... is it shining? No it's not! People here are up in arms about lots of things at the moment. One of them is the lack of a decent summer, so far anyway. The beer gardens are only staying afloat with the help of giant umbrellas. The place is full of disgruntled tourists driving slowly and dolefully looking at mountains half-enveloped in cloud. The thing about Germany is, the school holidays differ from one Bundesland (state) to the next. And let's not forget that, unlike the UK, you always know where cars are from, thanks to the helpful registration system. Wherever you happen to be in this great country, you are immediately identifiable from your number plate. If you don't have a well-known one - B for Berlin, M for Munich, HH for Hamburg and so on - people will scrutinize your car for other evidence of your place of residence. (I know, because I do it myself. Categorizing is a national pastime. It goes hand in glove with nosy neighbours and twitching curtains and who is that person walking down our road, I've never seen him before.) We used to have UE (Uelzen), and this was obscure enough for strangers to approach us on the street and ask. Anyway, the Bavarian radio announcers kindly prepare us for the next influx from the far-flung North or East, and for two weeks, all you see are these holiday-makers, with a few Dutch, Austrian and Italians mixed in, and the latter are probably just lost. Then we have another dangerous breed, the cabriolet-on-a-fine-day-driver. Maybe I am just bitter, but I cannot see the appeal of a car with no roof. Clearly lots of other people do, however, and it only takes a few rays of sun for them to hop into their vehicles, hatted and scarfed or whatever, and drive around purposefully and carefully (the cars always seem to be old), oblivious to anyone behind them who might be wishing to overtake. Who else do we have - now how could I forget - king of the road, the tractor driver. A bit like lorries on motorways, tractors roar around content in the knowledge that they are much bigger than you and could quite easily flatten you if you got in the way. Far from the jolly smiling Farmer Giles of my childhood storybooks, the drivers here stare aggressively out from behind mud-spattered windscreens as they chugger past, scattering hay, or straw, or liquid faeces, or whatever else they might be transporting from one place to the next. Often there'll be a couple of children sitting in the cab, and even they gaze unsmilingly, insolently almost, as you wait, sinking into the wet verge in your new running shoes that you were hoping to keep dry but your life is worth more.
Yesterday I was returning from my glorious local supermarket in my shiny red car with a roof. Goodness me, was I glad to be on the ball. You know when you are learning to drive, or what you see in road accident prevention handbooks, or whatever - a ball rolls into the road - slow down! A child is sure to be coming after it. Check. Large vehicle reversing out of side street, check. Motorbike coming towards you at 120 kmh on your side of the road. Check. Lone cow trotting around confusedly, buffeting between parked cars. Check. (I actually never saw this one in my learner driver manual.) Careful old man driving very smart car at snail's pace, slowing down before every turn. Doesn't know where his indicators are. Brakes sharply and turns very, very slowly off the road. Check. He looks back, astonished, at the line of cars behind him, some people waving their fists. What, he says - I'm not the only one on the road? Chaps like these still talk about 'motoring' and don't believe in navigation systems.
In a couple of days I hope to achieve one of my goals, that is to climb the Zugspitze, Germany's highest mountain. Believe it or not, I am doing this with the hairdresser neighbour of whom I once was so afraid. We are 'only' climbing up, as to save time, we are coming down in the terrifying cable car (which is actually a glass and metal box on a long string). I have no problem with 7 hours of climbing, but the thought of being stuck in this box for 20 minutes with 49 other people brings me out in a cold sweat.
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