Goldy Locks

My early days at Endingen kept me on the lookout for sources that would break my five euro notes into one and two euro coins because sometimes when I reached office in the morning I found that I was short of cigarettes and loose change too, and the result: I could not get the cigarette vending machine near the office to cough out a pack of fags.
I noticed on one of my forays that the only shop close to the office was a huge warehouse stored with hardware and such stuff high unto the ceiling that reached at least two storeys.
One day, on the way to my office I noticed that again I was short of those elusive coins. So I got into this shop and as I entered I heard a small alarm ring, followed by a movement somewhere on top of a rung at the top.
When the person slowly climbed down towards me I found that the keeper in charge was a tall lithe blonde lady and not the surly gruff voiced warehouse keeper that I expected the person would be.
She approached me and asked something in German that I didn't quite understand at all. Safely guessing that she was asking what it was that I wanted, I looked around for something I could buy. Something small and affordable.
All I could see was tins and tins of paint, varnish, iron and steel, lawnmowers and things I just could not discern.
Then I found them. A couple of small innocent looking brass locks hanging near the wall behind me. The kind of small locks that would hold together the zippers of your travel baggage.
I pointed to them and mumbled in English that I wanted to buy one.
She reached out and handed me one and as I handed her a five euro note I got the small lock with precious booty- two and one euro coins and some cents.
I hoped she would not put two and two together as I headed towards the cigarette vending machine almost opposite the shop.
A few days later I returned to the shop to buy one of those locks that had turned out to be my lucky charm. This time too the lady expressionlessly handed me a little brass lock and saw me hurry eagerly to the cigarette vending machine with the loose change.
I started wondering how many more unnecessary locks I would be buying before my trip home.

Locks over the Rhine

Another memorable experience was the visit to the French border.
The Rhine acts as a natural boundary between Alsatian France and German Baden Wurttemberg in these parts.
The trip to the border was uneventful except that I noticed that the autobahn (high speed motorway) had a lot of motorbike riders on that sunny day. It was quite hot for that summer, but they were all in the same stereotype boots, jacket and goggles pulled over their eyes.
Also I noticed that some of the cars had bicycles or small boats hauled on top of them. Families out on a boating trip perhaps, or simply cycling in the countryside enjoying an unusually hot summer, I guessed.
The first question that came to my mind was why the Rhine needed water locks. (The ones like those over the Panama/Suez canal). The answer is that at some sections the water is too rapid. I guess, too fast for a moderate sized boat or a tug to safely navigate.
The upriver boats enter the first lock whose floodgates are then closed and water fills in calculatedly through sluices. Once the water level nears the level of the upper body of the river, the lock is opened, water fills in, and the boat(s) continue on their journey.
And it is vice versa on the other lock.
There were a good many people on joy cruises in addition to the commercial tugboats.
Some pretty beauties on fancy boats were actually doing crew work.
Wow! Those beauties really knew their ropes.

Wine flows along the Rhine

One weekend proved to be a remarkable day in my life.
I drank wine - all kinds, red, white; beer- the works.
It happened so that an acquaintance I knew in Germany invited me to experience the fullness of a wine festival. He knew that I didn't drink but all the same I agreed to keep him company.
We went to nearby Sasbach, just four kilometers from France, on the banks of the picturesque Rhine that acts as the international border between French Alsace and German Baden-Wurttemberg.
When we arrived it was late night already but the festivities were just beginning. We saw quite a few sodden brunettes sitting bleary eyed by the sidewalk. Some of them ogled at me, perhaps because of my skin color.
Some sort of clubs had been formed at the wine festival and each club had its own stall where it offered its produce to visitors and locals as well.
Our first visit was to the stall run by the mayor of Sasbach. He proved to be a ruddy well built man who kept on offering us more and more of his wine, perhaps to give an alien the best Germany has to offer. I drank a lot but noticed that I was not getting any more drunk.
Then we had another shot of wine at the next stall complete with cherries at the bottom of the glass. The cherries too had partially fermented.
I was desperately hungry by this time so my friend and I went to a fast food stall. We were offered something that tasted like salted dried meat, accompanied with a bread loaf.
I found it extremely bland for my taste. No better than chomping at a tramp's disintegrating shoes.
Soon the place was filling up with people. I had never seen so many people together at one place in these rural parts. A musician was playing on his string instrument in accompaniment to an Italian folk song.
Soon some of the people were up on the benches and were chanting and singing and dancing. The crowed roared in approval when one octogenarian couple did a tap dance.
All of them seemed to be having a good time.
After a couple more drinks I started getting heady and decided to stop the beer and wine guzzling.
Still I was reasonably sober until I reached my boarding.
I pondered over the more subtle nuances of life that did not make much sense to me the next day, before I passed out drunk.

