Margrid and I recently went to visit her families and to see more of her country of Germany.
It turned out to be a perfect trip.
If you haven’t read the book “The Green Helmet,” I recommend it. It’s about a European auto race in which everything goes so perfectly for a crew on their last race, they end up totally victorious but somehow also defeated because there’s no longer any challenge left to racing. While winning was wonderful, it was sad because it was their last race, but even if it wasn’t to be their last race, it’s still sad because they couldn’t conceive of any future race being any better. At least that’s the story line. It was kind of like that for us.
People can be so loving when they know it might be a long time or maybe never that they meet again. We were welcomed and pandered everywhere we went. And we were loving too. Family ages varied from one with two months yet to be born, to almost 90. Lots of wrinkles and lots of smiles. We ate and drank like 20-year-olds, with only a few cautions here and there.
Before we arrived it had been cold and rainy, but during our entire three weeks it was sunny and warm, with occasional showers. And the day after we left it turned back to cold and rainy. Explain that.
No matter how many times I see it I never fail to marvel at the architecture of European cities! It fills my soul not only to look, but to realize how much and how long they have respected their fine old buildings, which incidentally were designed by some of the most famous architects of their time, and built by contractors and tradesmen who spent generations perfecting their trades. I still remember my first such building — on a ski trip in 1961 — a beautiful massive solid gray-stone restaurant I had gone into for dinner one evening. It was so beautiful and so old, I had to ask the waitress when it was built. She casually but rather proudly announced it had been in constant use for 700 years. I’m probably wrong, but I saw no evidence that it had required any work since being built, aside from being kept clean and adding modern water and electrical service. That’s what I call a fine building.
Individual homes are a marvel as well. I don’t know if it is an imposed law, or an unwritten social expectation, but every home I entered was designed and built well. True, certain local building codes exist but something else drives these customs. Each town, as it is approached along beautiful tree-lined roads displays immediately from the distance the ubiquitous red-tiled gabled roofs. Sure it snows, and gabled roofs handle the weight better. But it’s more than that. There is the feeling that once a beautiful little town is begun and continues to grow, say in the 1100s, every new house that is added to the community thereafter has to look similar to those first ones. The result today is that every German town we visited displayed its own same constant, consistent beauty. I can’t help but wonder how much of this is law, and how much just civic pride.
And now a brief discourse on German churches: When originally built, they received the best their people had to offer in their devotion to the Christian faith. Granted some of this extravagance may have been imposed by self-interested religious authorities, but nevertheless, this was where their best quality of everything went. But as you know, church attendance has declined in Germany and elsewhere such that these edifices can no longer afford to be maintained by the people who use them. The state steps in and does the job, even paying its pastors and priests regardless of how few parishioners attend. So here you see splendid, often magnificently restored buildings, with glorious traditional services, full choirs, pastors, the complete performance, and few people in the pews — except on religious holidays, when the pews are packed. How to explain? But now something else has been happening the past few years that we have been privileged to observe — these magnificent but relatively unused churches are now becoming the centers of artistic expression for their communities. Music, drama, plays, art shows, lectures, social gatherings, community activities of all kinds, are flourishing within these wonderful spiritual surroundings. It justifies the state’s faithful support, and it greatly enhances the lives of its population. And, being a believer and supporter of the rebirth of a meaningful religion in our often disillusioned Christian world, it is encouraging to watch this migration back into places where that might occur. Now if the pastors can take advantage of this returning group by offering a theology and worship that has a meaningful appeal on more than just holidays, we might see a resurgence of faith and belief that nourishes not only the church but those who come.
And now German food! Again, another unwritten law — it must be good. And it is. Even in the lowliest equivalent of a U.S. Greyhound bus stop — an inner-city train station — the food is good. It is fresh, it is tasty, it is quality, it is well prepared. Granted not on the same level as a fine German restaurant, but certainly worlds better than a Greyhound meal. I don’t understand how and why they maintain this discipline of high quality throughout the entire country (and much of Europe).
