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Published: March 16th 2006
The plane comes to a halt on the tarmac at Charles De Gaulle Airport. Passengers spring from their seats and begin frantically rummaging in the overhead lockers for their hand luggage - experience should tell us this infectious haste is a fruitless exercise. And yet on every flight the world over fidgety passengers stand around anxiously in claustrophobic aisles in their own self-inflicted eternities before shuffling painfully to the exits. In contrast, the anxious shufflers are replaced by a dozen or so Afro-Carribean men who clamber abroad and go to work, busying themselves between the aisles; nonchalantly and methodically cleaning, vacuuming and filling refuse sacks as they go, all orchestrated by their Turkish whip hands…
Who said there was no caste system in Europe?
It’s 10pm before we’re in the air again, heading back east and leaving behind the setting sun of a long European summers day - a worthy reward for the endless months miserable penance that’s been endured by it’s hardy inhabitants. For me Northern Europe in summer has no parallel the world over. After months of torpid existence, people shed their clothes, leave their homes, start smiling and wallow in the sheer delight of nature’s bounty.
I set foot back on European soil in Frankfurt, where I’m met by Franzi whom I haven’t seen since Goa. We jump in the car and negotiate the corkscrew exit of the airport at dizzily helter-skelter speed, with reaction time at half a nano-second and my mind askew, I need to be reassured there isn’t a goat, cow or child lurking round the next bend…from potholed northern Sri Lanka to Mittleeurupes autobahns in half a day…the pace quickens exponentially as we hit what seems to me space shuttle speed. I shift uneasily in my seat, and reassure myself by looking out of the window - ‘see that’s just the pace of life here; we’re just going with the flow…’
Before long we’re ascending a glass cubicle elevator in the vast glass-housed atrium of Colognes Maritim Hotel. We head down the long featureless corridor, swipe the card through the door enter the room, flinging open the curtains to reveal the City’s magnificently illuminated twin-steeple ‘Dom’ cathedral.
The following day Cologne is in full glorious summers bloom, wandering along the Rhine, temperatures in the thirties, I couldn’t have been a happier man, my expectations thoroughly fulfilled. This the first real day of
summer; the energy around the place would lead you to believe this was a national holiday - it isn’t, it’s just 25th May. Though in my opinion it should be; for tonight is the Champions League final. Franzi heads-off to work, leaving me time to explore Cologne and eat-up the remaining hours, which should be easy with so much for my imagination to feast on, yet the last few hours drag painfully as I’m slowly consumed by anticipation - the culmination of the last ten months journey and twenty years waiting.
I squeeze into one of the many Irish bars amongst the hundreds of German Liverpool fans with my Guinness in hand. The place is buzzing with a party atmosphere - though strangely there’s not a trace of nervous energy. Don’t they understand this isn’t simply a football match, an excuse for a casual drink, or a night on the town? In the words of the great Bill Shankly “Football isn’t a matter of life or death, it’s more important than that”
By half time we are losing 0-3 and being thoroughly humiliated on the highest stage of International Club football. I had to leave. The final straw
was Sky Commentator Andy Grays smug remark “Game well and truly over …and I hate to say that” chuckle chuckle. None of the Germans seemed to be aware that he was laughing at our misery…taunting us! Life in the bar continued as normal. I felt the urge to cry out ‘YOU DON’T FEEL MY PAIN!!!’
I can’t remember the walk back to the hotel…I just traipsed through the centre of town deep in philosophical consolation amid the balmy summers-evening merriment.
Upon my return to the hotel room I tore off my clothes, got stuck into the mini-bar and sat on the floor two-feet from the TV screen like a nervous child. Damage limitation was the task now; to heal the permanent psychological scars a defeat like this would inflict on Liverpool FC and its fans. Restoring pride is now the best we can hope for…and restore pride we did; before long we were back to 2-3. Unbelievable as it was; one more goal and we’re back in it!
The talisman Gerrard charges into the area and is upended by a Milan defender - Penalty! The unthinkable was now just 12 yards away! The initial jubilation of being awarded
A happy worker;-)
Down on the farm...the penalty is replaced by anticipation, pressure and fear running through the players and all around the ground on both sides. People often ask me why football is such a popular and addictive phenomena worldwide? Well right there is your answer; pure unscripted drama of the highest order - the likes of which all the reality TV shows in the world combined couldn’t muster.