The umlaut and the omelette

Eating out can burn a hole in your pocket in expensive Germany.
Not having attempted a crash course in cooking I expected major problems with the grub. But it turned out well after all.
I had come prepared on this trip with my supply of masalas (the entire works - including the sambhar and garam masala types) and two packs of tea bags which I had calculated would safely see me through three months; as I had been advised to do so by a contact who has earlier been to Germany. Good thing too - German fast food would have proved too bland for my taste and Indian tea is not too readily available, the locals preferring to go for Ceylon tea which tastes differently.
I made my diurnal visits to the supermarket a fine act of balancing my expenses so that it never went beyond ten euros. Everything at the supermarket was packaged and labelled in German, excluding the vegetable and meat sections. The first few visits to the supermarket were elaborate missions of exploration as I discovered where I could find what; burdened, as I was with the double disability of not being able to read labels in German on the produce and the inability to seek assistance in English.
Before I headed out each day, rucksack on back, I mentally prepared a shopping list that had the advantage of making the shopping easier.
Once at the supermarket I shopped like a programmed microchip. First to the vegetables section, usually for cabbage, cauliflower or potatoes (I avoided the more exotic vegetables that I was unfamiliar with - there was a lot of green stuff around of which I could only make out the spinach and lettuce) and the onions - which we Indians can't do without. Stocks of Sunflower oil once bought lasted nearly a month. (I preferred frying the vegetables in spicy powder; hell, anyway it tasted good !).
Next the rounds for bread, noodles or spaghetti, rice, followed by the usual milk cartons, packaged fruit juice (choosing between banana, grape, orange and maracuja fruit) and a choice between hundreds of varieties of yogurt; and finally some pork or chicken. And some butter occasionally, and mushrooms and ketchup for a change. Yes, they had the Indian variety of rice too. My daily trips always included several packages of what was labelled “Patna Reis”.
My cooking and eating too followed fixed patterns. It was yogurt in the morning before I left for work (that saved me time making tea), rice or spaghetti boiled in masala with meat in the afternoon and gulps of juice in the evening, as I cooked food for the next day, humming to myself as I watched my favorite TV channel that I presumed was the German avatar of MTV; followed by a hot supper of one of my edible concoctions.
I took the luxury of brunching a hot dog at the market place on Sundays.
Wine I never touched - and it must have seemed strange to the natives, me being in the land of the World's best wine.

Money Matters

One of the first things that confuse visitors to a foreign land, I discovered, was getting used to the loose change.
Every visit to the supermarket found me exchanging paper money for coins ranging over all denominations – I never found myself quick witted enough to tender the exact change like those around me did. The result – I found myself unwittingly becoming the owner of a large coin collection.
Not that loose change had little utility; I badly needed coins to feed the cigarette vending machines that I so regularly patronized. But I discovered to my dismay that these contraptions accepted only half, one and two euro coins. Smaller change seemed to be meant for manual and more discrete handling.
At the end of the day I found myself running short of one and two euro coins.
I was perplexed by this dilemma till I found a novel solution.
Endingen had a mini gambling parlor which was patronized by a good number of residents. Loose change was the currency that the gambling machines spoke and the parlor had coin vending machines that broke up your paper money.
The matronly lady in charge gracefully turned a blind eye as I dutifully walked in daily after office hours to get my five euro note broken up into one and two euro coins.
***

