Odd Germania

About a year ago I put up a post called 'The Strangeness of Albion'. This was around the time I was spending an unhealthy amount of time exploring the lesser known bits of the West Midlands as part of my research for the MA. In retrospect I think if you dwell on the the familiar long enough, then it does start to look slightly odd. Which is why if you try staring at your feet or thumbs for more than twenty seconds they take on a surreal disembodied existence that seems vaguely disturbing. That being said, Stourport on Severn, and  Droitwich Spa are by any stretch of the imagination inherently strange.

In fact, I think we like the strange and harmlessly odd, which is part of the charm of travel; it leads us to question our assumptions and see our humdrum everyday lives in a different light. 'Innocents Abroad', Mark Twain's account of his first brush with European culture, is very funny. It's not surprising that even though Gill is re-reading it for the umpteenth time, she still can't help herself breaking out into spasms of involuntary sniggering.

Bill Bryson's 'Lost Continent' takes a more recent stab at the same territory. His description of how the Dutch and German languages can seem inadvertently filthy to the English ear is so funny it should have a health warning, like a roller coaster, that it may be unsuitable for people with a heart condition or in the advanced stages of pregnancy. The beauty of Mr. Bryson's observations, like a lot of comedy I guess, is it enables us to laugh at things that otherwise we might feel were puerile or offensive. I mean, of course I am far too grown-up and enlightened to find in any way amusing the huge l'Oreal poster of a rather winsome young woman in rhe hairdresser's window we passed yesterday promoting, apparently, a half price 'Blond Shag'.

The thing that makes the odd seem amusing is the way it is surrounded by the everyday and familiar. When everything is strange - like our experience of Luxor and the Nile valley - then the experience strikes you as exotic. In Europe, where increasingly most aspects of everyday life seems little different to the UK, then the odd strange details jump out at you; it's the way they are  embedded within the apparently normal that makes them seem  funny. 

An example. A couple of days ago, We were sitting in a riverside cafe in Trabach, appreciating our morning macchiato (Gill: "Lavazza, always good"). For us, a routine, mundane pleasure.

I happened to leaf through the Eis menu. Many and varied were the ice-cream concoctions on offer. Even more impressive, however, was the menu front cover.

This is so strange, it is difficult to know where to begin. The most striking aspect of the design is the fact that it is a parody of Hipgnosis's iconic  Pink Floyd album cover for Atom Heart Mother, which on its release in 1969 was highly experimental. I am not sure whether it is sad, funny or simply inevitable that what was edgy and avante garde for one generation becomes absorbed into the mainstream to be recycled as clichéd and trite in the next. 

Even stranger is the way the design has been changed to make it more ice-cream related by having the cow lunge towards the viewer, tongue lolling out - presumably a gesture signifying some kind of apotheosis of 'licking' for German 'Eis' enthusiasts. To us though, it just looks weird. I suspect in the north of Europe dairy related matters have connotations utterly lost on we innocent Anglo Saxons, a fact celebrated a couple of years ago by Poland's infamous Eurovision entry.

Advertising and publicity materials provide a great source of inadvertently hilarious examples of cultural difference. Inspired by the discovery of Pink Floyd ice cream cover in the following couple of hours I noted a couple of slightly Wagnerian inspired posters for local concerts,

Then leafing through a brochure given to us by Camping Sonneburg I came across some pictures of their child friendly mascot. To us it looks distinctly menacing, and not surprising at all that Hansel and Gretel and the Pied Piper of Hamlin are German tales.

Maybe though, the apparent strangeness does not reflect the oddness of German culture at all, but our own anxieties, revealing, in the wake of Saville and Harris, and scandals in Doncaster and Oldham an unhealthy distrust in simple adult/child relationships. It's not 'them' who are odd, but us.