Hexo

“The most intersting women I know are single.” Zora says. “Instead of tiring youselves in a complicated relationship, you can also live just as well alone.” Finally, there are other things to get excited about other than male. And most importantly: with your besties, you can have just as much fun like with men. Zora is single and is looking back on how she’s changed in the last four to five years.

A friend of hers is telling her, what women nowadays are expecting from him: sentimental and soft, but manly and robust at the same time? How’s that supposed to work?

The increasing difficulty for men and women to form a good relationship together is also shown in statistics: four tenths of German families are alone. Around 1991, the number of people living alone increased by around 40 percent. Because the institute wasn’t able to ask about relationship status, there were only rough estimates regarding the number of singles. Sociology professor Stefan Hradil suggests that there’s a good seven million singles in Germany, and it’s increasing.

Over to the countryside and in smaller cities, this number is drastically decreased compared to major cities. But there are other problems by the countryside: there’s a lot less privacy and anonymity, unlike major cities. People know each other better, and they discuss relationship issues much more openly. But with that comes greater social anxiety and the gossip can be hurtful.

Young meets old

The girls sprinkle sugar powder on the freshly-baked waffles with extra care. The sweet smell spreads around the whole room. Seniors sit by tables and wait as the working youths bring out pastry after pastry and decorate the coffee table.

It’s Thursday afternoon, activity time for students and neighbours. Today, children and seniors are meeting up to eat waffles together, sit with each other and sing songs. It’s a part of the school programs for young participants, for seniors, it’s a nice change of their routines and it’s much fun.

“This free-time-program is designed to align with the concept of the school, which provides daily care as a comprehensive school.” Helga Raband (55), one of the initiators of the cross-generation project. This type of activity started since twenty years ago. On the timetable for the free-time-program of the seventh class, there are activities that wouldn’t stand a chance in teaching schedules, for example playing bridge or chess, riding a unicycle, bowling, healthy eating, even learning to meaningfully argue with one another and also making “contact with seniors”. From that, students are supposed to learn about social competence, take a peek in the lives of the old, and realize that young ones can take advantage from the knowledge and life experience of the old. During the six-month semester, students visit seniors once a week. Three students are responsible for two seniors. The institution will sort out the transportation and the necessary materials. For seniors, it really livens things up, just like Erika Kroll (71) says. “It’s really entertaining, we go on walks and play with one another.” And they are satisfied: “I’ve always looked for someone to play skat with me!” Eva Budji (79) brought it to the point: “It’s really nice when the kids come and visit.”

It’s great to bring seniors joy.

This fundamental concept is for every participant: Linda Meckbach (12) sees the old lady, who she cares for when they meet up, as a “real girlfriend”. She gets excited when she visits the seniors. Her friend Laura Ludwig, who is the same age as her and also takes part in the program, has genuine passion in her work: “It’s so rewarding to see how we make them happy! On the other hand, it’s also fun for us. Some of the seniors have an unbelievable sense of humour - sometimes they can be even funnier than youngsters.”

Zamira Schieweg (13) says: “It’s interesting to be around old people. They are full of love, treat us with care and they are determined to do something with us.” Both sides value the special advantages this program brings just as much. Just as Janik Racke (13) brings up: “It’s really nice to have a break from normal schooldays…You get acquainted with seniors and you learn to handle them. You’re with your classmates, but at the same time, you’re also surrounded by old people.” After a bit of consideration, he said: “You even see the world a bit differently…”

Sometimes, the project even leads to a later job decision: Helga told about an earlier participant, who applied for geriatrician training after they graduated.

Bicycle Riding Should Be More Popular

The bicycle turned into a form of transport for every day from its original entertainment and exercising function. In Vienna, bikes are the quickest vehicles downtown when it comes to short trips up to five kilometers. Vienna’s goal is to raise the percentage of bike usage in all vehicles from 6 percent in 2010 to at least 8 percent. For this mission, the city focused on infastructures, especially the construction of a traffic net for bikes. Bike lane coverage in the city has reached a stunning 20 percent, for example in the inner Mariahilfer street.

AOK wants to know, how youths and elders can productively profit from one another.

Reporter: Professor Fried, are you afraid of aging, of diseases and of isolation?

Fried: Of course, and I don’t know a single soul that doesn’t act the same way.

Reporter: Why do we feel uncomfortable about aging?

