In 2004 I moved to Venice California. At the time, I was blinded by an unreasonable infatuation for the Big Apple to really appreciate how cool of a place Venice would be to live. I remember thinking I would only stay there for a year before venturing on. Like all things in life, nothing works out how you expect. I ended up staying in Venice for 3 years, and in the process, I made friends with some fantastically crazy and wonderful people, a large percentage of whom happened to be German. How could I have known that I would find myself surrounded by Germans? After all, I had lived 28 years without befriending a single one. Yet at 31, as I made my arrival to Germany I felt right at home. What had happened in the 3 years since I met my first German?

One word: Andre.

If not for my friend’s penchant for nicotine and throwing old OJ jugs filled with wine down boardwalks, I probably would never have made it to Germany. Andre, an avid Doors fan, opened a proverbial door for me and revealed his crew of German friends. A few beers and cigarettes later his crew became my crew of German friends. First came Ralf, then Sabine, then Markus, Richard, Udo, Thomas the pilot, Thomas the bald, Thomas Sabine’s friend, and then came Laurin the man. Oh, I can’t forget the other Andre. I don’t know him well, but I am told he practices an ancient German religion called hedonism. I can only hope that I will get to know him in the future.

Some might think it sad to say, but the one constant between me and my German friends is beer. So it’s no wonder that I was consuming beer within minuets of meeting my friend Ralf in Karlsruhe Germany. Karlsruhe, a small city of approximately 300,000 people, is situated near the Rhine River and the Franco-German border. It has an excellent public transportation system and is home to Germany’s Supreme Court. The beer of choice in Karlsruhe is translated as Pine Cone. I can’t remember what it’s called in German. Maybe I had too many.

These Germans can and should teach the world a thing or two about brewing beer. Every beer I tasted was delicious. And not delicious in that way when you finally admit to yourself that beer actually tastes good. German beers intrinsically taste good. I imagine, even as a kid, I would have liked the taste. I know German kids do. They are allowed to drink it in a bar when they are 16.

I made it to Karlsruhe on the eve of German Father’s day, which happens to be a big holiday for German men. It’s a chance for dudes to ride their bikes from bar to bar for an entire day. As such we consumed much beer that day. Check out this candid yet telling photo of my friend Ralf at the end of Father’s day.

I like this picture because it stands in direct opposition of the old adage A picture is worth a thousand words. Only one word comes to my mind when I look at it: kaput.

The most noteworthy thing about drinking in a German bar is paying the check. In spite of the waiter having a hand-held computer to take orders, the waiter asks you how many beers you had just before tallying your bill. This was truly amazing to me and I had to test the boundaries of this apparent honor system. When I was asked how many beers I had, I lied and said 3 beers. The waiter then wrote me up a ticket for 3 beers. I still can’t believe that this is acceptable to a people who are known for being anal retentive and precise.

After a couple of days in Karlsruhe, my American compadre Jason and I experienced the Bavarian countryside by driving to Munich. The Bavarian countryside is like any other countryside, beautiful. The roads are clean, well paved, better than any we have in the U.S., and indicate that Germany really is a country of engineers and architects. I reckon they are akin to the Doozers from Jim Henson’s old puppet show Fraggle Rock.

The Doozers, like the Germans, love to put things together. It seems like every other German I meet has something to do with designing or building things. They will either be an architect, engineer, graphic designer, or general contractor. My friend tells me they don’t have much in the way of natural resources to export, so they learned a long time ago to build their exports with their own hands. I can only assume that Germans force their kids to play with things like Legos, Lincoln Logs, and Tinker Toys. I wasn’t surprised when on the drive between KarlsruheMunich I noticed an exit for a Legoland Amusement Park.

Germans simply put things together better than anybody else. When you look at a German house, you know beyond any doubt it will last longer than you will. When you open a German door to house, you feel its weight and you know you are entering some place worth protecting. And their windows are unlike anything we have Stateside. They open at least 3 different ways and look like they could ward off the strongest of storms. My friend Udo is trying to make a business out of selling German windows to American builders. I hope he is successful. God only knows how long the McMansions that Americans are throwing up these days will last. A generation? 2 generations? Then what? I say call the Germans. Have them bulldoze entire subdivisions in places like Vegas and Phoenix, and let them start over for us.

My Bavarian friends made sure that my time in Munich came and went in a flash. Yet, when the time came for me to head back to Istanbul, I had this feeling that I never left Turkey to begin with. Germany has more Turkish immigrants than any other country and Turks represent the largest minority in Germany. As a matter of fact, Berlin is the 3^rd largest Turkish city in the world. It all goes back to World War I, when the Central Powers, primarily the Germans and the Turks, fought valiantly against the Allied Powers. The Central Powers may have lost the war to end all other wars, but I am told a bond had been forged, and the 2 countries are now forever linked. As far as I can tell, the only significant remnant of their alliance is the fact that there are Turkish Doner Kebab shops on every street corner in Germany.

After all this being said, I must admit I will have two lasting memories of my first trip to Germany. First, don’t call a German bouncer racist when he doesn’t let you into his club. They don’t like and will throw blows if you do. I learned the hard way. Thank God for Jason and Markus for saving my ass.

The second came as I was biting time in the Munich airport. I noticed a curious store front. Take a look.

You guessed it. Those are vibrators. And that is the window of a porn/sex shop, inside one of the terminals of the Munich International Airport. No shit. Can you believe this?!?! God love Germans. They have made sure that either the first or the last thing you see in Germany will be a porn/sex shop. When you arrive or leave you have no doubt how the feel about sex. They are into it and not ashamed to admit it. How is that for freedom of expression?!?!

Well, Laura and I here for our last month in Istanbul. Then we are heading back home to America. The last month is shaping up nicely. I hope to make it to the black sea for some quality beach time, and to a Beastie Boys Concert at some festival.

I hope you are well. Godspeed my friends.

Danny.

PS Check out the intro to Fraggle Rock below for a better reminder of the Doozer builder people...