Breadrolls and bearhugs

---

A very old friend of mum's meets us at the airport in Frankfurt at some hideous hour in the morning; we are, however, entirely awake and extremely excited. Mum talks of kissing German soil when we land with a big grin on her face, then we clap loudly as the plane slows on the tarmac to indicate the landing was well handled - its something only truely cringe worthly stiff Germans would normally do, but we can't help it. All three of us are German afterall and right now, we want the whole world to know.

Its so green everywhere; thick, lush chlorophyll spreads along the Autobahn only minutes from the airport. Its like a mural; the artist has lost all inhabition and splashed shades of deep green all over the canvas as though his pot of paint will never run out. His strokes are even and controlled at first, then he looks at the work in front of him, his head tilts sideways, and then he literally dunks his brush into the gooey paint; on it goes, all over. It makes me feel deeply satisfied, excited and peaceful all at the same time, just to look at it.

We arrive at our friend's little apartment before I can say boo. We unpack the suitcases and are sitting down on the bed when I hear mum say something to her about breadrolls. My eyes light up, my ears tweak, my stomach rumbles like a small child with hands tied and lollies dangled before its nose. Let me spell it out for you: I love nothing more than fresh german breadrolls.

Not that the word 'breadroll' does these creations of God any justice at all. The german word is 'broetchen', translated literally its small bread, but the -chen has little, cute fondness connotations, something like hanging a -y onto words in English. And they are absolutely cute and wonderful and all the words you would call a chocolate coloured 8 week old labrador pup. Only you want to eat them all, at once, and never stop.

Heidi asks if we want to come with her to get Broetchen. Yes, YES. We jump in her little car and zip through the 30km town streets until we are in the centre. We park and walk past shops and cafes, all still closed until later in the day. We pass a produce market in the town square and Heidi stops for some apples. These markets are famous in Germany, generally on in every town on set dates throughout the month. The vendors bring their produce in fully equipped state of the art vans, driving around the regional centres to service their customers.

The produce looks amazing. The vendor of the fruit stall picks up an apple and takes a thick slice out of it for each of us to try. Wow. Its crunchy and juicy and cold and sweet and the best apple I've ever bitten into, hands down. I am nodding furiously as Heidi orders 2 kg. "Schoenen guten Tag!", the vendor says as we pay and leave.
Have a nice day.

I'm dreaming of the moment I can have an entire apple for myself, to take a huge bite out of it and then devour it down to the stem; its one of my favourite thing to do, to eat an apple with pips and core and skin. Sometimes, if challenged, I will even eat the woody stem. Just to make a point (I'm a capricon).

As I'm dreaming, the bakery comes into sight; all of my fondest childhood memories return and I forget apples and stems. The closer we get, the stronger the fresh Broetchen waft becomes and I am taken. There's no turning back and nothing could destract me right now. I've been waiting for this moment for two years.

We walk in. There is so much to choose from, so many varieties and sizes. My eyes glaze over the sweets but I have to constrain myself or we'll never get out of here. Focus on the Broetchen. And then it hits me; how will we ever choose?

The lady behind the counter asks "Was waehre es fuer Sie?" What will it be? Despite the fact that she has the typical Ellen DeGeneres haircut - one of the two haircuts all german women sport, the other being the 1980s perm - and that she's really not very nice or freindly at all, I have half a mind to bearhug her over the counter and tell her how wonderful it all is.

Instead Heidi starts ordering, and before I know it we are pointing down various baskets and varieties until three bags are filled with Broetchen. There's even my favourite - the Laugenbretzel, the pretzel. There's also plain Broetchen, straight out of the oven and still warm. Mmmmmm.

By 8am on day 1 of our tour, I know my life is already and entirely complete.

X

---

Comments

[Libby]

yum!
nice blog Maria! awesome to read and as for your description of German bakeries, man, you could sell Sand to the Arabs! I'm sold anyway. hey, is Franziska on your blog list? I know she'd appreciate reading it. looking forward to the next installment, Lib x

[tine]

hey maria...ohh im sooo jealous, im hopeing that i can be there in september... i want some broetchen now, and malz bier :) Wo seit ihr denn gerade??? hoffe ich werde euch noch dieses jahr sehen :) Eure tine

[Row]

thank you
bring on more, the posied exterior clearly to often portrayed is fast dissolving. And you've only hit the bakery - what more delights does the great country shield? Keep going

[ross]

im hungry
hey i hope your posting me some of those rolls express!!! .....and leave the hair alone, all the best german hairdressers move to sydney!!!!!! Tschüss, fürs Erste, das Sie zwei verrückte Deutsche… wie ein Filmtitel klingen!