As a follow up to yesterday's post, the reason I'm sad that the markets will soon be leaving is that Duisburg will once again be like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tMwRiqKGpM
This music video was made by a local band and basically explains about how crap Duisburg really is (thanks to the other Duisburg girls for introducing me to it). Keep your eyes peeled for the colourful vulture (which, during the summer months, revolves and shoots water out of its wings) and the aforementioned boat bar, which, to be fair, is pretty damn cool.
For a translation of lyrics for you English bods, another Duisburg blogger has helpfully provided them. Here's the link.:
http://duisburgbunny.blogspot.com/2008/03/dat-is-duisburg.html
I assure you, every word is true.
Thursday 23 December 2010
Wednesday 22 December 2010
YA: Weihnachtswunderland
Well, hasn’t it been a disgustingly long time since I posted anything? The reason for this is simple: I’ve been having far too much fun.
From my repeated whinging you might be wondering how I’ve achieved this. Again, the answer is a straightforward one: GERMANY AT CHRISTMAS ROCKS! You may think we go to town at home, but you’d be wrong. We have nothing, NOTHING, on the Germans.
Germany, much the same as the Brits, starts getting into the spirit of Christmas round about mid-late November. But rather than installing garish Santa Clauses in shopping centres and putting Slade on repeat in every shop, bar and club, Germany begins to whack out their infamous Christmas markets. I’m lucky enough that my walk to and from the station every day takes me right through the centre of Duisburg so I could bear witness to the gradual construction of the Weihnachtsmarkt, from erecting the stalls to the building of the ice rink to wrapping every lamppost with a real Christmas tree. I have to say, for all my complaining about Duisburg and its (at best) mediocrity, the result was stunning. Trees strewn with lights, German delicacies galore and a full size sailing boat in the centre, the sides of which open out to turn it into one of the many bars serving hot and scrumptious mulled wine. And that’s just Duisburg, a city considered overly-industrial (ugly) even by Ruhrgebiet standards. Can you imagine Düsseldorf, Cologne, Münster, Dortmund, Bonn and all of the other wonderful cities NRW has to offer? The result is breath-taking; even the most committed Scrooge couldn’t fail to enjoy the festive atmosphere.
I’ve visited a fair few markets in the last few weeks and I won’t bore you with my rapturous details of them all. My favourites were definitely Cologne Heumarkt, a gnome-themed (??) market much less crowded and much more traditional than the one offered near the Cathedral, and also the various markets of Münster, which set amongst scenery of stone buildings and cobbled streets can almost fool you into thinking you’d stepped right into the pages of Dickens. I've eaten Bratwurst upon Bratwurst, crepe upon crepe and drank a vast quantity of Glühwein* (and one Feuerzangenbowle - Glühwein served with a sugar cube and doused in a shot of unspecified alcohol, which they then set on fire). I've sampled traditional German Stollen cake, listened to carollers and brass bands and purchased a lot of hand-carved wooden decorations. And all of this under the bright German stars.
Even though I've been enjoying the Christmas season almost throughout, there are definitely some highlights which I think deserve a mentioning. First and foremost is the weekend my mum came to stay. It started of badly to say the least, with her plane having to return to East Midlands due to cabin pressure failure. However, she arrived in one piece only two hours late, and one sleepy train journey later we were tucked up in my little flat drinking tea and having a good old catch up. To say I had missed her would be a vast understatement. The next three days were just brilliant. I took her around Dusiburg and Düsseldorf, and we visited Münster and Cologne. We ate lots of lovely meals, purchased lots of lovely things and she developed a distinct liking for Glühwein. It was a wrench to say goodbye again at the airport, even though I knew I would be seeing her again for the Christmas holidays in less than a fortnight.
Another highlight was Christmas dinner at Carol's. For someone who hadn't eaten a roast dinner since sometime in September, it was an absolute dream and I fell on those carrots with all the decorum of Keira Knightly when she's told to eat the chicken in Pirates Of The Caribbean (ie. none). We had crackers and cake for Ally's birthday, and then we proceeded to drink our way through a copious amount of alcohol whilst simultaneous creating a small club in Carol's room with fairy lights and a laptop. It was a great night and I had a most jolly walk home (sloshed, head phones in) at 4am through a deserted and snow-sodden Duisburg city centre.
