Jovitalk - Bon Jovi Fan Community - Silly Germans? More than beer and bratwurst!

A bit long, but who cares :P here you go ;)

__________________________________________________ ___________

Germans drink beer at the Oktoberfest, in lederhosen and a silly hat. Proper Germans are blond and have blue eyes. They live on sausages with sauerkraut. And their music does not go beyond Beethoven and Bach. Clichees abound. Always good for a laugh when you try to find an answer for what is typically German. But what is typical, when you are talking about a country with a population of more than 80 million?

Is it typical, that Germans have a hard time being positive about themselves? You can’t think of anything either? How about hospitality, generosity and a readiness to help. Punctuality perhaps and zeal. Whatever, in the past ten years, German society has changed. Influenced by many people of different nationalities who have come and now call Germany home. And as a result, many of the old clichees just don’t work anymore.

Yet the tale of the "nasty German", who has such a problem with his image in the world, was one Boris Becker and Claudia Schiffer could not get around either. But if you come to Germany with an open mind, you’re in for a surprise. You will find Germans with dreadlocks. And Germans who eat kebabs. Germans who like to laugh and live it up. In many places the mentality of ordinary Germans is closer to those in neighbouring countries, than it is to Germans in other (Bundes)Länder. Modern Germany is far too diverse and complex to fit into a simple clichee. There is something new to discover that is "typical" everyday. And that is probably "typically German" as well.

A German’s Best Friend: his Car

The Germans are a car-loving nation – there’s no doubt about that. It’s the only country in the world with no speed limit on the freeways, the country where some families have more cars than kids, the land of the Mercedes. The relationship between Germans and their cars is one of harmonial bliss. The owners love their vehicles and cater to their every need, as if they were saying: It’s not just a car, but a commitment.

Most Germans have their cars washed regulary at an automatic car wash. For some of them though, the brush-rollers there are too rough and so they prefer to wash their cars by hand in order to protect the finish. But watch out! In Germany you’re only allowed to do this at a self-service car wash, since washing your car on the street in front of your house is said to pollute the environment. But wouldn’t it be nice if all your neighbors could see you spoiling and caressing your little „darling“.

It’s not fair to say, however, that all Germans are obsessed with having a hand-crocheted covering for their emergency roll of toilet paper or their little plastic dachsund with the head that bobs up and down on the shelf behind the back seat. Most Germans consider these things to be trés gauche.

But because in Germany everything must be in good working order, every car has to undergo a strict technical inspection at the so-called „TÜV“ (= Government authority for monitoring everything technical). At the TÜV the car is thoroughly inspected, from top to bottom, front to back, and then back to front again to make absolutely sure it can be taken out in traffic and doesn’t cause too much pollution. Getting an older car successfully through such a rigid inspection normally means having to go out and buy a few new parts. And if you don’t you’re looking at some serious fines. Thus, most car owners take the whole inspection thing very seriously.

Like everywhere else in the world the car in Germany has become a status symbol. But, of course, you only drive the kind of car you can really afford. And if you decide to change cars, the only way you can go is up, i.e. to a bigger, faster, more expensive car. By downsizing for example from a Mercedes to an Opel you could save a lot of money, but then you’d better have a heck of a lot of chutzpa.

Everywhere you go, always take the Weather with you

"Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you" - that old number by 'Crowded House' buzzed around in my head as I landed at a grey, damp airport in Berlin in April. I was coming from a more than sunny locale. It was 41 degrees C in Mumbai when we took off from the airport! And now I was wishing I could have brought along just a wee bit of that unrepentant blaze with me.

The Germans are obsessed with the weather. They can moan, rejoice, and generally talk at great length about weather conditions - changes in temperature, humidity and moisture levels, varying degrees of sunshine, amount of rain and snowfall, barometric pressure, fluctuating mercury levels.... They would probably put the writers of a school geography textbook in India to shame with their know-how of atmospheric terms.

At first I couldn't fathom this strange phenomenon. After all, I come from a country where the sun rises without fail everyday, climbs high up in a clear blue sky, and makes the people flee indoors or under leafy trees by midday. Terrible as it sounds, I'd taken sunshine for granted in my life - till I came to Germany, that is.

A couple of weeks without the sun, and I wilted like a drooping flower. The perpetual darkness even made me reflect philosophically on the life-giving properties of the sun and the importance accorded to the life-sustaining 'Surya' or the Sun God in India. I began to pay more notice to the Germans around me as they tirelessly complained about the weather and their jobs and taxes, and commuting, and their spouses and children!

And of course the whining was worse on the days when the sun didn't put in an appearance at all. I slowly began to comprehend why weather reports played such an important role in this sun-starved nation and how every faint glimmer of hope provided by the weather forecast in the form of clear skies and a couple of straggly sun rays was met with whoops of joy and much date planning in parks and outdoor cafes.

But the best was yet to come. After interminably long, gloomy months of cold and darkness, there was suddenly, incredibly light at the end of the tunnel. When the season Germans describe as 'summer' approached, a lightening of spirits, a bursting forth of unrestrained happiness was hard to miss. There was a noticeable spontaneity in the air - smiles and glances were exchanged in the normally sullen atmosphere in the subway, sales personnel looked into your eyes as they wished you a pleasant evening and looked like they really meant it, and everybody seemed to have a spring in their step as they trotted along the pavements.

The Germans seemed to come to life during those few warm months, they appeared animated and full of restless energy, thankful to be released from the dulling clutches of winter. They seemed impatient to wind up work early and spend as much time outdoors savouring the warmth and basking in the glow.

I remember my first stroll through a park in Berlin in summer. I stared with wide-eyed amazement at the skimpily clad people sunning themselves. Some in the tiniest of bikinis and shorts, while some had shed even those bits of clothing and were content to lie on their backs and soak in all the sun, in the hope of acquiring a tan. I wasn't used to such eyefuls of bare skin, and hastily averted my eyes initially.

Germany seemed to be wildly celebrating, as people in clusters sat around in white garden chairs with their beer mugs and grilled away till 11 in the night - the smell of sausages and meat on the night air. The outdoor cafes played music and made brisk business as they spilled over with people, and I first truly understood the meaning of a German 'Biergarten'. It was wonderful, my first experience of a German summer and I wished, I suppose like most Germans, that the revelry and the partying and the celebration of warm days would never end.

And of course, I'm not unaffected by all this fuss made of summer and relentless talk of weather when I'm in Germany. I pitch in and add my bit about 'what it's like outside today' to the general conversation around me. And I'm discovering that it's not half as boring as I had thought.

Sonia Phalnikar