For the love of...leather?

Leather has a kind of cult following on the continent. They really do love it, perhaps one might say, a little too much. When I lived in France the black leather jacket was the epitome of cool amongst 13-17 year old girls. I wasn't living in Paris either, just the pretty suburbs surrounding Carcassonne in the south of the country – but leather was still making its mark. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of leather too, but I'm tiring a little of the 'leather look' being sported by pretty much everyone – I find myself longing for a little East-London cool where fashion would be mixed up a bit.

Here in Germany, leather remains a core staple amidst teenage and twenty something girls. Perfectly boy-shaped, they strut the style with ease, matched with tight fitting trousers that would give me a hernia if I wore them. Envious? Me? Never. The thing is though, the temperatures have suddenly risen in Germany to a sultry 25 degrees from...well..the Tundra. Yet, despite the increase, the leather stays stuck to the skin of absolutely everyone! WHY? How are they not dying? If I was wearing a leather jacket and leather trousers in 25 degrees then my own profusion of sweat would have melted and moulded them onto my body for all time – I would be forever known as the 'leather lady', or, well, something like that. The question is though, why are they defiantly wearing them in these tempartures? Is it more than a style statement? Is it a status statement? I'm starting to think so. If it is, I'm definitely not belonging to this upper echelon of leather cool – poor me, I'm so unfortunate being oh so nice and cool in my floaty skirt that doesn't create sweat beads.

There is an important part of the leather culture though that I have left out until now. That is the mid-life crisis leather. Let me tell you now, sporting a James Dean style leather-look over a certain age doesn't scream sexy, it cries 'Crisis!', no matter how loud the song 'Daddy Cool' is playing in your head as you strut along the street. Believe me, the German 30-40 year old guys wearing these jackets really are strutting, I actually witnessed one guy on the U Bahn in his shirt looking sensible (definitely not the type who should lean towards a leather purchase) and then once he gets off, he swings on a leather jacket and starts to add a little swagger to his walk. Oh dear, oh dear oh dear. Now, don't misunderstand me, there are definitely some over thirties and daddies out there who can rock this look and make even me go weak at the knees, but in general it should be avoided – yet German guys think a leather purchase is their ticket to Cool Kingdom, or something. Here is my plea to German guys everywhere: "Put the leather...DOWN!" Seriously. Go for duffle instead. In fact, go for anything instead. Unless you are 25, play in a band and have a cigarette hanging from your hand in a nonchalent kind of way, then the tanned goods aren't for you.

I have to say though, the more you live in a place, the more you start to tip toe towards following their trends. Upon a few occassions I have had the urge to follow through and become part of the leather pretty possy. Am I becoming a German? Here is a picture of me on the right, sticking to my guns and not giving in to the Lord of Leather that rules this city *ahem*.

On another terrifying note, I have been informed that Denim is going to be the material of the moment this summer. This is fine, when handled by those with a little know-how. The Germans? No doubt they will be sporting the double denim look in no time at all *shudder*, probably with socks and sandles on their feet for good measure *sigh*. It's going to be like stepping back into the 90s...and not in a good way..."Ah oh, ah oh"...oh no. 

Kaiserschmarrn Classics

Believe it or not, I had a blog at 16. I know, what on earth did I have to write about at 16? It was back in the days when Myspace was cool (and ‘Facebook’ was just some ‘boring looking wall thing that your older sibling spent too much time on’) and when the song you chose for your profile was of the upmost importance – as it would define who you truly were to the world (or something like that). I had completely forgot about my first blog, but when sifting through my computer and deleting old files I stumbled across one entry. Often it feels like the thoughts and feelings we have when we are younger are no longer relevant as we grow older and gain more experience in the big, wide world. This entry, however, proved me wrong. It made me want to sit down, pull up a chair and have a cup of tea with my 16-year-old self and pick her brain, as she was evidently wiser than I am now. Really, this diary-style entry couldn’t relate to my life any better than in these older years, living in a foreign country and starting anew (cheers to that!).

So, I thought I would share my 16 year old thoughts with you all:

I was sitting listening to my music and then a thought struck me: what really is ‘moving on’? Sometimes moving on can be a positive thing...moving onwards and upwards...like that song "Moving on up" but sometimes, it can be a word people use as a way of covering up the fact that something they didn't want to happen has happened. Like the disintegration of a friendship. Like the breakdown of a relationship. It seems to vary from person to person on how the term ‘moving on’ is handled. For some, it's closing the book...putting it down...and beginning a new one. For others, it's merely turning the page onto a new chapter and allowing the threads from the plot in the previous chapter to resurface later 

on in the novel that is life, to result in a perfectly rounded ending.


I'm definitely a chapter person, I feel that to close off part of your life forever is to deny the possibility of change and rids your life of that unpredictability that we are all living for. To shut people and indeed, events, out of your life is sometimes necessary but I think we always need to be ready for that moment when they reappear. Maybe what we should really be asking is: is it ever really possible to completely ‘move on’? First words, first jobs and critically, first loves. We all move away and ‘on’ from these ‘firsts’: our vocabulary widens, our job maps out into a career and our first love leads onto new loves and indeed, lovers. However, these ‘firsts’ have a significant impact on our lives and therefore, surely form part of who we are?