Oh, dear, this is turning out to be lengthy post again, isn't it? In this case, I'll name one more highlight: Cologne last night. This isn't to say there aren't many more I could pick (seeing a Christmas Carol, present shopping in Münster with Lyndsay - an event which gave rise to the knowledge of the Christmas Cucumber - and a truly bizarre night out in Oberhausen to name but a few) but I feel I should give this one a bit more credit because it was my last proper time at the markets that have made me so happy these past few weeks. It was fairly standard really; I met Sophie and we went to Heumarkt to enjoy bratwurst and Swiss cheese and Glühwein (there's always Glühwein). However, it was especially lovely because, as I wandered around, I realised how comfortable I felt; it was nice to discover that it is possible for me to feel at home here and not just like a confused tourist. The markets will be gone in a few days, but I hope that the homely feeling I felt last night remains. I will miss Christmas Germany very much and I feel so glad that I have been able to live here and enjoy it.
Look at me, getting all sentimental. I should be worrying about packing and flights and snow and other such nonsense. I'm heading home tomorrow and I can't wait! Don't expect any blogs in the near future, I'll be too busy having a bloody brilliant British time with my friends and family, something which I can barely contain my excitement for. So, until next time, I hope you enjoy the festive season - remember to laugh, get pissed and eat until you explode. Merry Christmas!
--------------------------------
Oh, dear, this is turning out to be lengthy post again, isn't it? In this case, I'll name one more highlight: Cologne last night. This isn't to say there aren't many more I could pick (seeing a Christmas Carol, present shopping in Münster with Lyndsay - an event which gave rise to the knowledge of the Christmas Cucumber - and a truly bizarre night out in Oberhausen to name but a few) but I feel I should give this one a bit more credit because it was my last proper time at the markets that have made me so happy these past few weeks. It was fairly standard really; I met Sophie and we went to Heumarkt to enjoy bratwurst and Swiss cheese and Glühwein (there's always Glühwein). However, it was especially lovely because, as I wandered around, I realised how comfortable I felt; it was nice to discover that it is possible for me to feel at home here and not just like a confused tourist. The markets will be gone in a few days, but I hope that the homely feeling I felt last night remains. I will miss Christmas Germany very much and I feel so glad that I have been able to live here and enjoy it.
Look at me, getting all sentimental. I should be worrying about packing and flights and snow and other such nonsense. I'm heading home tomorrow and I can't wait! Don't expect any blogs in the near future, I'll be too busy having a bloody brilliant British time with my friends and family, something which I can barely contain my excitement for. So, until next time, I hope you enjoy the festive season - remember to laugh, get pissed and eat until you explode. Merry Christmas!
--------------------------------
* A fact proven by how many mugs I've stolen. Each market has it's own Glühwein mug (and sometimes more than one) and because you pay a 2Euro deposit on each one you don't necessarily have to give it back. I have a grand total of eleven. Heaven only knows how I will get them home.
Sunday 5 December 2010
Creative Writing: "Carry You Home"
This was written for the Folktales Christmas Special (3-4pm every Sunday on LSRfm.com). It's written to "Carry You Home" by the Lancashire Hotpots, which is the best Christmas song of all time, no contest. It's the first piece I've written in ages with dialogue, and I'm crap with dialogue, so go easy on me. Merry Christmas, everyone.
----------------
“I’m back!” I shouted as I came through the front door, stamping snow off my boots. No answer. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, no creature was stirring, not even Jessie. I pushed the door shut and shouted again.
“Jessie! Where are you?” I paused, waiting for her to shout back. When there was nothing, I tried again. “I have pizza!"
“I’m in the living room!” came the muffled reply. Pizza always gets a response.
I kicked off my shoes and padded down the hall. Sure enough, there she was, huddled next to the radiator by the window and wearing one of the hideous jumpers her grandma knits to keep warm. She’d been looking at the old photographs again; there were piles of them surrounding her feet and she clutched an empty wine glass between icy fingers. I didn’t need to look at her rid-rimed eyes to know that she’d been crying.
