Micky Beisenherz on the heat: Ember citizens on the Mediterranean

M. Beisenherz: Sorry, I’m here privately
Ember citizens on the Mediterranean

Get out of my sun! Diogenes once answered Alexander the Great so casually. He had promised to grant his every wish. Apart from a decent tan, Diogenes didn’t crave anything and therefore poured the Emperor a good glass of wine. Yes, back then philosophers knew neither podcasts nor shitstorms. If Diogenes wasn’t walking through hot Athens in sandals, he lived in a borrowed barrel and would therefore probably be the responsibility of the RTL holiday rescuer today.

Ralf Benko. In the months of May to September, the man is more important to the Germans than the Chancellor, since he has to make sure that they are not ripped off either by sinister hoteliers or shady car rental companies (German primal angst!). While in recent years topics like “Will I get my money back in case of a landslide?” or “Is military coup a reason for cancellation?” were in the foreground, a longing that has been going on for decades is now increasingly threatening to become a problem: holiday happiness is evaporating.

Parched like the Po plain

After I was able to experience live in Ibiza what sultry 40 degrees had done to my friend, my respect for the glowing star has grown enormously. While he was happily enjoying his 90.3 degree hot espresso, almost half of it was already too much for him in terms of the outside temperature. he suffered. Really. The last time I saw him so exhausted was on the penultimate kilometer of his half marathon. The embers at the end. Parched like the Po plain.

If the Germans have invaded southern Europe since the 1950s for relaxation, they are now threatened with low-temperature cooking there. 14 days as a meat accompaniment in the lukewarm Mediterranean Teutonic soup. Not to mention those who booked Rhodes or Catania in the hope of making beautiful impressions for Instagram and who have now become part of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. The sentence “I met a new flame in the hotel” takes on a whole new meaning.

The idea of ​​vacation will be different. Holidays have always meant a dramatic change in skin tone. “So how was the holiday? Wasn’t it good?!” – so the shaken balance of the neighbors, coming back from Rimini with a complexion just a shade lighter than that of Rex Gildo. Traveling was tanning to the point of cultural appropriation. Blackfacing with Tyrolean nut oil. Anyone who has ever been to an Australian holiday resort and seen how ice cream parlors and dermatologist practices alternate on the strip, suspects that none of this is good.

In the foreseeable future, Germany will also really become part of the climatic shift. Cities like Elmshorn will be the new Valencia. Just 15 years after public health doctors deemed it urgently needed, the siesta is officially introduced. Creative break between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m. Closing time at 8 p.m. Dinner at 9.30pm. Playgrounds are full at nine o’clock in the evening because little Mateo-Angel would get sunstroke at three o’clock. “To the sun, to freedom”? That was maybe. Nothing makes you more unfree than having to wait in the shady booth until the glowing devil in the firmament retracts his destructive rays. Sounds dramatic. Sun of Anarchy.

However, anyone who has spent the past three weeks in Scharbeutz with twelve degrees and rain may not find this scenario so bad.