Germans and sneaky tactics

The German pride… Could it be Wurst, Sauerkraut, Beer? No! It’s the wonderful atmosphere at the Christmas markets! Glühwein (warm wine with added sugar), Kuchen (dough speciality in the form of a heart), and an enormous amount of sausages. Combine these delicacies with the presence of some friends and you’ll have the best time of your life! Also for young children there are a lot of activities… even in this town no one else but football fans ever heard of.

But as usual the entertainment isn’t for free. Make sure you’ll bring some bags of gold and expensive watches to trqde them for Glühwein (€3 + €3 Pfand), Bratwurst (€3) and Kuchen (€3 - €25). “You can also sell your children in Belgium, which is only fifty kilometres away”. A classic German joke about their neighbours, but maybe a solution for the overwhelming prices. At least you don’t have to spend money on the Ferris wheel then… and you can talk with your friends without being interrupted by that little bastard.

 

So according to me the best way to experience a real German Christmas market is the following:

1. Get rid of your kids in Belgium or Thailand. Maybe the last one is too far away…
2. Go to a bar first to meet friends. Making friends is also an opportunity. Just go to the toilet and wait five seconds. Le wild German will appear and he’s willing to talk to you.
3. Buy a Santa hat. In the euro shop they’re only €1 and they lighten up!
4. Walk like a German and pretend you’re semi-drunk. Otherwise you’re not part of the ‘gangsta-gangsta’ group.
5. Drink Glühwein. You’ll have to go to the toilet very soon and making friends will even be easier!
6. Repeat ‘till laying in the gutter.

And men, don’t forget to inform your wife about the ‘horrible mistake’ you made by selling your ‘wonderful’ son or daughter. Maybe find a better excuse. She will go to look after him and the house will be yours for approximately three days! Enough time to throw a big ass party… German style.

 

See you again on Sunday!

“Wurst and Wurstl”

Vienna… The most beautiful city I’ve ever seen (besides Florence). The architecture, museums and even the trams are more ancient than my grandmother. And so was the mentality: conservative. Not comparable with the open minded German culture. Five differences between the two nationalities.

1. The Germans had Beethoven, the Austrians had to do it with Hitler. Of course the Austrians want them to switch nationalities.
2. My God, the Austrians are annoying when they walk on the streets. They’re slow and there’s no way to surpass them. Besides that, they believe that if you come from the right, they have priority to pass before you.
3. There’s an enormous discrepancy between the languages. My German friends warned me of that. “They speak like they’re having a potato in their mouth!” Well, speaking about potatoes… While the Germans say Kartoffeln (potatoes), Wurst (sausage) and Guten Appetit (have a good meal), the Austrians say Ertapfeln, Wurstl and Mahlzeit. I had to make the switch from German to German. Weird.
4. An other Austrian curiosity is the politeness of the people. They will always use the polite form before the informal one when they talk to you in their extra terrestrial accent. The Germans aren’t so strict in that.
5. Both nationalities dress very differently. In Vienna I only saw black and grey clothes. Very depressing. The Germans use a lot more colours that make people happy.

 

That’s why I have to conclude that I like the Germans a lot more and that I’m proud to live in this country. And no, I’m not becoming a national socialist. Imagine that.

I also met my Italian friend again, Franky Garage. I’ll start another blog about his adventures around the world very soon, so stay in tune! Here are some teasing pictures.

 

A short blog, but my German friends always say: “Length doesn’t matter. The way you use it makes the difference”.

See you next on Wednesday, folks! I'll write about the wonderful German pride: Christmas markets!

The Germans, their Wurst and the yellow liquid

An obsession… That’s the only thing I can say about the German sausages. Whether you go ice skating, swimming or shopping; you’ll always see a fat man eating a ‘Wurst’ that’s even fatter. Currywurst, Bratwurst, Bockwurst,… They have everything, but they all are the same. Imagine the taste of dead pork crammed in a long, thin intestine, finished with some Heinz ketchup and mustard. Sounds gross, isn’t it? Well, it’s delicious. I like it a lot!

