After a rather traumatic period in my adventurous life,
I have reappeared in Germany.
Vineyards at the edge of the property
Wiltingen village from the other side of the river
Greetings from Wiltingen!
I send you all my most charismatic greetings from the Saar valley in south western Germany! What a difference from the previous place, whose name I shall avoid writing for fear of a Pavlovian attack of depression and angst...
Moving was a real ordeal: I asked a friend to drive a hire van with all the stuff in it and got some neighbours’ youngsters to help me load up. However, on closing up the back, it was noticeable that there were three flat tyres. On going to the hire company, they accused us of driving over stones or some other objects and refused to co-operate because we had signed the contract. When I pointed out that their contract was not totally legal due to the overuse of small writing, and that the truck had not been properly checked when they gave it to us, he got on the phone to his boss and had a ten-minute complaining session about us using expressions like “yeah, I know...” and “but they just don’t want to”. At the end of his rant, he handed us some more keys to a different truck, checked it over properly and shook our hands as if to capitulate to a higher psychological power. It helps when the person accompanying you to the hire shop used to be one of the leading experts in European consumer rights, often appearing on television channels all over Europe...
In any case, the last person I spoke to in Belgium (there, I finally got the courage to write it) really confirmed my decision to leave: in the petrol station on the E40 just before Liège, we pulled in to fill up. A stupid argument ensued because the cashier didn’t want to accept that my card was rejected by his machine. I told him he was a first class imbecile and asked him if the glass screen was to protect him from gunmen or the wrath of his clients. He told me from gunmen, who come from time to time, upon which I told him they had my full support and next time if I were there I’d tell them to wait in the car while I did the ******* job myself.
This lack of community spirit and utter contempt for one’s fellow human being went into total reverse upon crossing the frontier into Germany. What a total irony, verging on the paradoxical. When we arrived at my new place, we were just wearily bringing in the last few items when a neighbour came to greet us and immediately offered his assistance. He even offered to cook us a meal. The weekend after, some other neighbours invited us to join their barbecue having only said hello once before. Her husband works in the same area of Luxembourg and offered me a lift to work.
Greetings from Wiltingen! I send you all my most charismatic greetings from the Saar valley in south western Germany! What a difference from the previous place, whose name I shall avoid writing for fear of a Pavlovian attack of depression and angst...
Moving was a real ordeal: I asked a friend to drive a hire van with all the stuff in it and got some neighbours’ youngsters to help me load up. However, on closing up the back, it was noticeable that there were three flat tyres. On going to the hire company, they accused us of driving over stones or some other objects and refused to co-operate because we had signed the contract. When I pointed out that their contract was not totally legal due to the overuse of small writing, and that the truck had not been properly checked when they gave it to us, he got on the phone to his boss and had a ten-minute complaining session about us using expressions like “yeah, I know...” and “but they just don’t want to”. At the end of his rant, he handed us some more keys to a different truck, checked it over properly and shook our hands as if to capitulate to a higher psychological power. It helps when the person accompanying you to the hire shop used to be one of the leading experts in European consumer rights, often appearing on television channels all over Europe...
In any case, the last person I spoke to in Belgium (there, I finally got the courage to write it) really confirmed my decision to leave: in the petrol station on the E40 just before Liège, we pulled in to fill up. A stupid argument ensued because the cashier didn’t want to accept that my card was rejected by his machine. I told him he was a first class imbecile and asked him if the glass screen was to protect him from gunmen or the wrath of his clients. He told me from gunmen, who come from time to time, upon which I told him they had my full support and next time if I were there I’d tell them to wait in the car while I did the ******* job myself.
This lack of community spirit and utter contempt for one’s fellow human being went into total reverse upon crossing the frontier into Germany. What a total irony, verging on the paradoxical. When we arrived at my new place, we were just wearily bringing in the last few items when a neighbour came to greet us and immediately offered his assistance. He even offered to cook us a meal. The weekend after, some other neighbours invited us to join their barbecue having only said hello once before. Her husband works in the same area of Luxembourg and offered me a lift to work.
View of the Saar valley from Saarburg castle
Where did all the energy come from?
I get up at 5.45am to go to work, although I only work Monday to Wednesday. However, on my days off I get up relatively early and 8.00am is positively a lie-in for me. I do so much more in one day that I’m starting to wonder how I could have wasted seven years of my life shut away in that other place. The difference is overpowering: I step out of the door and I am immediately confronted with nature – hills with vineyards rise up in a stately fashion for miles around, interspersed with woods, meadows and rivers. Villages with local shops, guesthouses and inns play a major part in the local fabric of life. Events are often looked forward to as they don’t bombard people’s lives each week with something new. The village May fair takes place this weekend, and I have already been invited to participate by setting up my own stall. I politely declined, as I am not ready with the new photos for this year, but it really made me feel like I belong, something which took over a year in Belgium. Who wouldn’t want to get up early to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the place?!