Fried: I’m definitely no expert when it comes to this, and therefore, I can only answer this question as an individual. I think, we need to emphasize the roles that seniors play in this aging society. The middle-aged generations are not ready for their lives to end as they retire. They still want to engage with the society. How we feel upon thinking about aging relies heavily on that whether we could provide those chances and how we seize them.

Reporter: Are we prepared for an aging society?

Fried: I think that we’re very unprepared. We aren’t fully aware of the advantages and consequences of an aging society, and therefore, we aren’t prepared. We should see the pros of the older generation for the whole society, but many of which we still don’t have any knowledge of. Seniors have a load of life experience, from which we could all learn. For that, we need to have ways to bring those experiences out.

Reporter: In your study, you used clinical and population-based strategies to deal with the frailty and disability of old people. What strategies are those?

Fried: One’s health is absolutely enormously important. That contains staying active - both physically and mentally -, maintaining social contact and take part in things that give one’s life meaning, therefore you have a reason to get up every day. These are crucial for well-being and also for avoiding frailty and disability. Though these approaches haven’t been scientificly proven, a remarkable amount of data points to them. Population and community based strategies are effective, because they can be done by one on their own.

Reporter: Can you name an actual example?

Fried: For instance, we have developed a program called “Experience Corps”. It’s supposed to influence the health and performance of those in retirement positively. For this reason, we created this program for old grown-ups to support children in public primary schools on their academic development. The program has been running since 1996. In the program, 60 and up-year-olds do at least 15 hours a week of voluntary work in public schools. They mostly work on improving reading and writing abilities, but also math. Volunteers help children with teachers’ supervision and also outside of classrooms in the form of one-to-one support. The program is a real win-win model. We already see major effects on the reading and writing abilities the children demonstrate. And, we also see improvements in the senior volunteers’ physical, mental and social activities.

Reporter: If we began to opt for a healthy lifestyle, we could avoid frailty and disability?

Fried: We think that’s the case, but proof is yet to be found. At least the better health conditions shown in the senior population today compared to those 20 to 30 years ago and the longer life expectations prove a point.

Reporter: What are the consequences of frailty and disability among old people?

Fried: We’re still working on that. Chronic diseases, for instance, affects the ability to unrestrictedly participate in daily life. Frail people have a lower stress tolerance, that affects how they handle temperature fluctuations, illnesses, car accidents and such. It also takes away the ability to interact with the surroundings. So stepping up steps can be a problem. But there are chances that these consequences could be minimized if we paid more attention to them.

Reporter: Another problem is isolation. Seniors seem to be less attached to the society.

Fried: That’s a serious problem. I’ve worked as a geriatrician for many years and I’ve seen many old patients that suffer from isolation and therefore couldn’t find the meaning of their lives. That’s an important topic which we have to see from different perspectives if we want to build a senior-friendly society.

Almost every kid would beg their parents for a pet sonner or later. But the raising of a pet should be carefully considered. Animals aren’t just toys that can be thrown carelessly to a corner after a short period of time, they are a serious, mostly year-long task.

How important are pets for a child?

“Kids growing up with a pet are often more positive in their characteristic development than those who don’t!” Professor Rehinhold Bergler, responsible for a research on pets in Hamburg, says. Other than that, Professor R.Poresky from the University of Kansas argues: “Children that are raised with a pet are smarter than those without pets!” They will be more active, worry less about loneliness or isolation and learn to take responsibility. Kids with problemes will, in most cases, turn quieter and more balanced. So some who spend a lot of time in front of computers might just turn into a nature lover through walking and fumbling around with their dog. For children in the city, pets are their only connection with nature and the animal world. Kids learn to respond to the pets’ needs and therefore improve their social competence, which eventually benefits them in the society.

From when can a child independently care for a pet?

Dr. Kernstock, vet from Vienna: “There’s no exact number as to when you can trust a kid with an animal. It all comes down to the character and the maturity of the kid. But it’s no question that a child in kindergarten needs support from their parents if they want a pet. But they need to know that it’s necessary for them to take on duty upon raising an animal. The kid has to learn from the very get-go, that they have to treat this pet with love and care. The sense of responsibility within a child develops slowly, but at around 8 years of age, kids should be capable of doing most of the work on their own, but if they opt for a dog or a cat, they should be at least 12 years old.”

Which type of pet is the best for children?