To make the German picture complete, we should add some Lederhosen and a litre of beer poured in a big transparent glass, an obese wife with pigtails named Olga and a waving German flag with those three wonderful colours. I like the tricolour, but we all know the stripes should be vertical and they should switch the order of the colours to black - yellow - red. A new historical empire would be born!

Besides the fact that they consider their phallus as their ‘second sausage’, the Germans also have an enormous stomach for yellow liquid. Not urine, but beer… Well, actually those words are synonyms here. If it has more than 5 percent of alcohol in it, they call it ‘too Belgian’. But even than I have to say I’m quite impressed: every town has its own local beer, even if there are only 200 people living there. A revelation, even for the Belgian!

The struggle for ‘best beer of the German territory’ always makes me feel as heroic as Perseus defeating Medusa. While thinking about that, there’s always this slogan that suddenly appears:

“As an inhabitant of Gelsenkirchen, there is no chance I prefer Stauder (beer from Essen) or Kölsch (alcoholic water from Cologne). I’ll die with an ice cold Veltins in my perished hand! And my last breath will follow after the final sip of this holy moisture! Veltins is my faith, my religion and my wife ‘till the end of my glorious days!”

But not really, ‘cause my favourite beer is Orval.

So, just remember that when you’re in Germany you shouldn’t talk about non-national beer, Belgians and Nazis, ‘cause you won’t leave the country alive.

Next week I’ll make a comparison between the two archrivals of the European continent: the Germans and the Austrians. That’s going to be interesting, my fellow friends!

See you on Sunday the 9^th of December!

And Cheers to the German beers! 

Party skills: Germany versus Belgium

Even as a Belgian, I have to admit that Germany is a wonderful country if you like to drink beer. The price for a pils isn’t high at all and the quality is above average. Considering that, it has to give the Germans some kind of advantage when it comes to partying…. At least, if they know how to drink. I had to find out if my presumption was true, so my flatmates and I transformed our place from a house to a party penthouse and invited about 40 Germans to have a great time with us!

At eight o’clock the first guest arrived: the beautiful Simon ‘Showmaker’! But he couldn’t prove if I was right or wrong, since he doesn’t drink that much. An hour later some other invitees found their way too and at eleven the whole kitchen was filled with half-drunk students. Even the hosts were already 'light-headed'.

We decided to give everyone a free shot of tequila… a great idea, ‘cause some minutes later our table became a second dance floor, the first bottles were dropped and the crowd started to move. Finally, we had a party! I remember loving every single person with all my heart. My deepest emotions appeared, which translated itself in a need to give an unseen amount of hugs and running around like a wild lion. ‘Nick, you’re a runner when you’re drunk’. Indeed I am.

I remember some kissing individuals -under whom one lesbian pair-, a guy in a Nazi outfit, some people I didn’t know and tasty pizza. The neighbours didn’t complain! Maybe because God lives in the house next door. It’s a church. Hurray for religion!

 

At 4 o’clock in the morning, the Belgian had to admit that one fourth of the Germans had survived him. Painful, but fair is fair. So, dear Germans, my first compliment for you on this blog: you’re good drinkers. Wasted very easily, but you have the strength to go on and make Satan come back to Earth… and you didn’t doubt to do that. Have a look at the kitchen…. We already cleaned the table.

It was great!

For more info about the party, check out Kim's blog.

For more info about German beers, check out Felix' blog.

Cheers!

Germans and sexuality: "if it breathes, it’s fine"

Since I noticed that my readers –between whom there’s my teacher- like to read about sexuality and all the things that are related to that, I searched for a good subject to write about… and I found it! This weekend I went to Berlin, the European capital of openness and ‘love’. It was great to see this city again, especially the places where I’ve been. There are a lot of nice pubs, fancy clubs and cosy restaurants, but Oranienburg Strasse and Kit Kat Club are definitely THE places to be when you’re interested in getting hugs.

Since Oranienburg Strasse is just a street of prostitutes, it wasn’t that interesting. That’s why I went to Kit Kat, an erotic club situated in the heart of Germany’s biggest city. There was a dress code, which said that you could not wear casual clothing. I wore casual clothing. Fuck my life. Or not, ‘cause I knew someone who works there. She gave me a large piece of silk and smiled. Her malicious pleasure was too obvious.