Where did all the energy come from?
I get up at 5.45am to go to work, although I only work Monday to Wednesday. However, on my days off I get up relatively early and 8.00am is positively a lie-in for me. I do so much more in one day that I’m starting to wonder how I could have wasted seven years of my life shut away in that other place. The difference is overpowering: I step out of the door and I am immediately confronted with nature – hills with vineyards rise up in a stately fashion for miles around, interspersed with woods, meadows and rivers. Villages with local shops, guesthouses and inns play a major part in the local fabric of life. Events are often looked forward to as they don’t bombard people’s lives each week with something new. The village May fair takes place this weekend, and I have already been invited to participate by setting up my own stall. I politely declined, as I am not ready with the new photos for this year, but it really made me feel like I belong, something which took over a year in Belgium. Who wouldn’t want to get up early to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the place?!
Our paddock
Nobody wants my money
People here are so civilised and trusting. On Tuesday evening I went to one of the local vintners and asked to buy a few bottles of wine. I said I only had a fifty euro note and she couldn’t change it but when I was passing next time I could drop it off. How refreshing, I thought.
It didn’t end there: the next morning I arrived at the station with the aforementioned fifty euro note and tried to purchase a €2.25 ticket with it. The stationmaster said not to worry as he couldn’t give change but if I were to meet with a ticket inspector I should just mention the fifty euro note. Remarkable, I thought. Then a lady sitting on the bench said she had seen me before and she said she could lend me a couple of euro until next time and so I could buy my ticket. Extraordinary, I thought.
When I arrived in Konz, the town where my bus to Luxembourg leaves from, I walked with the lady who lent me some money to the bakery, concluding our chat, and I got a coffee and a cherry Streusel (Germany’s best kept secret is the cakes) for breakfast. I proffered the fifty euro note and the lady behind the counter said she couldn’t change it but I could pop in over the next few days and give her the cash. Not to worry, she said, these things happen. Quite amazing, I thought.
I went over to the bus stop and awaited the bus to the Luxembourg border where I had to change buses. My German colleague was there and we exchanged early summer salutations before the bus’s arrival. When I offered to driver the same note, he told me tongue-in-cheek that he was not an exchange bureau and told me I’d have to unfortunately go free of charge to the Luxembourg border that morning. Fortunately my German colleague came over to me and lent me three euro or I would have suffered the ignominy of repeating the conversation with the driver of the bus to the European Quarter in Luxembourg. Utterly astonishing, I thought.
And then I thought No, it’s actually quite normal. It’s just that I haven’t had that kind of experience since I left the UK.
Nobody wants my moneyPeople here are so civilised and trusting. On Tuesday evening I went to one of the local vintners and asked to buy a few bottles of wine. I said I only had a fifty euro note and she couldn’t change it but when I was passing next time I could drop it off. How refreshing, I thought.
It didn’t end there: the next morning I arrived at the station with the aforementioned fifty euro note and tried to purchase a €2.25 ticket with it. The stationmaster said not to worry as he couldn’t give change but if I were to meet with a ticket inspector I should just mention the fifty euro note. Remarkable, I thought. Then a lady sitting on the bench said she had seen me before and she said she could lend me a couple of euro until next time and so I could buy my ticket. Extraordinary, I thought.
When I arrived in Konz, the town where my bus to Luxembourg leaves from, I walked with the lady who lent me some money to the bakery, concluding our chat, and I got a coffee and a cherry Streusel (Germany’s best kept secret is the cakes) for breakfast. I proffered the fifty euro note and the lady behind the counter said she couldn’t change it but I could pop in over the next few days and give her the cash. Not to worry, she said, these things happen. Quite amazing, I thought.
I went over to the bus stop and awaited the bus to the Luxembourg border where I had to change buses. My German colleague was there and we exchanged early summer salutations before the bus’s arrival. When I offered to driver the same note, he told me tongue-in-cheek that he was not an exchange bureau and told me I’d have to unfortunately go free of charge to the Luxembourg border that morning. Fortunately my German colleague came over to me and lent me three euro or I would have suffered the ignominy of repeating the conversation with the driver of the bus to the European Quarter in Luxembourg. Utterly astonishing, I thought.
And then I thought No, it’s actually quite normal. It’s just that I haven’t had that kind of experience since I left the UK.
