Driving in Germany

In August I enjoyed a month-long vacation in the U.S. -- mostly in Silverton, Colorado, which is at 9,318 feet in the San Juan Mountains. Only one street there is paved -- the main one or Greene Street, and the speed limit throughout town is one of two: 15 or 25 mph. Texans, tourists, and Texan tourists abound. Pedestrians are everywhere, so you have to drive slow. There is no little green man or red man to stop you from crossing the street in front of oncoming traffic. Historic trains ramble into town every day -- you have to get out of the way of those of course, but they whistle loudly to warn you to stay off the tracks. People disembark and explore the small burg, and life goes at an easy pace -- there is no need to rush to get from one end of town to another. In fact, you might as well walk, because there's not much room on Greene Street to park your rental car, SUV, Jeep, or all-terrain vehicle.

Fast forward to Germany, the Autobahn, fast cars, narrow streets, and urgency. Tension? Yes. Major driving stress? Oh yeah.

On the bright side, I just moved to a new small town of 2,000 up in the Odenwald, an inviting swathe of woods and quaint villages that winds in and out of three German states.

Driving the long curvy roads to get home, I relax all the way up. It's like a mini-racecourse, really, where my poor Opel struggles for dominance on the hills. It loses to the Beamers and the Benzes, but that's okay. Those roads weren't meant for driving too quickly. Deer could jump out, or maybe a Wildschwein. Perhaps a friendly cow. There are signs that warn of falling rocks and ice. There are even signs that show speed limits for tanks and jeeps. (Hmmmm... don't know what to make of that. Always prepared, the Germans!)

My driving route to work takes me downhill and eventually onto the Autobahn. Currently, however, the closest on-ramp is under construction. The off-ramp has also been under construction, since before I went on vacation. Therefore, I have to exit early to find my way home in the evening, and drive a few more kilometers before I get to the Autobahn in the morning. I go through several traffic lights, around streetcar stops, and through a few roundabouts. I leave early, before the sun comes up, and if it happens to be raining, the journey becomes more treacherous and stressful.

What makes it worse is when a harried driver behind me goes faster than the speed limit. Some people here drive as if they've got a woman in the car who is about to deliver a baby if she doesn't get to the hospital in time, or they're bleeding to death, or some other emergency. Durchfall? 

They can't all be late for work, because this is Germany, and they are a punctual people. However, the ass-grinding, headlight-glaring, inconsiderate-driver-behind-me thing happens often, and I do not drive like an old woman... yet. So what is the rush? 

There are ways of dealing with the stress of driving in Germany. 

When it's dark out, I adjust my rear view mirror so I can't see "him" anymore (I always assume it's a man) and try to remain calm. If only I were a cop with a radar detector permanently installed in my backside! Otherwise, I could pull over, or hope that the driver passes me. No, they prefer to remain right behind me and try to push me down the hill. 

Turn up the music and ignore the BMW behind you. Look at the scenery. Take deep breaths. Think of the delicious glass of wine you will enjoy when you get home inside your quiet home, your car safely parked and your engine turned off.

Or remember the fact that it's much worse in Italy. 

Ah, the glamour and allure of those 15-mph dirt roads... 

German Pillows

Ach, the German pillow. Das Kopfkissen.  

Most are square to begin with, these German pillows, measuring 80 x 80 centimeters (about 31 x 31 inches).

In America, a square pillow of that size is designed for a sleepy cat or a small dog. Is a person supposed to balance their whole upper body on one of these wedges? (See diagram below.)

How exactly do German pillows work? That is the question. 

Sure, they look good on your bed, especially when the linens you buy include a pillow case for an 80-by-80. You are forced to have such a pillow, or you're wasting good flannel. But is the German pillow functional? I say no. 

My friend Roxann came to visit the first year I lived here. She couldn't sleep all night on my bed, because of the German pillow. It was too soft, it was too flat, it gave her no support. She chose to sleep on the hard, uncomfortable couch the next night just to avoid wrangling with the German pillow. I felt bad about that, but she was adamant. 

Does this look comfortable to you? 