Since there was not much I could do against it, I removed my clothes and wore it as a skirt. Regret came very soon, since the distinctive gay guys were looking very horny when I walked around in my lovely toga. In the beginning it seemed like all the people that were there had an unsatisfied desire to be themselves. That’s the reason why they –both men and women- wore black leather, costumes or steam punk stuff. It’s a relaxing way of having a beer with congeners. The atmosphere was exuberant and tolerant.

After having a couple of alcoholic drinks, I went to another room to see what was happening there. I was surprised when I saw the decoration. Animated pictures of beautiful blonde females being penetrated by highly unattractive –and probably unsatisfied- old men, a cage, a pole,… In two words: sex paradise. Human beings dressed up as imaginary creatures danced on the intense beat of the loud bass, while others laid on a sofa trying to fuck every object that moved or breathed. Girls giving lap dances, a handicapped guy that had no hands painting sexual scenes on women’s bodies and transvestites trying to hook up with young naïve flowers. It was a new experience to see all these underground actions, so I stayed a while, fascinated by this new, undiscovered world. I felt like Columbus! The Germans really know how to explore their sexuality… and they like it a lot.

When you write a blog, you have to do a lot of shitty things. But for you, my dear readers, I do it with pleasure. See you next week!

Germans and knock-knock jokes

Except for strange toilet meetings, a fascination for football and weird sexual fantasies, the Germans have another non-Belgian habit. The first time I went to the Westfälische Fachhochschule –the university in which I study Journalism and PR- this phenomenon occurred. The teacher explained the political institutions of the country and the pupils were listening to his highly interesting stories when I noticed that the lesson should be over soon. I was shuffling on my very comfortable seat –If you weigh more than 25 kilos your belly will get stuck between the foldable table and your leaning piece- waiting for this nightmare to end. All of a sudden our educator stopped talking. An awkward silence took over the room. During five seconds no one said a single word. What were we supposed to do? Just keep quiet and leave? Wait until the Great Leader would leave the room? I didn’t know, so I managed to stand up. While doing this, a wild uncontrolled noise appeared. It became louder and louder. I thought the Germans were preparing World War Three (kaboom tssjj…stupid joke, part one!).

I looked up and saw all those people knocking on their tables, like monkeys that escaped from the local zoo. What were they doing? I was thinking of a stupid knock-knock joke.

“Knock-knock”

“Who’s there?”

“The Gestapo.”

“The Gestapo who?”

“Ve ask ze questions, du Schwein!”

You’ll never guess that was stupid joke, part two…

It was a disappointment. They were just showing respect by applauding for the teacher. He was smiling. They all have a beautiful smile! It always makes me happy when they proudly show us the wonderful meal they ate the previous day. It makes me hungry sometimes. Besides that, Germans have another school ritual. When they need to pee, they really need to pee. They just stand up in the middle of a lecture, leave the room and do what they need to do. Without asking permission! In Belgium that would be an insult, but here it’s very normal. I don’t know which one shows more respect. In the land of sausages they don’t interrupt anyone, but in the land of beer you want to make sure the teacher knows you’re not in his sight anymore. A hard decision to make. I can’t say what’s best. But I can tell you that the Homo Germanis is a very interesting species to observe…  

Follow me on Twitter: @Nilox_

German porn, no taboos

All European countries have their sexual prejudices. Italians are Casanova’s, the French cheat on their partner, England has a problem with teenage pregnancies, the Dutch go to hookers, the Vatican loves children and the Germans… well… they have Merkel. Not that the world famous chancellor has no sex appeal –I’m sure that some men have a fetish for curvy mature women with a wonderful smile- but to be honest I wouldn’t go for a drink with her. At least not voluntarily. 

Actually, I don’t know what the Germans are famous for. Are it moustaches? No, those are the Turkish people. Long penises? I thought those were the Chin.. euhm, Africans. The only thing that hasn’t been said is a mix of them all: Porn must be the German’s sexual identification! It must have something to do with their language. It’s rough but honest, harsh but balanced, dirty but horny. I’ve never denied that German attracts me in all kinds of ways. There’s nothing more exciting than a girl using it in the right context. Even a word as ‘Schmetterling’ (butterfly) sounds like an invitation to make all your sexual fantasies becoming reality in a few minutes.