Dr. Kernstock: “Many parents tend to see the first pet as a ‘test sample’, usually a small animal. They don’t cost much, and they are relatively simple to raise! But I strongly oppose this opinion. Small animals, for example a hamster, a guinea pig, or a bunny, are night animals, and they mostly just sleep under the daylight and want to have their peace of mind. They are definitely not toys that you can pick and touch. But dogs and cats are much better options, even with younger children. We tend to feel a lot more connected with them on a longer basis.”

Dog or cat?

Dr. Kernstock: “Cats aren’t that attracted to human beings as dogs. They like being alone, while dogs tend to seek attention from people.”

Is it dangerous - animals and babies?

Dr. Kernstock: “That depends on the characteristic of the pet, how easy it can be for the creature to turn jealous. If you come home with the baby, and the animal integrates from the start, then it’s normally no probleme. That means, the pet wouldn’t be a threat to the baby. But you should never leave a pet with the baby alone. The baby can get very active, and it might trigger the animal into defending itself! Kids should also learn that sleeping or eating animals are dangerous!”

24

When I woke up the next morning, I was alone. I looked all around me. Light fog was on the hill, and no sight of Tschick. But because his air mattress was still there, I didn’t really put it on my mind. I tried to fall asleep again, but the noise completely chased my sleepiness away. I went up the sightseeing platform and looked down from all sides. I was the only person on the hill. The shop was still closed. The sun looked like a red peach in a bowl of milk, and along with the first streaks of sunshine came a group of cyclists, and then it wasn’t ten minutes until Tschick also climbed up the hill. I felt a lot easier. He just ran back and checked on the Lada. it was still there. We chatted for a while, and finally decided on going on with the car immediately, because this whole waiting was absolutely pointless.

The cyclists also got on the hill while we were talking, a dozen boys and girls our age and one grown-up. They were eating breakfast and talking quietly with one another, and they really looked amazing. The group was too small for a class trip, too big for a family and too well-dressed for a beadhouse tour. But something was up with them. They all wore rags, but it didn’t look cheap, on the opposite side, it looked very expensive and somewhat hindered. And they all had really, really clean faces. I don’t know how I’m supposed to describe it, but they were somehow clean. Tschick asked a girl about which place they were from, and the girl said: “From nowhere. We are nobels on the bicycle. We ride everywhere.” She said it seriously and politely. Maybe she wanted to pull off a joke or something, and it was the bike tour of the clown school nearby.

“And you guys?” She asked.

“What about us?”

“Are you also making a bike tour?”

“We are mobilists.”

23

He went back to the street. After we arrived at a backery, we suddenly got a craving for coffee. We parked the car in a bush behind the village and walked back to the backery on foot. We bought some coffee and munched on bread rolls. As I was about to bite into my roll, someone behind me called out: “Klingenberg, what are you doing here?”

Lutz Heckel, the lump on two sticks, was sitting at the table behind us. Next to him, a bigger lump on two sticks and a not-so-big lump on pillars.

“And the Mongolian is here.” Heckel said, surprised.

“Visiting relatives.” I said and turned back quickly. It wasn’t the time to talk for me.

“I didn’t know you have relatives here?”

“I do.” Tschick said, and fiddled with his coffee cup to protest. I couldn’t remember whether I saw Heckel at Tatjana’s party, but next up, he asked how we got here. Tschick told him some bullshit about a bike tour.

“Classmate of yours?” I heared the big lump ask, and then I didn’t hear anything for a long time. Some time later, car keys climpered at the table behind us, and Dad Heckel went into the backery. He came back out with an armful of bread rolls, put four on our table and said: “Gotta get some energy supply for our rider!” Then he knocked the table with his knuckles, and family lump went direction market.

“Uh.” Tschick said, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. We sat for quite a bit of time in front of this backery. We really needed the coffee, and the rolls. Every half an hour, a sighting bus with tourists on it would go through the market. There’s a castle somewhere in this village. Tschick sat with his back against the bus stop, but I looked the whole time at those retirees who tend to get on this bus. They all wore brown or beige clothes and a funny hat, and when they went past us, where there was a small step, they all look like they’ve just ran a marathon. I couldn’t imagine myself being a beige retiree when I’m old. Every old man that I know seem to be one, the ladies too. It was hard for me to imagine that all these ladies all had their youth at some point. When they were the same age as Tatjana and dressed up and danced at nightclubs, about fifty or a hundred years ago. Of course not everyone. Maybe some were already ugly at that time, but maybe it’s because they’ve been through something. But the ugly have their plans for the future too, just like normal people. And turnig into a beige retiree was definitely not a part of it. The more I think of it, the more depressed I get. The most depressing thought was, that these retirees were also once not boring, and someone probably fell in love with them, and someone probably sat on his Indian tower seventy years ago just to wait for the light in her room. These girls were now retirees, but you couldn’t tell them apart from other beige retirees. Everyone has the same gray hair and fat nose and ears, and that depressed me so hard, I felt horrible.

