07 Feb 2019
An Instant most Germanic
On a chilly monday night in Feb, fate - or rather: employment - brought me back to the city of Bremen.
Its formal name, Freie Hansestadt Bremen, hints at a glorious past as first a self-governed walled city and then later one that was a member of the Hanseatic League. Being located on the river Weser and in close proximity to the North Sea coast, trade, shipping, and ship building always were the lifeblood of the city and surrounding villages. Its proud maritime tradition also comes with proudly shit weather: It always rains, every day and all the time. You welcome the fog because it hides the ghastly grey sky. Sunshine is something that happens to other people. You start giggling hysterically when people use the words “blue” and “sky” in the same sentence. You appreciate the cutting wind numbing your face because that way the hail hitting your cheeks is less agonizing. The locals concede that this summer is a somewhat wet one.
Today Bremen is Germany’s smallest federal state by both territory and population. As one of Germany’s three city states, Bremen as a municipality is constantly broke while many of its citizens do quite well for themselves. Consequently, the city itself is neat, pretty, historical and rather cozy. At various points in time the city would waive any traffic ticket that was contested, simply because city government lacked the resources to process appeals. Instead, they decided to rely on the inherent trustworthiness of its citizens instead and assume that an appeal indicated the fine was some manner of adminstrative error. Bremen being Bremen, I can almost see that working.
The city is also home to the main governing body of public sector IT standards and that’s why I reach the main train station around 22:30h on a cold monday night. Still drowsy from the hot and dry train carriage I wheel my luggage through the deserted train station towards the exit. Outside I pull my coat tight around me as the cold wind begins to dig into my flesh and inwards towards my very bones. I stifle a yawn and begin the short walk towards my hotel, about 200 meters from Bremen central. The area I’m walking through is about as central as can be, and yet at this time of night there is no traffic. No cars, no trams, no buses, no bikes. Only street lights break up the darkness.
When I reach the intersection right behind the train station I’m surprised to see another person already standing at the traffic light, waiting to cross. On the opposite side of the road, another guy is waiting for the light to change, steadfastly refusing to jaywalk in front of witnesses. I walk up to the light and stand next to the first guy. Looking around, I see that there isn’t a single car in the intersection. Nor in either one of the roads leading up to the intersection, nor anywhere in sight. The city is quiet, only the wind is whistling through the streets. We stand quietly, waiting for the light to change. Eventually, an older guy on a bicycle stops on the other side of the crossing and dismounts. The traffic light remains red, we remain standing. The gust of wind ebbs and in the distance a church bell can be heard. Still, no traffic in sight, but the light remains red and so we stand. The guy next to me gives a quick, sarcastic snort. Seeing the absurdity of the situation the gents on the other side of the road begin to chuckle quietly, and I join in, too. For a moment we are joined by the realization of the absurdity of our behaviour, then the chuckling dies down and the night turns quiet once more. An instant later the wind picks up again, then the light turns and without any further comment we each cross the road and go our seperate ways into the night.
Until next time,
Arne