If this were Shakespeare, he’d miss - just for that precious second when anticipation and fear clash headlong - when the roller coaster drops over the rim and begins it’s heady journey to oblivion… but then, when you think all is lost, the ball would rebound and the striker would pounce, lifting it deftly over the keepers flailing arms.
In reality he did miss - and then pounced on the rebound, lifting the ball deftly over the keeper’s flailing arms! Adrenalin has him tearing aimlessly away from the goal pursued by his delirious teammates who take him down and smouther him in utter pandemonium.
Game on! The pendulum has swung - the worm has turned! Adrenalin levels peak; though more than enough still pumps through the veins to create fluctuating rushes of euphoria and fear. Losing
now would be cruel, whereas winning would be something I was not prepared to think about...
A 30 minute spell of extra-time is played out, not without it’s moments, and then it is onto penalties: the cruellest, fairest and most noble way to conclude such a dramatic spectacle. I won’t bore you with the details…I couldn’t do them justice. Just picture 20 years of wanton dreams and tantalising failures condensed into a few minutes of high drama. Nervous tension is an understatement… Just look at the photo on the right to see the outcome!
Franzi returned home from work sometime during extra-time to witness me hopping around the hotel room in utter incomprehensible delirium! We go out that night - me on cloud 9…
Franziska works for the ‘We Will Rock You’ musical production in Germany, so when she asked if I’d like to join her in the opening of the new Allianz Arena in Munich, of course I jumped at the chance.
Ismanning was our base and with Franzi away supervising the auditions, I take a wander to explore my new surroundings…It’s Sunday and the one or two shops that service the town are firmly shut…the nice-clean-and-boring
appearance of the place begins to give me the creeps. I make an executive decision to visit Munich, even though we’ll be visiting as a group the following day. I’ve thrust myself into the role of tourist, after…well, actually no respite at all…a teenage girl helps me to buy the correct ticket and tells me which places I should visit. Then I wait in a futuristically built train station feeling strangely apprehensively. Boarding the train I have a mild and nowadays very rare case of culture shock! I begin to feel out of place in this soulless module; everything is shiny and new and ergonomic and stylish and functional and efficient - even it seems…scary, as it was at the time the people! I’m sure I look different to them! Do I look scruffy? Should I have shaved?… I need to buy some new shoes!
I arrive at Marienplatz station…ascend the elevator and arrive in - and this is no exaggeration - a different dimension! The contrast simply could not be more profound. European Culture lay bare …it throbbed and oozed tradition. I was hypnotized for the best part of an hour. Then the batteries in my camera ran out,
and I discovered to my astonishment that it was impossible to buy batteries on a Sunday in Munich?! You can get a cold beer, drink a McDonald’s milkshake or dine on Sushi, but no batteries on a Sunday??? Some European traditions die-hard.
The following day Munich was overcast and rainy - perfect weather for a Bavarian beer hall…bratwurst, sauerkraut, lederhosen und bier! ... incidentally that is the extent of my German...
So back in Cologne when I attempted to find a job, it inevitably proved impossible! Leaving me feeling like a high-tech electrical appliance without the correct plug…§$&%! the common European currency - we need a common European language, whatever that may!? So there was only one thing for it; return to Denmark - the land of profligate prices and profligate pay checks…I’d secured a job with a previous employer of some two years back - picking Cauliflowers for $18 US an hour ($36 on Sunday).
I dreamed through the first week, helped by the fact that Franzi was over to visit and we had a chance to sample the first day of summer in Copenhagen, a City I had lived for six months the previous year. By the
second week my mind began to get fidgety and restless when the realisation dawned that stimulation was at a minimum and this was my life for the foreseeable future. Week two was testing…by week three my mind began to shut down - a self-preservation system - if I were to continue to dream and think, the job would kill me slowly and painfully. The blinkers came on, tunnel vision in place and the work became life. The outside world dissapeared into a haze of memories not to be dwelt upon too frequently. I became one of the characters in the drama. Another visit by Franzi and the arrival of my old university pal Paul (who came over as a break from teaching English in London - ha!) helped things tick along. By week four I was institutionalised! When gifted the whole weekend off we simply had no idea how to manage all that free time.