“Shh,” said Tschick, looking past me. I followed his gaze and spotted two police officers walking along a row of parked cars, looking at each license plate. Without saying a word, we took our paper cups and strolled inconspicuously back to the bushes where the Lada was parked. Then we drove back the way we had come in the morning, onto the country road and off at a hundred. We didn’t have to discuss what to do next for long. In a wooded area we found a parking lot where people parked their cars to go for a walk. And luckily there were quite a lot of cars there, because it wasn’t that easy to find one where you could unscrew the license plates. Most of them didn’t have any screws at all. What we finally found was an old VW Beetle with a Munich license plate. We put our license plates on it in return, hoping that it wouldn’t notice so quickly. Then we raced a few kilometers on some back roads through the fields before we turned into a huge forest and parked the Lada on an abandoned sawmill site. We packed our backpacks and hiked through the forest. We had no intention of abandoning the Lada just yet, but despite the license plate change we weren’t entirely comfortable with it. It seemed the smartest thing to take the car out of traffic for a while. Maybe spend a day or two in the forest and come back later, that was the plan. Although - it wasn’t a real plan either. We didn’t even know if they had really been looking for us. And whether they would stop looking for us in a few days. Our path led uphill the whole time, and at the top the forest thinned out. There was a small viewing platform with a wall around it and a pretty great view over the countryside. But the best thing was a small kiosk where you could buy water and chocolate bars and ice cream. So we didn’t have to starve, and that’s why we stayed near this kiosk. Not far down the mountain was a sloping meadow, and there we found a quiet spot behind huge elderberry bushes. We lay in the sun and dozed, and that’s how we spent the day. For the night we stocked up on plenty of Snickers and Coke and then crawled into our sleeping bags and listened to the crickets chirping. All day hikers, cyclists and buses had passed by to enjoy the view, but when dusk fell no one came and we had the whole mountain to ourselves. It was still warm, almost too warm, and Tschick, who had managed to coax two beers out of the kiosk owner with plenty of gel in his hair, opened the bottles with his lighter. The stars above us became more and more numerous. We lay on our backs, and between the small stars smaller ones appeared, and between the smaller ones even smaller ones, and the black sank further and further away.

“This is madness,” said Tschick.

“Yes,” I said, “this is madness.”

“This is much better than television. Although television is good too. Do you know War of the Worlds?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know Starship Troopers?”

“With the monkeys?”

“With insects.”

“And at the end a brain like that? The giant brain beetle with such - with such slimy things?”

“Yes!”

“It’s madness.”

“Yes, it’s madness.”

“And can you imagine, somewhere up there, on one of those stars - it’s exactly like that now!

There really are insects living there, which are fighting a huge battle for supremacy in space right this second - and nobody knows about it.”

“Except us,” I said.

“Except us, exactly.” “But we are the only ones who know that. Even the insects don’t know that we know that.” “Seriously, do you believe that?” Tschick leaned on his elbow and looked at me. “Do you think there’s anything else? I don’t necessarily mean insects. But something?” “I don’t know. I once heard that you can calculate it. It’s totally unlikely that there is anything, but everything is infinitely large, and totally unlikely times infinite does result in a number, a number of planets where there is something. Because it worked for us too. And there are definitely giant insects up there somewhere.” “That’s exactly my opinion, exactly my opinion!” Tschick lay back on his back and looked up with effort. “Incredible, isn’t it?” he said. “Yes, incredible.” “I’m totally overwhelmed.” “And can you imagine: The insects have an insect cinema too, of course! They make films on their planet, and somewhere in the insect cinema they are watching a film that takes place on Earth and is about two boys who steal a car.” “And it’s a total horror film!” said Tschick. “The insects are disgusted by us because we’re not slimy at all.” “But everyone thinks it’s just science fiction, and in reality we don’t exist. People and cars - that’s total nonsense for them. No one believes that.”

