Good Evening Herr Goethe!
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| Slush in Weimar |
The above - Shoppen, Schlemmen,Schlafen, Schauen – are the four categories in the brochure in my backpack, put together by city advertising experts. My shopping is limited by the size of my suitcase, eating tries to follow at least some of the constraints of medical advice; the sleeping arrangement was predetermined by a reservation at the Appartements am Theater; looking at as many new sights as possible is my daily goal; though I must admit, I’m slowed down by the schtompen (my word) that has not been mentioned in the brochure. Schtompen happens as l try to adjust to daily weather conditions. From the very beginning walking has not been the careless act of putting one foot in front of the other that it is in California, where the territory demands only minor attention. Sidewalk, creekwalk, woodwalk –solid ground, no problem. But here, my goodness, the television news reporter says that the hospitals are filled to capacity with ankle fractures and broken hips. Even the natives are challenged by snow and sleet and slush. Especially the old ones. I think that they are using the wrong method for dealing with the Unwetter. (The word Unwetter does not mean un-weather; it means bad weather.) The old ones shrink into themselves in their long dark coats. Eyes to the ground they walk in straight lines, take ordinary steps, rush from butcher to baker to ……. the hospital in an ambulance.
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| Old lady walking in the snow. Weimar |
I, on the other hand, schtomp like a madwoman. Blown to balloon size by several layers of clothing, blinded by an oversized cap that tends to fall over my eyes, limited to half turns by a long, thick scarf that I have wound around my neck twice, bent under the weight of my backpack, booted into my size 10, waffle-gritted footwear, I look ahead. I sway to the side. I stop, stand still like a lamp post – to the consternation of those behind me who try to avoid a collision. I negotiate each step in the half-knowledge of its consequences. Falling snow flakes cover slippery stone. Heavy layers of snow necessitate deep emersion and require slow extraction. Slushy mixtures are good, though wet, when continued rainfall keeps them from freezing over. Should the temperature be on the down trend, they can be treacherous. Very slick and uneven. Better navigate to the side. Which side? Big decision.
“Ooops. Sorry!”
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| Tell me,Herr Goethe, what kind of shoes did you wear ? |
I’m new here. I’m from California. I’m not used to the snow. I see that I am talking to myself again. Did Mr. G have a problem walking in winter?
“Hey! Herr Goethe? What kind of shoes did you wear?”
I bought forty Euros worth of books about you yesterday and none tell me what kind of shoes you wore. In “Die 101 Wichtigsten Fragen” (101 Most Important Questions) the author, Gero von Wilpert, tells, in detail, of your aversion to spectacles. They irritated you, he writes, because they give the wearer an advantage. But of your shoes he only mentions what you yourself said in “Dichtung und Wahrheit,” Clean leather and big silvery buckles. That can’t have been your snow gear.
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| Last lunch at the Christmas Market |
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| Me, ready for snow |
Forty Euros for books and 2.50 for lunch. That seems to be my trend in spending. Or shoppen and schlemmern as the brochure calls it. My schlafen is minimal; I don’t want to miss anything. Schauen depends on the schtompen time I use up. I’ve schtomped more than 40 miles in thirteen days. And there is more to come.
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