Marathon Man

There's a huge gaping hole in my account of life in Germany and that is: dating. As a young and spritely single girl in Munich, I have thrown myself into the deep end of dating Deutsch-style – and what an 'interesting' pool it is. Although my first forays into dating in Germany involved a Dane and not a Deutsch wonder, that Nordic adventure was somewhat brief and I could no longer ignore the daunting task of tackling the blonde hair and blue eyes of zee Germans (note: nobody I have dated so far has had either of these attributes).

So, let me begin with: Marathon man. Before female readers everywhere start applauding me for my beginners luck, it's important that I clarify that I unfortunately mean 'marathon' in the running sense. You'd think that I'd take a slow and subtle approach back into dating right? Wrong. I, being the genius that I am, decided to accept a blind date. A blind date involving running. A running blind date! Somehow I didn't think through the fact that when I run I look like a dying mongoose that has been dipped in deep red paint. I think my naive-self figured that if he could like me in my running gear sweating up a storm, then effort and fabulous outfit on date 2 would be like a gift from the Gods (yes, this is how my mind works).

So I turn up at the agreed spot on a sweltering summer day to complete a 40-minute blind-date/run around the English Gardens. Non-Munich readers should know that this involves walking down a normal shopping street in your shorts, so you are already feeling self-conscious before you arrive.

There he was standing on the other side of the road. An Adonis. I couldn't believe my luck – how wrong I was. Marathon man was socially inept. After greeting me (thank god no awkward one or two kiss moment!) and telling me his name, there was no small talk. "Shall we go?” he said.

Now, I decided to leave my running gadgets at home to avoid looking like a bit of a pretentious pr•••. Marathon man? Oh no, he had every gadget that Nike ever made, and then some. Within a few minutes of setting off he asked me "Is this pace good for you?" as I was frantically panting beside him and reluctantly replied "Sure!" (nobody wants to appear like a pansy and particularly not on a date). As soon as I learnt that a) he was a consultant and b) he was Austrian and from Salzburg, I should have known better and run in the opposite direction, but instead I stayed and endured the worst date ever.

This guy did not know how to make conversation (which was, by the way totally in German and he never once offered to switch to English despite being fluent in English himself). There was never a reciprocated question or show of interest in anything I had to say. It went a little like this:

Me: Do you have any siblings?

Marathon Man: Yes, a sister

*silence* *awkward pause* *run 10 minutes more*

Me: What do you do, do you enjoy your job or travel a lot?

Marathon Man: I'm a consultant. I really enjoy it. I travel quite a bit but luckily not as much as other firms so it's not too stressful.

*silence* *awkward pause* *run 10 minutes more*

He. Never. Asked. Me. Anything. About. Myself. NOTHING. Oh wait sorry, he did ask me something:

What's your quickest half-marathon time?

Which means he didn't listen to me five minutes before when I was telling him that I was training for my first two half marathons ever in a few weeks. *sigh* He then proceeded to tell me all about his quickest times, where the races were and his tactic to get quicker. All the while I was thinking "you're attractive, but somebody pass me a spoon so I can gouge my eyes out because that would be more enjoyable than another minute of this date". Why are German guys so obsessed with sport? And I mean really obsessed. I'm a sporty person and it's even too much for me. They don't just do a run, they do a marathon. When they've done a marathon they do mountain marathons. Then they do a triathlon just for kicks. Then they take their hiking to the next level and climb Everest – like you do. I don't think you have to be a genius to work out the one thing that a lot of the guys aren't managing to achieve despite all of their sporting endeavours...Give me a man that will happily munch on a Maccy D any day over a German fitness freak.

After running 50 minutes instead of 40 minutes (so already running further and faster than planned) we arrived back at our starting point. At this moment, instead of accompanying me back to the U-Bahn, he declares, "Actually, I think that I'm going to carry on running and go a bit further. Not sure I got my full workout". Translation: asshole. I took it as a rejection but then was shocked as he asked for my number. My number? Strange, I thought the date had gone poorly for both of us, as he seemed so uninterested. However, for some reason I was still hovering between whether he was an arrogant git or merely socially challenged and decided to give him the pleasure of obtaining my digits – and with it, a second-chance. 

Mistake. Date 2 debrief to follow soon...

WW3

The war is a generally a topic that is best avoided in Germany. Brits love to brag about their win and crack jokes about the 'Jerrys' at every opportunity, but the Germans are still very much schtum on the subject. The thing is though, there is a war that is still present in daily German life. Battles are continually fought and lost – the Germans triumphant, the expats cowering (or rather, sweating) in a corner. I am of course talking about a very specific WW3: Window Wars.

Brits have superstitions about not putting shoes on the table and avoiding the cracks in the street – all harmless activities that don't affect anyone outside of the individual's space. The Germans? They have a genuine phobia of window opening. I know, right now you are sitting there thinking "Seriously? How bad can a window phobia and superstition be?" But really, it's a serious subject. Germans have to be warm. It doesn't matter if is 25 degrees outside, you can still witness 100 denier tights and thick jeans in your midst. More than that though, they insist on the windows being closed...AT ALL TIMES. Germans believe that if you open the window and have beautiful fresh (almost mountain-like) air streaming in through the windows, then you are going to get ill. It doesn't matter if the air temperature is 25 degrees, oh no, you WILL get ill. Oh, and don't forget the obligatory scarf. If James Bond had been German he wouldn't have had any of those crazy gadgets, oh no, Q would have given him a scarf – to ensure he doesn't catch a cold when running after the enemy in blizzard-like weather. In the UK, scarves are generally decorative pieces that only serve a real purpose when it's in the midst of winter, we are outside and absolutely need to keep toasty. The only time I would wear a scarf in the office is if the heating wasn't working, or I wanted to look particularly swish that day. The Germans? Well, you'd be lucky to find them at their desk under the mound of wool wrapped around the top half of their body.