“Except two young insects! They believe that. Two young insects in training who have just hijacked an army helicopter and are flying around the insect planet and think exactly the same thing. They think we exist because we think they exist too.”

“Incredible!”

“Yes, incredible.”

I looked at the stars with their incomprehensible infinity and I was somehow frightened. I was touched and frightened at the same time. I thought about the insects that were now almost visible in their small, shimmering galaxy and then I turned to Tschick and he looked at me and looked me in the eyes and said that it was all madness, and that was true. It really was madness.

And the crickets chirped all night long.

22

I didn’t really get any sleep, and the good thing about that is, I already saw the farmers as the first streak of light appeared, who were on a tractor coming closer. I didn’t know whether he had actually seen us, but I woke Tschick up and he started the car immediately. We went horizontal under the hill, and then back on the streets and go.

The chocolate cookies turned edible again, and after we ate them for breakfast, Tschick tried to teach me how to drive on an empty field. I wasn’t really keen on it at first, but Tschick said it was stupid if you stole a car and didn’t know how to drive. Other than that, he also said that I was just scared, and that’s right.

Tschick demonstrated a round for me, and I tried to pay attention to what he actually was doing, which pedal he was stepping and how he switched the gear. I’ve seen it often enough with my parents, but I’ve never really cared. I didn’t know exactly which pedals are which.

“Left is coupling. You just let it come slowly and give gas and – you see? You see?”

Of course I didn’t see a single thing. Let it come? Give gas? Tschick explained it to me.

First, you put on the first gear. You’ll step on the coupling, tip a little on gas with your right foot, and let go of the coupling at the same time. That’s the most difficult, the starting. It took me twenty tries before the Lada finally started to move, and then I was so surprised, my two feet let go – the car made a noise, and the motor went shut.

“Just go on coupling again, then you can’t stall it. During braking, too: Always coupling at the same time, or you’ll stall it.”

But it took a while before the braking. You also had to press the braking pedal with your right foot, and I wasn’t clear of that. For whatever reason, I just wanted both feet to go on the brake. When I finally managed to drive the Lada, I switched to the first gear and drove across the field, and it was out of this world. The Lada did what I wanted. As I got quicker, the motor started to howl, and Tschick said that I should step on coupling for three seconds. I did exactly that, and Tschick switched it to the second gear for me. “More gas!” He said, and suddenly, I shot out with thirty. Fortunately, the field was very big. I practiced for a few hours. And after that, I could start the car all by myself, switch the car to the third gear and turn it up again without stalling. I was drenched in sweat, but I didn’t want to give up either. Tschick laid on an air matress outside and enjoyed the sun, and only two hikers came the whole day without noticing us. I made a full brake next to Tschick and asked him how the short-circuit worked. Because, after I could drive, I wanted to know the whole thing.

Tschick flipped up his sunglasses, sat down in the driver’s seat and rummaged around in the cables with both hands: “You have to put this on permanent plus, the fifteen on the thirty. There’s the thick clamp for that. And it has to be thick. That puts the ignition system under voltage, and then you put the fifty on it, which leads to the starter relay - like that. The control plus.” “And that’s the case with every car?” “I only know this one. But my brother says yes. The fifteen, the thirty and the fifty.” “And that’s it?” “You still have to kill the steering wheel. The rest is a piece of cake. Here with your foot, and voila. And bridge the fuel pump, of course.” Of course, bridge the fuel pump. I didn’t say anything else for a while. In physics we had learned a lot about electric current. That there was plus and minus and that the electrons rushed through the cable like water and so on. But that obviously had nothing to do with what was going on in our Lada. Tax plus, permanent plus - it sounded as if a completely different current was flowing through this car than through the cables in physics class, as if we had landed in a parallel world. But physics class was probably the parallel world. Because the fact that it worked showed that Tschick was right.

21

Wind came. The sun disappeared behind dark clouds, and two raindrops hit the wind shield. The drops were so big, that almost the whole screen got wet. Tschick drove faster, tall trees were shattering in the wind, and suddenly, a gust almost had our car upside-down. Tschick turned to a road between two fields. The piano solo went intense, and after a kilometer, the road stopped in the middle of the field.