I disentangled the wine glass from her grip and replaced it with a pizza box. “You look like you need something stronger than Chardonnay,” I told her.
“Mmmm.” She looked at me blearily. “What’re you offering?”
I opened my jacket to show her what I had picked up from the off-licence on my way back to the house. “Why if it isn’t our good friends Mr Rum and the good Lord Whiskey, come to warm our cockles this cold winter’s night!” I sounded like a reject from a Dickens novel, but it made her smile all the same. “Which one do you want?”
Jessie raised a weary arm. “Eenie, meenie, minie, mo, catch a – no, you know what, just give me the whiskey.”
I handed her the bottle and watched as she took a good long swig. “That’s the spirit,” I said cheerfully as she grimaced, the alcoholic burn obviously hitting her throat.
“Spirit?” Jessie grimaced again, but with humour this time. “That’s a terrible pun, even for you, Mickey.”
“Ah well, it’s Christmas Eve, you can let me off my lack of wit and charm just for one night.” I plonked myself on the floor opposite her and helped myself to some pizza. For a while we both chewed out slices in silence, listening to the distant rumble of traffic from the street outside. I stared at the photos that littered the floor, all those smiling faces looking up at me, frozen in time. God, we were beautiful.
There’d been a whole bunch of us in the beginning. It was going to be fantastic, the best idea we ever had, heading south to live the dream. But they’d all slowly fallen away, some more tragically than others, and now it was just me and Jessie, alone in the Big Smoke and far from home. James, four months back, had been a terrible shock. When I close my eyes I can still see his face, pale on the crisp white hospital pillow, looking strange behind an alien mass of tubes and scars. We watched him slip away without saying another word. I often wonder if he felt it or if he heard the bang when the lorry hit. We’ll never know.
A picture caught my eye; a picture of myself, head down and looking terrible, being supported by two laughing girls. Beth and Katy: both brilliant, both gone. Beth had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time that fateful July when the terrorists had hit the Underground, and Katy… well, who knows where Katy was now. She was never the same after Beth died and one day we came home to find her stuff gone and a note on the kitchen table that simply read “love you guys.” She’d never got back in touch. I hoped that wherever she was this Christmas, she was happy.
I waved the photograph at Jessie. “Remember this?” I asked. “God, what a night!”
Jessie took the photo and laughed, igniting for a moment that spark of joy that had always been alight in those blue eyes before it was doused by too much sadness and loss. “Do I! Man, you were so wasted! We had to drag you out that club, you kept trying to dance with the bouncer!”
I took a gulp of whiskey and shook my head. “I think you made that up. I don’t remember that happening.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t remember it, drunkard. You’d had at least twelve JD and cokes.”
“Alright, alright,” I conceded. “But people have done worse things under the influence. I remember when a certain someone got too happy with the Lambrini and ended up half naked in the fountain in the middle of the village…” Jessie tried to protest but her mouth was too full of pepperoni, extra cheese. “You know,” I continued with mock seriousness, “you could have been arrested…”
Jessie swallowed her mouthful. “Whatever, Mickey…” We lapsed into silence again, occasionally passing the whiskey bottle back and forth. After a while, Jessie gave a dry little sob. I took her hand.
“I know, Jess, I know…” I couldn’t think of anything to say, any new words of comfort. I’d said them all before. “I miss them too…” I held her close as she cried, her tears flowing down her face onto my shoulder; I’d lost count of the amount of times we’d sat in the same place recently, doing the same thing. I felt so damn helpless…
Wait, I could do better than this. I could take her mind of this empty house that was too full of memories. I leapt to my feet.
Jessie looked up at me. “Mickey, what is it? Did you hear a burglar?” Her tone suggested that she thought that would just be typical.
“I’ve had an amazing idea,” I said excitedly. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? It made so much sense! “Come one, grab your stuff, let’s go.” I began pulling her to her feet.
“What are we doing?” Jess asked bewilderedly, allowing me to drag her from the room and upstairs. “What’s your amazing idea?” I didn’t answer until I managed to pull her all the way onto the landing and had started to root through the piles of stuff, looking for my rucksack.
“Why is it,” I said, abandoning my search and running into the bathroom instead to seize both our toothbrushes, “that at Christmas, at this supposedly festive and joyous time of year, we’ve confined ourselves to this miserable house with its miserable memories and committed ourselves to having a miserable time?”
