Sunday evening and we left Warendorf to drive the 75kms across to Lage (Brigitte’s family home). She’s decided to retire there and is gradually readying the place. Ann and Brigitte promise me warmth and hot showers! Hans, (Ann’s dad) doesn’t do heating or hot water, he’s one of those tough Spartan types, with a preference for the bracing.
I’ve actually found it tough, surprising on one level – I prefer things cooler, rather than hotter – I’ll always have the air conditioning set at 20c, rather than 23c, but the biting cold has almost overwhelmed me, to the point where, if we weren’t out, I was retreating to bed, curled up under a pile of doonas. Showers were the other problem (for me), I’m one of those wasteful creatures, who likes long, hot showers at least twice a day and cold water has never equated to clean in my mind, so cold, or even tepid showers don’t work for me (psychologically). Yet I love a cold shower in the Kimberley, but then that’s a very hot, dry environment.
It’s been very interesting to analyse the question of resources in Germany and Australia, in terms of heating / cooling and water. Here in Germany, water is not a problem – well, it can be – too much, whereas in Australia (specifically my home of Perth), water (the lack of it), is a major issue, there are active government sponsored campaigns aimed at long shower addicted cretins like me! Water is rationed for gardens during the summer months and the actual cost of water is now reflected in consumer pricing, in order to train the population to conserve the precious resource. In fact, Western Australia is building more Desalination Plants along our huge, virtually uninhabited coastline, to provide the water our ever-growing population will need, which segues into the question of energy to run these plants and heat our water.
Western Australia has an abundance of natural gas, most of which we export overseas to Japan, China, Korea and increasingly, India, for their respective construction expansion, but we use natural gas for power generation and domestic heating. We also have abundant coal reserves, which we mainly use for power generation. Tidal power (wave generated) is an intriguing possibility, but we will neve have hydro-electricity. I’m not keen on coal, it strikes me as ecologically irresponsible and Ann gently, but vehemently disagrees with me, on my enthusiasm for nuclear power, I believe it’s the clean answer to the world’s need for power and I’m told by experts, that desalination and nuclear power are the perfect partners.
So in Perth, power generation is increasingly expensive, not to mention that we urgently need to change from using ‘dirty’ coal. The state government has recently dramatically increased the price of domestic power, on a ‘user-pays’ principle, the effect has been dramatic home power bill increases – my November / December 2009 power bill was around $175.00, the equivalent 2010 bill was $375.00! So make no mistake, Perth people are now very careful with power – my hot water’s turned off, in fact everything except the fridge and the security alarm system is turned off while I’m away here in Europe, previously, one would never have bothered.
Germany is reliant on Russia for gas, while it does of course, have hydro, coal and nuclear power generation, but whatever way you look at it, power / energy, is now very expensive in both Germany and Australia. Building methods, such as double glazing, which no German home could do without, are now increasingly being used in Australia. It’s funny, we’re different, but we’re the same in the end – except for me and hot showers! I’ll pay the bloody price!
Brigitte’s home is a beautiful white cottage, in a rural setting, a few kilometres from the town of Lage. The big house at the start of her lane, was originally her school, where she went as a child, there were two classrooms downstairs and the two school teachers lived upstairs. Her cottage was her mum’s place, she passed away some three years ago and Brigitte is in the process of changing all those things one does, from furniture to bathrooms etc. And yes! Brigitte DOES WARM and hot water. Suddenly I feel human again and, I’ve slipped into European time. It’s taken a week, for my body to adjust, it hasn’t been a problem, more a matter of irregular sleep patterns etc, but now I’m back to me – an early riser, as much as I might want to, I simply cannot lie in bed for hours – except when I’m frozen in Warendorf!
Brigitte shows me a photo of a young man in his mid / late 20s, “That’s my father, I never knew him, I’ve missed him all my life, but especially when I was a teenager girl. My mother was a wonderful provider, but tough, she had to be. Oh don’t get me wrong, our home was always warm and full of food, but I missed my dad, he died in the last days of the war.”
It’s the first time anybody has mentioned the Second World War. It’s not a daily topic anywhere really, but it’s true that as a guest in Germany, one takes special care not to come near the topic. I’m suddenly unsure of myself, not sure what questions to ask, or even whether to pursue the topic. But Brigitte wants to tell me. It was that time when the war was lost for Germany, their forces were in urgent, chaotic retreat, Brigitte’s dad was in the army at that stage close to the Polish border. The Russian army swept through, intent on extracting revenge. A Catholic priest told Brigitte’s family that her dad had been seen running into the church for sanctuary, along with several other soldiers. The Russians pursued them and he was never seen, or heard from again.
I tell her that although my father never really talked about the war to me (or anyone I think), he didn’t regard the German enlisted man as the enemy, his loathing was reserved for the Japanese, while my uncle (his brother), who fought in the Western Desert, was always open about his admiration for Rommel and the German soldiers. My own feelings are, terribly confused, war, in hind-site, seems so futile, stupid and insane, yet I remember seeing Dachau (between Munich and Ingolstadt), the sheer horror of it all – Hitler and the Nazis and the camps, still overwhelms me. It’s something I’ve never talked about event with close friends, (it so overwhelmed me with frozen horror), other than to say that I can never visit another camp (an Auschwitz for example). But what else could the world do, other than to join forces and stamp out such insane evil? We put the topic gently to bed, although I was not to know that a stranger would force me to again confront the issue the following day.