“I’m not going back.” Tschick said, and went straight forward without braking. The crops were against our doors and smashed on the screen. Tschick let the car run carelessly in the field and gave a lot of gas. The motor went on slowly, and the bonnet started to split this golden sea into two. Though the Lada itself was making weird noises, he eventually managed it without too much of an effort. But orientating was hard, you couldn’t really look over the crops. No horizon. A third raindrop hit us. The field went slightly uphill. We drove small curves and stumbled upon a gap, which we ourselves made a minute ago. I suggested Tschick try to write our names, so others could read it from a helicopter or later on Google Earth. We already lost track by the vertical stroke of the T. We just drove around, stumbled upon one hill after another, and when we were somewhat higher, the field suddenly came to an end. Tschick braked at the last second. With the back half still in the corn field and the front half already out, we observed the landscape. A herd of cows were before us, and it was simply green, with groups of trees, narrow streets and endless hills and hills and mountains and forests. The clouds were drifting away at the horizon. You could see sheet lightning over a small church, but it was dead silent. The fourth raindrop came. Tschick had the motor on, and I took Clayderman out.

We only looked for a couple of minutes. Small, bright clouds went under the dark ones and came to us.

“Independence Day.” Tschick said.

We grabbed bread, cola and jam out, and as we were trying to set up a picnic in our car, it went pitch dark. It was only early afternoon, but it’s dark like in the night. Shortly after, I saw a cow get pushed back like in a meadow. I was shocked at first, but Tschick saw it too. Every other cow turned its ass to the wind, but they just flipped over. And then the wind went away, as suddenly as how it came. Nothing happened for a minute, you couldn’t even read the writing on the cola bottle. Then a bucket of water was poured on our wind shield, and it came down like a wall.

For hours. It was bustling and lightning went crazy. When the rain finally stopped at the evening and we climbed out of the car, the whole field was flat, and the lawn in front of us turned into a catastrophe. It was impossible to drive on, so we decided to stay. And so, we spent our first night on the hill, in our car, on our seats. It wasn’t that comfortable, but we didn’t have much to work with, considering the mess outside.

20

My arm hanged out of the window, my head was on my arm. We were driving through fields at tempo 30, with the sun shining upon us, somewhere behind Rahnsdorf, and it was the most beautiful and relaxing moment I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t really say what was relaxing about it, because it was only a car ride, and I’ve experienced those a lot. But there’s a difference between whether you’re sitting next to an adult who keeps on babbling about assholes and Angela Merkel, or whether there’s just nobody there and it’s silence. Tschick also had his arm out of the window and drove the car with his right hand. It was, as if there were only the Lada and the field in this world, it was something else, another universe. Everything was bigger, the colors brighter, the sounds Dolby Surround, and I, to be honest, wouldn’t be surprised if a dinosaur or a huge cruise suddenly appeared in front of us.

We drove the direct way out of Berlin, the morning rush hour behind us, and stumbled upon the lonely streets of the suburb. The first thing we noticed was that we didn’t have a map. Only a street plan of Berlin.

“Maps are for dummies.” Tschick said, and logically, he had a point. But if you want to make it to Walachei without knowing where Rahnsdorf is, the problem was obvious. So we just went south. Because Walachei is in Romania, and Romania is towards the south.

The next problem was we didn’t know which direction was south. Though it’s just the morning, clouds were starting to pile up, and you couldn’t see the sun anymore. It was at least forty degrees outside, even hotter than yesterday.

I had this small compass on my key chain, which I got from a gum ATM, but somehow it didn’t work properly in the car, and it just showed whichever direction it wanted outside. We even stopped just to make sure. And when I got on the car again, I realized that something was under my foot mat – a music cassette. The name was The Solid Gold Collection of Richard Clayderman, and it wasn’t really music, but just piano solos like Mozart. But we didn’t have anything else, and because we also didn’t know what was possibly on there, we played it. Fourty-five minutes. I had to give in: After we’ve had enough of Rieshah and his piano, we also decided to try the other side, which was the exact same, but it was still better than nothing. Seriously, I didn’t tell Tschick, and I really don’t want to say it now: But this minor shit really pulled the plug for me. I had to think about Tatjana and how she looked at me when I gave her the drawing, and then we crampled on the highway with “Ballade pour Adeline”.