“Because we’ve got no where else to go?”
Time for the big reveal. “But we do, don’t we!” I said triumphantly. “We can go home!”
I saw the realisation dawn behind Jessie’s eyes. “But home’s miles away! Hours and hours! It’ll be Boxing Day before we get there!”
“Not if we drive all night. We’ll get coffee and take it in turns driving.” I thought about the battered old Ford that stood on the driveway. “The car’ll probably make it. And if it breaks down, well… I’ll carry you home this Christmas! Because there’s no way we’re spending it here, not like this.”
Jessie was laughing now, for the first real time since James’ accident. “You’re mental. You realise how angry my mum will be when I turn up on the doorstep and she realises she hasn’t cooked enough potatoes?”
I thought of my own mother’s hysteria when it came to orchestrating Christmas dinner. My sudden arrival would put a real spanner in the works. She’d be furious. I couldn’t wait.
“She’ll get over it,” I said. “Jess, it’s been a crappy year, but by God it’s not going to be a crappy Christmas too. Christmas isn’t a time for being sad and alone. It’s a time for laughter and getting drunk and eating till you explode. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think either of us are going to get all that from a bag of crisps for lunch and watching re-runs of Only Fools and Horses on TV.”
I could see in her eyes that I’d convinced her. She didn’t want to be sad this Christmas any more than I did. I’d won. We were going home. Jessie grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight.
“Alright, crazy Mickey. You’re on. I’ll meet you by the car in five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” I repeated. And, grinning like a loon, I ran into my room to pack for what was hopefully going to be an unexpectedly very merry Christmas.
----------------
“I’m back!” I shouted as I came through the front door, stamping snow off my boots. No answer. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, no creature was stirring, not even Jessie. I pushed the door shut and shouted again.
“Jessie! Where are you?” I paused, waiting for her to shout back. When there was nothing, I tried again. “I have pizza!"
“I’m in the living room!” came the muffled reply. Pizza always gets a response.
I kicked off my shoes and padded down the hall. Sure enough, there she was, huddled next to the radiator by the window and wearing one of the hideous jumpers her grandma knits to keep warm. She’d been looking at the old photographs again; there were piles of them surrounding her feet and she clutched an empty wine glass between icy fingers. I didn’t need to look at her rid-rimed eyes to know that she’d been crying.
I disentangled the wine glass from her grip and replaced it with a pizza box. “You look like you need something stronger than Chardonnay,” I told her.
“Mmmm.” She looked at me blearily. “What’re you offering?”
I opened my jacket to show her what I had picked up from the off-licence on my way back to the house. “Why if it isn’t our good friends Mr Rum and the good Lord Whiskey, come to warm our cockles this cold winter’s night!” I sounded like a reject from a Dickens novel, but it made her smile all the same. “Which one do you want?”
Jessie raised a weary arm. “Eenie, meenie, minie, mo, catch a – no, you know what, just give me the whiskey.”
I handed her the bottle and watched as she took a good long swig. “That’s the spirit,” I said cheerfully as she grimaced, the alcoholic burn obviously hitting her throat.
“Spirit?” Jessie grimaced again, but with humour this time. “That’s a terrible pun, even for you, Mickey.”
“Ah well, it’s Christmas Eve, you can let me off my lack of wit and charm just for one night.” I plonked myself on the floor opposite her and helped myself to some pizza. For a while we both chewed out slices in silence, listening to the distant rumble of traffic from the street outside. I stared at the photos that littered the floor, all those smiling faces looking up at me, frozen in time. God, we were beautiful.
There’d been a whole bunch of us in the beginning. It was going to be fantastic, the best idea we ever had, heading south to live the dream. But they’d all slowly fallen away, some more tragically than others, and now it was just me and Jessie, alone in the Big Smoke and far from home. James, four months back, had been a terrible shock. When I close my eyes I can still see his face, pale on the crisp white hospital pillow, looking strange behind an alien mass of tubes and scars. We watched him slip away without saying another word. I often wonder if he felt it or if he heard the bang when the lorry hit. We’ll never know.