So, maybe when someone says it's time to ‘move on’, the response is as simple as this: "I have moved on, I am moving on and, I will move on"

Krapfen Karma

Oh Krapfen – the temptation of the Devil. I'm sure Jesus' 40 day and night stint in the desert as described in The Bible isn't the whole truth. I'm pretty confident he wasn't in the desert at all but, in actual fact, was forced to stand in front of a German bakery during Fasching (Carnival) Season – the ultimate temptation.

To those that don't know, Krapfen are a kind of doughnut (without the hole) that are everywhere during the Carnival season in Munich in the run up to Lent and Easter. Here, there, everywhere – they are inescapable. Flavours range from the traditional apricot to more exotic offerings with mango, nougat and chocolate moose. Although I failed to find them this year, I have also heard of the elusive Krapfen that are sold with syringes. Syringes? Yes, we have all turned into jam-injecting junkies. No, seriously – you get a syringe, or more than one, that contain different flavours and then you can fill your Krapfen with as much or as little as you desire. Creative Krapfen – love it.

I definitely over-indulged this season, with my all-time favourite filling being apricot and mango, with a yummy glaze on top (*pauses writing to salivate a little*).

There is definitely a kind of Krapfen Karma out there though. It can be touch and go as to how much filling you get, depending on where you buy them. The other day I had gotten three quarters of the way through my Krapfen and still hadn't found the filling. In frustration I marched to the kitchen and spread some strawberry jam on the remaining part…only to then once I had done so, find upon my final bite, that it did indeed, have apricot inside. Apricot and strawberry is definitely not the best combination and results in a sugar trip with trembling of sweet teeth – Krapfen Karma #1. Lesson? Always believe in the Krapfen.

The second kind of karma was experienced in the office. We even had a Krapfen eating event one afternoon, indulging in the sugary, doughy delights with prosecco (I know,German offices are great right?). The thing is, the piles of Krapfen were being set up opposite my office for about 2 hours beforehand. The sweet smell became sickly pretty quickly. I had also already eaten a Krapfen the previous evening(trying my best to taste all of the flavours before the Krapfen disappear after Carnival Tuesday), which meant my Krapfen appetite was already satisfied. Result? Forcing down a Krapfen, because I had already eaten far too many already, rather than rejoicing in its glory and savouring every bite – KrapfenKarma #2. Lesson? Pace yourself.

Wouldn't it be great though, if Krapfen also had positive Karma?Like…the more you eat, the more happiness comes into your life. If so, I definitely deserve the title :"The Happiest Krapfen Queen on Earth".

Toasters and Showers.

I know what you are thinking: "what can she possibly have to say about toasters and showers? Mere electrical appliances surely aren't worthy of any kind of attention, they are the same the world over!" Halt. Let me just stop you right there. They most definitely aren't the same the world over. Oh no. Toaster and shower situations (not both at the same time) have induced great trauma to me at times (not of the electrical shock kind…that's reserved for German electrical fences…but that's a whole other story).

Let's start with the shower sadness. Yes, sadness. Mixed with confusion. As a British lass I am used to a shower (when placed over a bath) to be attached to the back wall – i.e. facing the length of the bath. To me this makes absolute perfect sense for many reasons:

1. The water doesn't go everywhere

2. I have room to stretch my arm out as I sing into my loofah microphone

3. The water doesn't go everywhere

4. I have plenty of room to dance around whilst listening to NRJ on my shower radio

5. The water DEFINITELY doesn't go everywhere

6. The shower/bath screen doesn't get soaking wet – which means a lot less cleaning effort

7. If someone accidentally bursts in to my apartment for emergency water repairs whilst I am in said shower, they won't get a full frontal view at first sight.

8. Oh, and of course, the water DOES NOT go everywhere and my bathroom isn't turned into a lake that could rival the Olympic diving pool.

The Germans are usually such logical creatures, but when it comes to attaching bathroom apparatus they fail miserably. Maybe all the bathroom fitters are on cannabis? *Takes a puff* "Hee hee hee! Hans, here's a great plan, let's put the shower on the wrong wall and let the whole place get wet every time they shower! Hee hee hee! I'm so funny and clever and great at practical jokes! Hee hee hee! Hey Hans, is that a water fairy over there?" *takes another puff*. That's the only way I can explain why they decide to attach the shower on the long sidewall - facing the bath screen. Why oh why oh why? It makes absolutely no sense.

At an open apartment viewing (a whole other experience to go into) I was walking around a beautiful new build place with all the mod cons, then I stepped into the bathroom and saw the shower and my heart sank. Not even modern builds are adopting modern bathroom sense? I heard a slight sigh next to me and turned round. It was a guy looking as disappointed as I felt. 'English?", I said. "How did you know?", he said. "Your look of utter disappointment at the bathroom shower". At which point he too, launched into a huge rant about it. It really does disturb us British – it makes us feel like the whole German world has gone mad with this decision. Whatever next?