After I told my Romanian flatmate about the topic I chose for this blog, he immediately reacted in a non expected way. “Ja, Olga! Straf mich!”, he said in crappy German, while elegantly wiggling his ass and making a slapping movement with his hand. Believe it or not, but that also was the first thing that crossed my mind when I was thinking about this subject for the first time. After asking why he immediately had that image in his head, he explained severely that the first movie he saw after the fall of the Berlin wall was one of this type… and it was German, as all East European pornographic movies in that time. Fascinating, isn’t it?

According to Wikipedia, it’s more than just finding an industry in countries as Romania. The site gives some general information about the beginning of the area and its evolution, but when we scroll down to the year two thousand, we can read some other shit. You can interpret that quite literally… A shred from the encyclopaedia: “Due to popular belief outside of Germany, fecal pornography known as ‘Scheisse porn’ (using the German slang word for faeces) or, more commonly, as ‘Kaviar’ (a generic term) supposedly is particularly popular in Germany.” What the hell did I just read?! The people in this country like to poop on their partner. I can’t imagine Angela doing that. She’s such a hygienic woman!

For the first time I didn’t search for a second source to verify this rather uncomfortable story. If search engines would have noticed my quest for such words, they would send me advertisements that don’t belong on my screen. I do everything to avoid unpleasant moments. Pop-ups always reveal themselves when they’re least welcome, like for example when you and your mother are in the same room.

For the persons who are extremely attracted to this way of making love without emotions, there is a saying: shit happens. But as a tolerant Quaker, I say: “Let us not fight over this shit.”

Germans and football: two hands, one belly

Football… My biggest nightmare. If you can make an educated guess, you know I wouldn’t write about this topic if it didn’t become a horrible reality. On the first day of our semester, I heard I had to do a filming project for RevierSport, a local sport newspaper. Filming isn’t really my favorite reporting technique  -you can’t be sublime at everything- but I can live with that. When the word ‘Fußball’ echoed through the room, my eyes almost began to rain. Unfortunately I could feel the common joy the Germans shared on that moment. That stupid game with one ball, a lawn and some muscled man in uniform really excites them. If you think about it, it’s the perfect scene for an erotic porn movie, sprinkled with some weird homosexual fetishes.

RevierSport it was. At least I didn’t have to do the project alone. There were four other football crazy persons to share my ebullience with. Since they all spoke German, it was really hard to understand what they were talking about. I tried to sneak away, but without success. Just smile and nod, Nick. Smile and nod... The tricky bastards kept on asking me questions, and I… just smiled and nodded. I made a splendid first impression again!

When we went to the RevierSport Headquarters for the first time, the project leader asked me a couple of questions. I reached the phase in which I knew I was able to confirm everything like a real German, instead of just answering in a non-verbal way. I confidently agreed with all the queries by saying things as “Ja, klar” and “genau”. The adrenaline that rushed through my veins really pumped me up, and the state of satisfaction and pride on that particular moment was a feeling to remember. While talking to RevierSport’s head of the online section, the team was showing him our plan about the structure of the online magazine.

After two minutes of intensive German talk, the guys  promised the Chief Executive a marvelous idea. It immediately got my attention, because I was curious too. Our project leader began to unveil the plan. Then he looked at me and said: “Nick, our Erasmus student, has never been to a football match before, so we’d like to film him when the supporters of Rot-Weiß-Essen integrate him in their fan culture. It will be funny and amusing. Exactly what we need for our magazine!” I was stunned, couldn’t say a word. Were they serious? Would I, the greatest football outsider of Europe, make an item about myself getting drunk on a local beer, singing extremist songs and going wild on the first goal? Well… I gave it a try.

 There we were; four real men, two giant cameras, an expensive audio set and I. As a moderator and protagonist, I had to talk all the time. My team obviously wanted to make a funny reportage: “Nick… In German please”. I was dying inside, but managed to talk that beautiful language for more than eight hours. Horrible. But since I’m media horny, I enjoyed it in some way. The fans weren’t that stupid as I thought they’d be, but the beer –it’s called Stauder- was almost undrinkable. The taste was harsh and really bitter. But the Essener people are proud of it, so I pretended it was the loveliest lager I’d ever had.