An example — several years ago while traveling through the Mosel wine valley, we stopped at a small restaurant in a tiny village of no more than a dozen houses. The small restaurant was old and well used. Being a lover of fine German sausages, I ordered a bratwurst. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the waitress take off her apron, put on a coat, and leave the building. She walked a block down the street in the cold air, into a meat market, and emerged with a package under her arm. About fifteen minutes later my sausage was served — hot and crispy. It’s like that.
And soup — German soup! Even canned German soup! — is delicious. And fish! I ordered a trout, and was served the whole trout — 14 inches long — fried in butter, with boiled/butter-fried potatoes and a vegetable. German potatoes — is it because they are grown in German soil, or the way they are prepared? Or the kind of potato? Whatever, they are always mouth-watering. And German beer! I can’t drink a glass of beer at home without taking a breath, but a glass of German beer goes down like it’s part of the body. And the varieties of beer — light, dark, early harvest, late harvest, sweet, bitter, etc, etc. Germany has had master brewers for centuries, who hold fast to their commitment that quality is of equal importance to profit.
Given all this about fine food and drink how is it there are so few obese Germans? I have no idea what the national cholesterol level is, but if as a nation they die early because of the way they eat, they at least die happy. Even so, we often commented on the usually slender, robust people we saw on the streets. While German selection and preparation of meats and fish is superb (including wonderful varieties of smoked fish), I must say, coming from California, that I would like to see more fresh vegetables on the tables. The diet, as palatable as it is, could for me be better balanced in this regard.
Apparently there was a time when vegetables were more prized. As far back as 150 years ago, what are now called “Schreber gardens” were created. Originally they were referred to as “community gardens” or “allotment gardens.” These were plots designated in areas directly outside a city’s limits, and allotted to ordinary citizens for growing their own food. The history is long and complicated because of competing demands for land when cities begin to expand. But in 1949 there were registered as many as 800,000 of these gardens in Germany. Usually one plot for each 30 citizens. Walking behind Hamburg apartments and businesses on this trip revealed these hidden gardens in profusion — rather like a huge public park of individual plots, each still leased (for 99 years) and occupied by its present owners. It is surprising that once being located on the outskirts of town, they are now right in the center because towns grew around them. I say surprising because of the degree to which they’ve been able to compete with the powerful interests that want to build on their lands. At one time “West” Berlin granted 8 percent of its land for this purpose. But now the numbers are in the low tens of thousands, still privately owned but highly reduced by competing needs. The Scheber gardens we saw usually revealed only a small space for vegetable growing with the majority of the plot used for rather large summer get-away vacation cottages. Apparently the rules for use are very flexible. My best guess at plot size would be about 1/16 of an acre — considerable space. Given present global financial conditions it is very likely the use such gardens for growing food will be revived. Here in the States the practice is even encouraged by the White House, but the idea of an allotment program in heavily populated areas has yet to be discussed.
In waxing eloquent on the value Germany puts on its food, I must also include mention of their breads and pastries. If you take a slice of American Wonder Bread and squeeze it into a tight ball, it will behave like raw dough. German bread cannot be rolled into a tight ball because it is so well baked, the excess moisture is gone. (The profiteers know you can make more money selling water at bread prices, than just bread.) The taste, the variety, and easy availability of fine baked goods is endemic throughout the country. Every family we stayed with went out each morning to a nearby “bakerie” to buy fresh-baked rolls for breakfast. Another example of German food — at regular intervals on long distance autobahns there are rest stops. They appear to be run by private firms, but on a state-managed mandate. Here you’ll find everything one needs to rest and recuperate, including restaurants with the same attractive decor and delicious food available in cities. This dedication to quality and convenience I find gratifying and surprising. It makes traveling in Germany a pleasure you can count on.
Germany in a word: quality. Quality in food, drink, music, architecture, clothes, autos, manners. And at the risk of offending you, my reader, if I attempted to describe my own country also in one word, I would unfortunately have to use the word profit. Not in all human endeavors, but in far too many. I don’t think it has to be that way, but it has been for years. Quality is finding its way back into our business culture, but slowly. Consider the quality of American automobiles — to compete with other lands, we have had to achieve far higher standards of quality. And it worked! So why not try it more often?
Next time, Part 2: German traffic!
Robert Rock lives in Redding.