Well…it get's worse. The appliance hell doesn't end there. Toasters. In England toasters are a beloved, if not sacred, object. Tea and toast. Tea and crumpets (if you don't know what these are, you are missing out). Tea and pancakes. Tea and toasted teacakes. Ok, I know it's a lot of tea drinking, but you get my point. The toaster is part of our daily tea drinking and toast loving British lives. To the Germans, toasters are entirely disposable.

So far, in all the houses and apartments I have been in Germany, there has barely ever been a toaster in sight. If there has been, it has been covered, dusty, under a pile of newspapers and empty bakery bags (no joke). It's traumatic. The Germans just don't do toast. They don't understand the concept. They are all about the Vollkorn bread and the Breze, but toast? Oh no, thank you. To the British, toast and bread are almost like two entirely separate entities. German's definitely don't differentiate the two. I once asked for toast and a German said "What? You mean toast bread?". Erm what? Toast bread? I mean, yes I understand what they are getting at, toast is essentially toasted bread. But still, the name repulsed every British bone in my body. I wanted to scream : " No! I want bloody TOAST! Not TOAST BREAD! And if you are going to insist on referring to its toasted state, then say TOASTED BREAD!". *breathe*. The thing is though, it's not just that, they class "Toast bread" as a totally separate sort of bread. Bread as we British know it, the sandwich style with crusts on by good ol' Hovis or Warburtons, just doesn't exist here. When you do find it, it's called "American sandwich bread". I'm not sure which term enrages me more, "toast bread" or "American sandwich bread". I feel like setting up my own brand of "toast bread" and calling it "bread loaf", just to prove a point. There's an idea. There's also confusion over what constitutes a toaster. Germans seem to think that you can make breakfast toast with a sandwich toaster. This is sacrilege. Of course you can't. A sandwich toaster is there to be used for cheese and ham toasties ONLY. It's a delicate art to understand, obviously.

The holy grail of appliance differences has also been discovered though. It's not all doom and gloom…oh no. Everyone, kneel down and praise the glory of: the mixer tap. Every apartment, no matter how big or small, old or new, has mixer taps as standard. Long gone are the days of standing in a British bathroom desperately trying to reach optimum temperature by splashing some of the ice cold freezing water from one tap into you cupped hands and then adding a smidge of boiling hot water from the other one – and then spashing it onto your face and realising that despite your efforts you added too much cold water and just froze your face off. No, no, the German's are having none of that palaver. Good ol' mixing taps – a true wonder of the modern world. I bet the Germans feel like they have gone back into the dark ages when they cross the channel and are faced by two taps at the sink. No doubt the German husband calls to his wife: "Steffi, vvvvhy are there two taps? Vot do I do vith the second one?" No doubt the mysterious tap system perplexes them for the duration of their visit.

The question is though, are the mixer taps worth the trade off for toasters and well-positioned shower heads? Never. Long live toasters, crumpets and the Queen.

Are you looking at me punk?!

Welcome to Germany. Welcome to the world of the continual staring contest. Maybe it's an exaggeration, but for me, it always seems that someone, somewhere in Munich is staring at me. Soon I am going to develop an image complex. Am I going out with chocolate on my face? Lipstick on my teeth? My knickers twisted? I sure hope not, but that's definitely how the Germans make you feel with their continual onslaught of intrigue that is painted so heavily on their otherwise innocent faces (always encased with long, flowing blonde locks).

In England it's definitely a heads down affair on the underground and pretty much anywhere else. Maybe for fear that if you do actually look at someone even in an innocent, indeliberate way, they will start on you. I like to think though, that other than the fear of being pounced upon, the English don't openly stare at people in the street and on the tube because…well…they have manners. The Germans don't have such things engrained into their being like the English do. I think for the English it's a birthright - you inherit manners, a tea-drinking and biscuit dunking obsession, a continual lust for bacon and an anti-jeans wearing policy before you have even fully formed in the womb. The English would NEVER stare the way the German's do. If someone did stare at us like that, we would meet them with an aggressive: "What you lookin' at mate?" or "Problem missy?". Here, in the realms of the Fatherland, it's an accepted part of culture.

So why, are the German's staring so much? Is it me? Am I THAT interesting / weird to them? For a long while I thought it was, but the truth is, the Germans are just nosey. The way politeness is a part of who the English are, nosiness is a part of the German make-up. It doesn't necessarily have to be a negative, malicious thing but they definitely do want to know or find out what is going on when they don't have all the facts. Maybe that's it, the German lust for information and facts to expand their knowledge and increase efficiency? Quite possibly. Sometime though it's just PLAIN nosiness. This spans the generations too and isn't discouraged by elders. Like, for example, when I was carrying a TV on the U Bahn…EVERYONE was staring at me. Including a father and his son who had a full blown conversation about my TV whilst standing next to me: " What make is it?", "I'm not sure son, I can't see past the girl carrying it", "Oh it's Samsung", "Sony is better". In ten minutes I had heard all of their opinions on my brand new TV, all the while with both of them staring right at me and my purchase. No shame! In England we are the experts, at least, of talking in hushed voices when we are talking about someone nearby to us. Sneaky? Maybe. A little more polite than loudly discussing every detail of the staring object? Most definitely.

