Dolphin Address 8
February 26th 2005
When I was younger, so much younger than today, actually I must have been about seventeen, I did a lot of hitchhiking. In one of my desperate moments I then took the vow that if ever I would one day own a car I’d take along any hitchhiker within reason.
Now this guy at the Rastatte was a head taller and a shoulder broader than me, but he did have a friendly face and a hippy aura, so I invited him along. He started telling me that he had made an invention to improve the efficiency of windmills by 15 %. ‘Ha’, I thought, ‘an exploratory spirit’, but then it turned out that he had received everything from Jesus and consequently he tried to convert me behind the wheel to his persuasion in fast wording with a heavy accent.
I mostly try to be understanding to other people’s conceptions and do not shy from a hearty discussion. Soon I saw, however, that there was only a monologue to be had this way and I told him several times in increasing clarity that I was not in for one-way traffic. Finally he got totally quiet and even dozed off. Now I realize that not everybody is the cheerful, communicative and sympathetic travel-entertainer I used to try to be, but this taxi-behavior was really bringing me down. So I drove into a Rastatte and dumped him. Not even one way about it.
In the Middle and South of Germany on gas stations and Rastatte toilet keepers have been replaced by a system called ‘Sanifair’. At a turnstile one has to insert 50 Eurocent. The getting together of this takes critical time and is highly contributive to one’s urge. I am not too enthusiastic about this new order. It lacks human attendance and understanding. You can’t freshen up with a handful of cold water in your face or drink a chill as the water is all luke-hand warm. Comfort in the average car must have reached a level that abolishes such medieval desires.
The toilets themselves reflect the absurd technological achievements of Modern Technology. The seat is turned mechanically under a soap and shammy armament to insure its hygiene. Unfortunately the shammy does not always sponge up all of the detergent, so apart from a filthy feeling you start wandering about how this will affect your human body. Moreover I seem to have confused one of these Johns so much that it started turning the seat while I still sat on it. This resulted in such an ominous grinding and rattling that I left quietly and inconspicuously.
The next morning I wanted to take a few pictures of the parking place where I had survived the night. Both batteries proved to be empty and I was pottering about the car to get everything back to working order. A police car stopped behind me and an officer asked me in an English with an irreproachable German accent for my passport, drivers license and car registration. I could imagine their zeal as the bus looked like a wild boar. But everything passed their radio-check and now I feel officially admitted on German territory: ‘Ich bin ein Autobahner’.
Distances seem to halve when you’re homeward bound. In my case it was only the Stau on the inner Berlin Ring that slowed me down to reality. Verena met me on the stairwell and so was everything.
Jan Ploeg, Berlin after 1200 km., February 26 th 2005
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