Pottering along in the tractor the following Monday morning at 7am, the functional familiarity of the situation felt unnervingly secure, in fact, I was actually excited. Creepy…I was now firmly in the monotonous groove of routine, allowing me to hang on for another two weeks.
I could write a more detailed analysis of my six weeks on ‘The Farm’ but I feel my role went way beyond the realms of participant observation - my evaluation would be too biased. Besides, I adhere to the first rule of fight club;-)
The situation on the farm was complicated by the fact that 80% of the workers this time around were Spanish; creating clans and segregation. Allowing marijuana, a lack of mental stimulation, fatigue and a foggy language barrier to lead some into the paranoid world of cauliflower-narco-mania.
Taking it as fact that racism exists in all of us, and that only learning and social evolution can lead us on the path to civilization. Right here in this tiny Danish village amid this microcosm of humanities frailties I believe I witnessed the seeds of wars and ethnic cleansing - simply pour stress onto peoples prejudices, ignorance and fears! Shocking, since the stark reality is that on the grand scale of things looking around at the world we live in - The work was easy and it was a bloody Utopia! A billion people the world over manage to scrape a living on less than a dollar
a day. It would take them over 16 years the money I earned in just six weeks…not to mention the tens of thousands who die needlessly daily of starvation and curable diseases. But of course when you are out in the field and some stoned-tired-young-menstruating Spanish girls are screaming at you in their native tongue for missing a cauliflore the perspective seems too obscure to comprehend…though my obvious lack of compassion for their cause worked wonders as a retaliation;-)
And so it was; after enslaving my mind for 6 weeks, procuring a farmers tan and 5,000 dollars in the bank I ceremoniously walked off the job! Having earned only enough freedom credits as was necessary to maintain my way of life and nothing more - except of course the added tonic of providing me further antidote for when I’m sitting on a beach in paradise and feeling strangely homesick for routine!?
However, after three days my mind still hadn’t begun to function at full capacity. I was institutionalised and began to feel apprehensive about leaving the familiar world of the farm and going it alone in the real world. But of course I had to leave and as
soon as possible - and Copenhagen wouldn’t do - even a few days of this cash stripping metropolis would test my patience…and so it was when my ex-girlfriends connecting flight from India was cancelled, stranding her in Istanbul indefinitely I went to the nearest Eurolines office and told them to get-me-the-hell-out immediately. But with all buses to southern Germany booked-out, I settled on a one-way ticket to Berlin, I town I’d never before been.
On the Bus down I spoke to a charismatic young Indian fellow who’d been working in Denmark for the previous year-and-a-half for IBM. He said I was the first stranger in all that time that’d spoken to him. So to endear myself to the service of humanity I introduced a couple of German girls into our conversation.
I stayed in a fairly impressive hostel (The Circus) in former East Berlin. So nice was it, in fact, that the following morning when everyone begin dashing around frantically to fulfil their sightseeing agendas and join the various walking tours available including; Nazi, Stasi and Cold War!? I hung around the hostel enjoying a leisurely breakfast until around 3pm, before dipping out with my camera and attempting to get
lost.
Berlin felt a lot smaller than I’d imagined it would be and was extremely easy to negotiate on foot. I couldn’t believe how abandoned some parts of Eastern Berlin felt and some of the modern architecture that has appeared in Berlin since the wall came down is a bit tasteless - though in fairness I’m sure it’s an improvement on the soviet-block-era architecture it has presumably replaced?
In the evening I was cajouled into going on a guided pub crawl by some of my Irish roommates… though I can’t remember much after the third bar and second club when ‘crawl’ became an apt description.
The next day I was reunited with Franzi in her hometown of Oberhof, the ex-winter sport capital of the DDR, where we enjoyed our stay at her parents hotel and had a delightful visit to the much underrated and undiscovered capital of Thuringia, Erfurt.
And now I sit in Mannheim, our base - a town so destroyed in WW2 you won’t find it on any German tourist brochure, though conveniently located just 15mins from delightful Heidelberg. I just had a little foray back to England, Denmark and back through Germany to say hello-goodbye, and sort
some stuff out. So now everything is in place for my next adventure… Though since I’m having quite a relaxing time at present and it's still 30C down here, I’m finding it difficult to drag myself away…The hard life continues;-)
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