Staring session number two: I was eating a pretzel and drinking a can of coke on the U Bahn. The amount of disapproving stares I got was off the scale. Ok, I admit, not the healthiest of choices, but I was hungry and feeling under the weather and needed sugar fast. Ok, I also admit that the bag the pretzel was in was waaaaaay too big for the pretzel in an almost comical way, but that's not my fault. I NEVER stare at the morning meatloaf sandwich munchers stinking out the whole S Bahn do I? No. Of course not.

Staring session number three: the changing rooms at the gym. Now, this, is the weirdest of them all. They are all women too, so what's the deal? I'm sure this is a competitive ego thing for sure. Seeing who has the least cellulite and the best undies. I've already told you that the German's love to strut their stuff in the changing rooms, so the staring that accompanies this should now come as no surprise to you.

Staring session number four: staring at police station posters. This is the height of nosiness. Never before have I seen someone so intrigued as to who the latest bad guy on the run is that they actually ascend the police station steps to take a look and peer avidly at the mugshot poster. It can only be one of three things: extreme nosiness, a fear of the world, or…they are on the run themselves and are hoping the police haven't wised up to their illegal wanderings. Hopefully not the latter – they were fairly close to my home…*gulp*.

Staring number five: the intimidation stare. Now, this is something new. I only experienced it today for the first time at the gym. Two women aged 60 or so, came into the running machine part of the gym to see that every one of them was taken. Now, if this were me (which it has been so many times), I slink away and go on the spin bikes and then come back later to see if there is any space. These German women? Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Wait? Them? Of course not. They then proceeded to embark on a 30-minute (no exaggeration) intimidating stare-a-thon at me and the other guy running away happily before their invasion. I've never experienced anything like it. They even walked up and down between our running machines staring at our times and distances on the screen. Unbelievable! It was like a silent staring interrogation room (I won't liken them to the 'unmentionable' In Germany that they perhaps could have been in a former life) - totally uncomfortable - but I was determined not to give in.

Unfortunately, this staring side of German life is not something that it is possible for me to change, so survival techniques are necessary. Only after making mistakes which induce extreme-staring sessions is it possible to learn what to avoid. Here is what I have learnt so far:

Do not go to ANY kind of fancy dress party and travel to said party on the U Bahn. White bunny ears and devil costumes will only cause staring trouble, no matter how fabulous and funny you feel in said outfits – the Germans will just look at you like you are: a) a hooker b) just let out of the loony bin or c) an English stereotype that gets drunk and dresses up.

Do not draw attention to yourself. Bright pink lipstick is not a sexy, style statement in this city – it's a staring magnet.

And finally, whatever you do…don't make eye contact with anyone, under ANY circumstances, whilst in the sauna area.

The stories behind the above learnings will have to be saved for another time. Meanwhile, enjoy the stare-free freedom of your home countries.

"I see naked people". "How often do you see them?" *cue tortured-looking-Sixth-Sense-style expression* "All the time!"

If you have a fear of genitals then Germany isn't the place for you. They pop out of nowhere when you are least suspecting it. Here, there, everywhere. You can be bending down to pick up a pen you dropped, turn around and then suddenly meat and two veg are practically grazing your right cheek (the cheek belonging to your face, that is). You really could do a twisted naked version of Sixth Sense quite easily in Germany's nudist-filled environs.

Seriously though, Germany is definitely the land of the 'free' in the clothes wearing sense. Whenever and wherever there is an opportunity to strip off and strut their naked stuff, the Germans will take it. When I first arrived in Munich I was an innocent, fairly prude British soul. Naked? In public? Me? I was afraid of even my doctor seeing anything from the neck down, let alone Joe down the road in a public place. The main place where you can't avoid naked bodies is the sauna. Yes, the sauna. I know British people will be reading this thinking "huh?” Here's the huge difference between Germany and England though (which pretty much acts as an indicator to their attitude to nakedness in general), in English saunas and spas there are huge signs that read: "Swimwear must be worn in the sauna and spa area at ALL times". Here's the German: "Swimwear must NEVER be worn in the sauna at ANY time. Those who do will be politely asked to leave". Leave?! LEAVE?! Yes...I was as shocked as you were in the beginning. It only gets worse though. Once I was at a large water park / spa and then there was an announcement over the tannoy: "Please be advised that it is now 6pm and the whole of the area is now "Textilfrei" Those who do not wish to participate must now leave". Textile-free? I didn't have much time to process the information before all of the German's were stripping off and swimming in the pool around me – the stuff of nightmares. Never until that point have I been more concerned about accidentally kicking someone with my foot whilst swimming...who knows what my toes may touch...?!

