Hamburg

Reisen schweinhaxe. (And disappointingly not oven baked potatoes on the other side.)

That roughly translates as “Huuuge Pigknuckle.” Think crackling on a Sunday roast. Double it. Chuck in some fat and some darker meat. Then add a bit more of it. With 2 kartoffelnoedels which I guessed would be giant gnocchi and yes… Dumpling probably a better call. Potato-noodles doesn’t really work. But that’s the feeling. Oh and some sauerkraut. A mouthful of it. Because veg.

I’m in Hamburg. I won’t be here for long.

I’ve been to three Christmas Markets already today. They are all crowded.

I was in the third row of the plane. John was one row ahead of me. He was drinking his easyJet moretti as we flew. I was still digesting my breakfast. John is in Hamburg for Christmas markets, although he’s likely to eat in McDonalds. Which isn’t a British restaurant, an irony that might be lost on John.

He used to be a marine. His dad was in the army. He has travelled. I didn’t expect to be in a conversation with John. But it sustained a long long fucking queue to get our passport stamped, even though we were first off our particular plane. I learnt a lot about him. He learnt nothing about me.

It started when we hit the queue. The EU nationals were flying though on our right. I didn’t really expect anyone to hear me when I hit the queue and said in an undertone “It’s what we voted for. Taking back control. That fucking bus and here we are.”

He initiated it. “Tell you what mate, yes, I did vote for it and you know why? Cos our laws were being passed through other places. We couldn’t have any of our own law anymore.” This started a whole long chat where I was pretty much entirely asking questions and John was answering in monologue form. I was trying not to lose him, so I thought questions were the best way, and then try and get them in the right order to spark thought. ‘It’s all so woke at the moment,” “I don’t know what woke means, I hear it loads and it seems to mean just … anything people don’t agree with, what does it actually mean, John?” “When we were young we could say anything. A fattie was a fattie. A ginger was a ginger. Now we have to tread on eggshells…” John doesn’t like the small boats. He doesn’t like the fact he can’t call people names anymore, “just in banter obviously, they never minded” (they did but you had the power John. This is what they call privilege. Thin privilege. Blue eyed blonde privilege. It’s still a thing, John).

He was likeable. He wasn’t a monster. He just wants to feel safe. “You travelled a lot as a kid, you still travel now. Do you still stand by your vote?” “No because it hasn’t been the way I thought it would be.”

Brexit was a fucking car crash for us. Europe, with togetherness, could have stood up still now as a global powerhouse. I still think John and his mates might have eaten some vatrushka before that vote. Russia doesn’t want united Europe. And they haven’t got it so hooray for them and John. Because the Johns of this world were cluelessly voting for a personal fantasy that varied from person to person. John didn’t know what he was voting for apart from that he wanted to continue to stand in his privilege.

I struggle on some points. He asked me just one question among his many answers and I couldn’t have answered it even if he’d let me. “Why do you think they go to all the danger and expense to cross the channel in boats, coming up north all that way? They’re safe in Italy. They’re safe in France, in Germany, all over. But they still risk their life and get on a boat here? Why?” “I don’t know.” “It’s obviously our benefit system and the fact they get free hotels…”

I’m not sure John. I think we might have a very familiar language… I don’t know though. There are so many issues facing us, is this really the biggest problem we have? A drip of desperate people? Is it so many that it’s a problem. He doesn’t want ID cards, we align on that, and the fucking triple tax return can literally go jump in the fucking sea, that’ll be the one that has me looking to emigrate. I’ll be on a boat out if otherwise I’ll have to do a tax return three times a year.

We are in that queue for a good 40 minutes. I don’t end up hating him but, like all of us, his thinking is blurred by his needs and his position. We shake hands and part. He’s off to get leathered at a biergarten Christmas market big steins and boobies type thing. I’m off to see Gaslight at The English Theatre of Hamburg. I’ll never see him again and that’s totally fine. But he’s not a baddie. Just likes himself.

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Soundtrack:

Aretha Franklin: I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You am

Stones: Exile on Main Street pm