But, back to the windows. The odd thing is, that Germany has more window opening opportunities than most other countries: windows can be opened on the U bahn and even on regional trains because they don't go super fast. Here are my most recent window opening attempts on public transport:

Attempt 1: 8:00am, the doors to the U bahn swing open and a warm wave smelling of mouldy cheese mixed with Leberkäse hits me. Why hasn't anyone opened a window? Madness. So, I sit down and casually open one of the many windows that it is perfectly allowed to open. I sit back, pleased with myself and shut my eyes for a little pre-work nap. My eyelids haven't even closed before: BAM! The window is slammed shut by the previously innocent-looking businessman sitting opposite me. Why on earth didn't he ask if he could close it and at least feign trying to appease my wishes? It's obviously important to remember that when it comes to windows and overhead locker space in aeroplanes, business men always win, no exceptions.

Result of attempt 1: thwarted

Attempt 2: German regional trains are amazing. They are clean, have wide corridors, plenty of space and best of all, they are double-decker – so if you snag a spot on the top-deck you can take in the wonderful views as you speed through the countryside. As I hopped into my seat on yet another overly heated form of public transport (they love to have the heating on full blast at all times of year) I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was possible to open the window next to me. Joy radiated through my soul. After being open a mere 5 minutes, a middle-aged German man actually walked from the back of the carriage, pushed in front of my seat and slammed the window closed! I was paralysed with shock at the act, and failed to retaliate. Hashtag window fail.

Result of attempt 2: thwarted

Attempt 3: Back on the train again, this time a lovely old-style one where you can pull the big windows half way down and pretend like you are acting in the "Railway Children" (I may or may not have been imagining that I was Bobbie). The carriage was empty so opening windows didn't entail any hit-man-style risks – bliss. Trundling through the mountains was amazing and breathing in the mountain air was magic. We then pause at a station and people enter my carriage, where I was previously sitting alone. In England if you entered a room with someone in and the window was open or the light was on, you wouldn't dare change a thing unless it was a life and death scenario, and even then you would sidle over apologetically and begin the sentence with "I'm awfully sorry" and then proceed to beg for them to close the window if they "wouldn't mind". Germans don't have time for such considerate theatre. Another middle-aged man, my favourite kind, storms up to my part of the carriage and closes the window. Then, after it is closed, asks me if I mind if he closes it (in a way that suggests he couldn't care less what my answer is). I wasn't going to take it lying down anymore. This was my moment to act. To reclaim a British victory. I replied (in Deutsch of course): "Actually I do mind, why do you have to shut the window?” To which he replied "Weil es schimpft!" (translation: "Its blustering/roaring!” note: this is also the same verb for “to offend”) Oh please, and I thought the British were the dramatic ones. Believe me, a tickling breeze of loveliness is probably exactly what you need, moaning middle aged German man.

Result of attempt 3: thwarted

Conclusion: it seems I will forever be destined to exist in stuffy-filled spaces, at a minimum temperature of 25 degrees despite being in feather and down coat, and of course, donning the obligatory thick, woollen scarf. Sweating. Sexy.

Potential solution: work on gluing all windows in Germany into a permanent 'open' position. (note to self: must look into putting this plan into action).

Home Is Where The Heart Is

In most countries the idea of family is fading away fast. Eating dinner around the table together every night is a thing of the past, stable marriages that endure the decades seem more like rare shooting stars in society other than the 'norm' to aspire to. Germany however, is bucking the trend and singing a different tune: family life is still very much at the forefront of people's minds and lives.

In the UK it feels like everyone is clammering to break free of family and tradition and the town where they were born. I really don't get that feeling here. In fact, it's the opposite: people wear Tracht (traditional clothing of Lederhosen and Dirndls) in special colours and patterns that represent their hometown and what's more, they wear it with pride. People seem to stay roughly where they are from (or at least those from Bavaria and Munich do). Then again, why move away from such a wonderful place: a thriving job market, beautiful (although often difficult to acquire) apartments, mountains, lakes and...of course, beer!

The family element really is lovely though. 'Biergartens' aren't profit making machines (unless you go to the English Gardens) but places for people to come together. Actually, in Bavaria, there is a 'law' so to speak, that you are allowed and even encouraged to bring your own food. This really is a beautiful sight when family and friends gather together around one of the beergardens' long tables, pulls out a pretty tablecloth and everyone has a tupperware with a different tasty delight inside. I love this. I miss this when I am back in the UK, where sometimes (although not always) you have to get drunk to have a good time. Don't get me wrong, we definitely get drunk on our beergarden days too, but that's after  several hours of merriment, rather than downing as much as possible in Happy Hour. Actually, Happy Hour is equally interesting: 10pm onwards! I love this! It makes perfect sense! It means you don't have to go crazy at 4-6pm and drink as much as you can to keep you going throughout the night without breaking the bank.

Families here are so welcoming too. My ex-neighbours took me in like one of their own as soon as I moved in - inviting me to brunches and dinner and generally looking out for me. When I moved house, they all pulled together and helped me, rather than watching me lug my boxes alone down the street. This is so refreshing compared to so many anonymous-feeling cosmopolitan cities where you can't smile at someone without them wondering what your hidden motive is.

Viva Bavaria and the family-feeling!