Over time I gradually started to adopt the German approach and go starkers in the sauna (I know, too much information, right?). Still, at least you have a towel to wrap around you. It's all about the technique too though...the technique I like to think of as ASS: Avoidance. Shielding. Sweating. Here's how it works:

1. Avoidance. I try to make sure I am in the sauna on my own if possible, carefully timing it so that I always start my session when someone has just left (this also avoids the awkwardness of being in sync with another sauna-goer...which essentially means that you sit naked together, shower next to each other, sleep next to each other, and then do the whole thing all over again two more times *squirm*). If this isn't possible, I at least try to be first in the sauna, lie down, in the darkest corner and close my eyes – that way, I will never know who was in there with me and will never have the difficult moment of seeing them in clothes and not really knowing quite what to say.

2. Shielding. You definitely have to have technique as a woman. Guys have it easy – they just whack the towel around their wil.... well...you know. Women have so much extra to shield! It's taken me several times over the years to perfect, but now I've got it down to a fine art so that any potential perverts don't really get much of a show.

3. Sweating. The more you sweat and the hotter you look – the less likely you are to be the centre of male attention. So work those sweat beads ladies!

All this though, is unfortunately not enough to deter the Germans. They LOVE to talk whilst in the sauna, even to complete embarrassed strangers like me. One opening line was: "you seem sporty, were you in the gym with me earlier?" (a bit stalker-ish...), another was from an old, fat, Bavarian man: "Was that you swimming earlier? You are really fast!" (My thoughts: yes...I am fast...because I'm not seventy...in fact I'm young enough to be your granddaughter and you are talking at me and my fully exposed boobs right now - STOP IT!).

As well as the saunas though, there are also whole naked Sauna Worlds! Yes...worlds! There are over 40 saunas of different kinds...including ones with planetariums inside or thrones and beer on tap...it really is a whole new world of naked fun. The thing I can't get over though is swimming naked in a pool with other people (yes I did it...got to try everything once right?). It's like taking a bath with everyone who you are on the U Bahn with – what a disgusting and shudder-worthy thought.

Unfortunately the nakedness isn't confined to the spas though. Oh no. In Germany "Where's Willy?" rather than "Where's Wally?" is probably their favourite book. You could definitely make a good game out of it in Munich's English Gardens in the summer. Nakedness reigns in certain sections, so you need to be careful where you lay down your mat to sunbathe! The riverbanks are swarming with the nudists too (although that term probably doesn't apply in Germany, as everyone is a little bit of a nudist inside). There is one character that I call "Jesus", who has long hair...a long beard...wears white kaftans and strips off to bathe in the crystal clear running waters of the Isar (no doubt he's a crazy Catholic thinking he can cleanse his sins!)

Personally I just think the Germans are all extreme exhibitionists. The female changing rooms at the gym in Germany are a good example of that. I'm very British when it comes to the changing rooms: I choose a locker in the corner and get changed facing it, as quickly as possible. The Deutsch women? No way, this is the chance for them to strut their sexy stuff! They stroll around, even putting their socks on before their kickers – weird. What makes me laugh the most though is when they actually do their moisturising regime for all to see. Slapping on the cream extra loudly to make heads turn, then putting one leg up dramatically on the bench while they rub it in. (I'm sure for any men reading this...this is nearly their "Fifty Shades of Grey" erotic novel moment and I'm just reinforcing the stereotype in their minds that all women do when they are alone together is run around semi naked. Maybe it’s not a stereotype after all and the men are totally on-point...) It all boils down to competition though, like everything with the Germans. They just want to show off the body they spent 2 hours perfecting that evening, that's all. I can't help thinking: "Whatever love, you slap on that cream onto your toned abs, I really don't care and there's no guys to faun all over you in the female locker room so I don't get your game plan – I'm going home to eat cake and watch trash TV...and I'm going to enjoy every second of it!"

Strange things have started happening to me though. I'm always adding a sauna session onto my gym stint. I look at friends in shock when they say they wear swimwear into the sauna in England: "It ruins your swimwear! Don't you get hot? It’s so unhygienic!". In fact...am I starting to become accustomed to stripping off without a care in the world? Am I *gulp*, becoming a naked-loving German?

I think I'm a few naked steps away from nudist – but that's not to say that being naked in a small sauna doesn't have its benefits, particularly when the German football team walks in like they did into mine. And I'll leave you with that little nugget to ponder on.

I just wanna make you sweat

I'm sure that when Snoop Dog sang (rapped?) these immortal words, he wasn't aiming them towards the Germans. Perhaps the glowing skin of the LA Americans needs to be told to sweat a little more so that people actually believe that they are a) human and b) are actually working out. The Germans definitely don't need Snoop Dog to persuade them – perspiration seems to be a way of life for so many of the population in the Fatherland.

An insulting generalisation? Maybe. However, the amount of body odour I have experienced this week has been overwhelming. On the U Bahn, in the shops, and...of course...in the gym.

