Three weeks into my trip I am sitting on top of Riad Zara in Marrakech – surrounded by more tiles and woven blankets I can possibly imagine. Somehow this morning I managed to NOT hear the first two lots of rather insisting yelling over those loudspeakers…until right now right here. No escaping this time as me perching on the very roof of my medieval accommodation I got to be in absolute prime position for at least THREE competing fine specimen of the male Islamic race reminding in no uncertain terms to REMEMBER TO PRAY! YES! NOW! MAKE NO MISTAKE!
And I wouldn’t be surprised if people in Gibraltar and over in Lisbon can hear it…rattling some of those tiles even there with the odd glass shattering thrown in. What an experience.
Together with Ideal Husband FELIX, ROCA and QUINTERO in tow I made my way via Singapore over to the old Motherland which still is – not surprisingly – very much populated by a disturbing amount of Germans. Some of them rather nice I hasten to add – meeting my friends again could not have been better. Strangely, everyone looks just a tad older…but I made the appropriate adjustments ( including to my very own persona!) and had some remarkable silly and hilarious moments…only possible with people you’ve known for some time…I even got some compliments for my apparent mastery of that rather tricky language that is spoken over there…and once and for all surrendered to the reality that I no longer speak ‘proper’ German – whatever that might be. I do want to add that this comment was made by a distinctively robust German taxi driver who presented me with the visual impact of his moderately bright red g-string on display when getting my suitcase into his car. Thinking of my mother and her efforts raising me with a certain amount of polite basic social skills I refrained from pointing out to him that last time I looked his kind of underwear also might have been less German traditional costume but more Rio De Janeiro….I decided to keep impersonating someone from somewhere else while he drove me to my friend Claudia…and I believe we both had a rather lovely time, each in our own slightly warped bubble.
His name was Ruediger.
Leaving Bremen on a high ( and before those summery ice storms had a chance to manifest for good ) I reconnected with Hamburg, Kiel, Strande and….Berlin. Which completely rattled me as
- Everyone was friendly. WTF? The Berlin I knew and lived in prided itself of being rude, more rude and then a bit of EXTRA rude. Now everyone I approached asking for places/ directions/ whatever gave me a smile, stopped what they were doing and actually talked to me…but then the memory of Ruediger Red Pants Taxi Man came to mind…as I must have come across a some of those tourists. Which clearly I am. Sort of. Mon dieu.
- German EFFiCIENCY has gone down the drain BIG TIME. Which means my genetic make up is in turmoil. Delayed trains, cancelled trains, overall confusion and jolliness in the face of utter Un-Germaness overall behaviour…the mind boggles. Some sense of relief and mortification restored when realising that YES GERMANS STILL VACUUM THEIR CONCRETE FRONT GARDEN. And speak English as if it is German especially on sightseeing buses making sure you are just a tad intimidated until you depart…regardless of your age.
Focussing on RED BOOTS got me through all of this. And of course hanging out with Nikolaus in his marvelous flat in Prenzlauer Berg in the company of the Angelika Merkel Zitronen Presse….that is the German Chancellor made up as a lemon squeezer…hilarious.
….coming back to my current location on the rooftop of my charming Riad in Marrakech I shall leave you with a visual impression of one of the gazillions of woven items surrounding my person…wishing you all a nice day with lots of sunshine…or that so important INNER WARMTH!
My apologies for neglecting the provision of a link to another shoe designer…this will happen at a later stage as wrestling with the somewhat sketchy not-quite-reliable wifi connection is enough right now without embarking on additional sophistication and linking business…xx