jelly, beer-battered ham sandwiches and schnitzel. Everything looks the same as it did a year ago. Nothing has changed. “Home” is like a normal stop on the journey. I’ve been here before, I remember. But the connection is missing. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.