In England we do take towels to the gym, but generally I find that you take one that is only slightly larger than flannel size in order to discreetly mop away the little beads of sweat on your forehead, and also to put in between your hands and the machine. In my mind, it's really all that's necessary really, provided that you use the antibacterial spray properly. The Germans definitely don't think so. The majority of fitness fanatics in the 'fitness studio' give me and my towel disapproving looks and I'm sure I've already got a reputation as "dirty girl" – and not in the "oh she's so hot and dirty" capacity either.

 In Germany I have noticed that the Germans bring four massive towels to the gym. I find that a fairly astounding amount of drying material to bring to one place. I find it particularly shocking because I never have that many towels all clean at one moment in time – how do they do it? Seriously though, I probably had my mouth open in surprise when I, for the first time, saw so many people with gym bags the size of houses because of their overflowing towels inside. Now I know why though: they need at least four in order to effectively mop up the buckets of sweat that they perspire during the thirty minutes that they are on the treadmill. Actually, if we want to be accurate here, it is one towel for the 'fitness studio', one for the swimming pool, and two for the sauna session – one to pop their sweaty behind onto and the other to rub themselves down during said sauna session. It really is a technical towel technique that must take years and German heritage to master – I assume this anyway, as I am lucky if I even remember mine!

Towels aside, body odour is definitely an issue everywhere. Do they not know about the miracle power of deodorant? If so many people smelled that bad in Britain there would be a riot. Ok, so maybe not a riot, but at least someone would say something. Like, for example, "Hey best friend / girlfriend / boyfriend, I love you with all my heart, but you smell like rotting cheese and I don't think I can take it anymore. Here's some Rexona (Sure) – use it, and enjoy". Maybe this non-deodorant-wearing phenomenon is an extension of the Bio-buying obsession (Germans LOVE organic food to the point where it's a status symbol. Don't get me wrong, I love organic food too, but in Germany buying 'Bio' is the equivalent of being robbed in daylight). "How on earth is buying organic in any way linked to deodorant?” I hear you cry. Well, it's probably because the Germans are afraid of the chemicals contained inside. I don't blame them for their fears, but if they are willing to drink copious amounts of Diet Coke and Spezi  (Coke and Fanta mixed together...weird...and disgusting!) that is filled with aspartame, then why can't they just bite the bullet and spray under their arms too? What's more, this isn't even really excuse – have they not seen Garnier's chemical free, au naturel range? If not, then I will gladly direct them to it.

The worst part is that they don't even seem to notice. When getting on he U bahn the other morning, the doors opened and I was hit with a wall of heat and odour (a mixture of body stench and the pungent smell of a 2 day old meatloaf (Leberkäse) sandwich that someone was consuming at 8am...yum). Naturally, I opened the window when I went inside. The businessman opposite me watched me do it, giving me an evil stare as I did so. He then sneakily waited for me to put my earphones in and close my eyes for my morning commuting nap and then he slammed it shut again. Crafty little bugger.

Back in the environs of the gym, there is a whole new trend kicking off. Not washing your gym clothes in between sessions. Now, this is going beyond the Bio-buying principal, this is a hygiene basic. I don't need to describe the smell, I'm sure you can guess. I think the gym team noticed it too, as now there are signs that say that you have to wear clean clothes and shoes when training. Signs! Now do you understand the extent of the problem? Here's the added horror too – you aren't allowed to open the windows in the gym except for five minutes every hour and that is usually only done by a trained window-opening gym professional. In fact, even when you or the gym instructor does do that, the Germans look at you like you are crazy, weird, or like they want to come over and put the weight they are holding in your face. Yes, the air issue is that serious. So serious in fact, that the instructions regarding only being allowed to open the window once every hour is written on another lovely little sign next to the window. This sign also says that these rules are now set in place to create fairness after the "disputes" and "situation which ensued last year".

I can only assume that the situation was this: an expat was close to dying of body odour poisoning in the gym and went to open a window. The Germans, in fear of catching a cold from the fresh air (n.b. see earlier blog for innate German fear of being cold and fresh air making you catch a cold) ran to shut it and then in their haste, accidentally pushed the expat out of the window – resulting in a messy manslaughter case (which was the aforementioned "situation").

Or something like that anyway.

I fear I am going to be the next "situation" when I just can't take it anymore and have to wrench open the window. Fingers crossed they have implemented a safety measure and there is a crash mat waiting for me at the bottom. If not, farewell friends.

Do I look like a drug addict?

Germans do healthcare differently. As already mentioned, I'm a hardcore fan of the German healthcare system - if they did cute little t-shirts with "I heart German healthcare" on them, I'd definitely buy one and parade it around the town. When it comes to waiting times, knowledge and niceties from GPs and reception staff, Germany would win the gold medal (if there was such a thing as the Medical Olympics!).

When it comes to having a cold or flu in Germany though, that's when I want to get the first plane back to England and kiss the feet of the CEO of Boots, Superdrug, and whoever decided that Tesco should start having its own pharmacy. Well, kiss their feet and then maybe kidnap them and drag them back to Germany with me to start an entrepreneurial venture.

