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.

"He's behind you!" – Oh no, wait, no he's not.

That's right, German pantomimes would be very different to English ones (if they even had Pantomimes that is). The Germans are definitely never behind you, they are alway one (or perhaps five) steps ahead of you. The Germans may be efficient, but the Germans don't queue. No ifs or buts – they don't queue, end of. What they are absolute masters of however, is the evasion of the dreaded English-style queuing system (which I long and crave for, I have to admit). Don't let your guard down for even a second; otherwise they will slip straight ahead of you – taking the last butter breze that you had been craving in the office for the last 3 hours (true story). The sneaky Germans can begin their queue-jumping approach in several ways, all beginning with a seemingly innocent tap on the shoulder followed by:

"Can I...?"

"I don't want to buy anything, I just have a quick question."

"I was here earlier, I just nipped to the toilet"

I have now learned the responses to all of these potentially duping techniques: GET.TO.THE.BACK.OF.THE.QUEUE

I'm ashamed to say I fell for all of these at first though, being the nice, trusting English person that I am who has faith in those around me not trying to outwit me to the best baked-goods. A fifty year old little...well..you know what...decided to cross me when I was hungry and queuing to buy cream cakes (always a bad idea). I had already waited over 15 minutes in the non-existent queue (it involves hovering around the counter and hoping you catch the eye of the baker first!) and was getting impatient. She leans across me (she knew what she was doing the devious woman – a blatant body block if ever I saw one) and says, "I just have a quick question!". Turns out, unsurprisingly, that the quick question was about which cake she wanted to buy, which she then spends 15 minutes choosing while I was standing behind, money in hand. The most shocking part is that nobody around me was outraged by this. In England there would have definitely been some tutting, or curt comments. Or, better yet, the baker would have said, "I think this other lady was here first". Not in Germany. It's Darwinian – you snooze you lose – and in this case I lost the strawberry custard tart that I had greedily had my eye on for a full quarter of an hour. 

What is amusing though, is when a German tries a similar technique when surrounded by a group of British people, like at the airport. I was waiting to board when a German guy comes over and self-righteously pushes in front of me. I was not amused. Before I had chance to breathe and open my mouth though, the British cavalry were already there: "Oi mate, the back of the queue is behind you!". To which the German replies *in a very German, comedy-style British accent*: "I vos on thee toiLET, I vos ere before." Naturally though, the Brit didn't back down: "Well I didn't see you mate and it sounds like a classic queue-jumper thing to say. I'm afraid if you go for a p*** , you lose your place." Safe to say, this brazen British attitude actually worked. I smiled inwardly – God Save the Queen and her queue-obsessed citizens.

German queue behaviour is pretty strange too. I feel like as British person it is innate to queue in a straight line, one behind the other and, naturally, make sure you don't skip ahead of someone who was there 2 hours before you. The Germans? They do the drip effect. This can be best seen at airports (regardless of whether you are flying EasyJet or Lufthansa). As soon as that boarding announcement echoes over the airwaves, the Germans jump up from their seats and swarm towards the desk, in drip-like fashion.

One of the most frustrating habits though, involves the U Bahn. I can be standing waiting for the U Bahn to arrive for 10 minutes, with my prime spot where I know the doors will open (yes...I'm sad...I actually now know this...) and then, low and behold, a German comes and stands directly in front of me. DIRECTLY! It doesn't matter that the rest of the platform is entirely free, oh no, they just HAVE to stand there. Maybe it's the competitive side coming out again; in the same way it surfaces in sports shops. Perhaps there is something in that though, I definitely feel like it's always girls that do it – usually really pretty ones too. They are usually tall, blonde, tanned and flick their hair in my face as they do so. Lovely. I think this is definitely an underlying queue right too – your points on the hotness scale. These pretty girls seem to feel like it is their birthright to be first in the queue, no matter what the queue is for. A generalisation? Perhaps. Then again, if you had had blonde locks thrown into your face as much as I have, then you would understand where I am coming from.

Queuing at the supermarket checkout is also another stumbling block to master. The conveyor belts are a lot shorter in our supermarkets here – meaning a lot less time to load your things on and off, and you can be sure you have a pushy German huffing and puffing behind you. Yesterday I even had a woman stepping on my shoes in a stress to put her cat food tins on the conveyor – calm down love! Parents with no control over their children are also mildly enraging, even more so when they ask you for a favour. The other day I was in the supermarket queue and a woman asked me to get some stickers and give them to her, as my shopping would be expensive enough to get them free. Sure, why not help a lovely mother? She wasn't that lovely though. She let her irritating kids pull, push and shove around me (and actually me too), and then patronisingly interrupted my conversation with the cashier to tell me that she didn't want THOSE stickers, she wanted the OTHER stickers, followed by a massive sigh of frustration and a look which said *stupid British woman*. Meanwhile her children were mishandling my oranges – little buggers. I felt like telling her to stick her stickers where the sun didn't shine, but instead...I kept my cool.

Speaking of children, I had a very irritating toilet-queuing situation recently (don’t get me started on there only being 2 toilets for a place filled with hundreds of women). Everyone was dying for the bathroom, that much was obvious, (blame it on beer), and then a woman waltzes in with her son and pushes to the front. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a child-hater...quite the opposite in fact. However, if he had been under five it would have been fine...under 6...acceptable. But seven or eight?! That's just wrong to me on too many levels. What's going to happen to him if she sends him to the boy’s bathroom? He's not going to get lost in the lavatory bowl. Even if he did, at least he would learn something. I'm almost 100% sure that he was a decoy because she was dying to go, and knew that would help her get to the front. Never underestimate the power of a desperate, queue-jumping German Frau.

Oktoberfest queuing is another thing entirely. Luckily the bouncers are well trained for the regular lines though, such as: "My friend is in there and has a table". Luckily for me too, they weren't trained in regard to boobs, exceedingly good dirndl bras and bunches of single women – I can unashamedly say that I got into tents every time this year with little trouble (am I turning into a queue-jumping German?!).

It's not all rudeness and pushing and shoving through. Oh no. The German's can be extremely polite – just in the most awkward of places: the sauna, and the changing rooms. You can be standing starkers in the changing room and the Germans will always greet the room with great gumption when they enter and leave it and if they think you may not have heard their hearty hello, they will probably come closer and say it again (regardless of your naked state), so make sure to respond straight away to avoid having a close-up and personal version. In the sauna too, it's the same: "Grüß Gott" (Greet God. Welcome to the catholic state of Bavaria – this is how we say hello here) is said to the whole room upon entering. For the first time in their day too, the Germans actually shift over and look almost eager for you to sit beside them. Hmmm.

On second thoughts, maybe I'm not so unhappy with the impolite attitude. Actually, I would definitely welcome it in the wellness area if it means no more awkward sauna situations– go ahead Germans, spread meanness across the spa world, you have my blessing! 

"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.