First Flight

Last year in May
…late at night I got a call from this German firm saying that they had decided to recruit me on contract and that I had to report ASAP to their office.
Excited and breathless I checked out the net to fish out more information on this company's location.
Endingen seemed to be a quaint little German village close to the French and Swiss borders.
It had its own pretty little website (www.endingen.de) which featured a shot from a webcam that reloaded every few minutes. At Endingen I came to know that this webcam was placed high on top of a building that overlooked the village market place.
***
Later that month...
..I was all packed up and ready to leave. My flight was scheduled to leave in the evening. When I arrived at Nedumabassery airport I was informed that the flight had been delayed indefinitely. The flight people took great pains to keep us as comfortable as possible. Especially since a good many of those flying were on urgent trips, some with tight deadlines on their missions (expiring passports, etc) and who were irate at the delay.
We were put up in a star hotel close to the airport.
But the biggest shock came when we found ourselves boarding the plane, a good 24 hours after the scheduled time.
Technical snags they said. But that was the height of air travel...!
I meticulously went through my check list.
The baggage scanning... Checking in the baggage... The lining up for passport verification.. The final check of the hand baggage.. The body search.. And that was it..!!
I had hardly had any sleep. But when the plane took off I still found myself wide awake while the rest of the passengers wearily dozed off.
I refused the beer one of the hostesses offered meand instead had some apple juice.
I wanted to be in full command of my senses on my first flight...
I plugged my earphones into the sound system and pulled a blanket over me as I awaited the touchdown at Qatar- the transit point on my way to Frankfurt.
***
It was early morning...
when the plane flew over the Gulf. The sky was clear and the sunlight was blinding. From up above I could discern the vast tracts of desert wasteland and then as we came nearer to land, I had a bird's eye view of Doha with tall man-made structures.
The flight captain announced the local time and I adjusted my wrist watch as I had reminded myself to do in my checklist.
There was a warm breeze blowing at Doha airport.
I learnt that due to the delay at Kochi I had missed my connection flight to Frankfurt the day before.
I had half the day before I would be catching the next available connection flight to Munich, Germany instead of the destined Frankfurt.
Again all the transit passengers were checked into a hotel in Doha. On the way to the hotel, I had a glimpse of Doha from close quarters. The buildings were mostly glass and concrete structures most of them devoid of any color. Though inside the air conditioned car we were all comfortable I could make out that it must be pretty uncomfortably hot on the roads outside. I could hardly see anyone on the roads.
At the reception counter, a Filipino receptionist told me that I was entitled to one free overseas call lasting 5 minutes.
When I got to my room I called home and asked my brother to inform my German superiors via email that I would be late. Very late indeed!
Later I came to know that my German hosts missed that piece of information and had awaited my arrival at Frankfurt the day before, late into the night and departed not knowing what was amiss.
***
Later that evening...
I was back at Qatar airport and went through the body check again. The security had some trouble locating my passport, which they had confiscated before my wait at the hotel, but matched me to my photo on it after a prolonged search.
I learnt a few things about Qatar that I had not known earlier. Qatar is one of the few Arab countries that permit liquor consumption. It is one of the more liberal Arab states in other aspects as well.
Though I could still see women veiled in black from head to toe.
At the airport I sat watching the melee of people buzzing around.
American couples riding on their dollars out to see the world. Indians on their way home and some more onto westward destinations on their way to their hard earned jobs…Japanese tourists (or were they Chinese? Or Filipino? ) yapping in some pagan tongue. Young Adonis like males who could be of any nationality.
Just before I boarded the next flight I had to get my flight tickets verified. I was given papers which said that my destination was now Munich instead of Frankfurt and an additional ticket that allowed me to board a Lufthansa flight from there onto Frankfurt.
The Iraq war was just over and with the 9/11 fright, the airport security and staff were not taking any chances, especially since an American Military base monitoring Iraq still functioned on Qatari soil.
I was flummoxed when one airport authority asked me to expand the initials of the company that I was working for.
I told him I had no idea since it was German but he seemed unfazed.
I then heard him asking the next person in the queue, who claimed to be Spanish to intone the Spanish alphabets...
***
Onboard...
the flight to Munich the atmosphere was more informal in every sense. Liquid food flowed. And the scene was more party-like.
The passengers were mostly young German couples who perhaps had some nice holiday in some exotic foreign place and were homeward bound.
The German tongue confused me but I thought I had plenty of time to get used to that.
I would be in Germany for three months.