Buying medicine to fight colds and flu in Germany is a challenge, and not one you want to undertake with a temperature, runny nose and sore throat. Where can you buy those all-important life-saving drugs? The pharmacy. "Why not just pop to the supermarket or boots-equivalent?", I hear you cry. Well, because they simply don't sell them. When I first arrived in Germany and wasn't acquainted with their approach to medicine dispensing, I spent a good half an hour in both my local supermarket and toiletry-selling shop trying to find an elusive pack of paracetamol - only to discover that I would never find it in either of these places.

To be fair, there are a large number of pharmacies around but just sometimes, I would like to do everything all at the same time without having to traipse around numerous shops to get the array of items that I need (note: shopping for clothes is also the same soul-destroying experience. There are 3 H&M's and 3 Esprit shops all in the centre of the city... plus 2 Debenhams-style department stores which also stock the brands...all, however, stock different things...so if you want the hat you saw online that isn't already in the current shop you are in, you have to buy your jumper that's already taken you 3 hours to find and try on amidst the crowds, and then go to yet another H&M or Esprit branch...it really is a lot of fun!). The pharmacies are expensive too. I paid 8 Euros for Strepsils. 8 EUROS!!! I nearly had a heart attack at the counter when she told me the price. Thinking about it maybe I should have feigned a heart attack...then maybe I would have got a discount. There are little things I like about the pharmacies though. The fact that if you purchase something they always give you little freebies like cough sweets or tissues or a La Roche-Posay face cream sample...or...the most random one I was once given was athlete's foot cream, when all I went in to buy was aspirin. Do I look like I have sweaty feet?

As well as looking like a person who has a sweaty foot problem, I think a lot of the pharmacists mistake me for a drug addict. No, really. In England it's customary to have a medicine box at home full of all the essentials and when it's running low, whether you are ill or not, you go and "stock up". "Stocking up" doesn't feature in the lives of the Germans when it comes to medicine or anything else for that matter (I'm always the only one at the supermarket doing a "weekly shop" with a trolley rather than having merely 3 things in a basket). I really don't understand, why wait until you are dying of the flu or dying of hunger to traipse to the shops and get the essentials? This really does go against the way the Germans meticulously plan everything else in their lives. 

This lack of "stocking up" habit creates problems for me. If I walk into a pharmacy and ask for several packs of paracetamol, aspirin, ibuprofen and perhaps some cough medicine just in case, to say that the pharmacist looks perturbed would be a total understatement. "You do know that you must not take this all at the same time don't you?” the pharmacist says, looking deeply into my eyes as if trying to scan for suicidal tendencies. I always reply with a hearty laugh saying that I am "stocking up", but they never look convinced and their nervous demeanour doesn't evaporate with these words. Fear of overdose even goes as far as tea. No, I'm not kidding. A friend of mine wanted to buy some herbal tea for her grandma's indigestion. As her grandma lives in another country, she wanted to buy several and take them back to her (yet another smart person who "stocks up", I heartily approve). The cashier point blank refused to sell her 4 boxes of tea because of the overdose-risk. Overdose risk?! For tea?! I'm sure even if grandma did have a massive teapot at home to fit all 80 bags in at once, that the biggest problem it would have caused her would have been an 80-day bathroom stint.

It must also be mentioned that the Germans are extremely partial to a good old bit of homeopathy. Don't get me wrong, I love alternative remedies and will always give them a go, but sometimes you need something a bit more substantial and medically hardcore to get you through a working day whilst ill. If you can't breathe, then I'm not really sure that a 14 euro sea salt natural nose spray will cut the mustard, or rather, cut through the green sinus blockage gunk (mmm...lovely).

Having said that, maybe I'm already turning more German than I think. I just bought 8 tea bags for 2 Euros called "Erkältungstee", which is a tea made of natural herbs to fight colds and alleviate flu symptoms. It tastes like dishwater, so it better work. If not, I just got ripped off for a disgusting tea that will be more likely to help me grow elderflowers out of my ears than solve my autumn illness. 

German Efficiency

We spend so much time these days trying to crush stereotypes because they are apparently untrue and prejudiced. Some are and I'm all for the crushing of those, others, however, should just be accepted...and maybe even applauded. Yes, I'm talking about the old stereotype about Germans being super efficient. It's definitely true (as is the staple joke about towels...towels always cover the best loungers in the spas to "reserve" them for the German ghosts that are never seen lying on them until 10 minutes before closing).

I loved living in France, but there was one big reason as to why I could never live there permanently. The word "efficient" might as well not exist in French vocabulary. Shop and supermarket opening times are ridiculous enough as it is (8 until 11, 3 until 5, 8 until 9...which is code for how many cigarette breaks they need throughout the day and how long they need for the traditional leisurely French lunch), then add to that the fact that you can cycle your little socks off to get there in time after work to buy the all important ingredients for your Boeuf Bourguignon only to discover that its closed...again...probably because the owner , Jean, got restless and decided to go and have a Café au Lait with his mate Pierre and discuss crucial political points.

