The glitter revolution

0105 The glitter revolution

Living in Germany is great. I’ve talked to quite a few expats in recent times, most of whom confirmed that they have made a conscious choice of living here based on the standard of living, quality of life, benefits for families, social security and so on. There’s plenty to love about this beautiful country. However, one thing strikes many foreigners about Germans. What annoying quality might I be talking about?

Granted, Germans are perceived by most other cultures as rather direct and straightforward. But while this may take some getting used to, it is not always viewed as an altogether bad thing.

One thing, though, that does get pointed out to me time and again in conversations with immigrants (and that I myself find utterly annoying) is that Germans have a penchant for what I call ULOSIPping (unsolicited lecturing of strangers in public). This may occur in any situation, but there are two spheres where it tends to be applied most: traffic and parenting. Anyone staying in this country for more than a week will certainly experience instances of ulosipping. Let me give you two examples from our recent family life.

Situation 1: My English husband is cycling on the pavement with our four-year-old. Everyday occurrence in Cologne, as it has been permitted under the Traffic Code of North Rhine Westphalia (the German state we live in) for quite a while now for parents accompanying young children on bikes to ride on the pavement with them. An elderly couple comes along and the man feels it is his duty as a citizen to step in as Batman’s wing man and right a wrong here. But not only does he yell (like so many do), ‘This is a pavement, not a cycle path!’ – No, while doing this, he extends his arm in front of him across the pavement, so as to force Mr K off his bike. As this came as quite a surprise, my husband had to brake really hard, which made my four-year-old bump into him and fall off her bike.

Situation 2: I am crossing the street with my two children. Because of their height they obviously can’t see above the cars parked on the curb, so they step forward (as they’ve been taught in kindergarten police traffic training) to the edge of the cars so they can see if the road is clear. Zooming past us from behind on the pavement is a middle-aged berserk woman on her bike screaming ‘Get those children off the road! They’re about to get flattened!’ as she cycles across and back on the pavement again on the other side. I was so perplexed that it took me a moment to find my speech. Then I said, ‘Oh yes, by you, it seems like.’

Riding my bike about town a lot, I’m used to getting yelled abuse at, such as ‘The most wicked kamikaze cyclists are mothers without children!’ or ‘It’s not I who has to look out, it’s you!’ Or I get beeped at just because I’m there and cars need to slow down because of me. (Oh, the cheek of me, just being there, breathing!)

Also, strangers in Germany tend to tell parents and/or their children how to behave. When a child loses it at the supermarket, there is always a concerned mother or elderly woman (yes, they tend to be female) around the next corner who knows what’s best and will make sure to let you know. And often insist.

As my English husband points out, in his country, you would think those things but not say them out loud. Of course, not saying what you really think can also go the other way, but seriously, queens: a little less policing would do you full-blooded Teutons good!

I have a suspicion that, for some reason, Germans have a primeval craving to be right – myself included; I’m not entirely free from that either (as Mr K would be hard-pressed to deny). It seems to be in our DNA. I for one have been doing lots of yoga, Pilates and soul-searching and working on this in recent years, and I do find that, in spite of my genetic make-up, I’m gradually getting better at the initially ludicrous idea of loving myself and others.

So, my lovelies: A little more benevolence and warm-heartedness in everyday life would make social interaction so much easier, more pleasant and more joyful for everyone. Why not just break into song or start to tango the next time someone has a go at you? Or buy them a drink or wish them a wonderful day from the bottom of your heart. Imagine we all did this from now on – this is how revolutions get started. Kill them with kindness and feel the love, queens! (I think I’ve been QE’d beyond hope – I like!)

The Pommes Buddha says: When life’s a bitch, just sprinkle some glitter on her!

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This is it

Eingebuergert

I’ve joked about it a few times and now it’s been reality for a good year already: my English husband officially became my English-German husband. After an eleven-month trekking trip through the jungle of application deadlines, waiting periods and scraping together of long-forgotten pieces of paper, Mr K is officially Herr K. For those of you with a Brexit-induced interest in self-Germanisation, here are some of our experiences…

If you want to become German, the first thing to do (or so it says on the website of the German Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF)) is contact your local Ausländerbehörde and make an appointment for consultation.

This turned out to be helpful advice, as the person at the Ausländeramt told my henceforth-split-personality husband not only what specific documents he needed to provide in his particular situation, but also that the recommended next step was to make an appointment for filing the application for citizenship.
That’s right – first lesson in being German: don’t just do things – make appointments to verify you do things properly.

The thing is, and that’s useful to know, the waiting period for an appointment to file your citizenship application is about six months (or was at the place and time we did it). If you try to collate all the necessary documents and pass all the required tests before making that appointment, you may find that the overall process will take much longer.

So Herr K’s timeline was this: first meeting with Ausländerbehörde clerk in March 2017, German-language test in June, Einbürgerungstest in August, appointment for filing the application in October 2017, Einbürgerung ceremony in February 2018.

My ECGH (English-come-German husband) and I are convinced, though, that for German authorities the real proof of eligibility for citizenship is not in the formal tests but in the trials and tribulations they throw your way on the journey. For example, to receive a physical copy of his German-language certificate, my then-still-exclusively-English husband had to pull off the stunt of being at the right place (5th floor, turn left, go through two sets of doors, turn right, then left, then right again, 2nd but last green door behind the Benjamin’s fig – which is compulsory in public-service buildings in Germany) at the right time (between 14:03 and 14:18 hrs on the fifth day of the Ides of August, but only if the wolf howled three times during the last full moon) and in person with his passport, favourite socks and 100 most recent income statements in tow. The letter stating this was sent during the summer school holidays with one week’s notice.

Another tribulation: making it through the daunting, windowless corridors of the Ausländeramt, adorned with aggregate-concrete on the outside and larded with miserable misers on the inside, in the otherwise cheerful and welcoming Cologne district of Kalk, only to find a hapless figure hunched over their big ledgers, throwing suspicious glances and sneering at you. As you pass each doorway, neon-light signs flare up that say, in progressing order, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’, ‘Are you REALLY sure you want to do this?’ and ‘Are you my-life-depends-on-it-and-I-will-never-be-happy-again-if-I-fail-sure about this?’

For my husband, being German is a no-nonsense responsibility. We have therefore since welcomed stringent German order in our home. For example, we are now the proud users of an app (for desperate parents: FAMANICE) that manages your entire family’s schedule up to and including the Mitbringsel (small gift) that our older daughter’s second-BFF’s second-youngest brother gets for the second-BFF’s 10th birthday in 2021 (Ides of April, I think – but let me double-check).

As for next week’s planning, I made an appointment with my newly-German-among-other-things husband to confirm that the filing of an application for spending Tuesday evening on the couch watching Queer Eye (our current ab fav after-work-build-me-up programme of love) was made in due form and time.

The Pommes Buddha says: Mind the Benjamin’s fig.

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