We had some trouble on the feeder road, and Tschick, who could drive to some extent but hasn’t experienced the German highway yet, really went hardcore on it. When he was supposed to merge into the traffic, he braked, gave gas, braked again, and then went in the speed of a snail, and finally managed to switch to the left lane. Thank goodness nobody rammed us from behind. I thought, if we died here, Rieshah and his piano were to blame. But we didn’t. We agreed to driving out at the next exit and only take street and field roads from here. There was a problem: There was a man in a black Mercedes next to us, he looked at us and made wild moves with his hands. He seemed to be writing out numbers with his had, and then he held his phone up high as if he were recording our license plate. That got me on my nerves, but Tschick just shrudded his shoulders and acted as if he was thankful for letting us notice that we were driving with lights on, and then we lost him in the traffic.

Tschick looked older than fourteen, but definitely not eighteen. But we didn’t know what he looked like in a running car through the dirty wind shield. To test it, we even drove a few rounds on a deserted road. I stood by the road, and Tschick had to drive past me for like twenty times, so that I could see how adult-like he looked. He put both sleeping bags on his seat as pillows, had my sunglasses tucked in his hair, shoved a cigarette in his mouth and stuck a few pieces of black tape on his face to try and mimic the Kevin Kurányi beard. But he didn’t look like Kevin Kurányi at all, but just a fourteen year old who stuck tape on his face. In the end, he ripped everything again and only kept a small piece under the nose. He looked like Hitler, but in some sort, that worked out fine. And because we’re in Brandenburg, it couldn’t cause any politcal conflict.

Now, there was only the problem with the orientation. We saw Dresden on a sign. I was fairly sure Dresden was to the south, so we went in that direction. But when we had to choose between two roads, we just took whichever was smaller and had less traffic, and then there were less and less guides, and they only show the way to the next village and not Dresden. Is Burig on the south or is it Freienbink? We threw a coin. Tschick found the thing with the coin great and said, we were only gonna depend on the coin from now. Head for right, and tail for left, and when it stood, we went straight. But logically, the coin couldn’t stand, so we didn’t make any forward progress. So we gave up the coin eventually and just went right-left-right-legt, that was my suggestion, but it wasn’t any better. You would think that you couldn’t go in a circle if you switched between left and right, but we somehow managed it. When we reached a sign with left to Markgrafpieske and right to Spreenhagen for the third time, Tschick came up with the idea to only go to places that started with a M or a T. But there were too little of those. I thought we could choose those places whose distance was a prime number, but we made a mistake with Bad Freienwalde 51 km, it was too late when we realized it (three times seventeen).

Finally, the sun shined through. The road split in a corn field. Left was endless cobblestone, and right was endless sand. We had difficulty telling which road was more towards south. The sun wasn’t really in the middle. It was almost eleven.

“South is that way.” Tschick said.

“That’s east.”

We got out and ate a few chocolate cookies which were already half melted. The insects in the corn field made a weird noise.

“You do know that you can tell the directions with a watch, right?” Tschick held his watch up. An old, Russian model. He had it between us, but I didn’t know how it’s supposed to work, and he didn’t either. I think you had to point a hand toward the sun, and then the other hand shows north or something. But right now, it’s almost eleven, and both hands are pointing toward the sun.

“Maybe it can also show south.” Tschick said.

“And south is gonna be over there half an hour later?”

“Maybe because it’s summertime. It doesn’t work in summer. I’ll turn it back an hour.”

“And what’s that supposed to do? The hands turn in an hour, but the directions don’t change that fast.”

“But when the compass turns itself – maybe it’s a geocompass.”

“A geocompass!”

“Haven’t you heard anything of it?”

“A geocompass has nothing to do with turning. It doesn’t turn.” I said, “It has something to do with alcohol. There’s alcohol involved.”

“You’re definitely talking shit here.”

“I learned it from a book, where a captain broke the compass because he was an alcoholic, and then the whole ship lost directions.”

“That sounds like a hell of a book.”

“You have a point. It’s called, I believe, The Seabear. Or The Seawolf.”

“You mean Steppenwolf. It’s also about dragon. My brother reads these kinds of things.”

“Steppenwolf just happened to also be a band.” I said.

“So, I would say, if we don’t know where south is, we just take the sand route.” Tschick said and put his watch back on. “There’s less people.”

And just as usual, he was right. It was a good decision. We didn’t see any cars for a whole hour. We were at a place where no more houses could be seen at the horizon. Pumpkins lied on a field, about a medicine ball’s size.