The next morning is beautiful. THE SUN IS SHINING!! This is the first time I’ve seen the sun for eight days! I’m off. Shoes, coat, scarf and camera, I stride up the lane.
A lovely one hour walk along the roadside, down to the outskirts of Lage, then back across a winter-dormant cornfield, to a small forest. As I walk through the forest, startled deer run off through the bush. I laugh, just like home really, except the deer would be kangaroos. Then I thought, “Hmm, Ann told me they were reintroducing wolves! That could get interesting.” Back at the cottage, the girls serve me orange juice and coffee (all the way from China? – one for the Cohen fans) and I photograph a couple of beautiful tiny birds – a European Robin and a Tit, feeding on the gorgeous Witch Hazel bush in the front garden.
Brigitte creates a wonderful lunch of salmon and pasta and opens a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Now I happen to be one of those people who feels that nobody does Sauvignon Blanc like the Kiwis down Marlborough Sound and this is stunning. Something called Spy Mountain, the product description is German, even the name seems more German than New Zealand, it’s obviously a bulk deal with a German importer, but the price! E2.75 per bottle!!! That’s about $3.25AUS, it’s impossible. The West Australian wineries complain about the Kiwi wines being dumped in Australia at ludicrous prices ($14 - $25.00 a bottle), but here in Germany, the wines are so cheap, wherever they come from – France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Argentina, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. And, this is the second time I’ve come across high-level Kiwi marketing – there was the Kiwi clothing in the up-market Munster store, all very interesting when I think about the Australian retailers, most of whom sourcing their products from China, all complaining about unfair competition. Something’s crook in Tallarook, as the old saying goes! But not here in Germany.
I ring my mate Veronica, back home in Perth, to see how she's going in her battle with breast cancer. She’s delighted to hear from me (Perth is seven hours ahead), but is bit tired from an afternoon of Chemo. We laugh about my reaction to the cold – she and her brother are Hungarian and understand only too well the nuances of European weather, she can tell that I’m enjoying myself immensely.
Then we’re off to visit the town of Detmold, some 30kms away. As we close-in I can see a massive statue up on a distant hill. It seems that the Northern Germans and the Highlanders have something in common – they both beat Caesar – defeated and killed the invading Roman Army. This monument is all about that defeat and routing of the Romans, funny that the Roman Church should later get such a grip over Germany.
Detmold is, seemingly, like every German town, utterly beautiful, with its wonderful old buildings, I’m utterly entranced, We walk through the central parklands of the local castle (still lived in by the same family from a century or two ago), Ann points out a bust of Brahms, “He used to live here for a while, I’ll show you his house.” Suddenly there is that amazing connection with real history and of course, the home of classical music, just think upon who the Germans have given us – Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, stunning really. A gift of music from true gods.
We wander into the town square, with a lovely old fountain and a beautiful old pink building that is now the town hall and tourist centre. I have to take a picture. As I point the camera at the fountain, an elderly chap (in his mid 80s), poses in a mad pose, with a whimsical grin on his voice. He’s telling me something, but quickly realises my paucity of German. He falls into excellent accented English, “Do you realise that this is where the Hitler Marches were held and he gave some of his speeches? The town wanted to take the fountain down, but they’ve decide to leave it.”
There’s no malice, or obvious intent in what he’s saying, other than a wish to politely inform me. I’m taken completely by surprise and look to Ann and Brigitte for help / advice. I have no idea what I should do – ask him more? Let it go? I instinctively like the guy, the grin on his face – oh yes, he knew what he was doing – appeals to me, I recognise another larrikin.
Ann takes my arm, “I’m sure he’s not a local,” she said, “they would never have brought that up. I think he’s from Berlin, he’s very well educated, look, he’s looking back to see how you’re coping.” He was. I told Ann that I would actually like to sit down with him, so would she, but by then, he was gone. So there it was, the Elephant remains in the Town Square, a real ghost. I need to move away from the Square.
There is a wonderfully mad large sculpture outside the regional museum – it looks part dragon, part horse and there is a falling rider, with four faces, on the horse. It turns out to be an interpretation of the biblical Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and was sculptured as a reaction to the fall of the wall in Berlin. It’s amazing. Next, there is an old – old? Try 1671! Drinking fountain, with an outrageous modern sculptured frog ( a la Wind in the Willows), he reminds me of another great Perth mate, Peter Briggs, who always reminds me of Toad of Toad Hall, in fact he revels in it, his home is named Toad Hall.
Then we walk along a lovely little lake, it’s close to a major music conservatorium, a guy dressed in semi-mediaeval costume, sits down by a large tree and begins to play an instrument of wind, that sounds a little like the bagpipes. Ann tells me it is an ancient instrument called a Schalmei. I find it quite enchanting and a real reminder that I am lucky enough to be in one of the cradles of our civilisation.
On the way home, we call into a supermarket – I’m going to cook tomorrow night – I need to repay, in some small way, this utterly splendid hospitality and unquestioning welcome, the Aschenbrenner family and Ann’s friends have so freely given. As we walk around the grocery aisles, I am shocked to discover how much cheaper food (processed and non-processed) is than in Perth, the difference is probably in the region of 30% cheaper! Not to mention that Ann has long been shocked at the price of restaurants and cafes in Perth, compared to Germany. She’s right.