Enough of the French though, that's a whole other blog opportunity! Good old efficient Germans. As soon as I stepped foot on the soil of the Fatherland I felt that I had found my long lost home, I could breathe easy for the first time - my OCD of planning and efficiency would finally be satisfied and understood: trains would run on time, shops would be open until the second hand clicks onto the 8pm closing time and questions would be answered with precision and perfect solutions.

Efficiency runs through the veins of the Germans, even more so than in mine. God forbid that the U-bahn is half a second late. In fact, you don't even need to look at the clock to know that it is late, the frustrated rustle of German bodies on the platform as they pull out their iPhones to check the time and then glance in the direction of where the train should be coming from, is enough of a giveaway. I'm pretty sure that after it arrives they are then using their WiFi to look up the MVV transport network complaint form, ready to download and fill out at the office. 

This is in stark contrast to the British, they would not doubt be eagerly, loudly and shameless speaking into their phone: "Hey Barry, yeah, train's late, fingers crossed it won't bloody come at all and we can sod off and go and have a pint mate!"

There is a marked difference that sets German efficiency apart though and that is: the art of anticipation. The Germans invented this little beauty, no doubt. "What the heck the art of anticipation when it's at home?!", I hear you cry. Well, essentially it means that they anticipate situations BEFORE they even happen - resulting in absolute maximum efficiency. It's like the Germans were all born with an inner eye that allows them to accurately predict the future. Their inner eye must have been having an off day when the British won the war...then again their Lord Voldemort-style leader was Austrian...and that's a whole different kettle of German-speaking fish. If you call the German equivalent of 999 (It's 112...just in case you are ever in need.... and if you are...remember it was me and my blog that saved you from certain death in Deutschland!), then no matter the problem, they will just sent everything: fire engine, ambulance and police. Not only will they do that, they will probably also send three of each, just to be on the safe side. How considerate of them.  If I had someone chasing me down the street trying to kidnap me, I would want it to happen in Germany - the emergency services would probably have already predicted our route and set up a roadblock in advance to intercept us. Once I even saw 10 fire engines go past my suburban road, none with sirens on. I can only assume that they were teaching colleagues new, faster routes to get to fires so they didn't get lost (as this was a new building estate) - can you get any more efficient than that?!

Doctors are also no exception when it comes to the efficiency rule. Whatever the problem, even if your GP can't see anything wrong, they will refer you to a specialist to be on the safe side and to make you feel at ease. "Oh that's all well and good, but you will probably have to wait 6 months to see the specialist!", I hear you grumble. Well...no. I once had pain in my ear but my GP couldn't see anything inside. Now, if I were in England I would have been ushered out at this point as an overly dramatic hypochondriac, inventing ear issues (that is, of course, if I managed to get past the mardy, unhelpful receptionist batallion at the front desk and get an appointment in the first place). This is Germany though. She immediately called her specialist friend around the corner and I was seen by them 15 minutes later. By "seen" I mean I went to a futuristic, state-of-the-art looking surgery, and they used ultrasound on my face and ears to see what normal apparatus can't - low and behold I had perforated the eardrum caused by my flight over from the UK. See? Efficiency wins again! If I were in England I would still be suffering...which the doctor would probably call "character building". Hmm.

With Oktoberfest in full swing right now (or "Wiesn' if you want to be a true local), the German efficiency OCD is at it's best. They have staff at all major U Bahn stations to help you onto public transport and make sure you don't drunkenly disappear down the crack between the train and the platform. In England they would probably just watch and laugh at your stupidity - right? After all, it's a new drunken tale to tell! Not only that though, the U-bahns are actually going a lot slower than usual, just in case a drunken Oktoberfest reveller decided to fall in front of them. They really have thought of everything.

So it seems that this German stereotype is one that really is special, and deserves applause. As I returned home in the early hours on Friday from the Wiesn' I was thinking exactly this - everything had worked like clockwork. 

Then my night bus didn't turn up for some reason, meaning my 4am antics turned into 5am by the time I got home - tired, cold and slightly traumatised after avoiding several kidnap attempts ( With one guy approaching me and asking me how I am in a dark street: Him in a creepy voice: "Don't you trust me?", Me: "hmm...let me think...NO!"Another directly asking me and another girl at the stop to spend the night with him in a hotel and fulfil his dreams...I think you can already anticipate my response despite perhaps not having the magical German inner eye). Finding another bus stop was equally a struggle, I'm so used to German sign efficiency that when there isn't one there directing me where I need to go, then I am lost. I wasn't the only one either - I accumulated a number of other lost German women on my way.

I don't have an iPhone, but if I did I'm sure I would have been looking up the MVV complaint form on Friday evening (and perhaps also "SOS harassment"). I was also cursing the fact that I hadn't taken a jumper with me because I was so chilled to the bone in the night air and worrying that I would get ill the next day because of it. Maybe I'm already German after all?