The SZ author always wanted to eat a lentil dish in a lentil dish. But when he is finally on his way there, an amazing radio announcement stops him. Three anecdotes from Germany and Austria.
In the middle of … lentil dish
Illustration: Marc Herold
Why go to Ouagadougou or Kuala Lumpur? You can also drive through Hesse to places with fantastic names: Bös-Gesäß, Darmstadt-Wixhausen, Thurnhosbach. The traffic jam in Friedlos is not harmless, but luckily it is not endless either. A few kilometers further you drive speechless through powerless. You fear that you will soon end up in desolate and senseless and turn aimlessly. Then rather continue via Eiterfeld and Sterbfritz in the direction of Linsengericht, located south of Lieblos. Lentil dish! I’ve always wanted to go to this place, just because of the name. Eat a lentil dish in Linsengericht (Hessen), how nice! But just as I was typing lentil dish into my GPS, the Hessischer Rundfunk said through: “Major fire in lentil dish, cause unknown.” Lentil dish is burnt! Ouch. By the way, that’s the name of a place in East Hesse. Titus Arnu
In the middle of … Vienna
Illustration: Marc Herold
At three in the night in Vienna. It’s summer and the city is glowing, not just with heat, but with anticipation. The courtyard garden between the natural and art history museum has been converted into an improvised club. A crowd gathered at the Maria Theresa Monument, as if the Habsburg woman was going to hang up that evening. Music is booming from all directions, people passing by are forcibly integrated into the party, and the police are already there: Before that there was a robbery here, and of course dancing and smooching that closely drunk is not allowed again. Why didn’t the officials break up the park party long ago? They have their own problems right now. Looks damn like someone stabbed their tires. This is how you can keep a party going. Nicolas friend
In the middle of … Paderborn
Illustration: Marc Herold
The church tower bells strike three times. This is the sign for the children to run to the door and sit down on the wall. In a row they crouch with dangling legs, waiting like the pigeons, of which there are many in the church-rich Paderborn. They keep an eye out for the white delivery van that drives around the curve at the same time seven days a week. A clattering melody announces his arrival from afar. The children jump up expectantly, holding a few coins in their hands. For decades, ice cream vendors have been coming to your doorstep in summer. The vanilla ice cream has a flowery aroma, but the real bestseller is the “sky blue” variety, which used to be called “smurf ice”. No, there are no cartoon characters hidden in it, just milk, sugar and paint. Simply heavenly. Kerstin Lottritz