After her visit, I threw the German pillow away. 

I understood Roxann's complaints, because I hadn't used it much myself before she had arrived. Yes, it was almost brand new, this weak, squishy thing full of feathers that didn't hold its shape, but it (like some people) was high-maintenance. All night long, I had to squish it and squeeze it, form it and fold it. My head popped off of it several times. It unfolded itself and became a limp, flat, useless SQUARE head support. It didn't last longer than one night on my bed, except I could use it for guests, who maybe had a clue as to how it might work. After all, weren't these square pillows the standard?

No, my head needed support, so after one night with the awful German pillow, I bought a few inexpensive (3-euro-each) throw pillows to support my bean. These worked wonderfully. 

And they were made in Poland.

Why couldn't I find a smaller, firmer, rectangular pillow to hold my head up? Didn't Germans make such a pillow? I searched and searched. 

Ah, then I discovered this thing called IKEA: the horrifically huge home marketplace, where you can buy almost anything, including crackers, hot dogs... and pillows.  

I picked out a rectangular pillow that seemed firm. It was in the "side sleeper" pillow section. 

In America, we didn't have a side sleeper, back sleeper, or a stomach sleeper pillow section. We just had pillows: soft, medium, or firm; foam or feather. 

Examining the IKEA pillow, I thought years of scientific study must have gone into its engineering. Hmmm. 

It still had to go through my examination. Right there in the IKEA, I tested the pillow by putting my head upon it more than once, standing upright and leaning onto one of the display racks, pillow under my head. (I couldn't lay down on the floor!) I squeezed it. I bunched it. It was almost unbunchable, and that was a good thing. I put it back, and I squeezed and bunched other pillows. My new pillow had to be just right. Finally, I returned to my first choice, taking the plunge, heaving a sigh, and putting it into my basket. I even found a pillowcase that would fit the little gem. 

When I got home, I was excited for the night to come, so I could sleep on a pillow that might be something like the pillows back home. My throw pillow days were surely at an end, and I could join the rest of the German population in using a regular pillow. Sure, this one was a bit narrower from the top edge to the bottom edge, but it had to be good, because it was rectangular. 

Sadly, the pillow and I didn't mesh -- it gave in to my heavy head and my neck still had to do lots of work. The pillow couldn't hold up its end of the bargain. I pushed and pulled, doubled and dodged. I just couldn't get comfortable. The pillow might work for decoration, but not for the serious business of holding my skull in the proper position while I slept. 

I gave up. I continued sleeping with my throw pillows. They became some of my best friends. 

Then I went back home to the USA the next summer to clean out my storage unit. Buried beneath books and rugs, I found my two favorite pillows. I clutched them to my chest, almost sobbing with happiness. My pillows! Oh, the nights we had spent happily together. I had hit the jackpot, and the pillows were perhaps the most welcome of all my former treasures. Then I found my favorite pillowcases -- two flannel, and another handed down from my grandma. Hurriedly, as if grabbing a suitcase full of cash, I crammed the pillows and cases into the mini-van I was driving, making sure they were safe and secure behind the middle seat. I decided right then I would have to bring all of them back to Germany, no matter how much it cost. On the drive across America, I could rely on those trusty pillows to keep me comfy, in case I had to sleep in the van. (And one night, I did.)

Just to make sure my pillows were flying across the Atlantic, I bought a giant suitcase and put them in first thing, under my clothes. It was worth paying the $100 for an extra bag.

God bless America, and the American pillow

Now those two pillows rest on my bed. I love them. I couldn't live without them. 

Yes, I have giant German square pillows -- two brand new ones because I have a new apartment and it has to be outfitted properly -- but I can't use them for me. Maybe my next set of guests can try them out. Good luck! They look good, but they don't work. 

Even a German will tell you they have to quetschen das Kopfkissen. 

Go to it, Germans. Enjoy your scrunching. Meanwhile, I will sleep like a baby. 


Wörterbuch / Dictionary

das Kissen - the pillow (any)
Kopfkissen - the bed pillow (lit. "head pillow")
quetschen - to squash