On Holidaying in Germany and England.

Landing in Paris on the 27th of December was a bit of a relief. My fears of flying Air France were unfounded as it turns out. The service was polite and pleasant. The flight departed San Francisco on time and arrived, if anything, a bit early. This made the connexion to Luxembourg all the less stressful. Passport control was simply. There was only one person in the EU/EEA/CH passport queue ahead of me. To say that the officer was indifferent would be to lend him more credibility than he perhaps deserves. He could not be bothered as he was chatting happily with his mate. I handed him my passport which he grudgingly picked up, glanced at, and promptly tossed back at me hardly looking at either me or my passport. Security was also reasonably quick, it being an intra-Schengen flight. Perhaps the most annoying part of the entire passage to Trier was a very slow cleaning woman who insisted on taking her time to clean the men’s WC after I had drunk a quart of water and 3 coffees. After giving a performance which could pass as a reasonable performance of Irish dance the WC reserved for parents with small children finally opened. The flight from Paris to Luxembourg on Luxembourg Airlines was a bit surprising. There were under 10 passengers including myself and almost all seats were empty. That we were able to fly at all was surprising. Even more surprising, then, was that my aunt who is generally as punctual as the Royal Mail actually arrived at the same time my suitcases were delivered. Her sons, my cousins, were there as well. One recently turned 18, the other will turn 10 next month. My uncles were there as well, one having driven up from Baden-Württemberg for the purpose of visiting my mother and myself.

Germany was much as it always was save for one difference. Perhaps it is the utter decline of the United Schizophrenics of America, but Germany was more pleasant than I had ever remembered it being. There were, of course, more Ausländer (immigrants/migrants) than there used to be — more Poles, Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, etc. Yes it wasn’t bad, not in the least. The ones I met were working and not causing a stir. They were polite and reliable, far more than our own subclass. I, for one, would prefer a hundred Hungarian clerks and waiters than a ten Asozialen, German chavs. There were some from Africa and East Asia as well, but they were equally not unpleasant. For the most part people intermixed without too many difficulties. While Germans are by and large not PC, there is a desire to avoid unnecessary conflict and so long as people are not causing problems and contributing something to society — while speaking German in the process — we’re content. The trains ran on time save for one instance when there was a slight delay because of congestion on one of the longer lines. Most importantly, the food and coffee were very good.

The matter of food is one that is very important for me. Trier, having been under Latin influence since the Romans, is in some ways as southern European as it is Germanic. We have long had a well-developed cafe culture. It’s not uncommon for us to spend a good hour or two eating cake and/or pastries while drinking a few espressi or cappuccini.
The coffee was excellent. Strong, but never bitter. Food was not universally good, to be honest. There was one restaurant which was cheaper than the others and was busy. The food, however, was terrible. Everything tasted like the cook was in love with salt and the chips had been fried more than once. It really wasn’t surprising that many of the customers were Americans in the area either on business, with the military, or on holiday.
The best restaurant was across the street from the Porta Nigra — the last Roman city gate still standing. Not overly expensive the food was exquisite. The lamb was well-prepared and flavourful. The salad was fresh and the chips made fresh with the best potatoes. The coffee was perfectly prepared and the service pleasant. The interior was much as I had remembered it. Clean and modern, the building’s 18th-century features have largely been kept intact as well. The most pleasant cafe experience was at a rather dearer and more difficult place to reach. Located on a cliff over-looking the city there were clear, un-interrupted views of the city and beyond. The cake, a chocolate, cherry, and nougat was properly made — not overly sweet and with flavour coming from the ingredients, not just sugar.

To get away from the family for a few days I travelled to England, mum tagging along behind me. I stayed in Marlow and London with a quick trip to Henley as well.
Marlow was a lovely town. The old church was delightful, quiet. While the Thames was a bit high it was still possible to walk along much of the strand and see much of the town away from the high street. I also found a cafe which I enjoyed. Decent pastries and passable coffee and tea at a not too unreasonable cost. Henley was also pleasant, albeit with the air of a town with a clear majority of residents having more money than sense. I met Araminta there for lunch. She is every bit as pleasant and civilised in person as she is online. We chatted for a few hours before I returned to Marlow. The final two days were in London which is, as ever, worth a visit. The museums — the National Portrait Gallery and British Museum — were ace. The people not too terribly unpleasant and the city not nearly as expensive as I had feared it would be. One senses, if I may be so bold to pronounce, that London remains the centre of the world for better or ill. The money, the sleaze, the culture, the decadence, the action, the excitement, the cruelty, the inhumanity all abound in unrestricted measure. For a city of its size and statue London remains pleasant, albeit only in small doses. Neither my mother nor I felt afraid there once. We avoided the less pleasant parts of the city. In London I also met WW for those of you who remember her. It was a pleasant visit and chat over coffee. Much like our Araminta, WW is the most pleasant of company.

Leaving England was a bit sad. It was time well-spent, a holiday much enjoyed. The return to Germany was not unpleasant, though. I once again quickly went through passport control, this time in Luxembourg rather than Paris. In Germany I met family I had not seen in decades. In other words, since I was a small child. I also met my mother’s best mate. In both instances we hit it off well. Both insist that I return to Germany for a longer period of time, that is, that I work there. It certainly is an option, the Canadian and Australian immigration processes being somewhat tedious.

As always, all good things must come to an end. On Friday I left Germany early in the morning. The flight to Paris was pleasant enough. Mostly full but with remaining seats I had the row to myself. Getting through Paris was more challenging this time. Passport control was still quick, but clearing security took the better part of an hour in what was already an uncomfortably short time to connect. Still, I managed it. Delta Airlines was as it always was. Difficult and underwhelming, but still the least unacceptable of the Utterly Stupefying and Asinine-based airlines. Flying into Minneapolis one has very few options. With the exception of Air Canada no non-domestic airlines fly into the city. Again it was tedious, my having to prove for the third and fourth time that I was, in fact, permitted to reside in the Union of Silly A***s despite having booked the original ticket and checked in at Luxembourg on an Obamatanic passport. Despite that I survive the flight and exacted my revenge by refusing to speak English to anyone, thus requiring the assistance of French-speaking air hosts and “customer service” due to their lack of German-speaking employees.

Passport control in Minneapolis was not unreasonable. While slow, the officer was a pleasant younger lady who was polite, chatty, and as intelligent as a rock. Still, it was perhaps one of the less irritating experiences dealing with the Obamastani border police.
The customs’ officer was a bit less pleasant but he did not cause me a delay.

Author: Christopher-Dorset

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