Saarburg waterfalls
Becoming a local
Signing into a local community is sometimes quite a hassle. Having lived in a lot of places I think one of the worst countries to legalise your status is Belgium although France comes out top of that ignominious list. The Czech Republic is also not particularly good. I remember going to register in Leuven for the first time at the foreign nationals desk, which was one of the most visited council services and yet the least staffed. I arrived first thing in the morning at 8.45 and along with thirty other people from Congo, Japan, the USA, Ivory Coast, Algeria, Sudan and Indonesia, ran forward as fast as possible to grab the queuing tickets, being threatened with a fatal stabbing by one menacing brute. I waited three hours and at the end was told to come back because I didn’t have all the required documents.
In France, I had to get my landlady to come to the local town hall to register me because in France you can’t get a job without the residence permit and you can’t get a residence permit without a job. No wonder why there are such a lot of people who feel disenfranchised from the French way of life there. In Prague it was a similar story, but fortunately that seems to have changed now they are part of the EU.
On the contrary, upon going to the local council building in Konz, I walked into a virtually empty room with more staff than visitors, I signed two pieces of paper (address) and put two crosses on the questions of my religion (church subsidies) and my tax status. I didn’t have to show any proof of contract, I didn’t have to show any proof of address, I didn’t even have to bring a photo. Nope, I don’t have any ridiculous carte de séjour like in France and I didn’t have to humiliate myself by showing my private affairs like in Belgium.
As I walked out of the council building, I felt quite overwhelmed by the whole experience. I became a little lightheaded by the simplicity of everything in Germany; that nothing was too difficult for people; that things which take forever elsewhere only take a few minutes here; that you can keep your dignity in the local government offices; but most of all, that you feel part of the community from the moment you arrive.
Becoming a localSigning into a local community is sometimes quite a hassle. Having lived in a lot of places I think one of the worst countries to legalise your status is Belgium although France comes out top of that ignominious list. The Czech Republic is also not particularly good. I remember going to register in Leuven for the first time at the foreign nationals desk, which was one of the most visited council services and yet the least staffed. I arrived first thing in the morning at 8.45 and along with thirty other people from Congo, Japan, the USA, Ivory Coast, Algeria, Sudan and Indonesia, ran forward as fast as possible to grab the queuing tickets, being threatened with a fatal stabbing by one menacing brute. I waited three hours and at the end was told to come back because I didn’t have all the required documents.
In France, I had to get my landlady to come to the local town hall to register me because in France you can’t get a job without the residence permit and you can’t get a residence permit without a job. No wonder why there are such a lot of people who feel disenfranchised from the French way of life there. In Prague it was a similar story, but fortunately that seems to have changed now they are part of the EU.
On the contrary, upon going to the local council building in Konz, I walked into a virtually empty room with more staff than visitors, I signed two pieces of paper (address) and put two crosses on the questions of my religion (church subsidies) and my tax status. I didn’t have to show any proof of contract, I didn’t have to show any proof of address, I didn’t even have to bring a photo. Nope, I don’t have any ridiculous carte de séjour like in France and I didn’t have to humiliate myself by showing my private affairs like in Belgium.
As I walked out of the council building, I felt quite overwhelmed by the whole experience. I became a little lightheaded by the simplicity of everything in Germany; that nothing was too difficult for people; that things which take forever elsewhere only take a few minutes here; that you can keep your dignity in the local government offices; but most of all, that you feel part of the community from the moment you arrive.
View from hillside towards my house on the right
Getting used to the new surroundings
Some of the changes, though, have been more difficult to come to terms with. I live in a village with no buses and a train an hour in both directions and I don’t have a driving licence. You are probably asking yourself why on earth I chose to come here in the first place. I start work at 8.30am in another country, for Pete’s sake: I must be off my tree. But no, I just have to get up that bit earlier. 5.45am as I said. But it’s worth it: I get the train at 6.29am to Konz, arriving at 6.35am, where I walk seven minutes to the bakery at the bus stop, have a coffee and a cake or two, get the 7.00am bus to Grevenmacher, change to the bus to Luxembourg, arriving at 7.50 in the European Quarter of the city. I have my second coffee, make my photocopies, chat to a few colleagues and await the arrival of my participants. But considering the place I live in, it is a sacrifice worth making.
Another disadvantage is that the baker and the butcher’s shops in the village are only open in the morning from 6.45am to 12.30pm. They only sell basic provisions apart from their usual fare so I need to get food on my way home of an evening. Even that is no trouble really, because I buy my food in Knospe in Konz, a typically German shop, selling organic food from local producers. I could also visit Kaufhof, Lidl, dm or Rewe in Konz depending on the amount of time I have before the train. If it took my fancy, I could stop off at the Ratskeller restaurant for a giant Schnitzel or a truly filling salad. I could hop off the train at the next stop in Kanzem and head for the Saarterrasse, a delightful riverside eatery. However, the greatest pleasure is arriving in Wiltingen where I live and heading for Rosi’s Weinstube for a glass or two of their grape juice. No, I mean it. It’s not a euphemism for wine, it’s really juice although not out of a carton but straight from the grapes. It is the taste equivalent of being caught in a vineyard in a sudden heavy shower.