A picture caught my eye; a picture of myself, head down and looking terrible, being supported by two laughing girls. Beth and Katy: both brilliant, both gone. Beth had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time that fateful July when the terrorists had hit the Underground, and Katy… well, who knows where Katy was now. She was never the same after Beth died and one day we came home to find her stuff gone and a note on the kitchen table that simply read “love you guys.” She’d never got back in touch. I hoped that wherever she was this Christmas, she was happy.
I waved the photograph at Jessie. “Remember this?” I asked. “God, what a night!”
Jessie took the photo and laughed, igniting for a moment that spark of joy that had always been alight in those blue eyes before it was doused by too much sadness and loss. “Do I! Man, you were so wasted! We had to drag you out that club, you kept trying to dance with the bouncer!”
I took a gulp of whiskey and shook my head. “I think you made that up. I don’t remember that happening.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t remember it, drunkard. You’d had at least twelve JD and cokes.”
“Alright, alright,” I conceded. “But people have done worse things under the influence. I remember when a certain someone got too happy with the Lambrini and ended up half naked in the fountain in the middle of the village…” Jessie tried to protest but her mouth was too full of pepperoni, extra cheese. “You know,” I continued with mock seriousness, “you could have been arrested…”
Jessie swallowed her mouthful. “Whatever, Mickey…” We lapsed into silence again, occasionally passing the whiskey bottle back and forth. After a while, Jessie gave a dry little sob. I took her hand.
“I know, Jess, I know…” I couldn’t think of anything to say, any new words of comfort. I’d said them all before. “I miss them too…” I held her close as she cried, her tears flowing down her face onto my shoulder; I’d lost count of the amount of times we’d sat in the same place recently, doing the same thing. I felt so damn helpless…
Wait, I could do better than this. I could take her mind of this empty house that was too full of memories. I leapt to my feet.
Jessie looked up at me. “Mickey, what is it? Did you hear a burglar?” Her tone suggested that she thought that would just be typical.
“I’ve had an amazing idea,” I said excitedly. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? It made so much sense! “Come one, grab your stuff, let’s go.” I began pulling her to her feet.
“What are we doing?” Jess asked bewilderedly, allowing me to drag her from the room and upstairs. “What’s your amazing idea?” I didn’t answer until I managed to pull her all the way onto the landing and had started to root through the piles of stuff, looking for my rucksack.
“Why is it,” I said, abandoning my search and running into the bathroom instead to seize both our toothbrushes, “that at Christmas, at this supposedly festive and joyous time of year, we’ve confined ourselves to this miserable house with its miserable memories and committed ourselves to having a miserable time?”
“Because we’ve got no where else to go?”
Time for the big reveal. “But we do, don’t we!” I said triumphantly. “We can go home!”
I saw the realisation dawn behind Jessie’s eyes. “But home’s miles away! Hours and hours! It’ll be Boxing Day before we get there!”
“Not if we drive all night. We’ll get coffee and take it in turns driving.” I thought about the battered old Ford that stood on the driveway. “The car’ll probably make it. And if it breaks down, well… I’ll carry you home this Christmas! Because there’s no way we’re spending it here, not like this.”
Jessie was laughing now, for the first real time since James’ accident. “You’re mental. You realise how angry my mum will be when I turn up on the doorstep and she realises she hasn’t cooked enough potatoes?”
I thought of my own mother’s hysteria when it came to orchestrating Christmas dinner. My sudden arrival would put a real spanner in the works. She’d be furious. I couldn’t wait.
“She’ll get over it,” I said. “Jess, it’s been a crappy year, but by God it’s not going to be a crappy Christmas too. Christmas isn’t a time for being sad and alone. It’s a time for laughter and getting drunk and eating till you explode. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think either of us are going to get all that from a bag of crisps for lunch and watching re-runs of Only Fools and Horses on TV.”
I could see in her eyes that I’d convinced her. She didn’t want to be sad this Christmas any more than I did. I’d won. We were going home. Jessie grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight.
“Alright, crazy Mickey. You’re on. I’ll meet you by the car in five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” I repeated. And, grinning like a loon, I ran into my room to pack for what was hopefully going to be an unexpectedly very merry Christmas.
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