The following took place in 1992 in Munich.
I was sitting comfortably on a rock adjacent to a fountain near Karlstor, one of Munich’s medieval city gates, reading a book, stroking my unruly beard and eating a ham roll I’d procured from a nearby bakery. A lad of about 16 approached and stood above me.
“Guten tag,” said the lad, and continued in German.
I, of course, can understand no German unless it’s said slowly, precisely and in English.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Sprechen sie Englisch?”
“Ja! Where are you from? England?”
“No.”
“America?”
“No.”
“I give up.”
“Australia.”
“Wow. Would you like to complete a survey?” asked the lad.
“Um. What’s it about?”
“It relates to the proposed redevelopment of Munich’s central pedestrian zone.”
“Right. Ok. Well, fire away. Do you mind if I continue eating?” I asked.
“Please do. Although your ham roll looks like it has been excreted by a dog.”
To that point I had been quite enjoying it.
“Ok,” continued the lad. “Question 1. I might sit down.”
The lad sat next to me on the rocks.
“Right,” he said. “Question 1. Gee it’s wet here.”
“Yeah.”
“Question 1. Were you born in Munich?”
“No.”
“Ok. Well you have to have been born in Munich. Doesn’t matter, I’ll just tick ‘yes’.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Oh yes, they just want answers. Right, question 2. How long have you lived in Munich?”
“Less than 24 hours.”
“Hmm. That won’t make sense will it?”
“Unless I left the country immediately after being born and have only just, this minute, returned.”
“I’ll put ‘all my life’.”
“Ok.”
“Wait a minute, I need to put your age too.”
“21,” I said, cautiously taking another bite from my roll.
“Ok. I’m 17. My name’s Schenn.”
“Hi.”
We shook hands. Schenn’s hand was quite damp.
“Next question,” Schenn continued. “How often do you use Munich’s pedestrian precinct? Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly or very rarely.”
“This year?”
“Any time.”
“Very rarely.”
“I might put weekly if that’s ok.”
“Fine,” I agreed, warming to the survey.
“Ok. How many buildings could you identify and name?”
“The rathaus.”
“Is that it?”
“Um. There was a church with scaffolding.”
“Frauenkirche, well done, I’ll tick that.”
“Um, the green one with the thing.”
“Oh, St Peter’s!”
“Was it?”
“I’ll tick a few more here.”
“Ok.”
“Would you be disappointed if the precinct was open to traffic?”
“Very!” I said with evident enthusiasm.
“Excellent! Now. I need to get your address. Not the whole thing. Just street and suburb.”
“Um. Wanna make one up?”
“Why don’t I? I’ll put my friend Hans’ address.”
“Good idea,” I said, wrapping the remainder of the roll in its paper.
“Thanks for your help,” said Schenn.
“No problem. Hey, why don’t you just sit at home and fill them out?”
“Well that wouldn’t be a very accurate representation of the real attitudes of the populace.”
“Good point.”
“Hey, what is that book?” he asked, spying my copy of
On the Origin of Species.
(Yes, I really was reading it while backpacking through Europe, so what?)
“Darwin.”
“Do you believe in Darwin’s theories?” His tone was one of scepticism.
“Indeed I do,” I retorted, straightening my tie before realising, too late, that I was wearing a t-shirt.
“Interesting,” he said. “Interessant. Well, danke and Auf Wiedersehen!”
“Bye.”
*
So, a wonderful travelling anecdote, one I relate regularly. Now it’s time to give away a prize. I’ve never given away a prize before. But I don’t want to be known as Tight Bob (mainly because it rhymes with tightwad) so here goes.
The first to correctly identify the beards below, will win my copy of Darwin’s
On the Origin of Species. It’s a pretty standard edition but contains many of Darwin’s finest theories including the one about the fish.
(Incidentally, when I was in Darwin recently, I heard that Charles Darwin never actually stepped foot onto land in the place named after him but, instead, made all his observations while tossing in a boat 200 metres offshore.)
*
Beard 1:
Beard 2:
Beard 3*:
Beard 4:
Beard 5:
Beard 6:
Beard 7:
Beard 8:
Beard 9:
Beard 10:
Beard 11:
Beard 12:
*Not really a beard.
Posts
