One of the most unusual things I saw in Bavaria in the first few months after my escape was the long line in front of the ice cream parlour. As soon as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, everyone in Pullach runs to the ice cream parlour. At least that’s what it looks like. Small children, adults, seniors, all line up together. To enjoy a scoop of ice cream in the sun, one is willing to wait a long time.
In order to get such a delicious ice cream, the people of Pullach, and not only them, are willing to wait a long time.
(Photo: lenawurm via www.imago-images.de/imago images/Shotshop)
The ice cream tastes delicious, of course, and the selection is undoubtedly large. But why should I wait so long for that one bullet? That didn’t really make sense to me at first. I have never seen such a snake in Ukraine. Because if you had so many customers, you would either hire more staff – or open a second ice cream parlor. Under no circumstances would you want to keep customers waiting. Ukraine is a country where companies react flexibly to demand.
In the first few months, of course, I compared a lot here with our everyday life in Ukraine. Over time, however, I got used to all sorts of things – and noticed that a queue in front of an ice cream parlor is not a Pullach phenomenon. In Munich, too, people are queuing for ice cream and nobody bothers. At first I even suspected that queuing was some kind of local tradition – just like queuing in Berlin if you want to visit one of the hip clubs there. An acquaintance explained to me that this is definitely part of the lifestyle in the capital. So I decided to enjoy the ice cream line, as an act of anticipation, so to speak.
I’ve found that queuing isn’t all that difficult. If you live in such a small community as Pullach, you often meet friends in this human worm. My daughter Ewa knows many children from kindergarten or school and often meets someone she can play with while we wait. So, the ice integration worked.
What I couldn’t get used to until yesterday is the price of the ice cream. A ball cost about 1.50 euros when we came from the Ukraine. It now costs 1.80 euros. At first I still converted the price into Ukrainian currency and found the ice cream really expensive, about twice as expensive as in my homeland. For this column I wanted to check how much the bullet now costs in Ukraine. The result surprised me.
I took the test with my Ukrainian friend Natalia. We guessed that a scoop of ice cream in Kiev costs between 70 cents and 1.10 euros. A friend checked it on the spot – and paid 1.50 euros. It was really hard for us to believe that a scoop of ice cream costs almost as much in Kiev as it does in Munich. The ice cream is made in Ukraine.
However, I also heard from my friends back home that since the beginning of the Russian war of aggression all food has become extremely expensive, sometimes even doubling in price. The ice ball is just one example. I understand that the war is affecting the economy of Ukraine and prices would probably have tripled or quadrupled without international help. I am very grateful that the German people also ensure that not just a scoop of ice cream in Ukraine remains reasonably affordable.
Emiliia Dieniezhna, 35, fled from Kiev with her then four-year-old daughter Ewa Pullach near Munich. She works voluntarily for the non-governmental organization NAKO, which aims to fight corruption in Ukraine. She also teaches German to Ukrainian refugee children. Once a week she writes a column for the SZ about her view from Munich on the events in her home country.