Getting used to the new surroundingsSome of the changes, though, have been more difficult to come to terms with. I live in a village with no buses and a train an hour in both directions and I don’t have a driving licence. You are probably asking yourself why on earth I chose to come here in the first place. I start work at 8.30am in another country, for Pete’s sake: I must be off my tree. But no, I just have to get up that bit earlier. 5.45am as I said. But it’s worth it: I get the train at 6.29am to Konz, arriving at 6.35am, where I walk seven minutes to the bakery at the bus stop, have a coffee and a cake or two, get the 7.00am bus to Grevenmacher, change to the bus to Luxembourg, arriving at 7.50 in the European Quarter of the city. I have my second coffee, make my photocopies, chat to a few colleagues and await the arrival of my participants. But considering the place I live in, it is a sacrifice worth making.
Another disadvantage is that the baker and the butcher’s shops in the village are only open in the morning from 6.45am to 12.30pm. They only sell basic provisions apart from their usual fare so I need to get food on my way home of an evening. Even that is no trouble really, because I buy my food in Knospe in Konz, a typically German shop, selling organic food from local producers. I could also visit Kaufhof, Lidl, dm or Rewe in Konz depending on the amount of time I have before the train. If it took my fancy, I could stop off at the Ratskeller restaurant for a giant Schnitzel or a truly filling salad. I could hop off the train at the next stop in Kanzem and head for the Saarterrasse, a delightful riverside eatery. However, the greatest pleasure is arriving in Wiltingen where I live and heading for Rosi’s Weinstube for a glass or two of their grape juice. No, I mean it. It’s not a euphemism for wine, it’s really juice although not out of a carton but straight from the grapes. It is the taste equivalent of being caught in a vineyard in a sudden heavy shower.
Galgenberg
Walking in the hills
There are tracks everywhere through the vineyards along the Saar valley. You can walk for a whole day without ever standing aside for a car. I like to go up to the top of the Galgenberg, our local prominent hill and scene of witch executions in the Middle Ages, and watching the sun go down and the moon rise. I am so fortunate that I am the only person for at least a kilometre to be up there after dark. You can admire the three rivers, wonder at the shape of the sheer valleys and listen to the trains, cars and pedestrians going by below without them ever knowing you were there. You can hear a lot more up there than down on the ground level. There is a spot, through a grove of trees that obviously very rarely gets visited, where you feel like you are hovering above the earth. The only sounds are of local birds, and after dark the sky is covered with stars as though the Almighty has dropped a glass on the floor, shattering into millions of pieces. At the Galgenberg summit itself, there is a statue of some steps leading to nowhere, a symbol of the executions, and a lookout parapet with railings and a telescope. I often go up there to feel totally at one with my surroundings and look down upon the wonders of Mother Earth.
Walking in the hillsThere are tracks everywhere through the vineyards along the Saar valley. You can walk for a whole day without ever standing aside for a car. I like to go up to the top of the Galgenberg, our local prominent hill and scene of witch executions in the Middle Ages, and watching the sun go down and the moon rise. I am so fortunate that I am the only person for at least a kilometre to be up there after dark. You can admire the three rivers, wonder at the shape of the sheer valleys and listen to the trains, cars and pedestrians going by below without them ever knowing you were there. You can hear a lot more up there than down on the ground level. There is a spot, through a grove of trees that obviously very rarely gets visited, where you feel like you are hovering above the earth. The only sounds are of local birds, and after dark the sky is covered with stars as though the Almighty has dropped a glass on the floor, shattering into millions of pieces. At the Galgenberg summit itself, there is a statue of some steps leading to nowhere, a symbol of the executions, and a lookout parapet with railings and a telescope. I often go up there to feel totally at one with my surroundings and look down upon the wonders of Mother Earth.
Home, the Kochsmühle
To conclude
With all these possibilities, there is not even a stampede of wild buffalo or a plague of dung beetles that could force me to leave this corner of earthly paradise. I came here to restart my own business in a less stressful environment and to work at the European Institutions in Luxembourg, giving up a more high profile career amongst the politicians and powerbrokers of the EU in Brussels for a statelier pace of life albeit not such an intriguing, exciting and vibrant place to work. And I don’t regret it for one minute.
To concludeWith all these possibilities, there is not even a stampede of wild buffalo or a plague of dung beetles that could force me to leave this corner of earthly paradise. I came here to restart my own business in a less stressful environment and to work at the European Institutions in Luxembourg, giving up a more high profile career amongst the politicians and powerbrokers of the EU in Brussels for a statelier pace of life albeit not such an intriguing, exciting and vibrant place to work. And I don’t regret it for one minute.