As soon as I disembarked at Munich I had my passport stamped and learnt that I had 15 minutes to catch the domestic Lufthansa connection to Frankfurt. I later learnt that to reach Endingen I could have as well got down at Munich. Endingen is almost equidistant from Frankfurt and Munich.
My watch said it was 9 pm local time, but the setting sun still shone over the horizon. The geography made all that difference!
At Munich I found myself lost in the huge airport complex.
But the airport staff were very efficient when it came to offering passenger friendly services.
Almost every screen I saw at the airport had information on when and where my departure flight was. I made an enquiry with airport security and in a jiffy I found myself riding a mini train to the proper departure pad.
As I boarded the Lufthansa flight I was exhilarated as well as tired. I had not slept a wink since leaving home.
***
It was 12 Midnight at Frankfurt...
…I came down a flight of stairs to the baggage collection counter only to learn that my baggage had been left behind at Munich.
I was devastated but instantly cheered up when the man at the baggage counter consulted his computer system and added that the baggage would be coming in with the next flight in half an hour.
Someone was supposed to pick me up at a place called "The Meeting Place" just outside the airport. This was where the new arrivals met their hosts.
I walked up and down the meeting place baggage in tow a couple of times hoping that the placard sized label pasted on my luggage that shouted "KOCHI, INDIA" would attract attention of anybody awaiting me. No soul. I had some loose change left over after my purchase of a pack of Camel cigarettes and a lighter.
I put some coins into a phone box and dialed my hosts.
I was advised to catch the long distance night train to Freiburg, where my hosts would be awaiting me early morning. I discovered that the subway ran just below the airport.
I bought a train ticket from an airport attendant who spoke reasonably good English. The train was at 3 in the night.
I had some time to kill.
I checked in my baggage at the cloak room manned by a couple of Africans. Then I felt free to walk around a bit.
I took a seat close to one of those areas designated for smoking and pulled out a Camel.
I noticed a couple of middle aged Asian men dressed in suits and ties entering and leaving through what seemed to be a back door. Indian businessmen on a trip I guessed. I seemed to hold their attention and I found myself at pain to explain to them in Hindi that I was waiting for my night passage to the South West of Germany. They asked whether it was Freiburg or Frieburg that I wanted to go. (The Germans would pronounce the first as Fryburg and the second as Freeburg). Frieburg was just an hour's drive by car from Frankfurt Maine. They explained that they were Pakistani taxi drivers and were waiting for their fare just outside.
Then with the camaraderie typical of Asians, they invited me for a cup of tea. I decided I had nothing to lose and cheerfully joined them.
We went through the back door to a seedy room where another Pakistani also spoke to me in Hindi and and asked me whether I would prefer more milk in my tea.
The tea was Indian (Pakistani? Sri Lankan?), he said and I noticed him dipping two teabags into a kettle of boiling water. They had brought them to Germany with them I guessed or maybe an Indian store existed somewhere. After a refreshing drink they took me along to show off their BMWs. They took pains in explaining to me the finer points of the of the various BMW class taxis that they drove across Frankfurt.
We had a hearty chat and they talked about their families back home (a bit wistfully) and when I asked them on smoking restrictions in Germany they laughed and said everything goes in Germany but take care not to litter the street. You could get fined for that.
At last it was time to leave and that was the first and last chat I had with an Asian in Germany.
I had never realized that Pakistanis could speak a tongue that Indians could so easily grasp.
***
It was 3 pm...
…and I was waiting at the deserted subway waiting for my train trip.
All was quiet and suddenly the speaker came to life which was followed by a collective wail from a few Germans waiting presumably for the same train.
I asked one elderly looking person accompanied by his talkative wife (?) what the matter was. He did not understand what I was saying. But then taking the context into consideration and the few English words he knew he explained in very broken English that the train was one hour late.
I realized I would have a very tough time communicating with Germans.
Also I thought to myself smiling to myself, late trains are not just an Indian phenomenon. I realized then that to the passengers, what had happened was a near catastrophe, in punctuality crazy Germany.
When I boarded the train I took a seat near the entrance and waited for the four hour trip to Freiburg.
I guessed it was now 48 hours that I had gone without sleep. I had lost track of the time hopping over all those time zones.
Nothing was visible through the sealed glass windows and I fell into a weary sleep without intending to.
***
I was woken by a jolt and when I opened my eyes I saw a large sign reading "Freiburg". I don't know what fifth sense had woken me up, but I had arrived at my destination. Another five minutes and I would have still been on the express train hurtling towards Basel in Switzerland and definitely in trouble because my visa was not valid on Swiss soil.
***