I learned some songs too. Not that there was much to learn ‘cause it was just a repetition of the same words ten times. The most lovely thing of them all was the passion with which the fans marched towards the arena. They wanted their team to win so as to party all night long. The atmosphere was amazing! When I entered the stadium for the first time, I was overwhelmed by the eight thousand spectators all yelling for their team. When the game began, It was obvious that the extremist core wasn’t really there to see the guys playing. They just enjoyed roaring songs, gobbling beer and fluttering their red-white flags. Such an enthusiastic crowd. I really got sucked into it. Although the score stayed 0-0, I savoured every moment of the evening. And the best part is that it’s captured on film. So… Check out the movie! The interesting part starts at 3:30! Next week I'll write a blog about the curiosities of German porn!

Germans, the toilet and I

Germans and personal space... These two concepts don’t seem to match, but it took me a long time to find that out. As a young, naive Belgian, my friends and teachers informed me about the distanced mentality of the people in the most powerful country of Europe. Some prejudices were born. “They are ice cold, hard as steel”, I thought. And in some way, I always believed I was right. During the first weeks of my stay in Gelsenkirchen, it was very difficult to integrate, because I could tell shop keepers really didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t able to speak their language properly. What did they expect? I came to Germany to become a rhetorical genius, not to steal their jobs… Even though they have a high salary, so maybe one day I’ll become an immigrant.

My first impressions weren’t that good, thus I decided to attend a party. It’s easier to make friends in a bar than talking to people in a grocery store. Sebastian, my flatmate, asked me if I wanted to go to a place called ‘Fuck’. I agreed, since it sounded really kinky. When we arrived there, a couple of beers were passed at the counter, some beautiful drunk women were coming in to seduce the jerks and a man was puking in the corner. It was wonderful. Just what I expected out of a bar with such a splendid name.

We had a great time, although the Germans were acting like we were invisible. After drinking a couple of glasses that were filled with the holy liquid, my bladder was ready to burst. Actually ‘explode’ is a better description. I ran to the toilet, pushed away some drunk guys and opened my zipper in advance. After a few seconds, I saw my final destination: the urinals. There were two of them, so that gave me the opportunity to choose. I’d never felt so happy in my entire life. Normally I’m not that picky, but the right one immediately jumped in the eye. It was love at first sight.

During that unforgettable moment of letting everything go, a sweaty guy with long hair and glasses came in. He immediately went to the left urinal, took a deep breath and almost had an orgasm because of the pleasant relief. After two minutes of shared happiness –our bladders were still half full- he turned his face to mine. In Belgium, that’s the most inappropriate thing you can do, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I didn’t look back. After five more seconds I noticed that he moved the left part of his body towards the wall and that he was staring at my jewels. He smiled.  I felt raped.

But then the unthinkable happened: He started talking to me. It was a small talk about the lovely weather of the previous day, the sweet taste of Belgian chocolates and the extreme relief of the moment. I hoped that the endless stream of purified beer leaking in the men’s sink would come to an end soon, because I didn’t feel the need to socialize with this rather eccentric creature. After that satisfying moment, he started following me. It was clear he’d never met someone from abroad. We left, he waved.

I wasn’t sure if this was their way of communicating, but when we went to Trujillo some days later, I knew for sure that the water closet was the place to connect with others. Three urinals, a machine filled with toys you can only find in bedrooms and the smell of rotten fish. Not a very attractive picture, but you can imagine the atmosphere. I decided to pee in the left chamber pot. A few seconds later a drunk student appeared next to me… Not on the right, but next to me… He didn’t give me personal space. His arm was caressing mine. Not very comfortable when you’re holding something you can’t let go. He turned to me, looked down, smiled, opened his mouth and said proudly: “Look, without hands! it’s Free Willy!” He must have noticed that I wasn’t really interested in his stories, so he wished me a good night and shook my clean hand with his hotbed of bacteria. Great. My life was complete.

I can conclude that Germans are really nice fellows if they know you… or if they meet you at the toilet. Another possibility could be that I attract gay people. There’s only one certainty: when I drink beer, I’ll have to go to the loo. So no worries: many stories will follow!