Rising petrol prices: Visiting a gas station in the Czech Republic – Panorama

The sliding door to the gas station opens and a man in work shoes and trousers from the German brand Engelbert Strauss steps over the threshold. “Dobrý den”, he says, “hello” in Czech. His name is Tobias Irlbeck, and now the three employees inside the gas station nod to him. They’re used to people like him here. Without people like him, a craftsman from Germany, this gas station just across the Bavarian-Czech border might not exist.

Then Tobias Irlbeck takes ten or twelve steps to the checkout, past all sorts of energy drinks, past Czech beer cans and canisters with windscreen wiper fluid, the radio blares softly. He puts his hand on the counter and says in German: “die Vier.” The cashier nods, so pillar four. She pushes the debit card device over to him. card in. Enter the PIN code. card out. “Thank you,” says the woman. When he sees the amount to be paid, Irlbeck also nods. Yes, that’s how he imagined it. 1.75 per liter instead of the 2.15 on the German side. That’s why he’s here.

If the patron saint of travelers and motorists, St. Christopher, actually exists, then this patron saint meant well with the people in the eastern Upper Palatinate. At some point he must have sent gas stations down to the neighboring Czech Republic. And their prices are so cheap that people flock here to fill up their VW Golf, their S-Class or, like Tobias Irlbeck, their station wagon.

Motorists, aren’t these fossils fossils?

One of these places is called Všeruby, four kilometers across the border. And the people of Upper Palatinate are grateful that, among other things, the low taxes in the Czech Republic make such low prices possible. Already at the border they are greeted by an advertising sign in German: “We are open every day.” And so come and refuel, right now. The so-called tank tourism is increasing, according to the German central association of the petrol station trade.

If you ask Tobias Irlbeck about his home country, his mood immediately darkens. “Well,” he says. “It’s brutal.” By brutality he means the prices on the other side, in Germany. Where people have been angry and bickering about it for weeks. In political Berlin and at the once again quite political petrol pump. Depending on your point of view, drivers are elevated to the backbone of the country or maliciously demoted. To fossil fossils, which now serves only right. And the fossils are fighting back: truck drivers are now driving through German cities honking their horns to protest against the rising prices. Diesel thefts are increasing.

Politicians want to support the approximately 20 million commuters. There is talk of energy money, of a tank discount, of mobility premiums. In a night session, the coalition just decided on a relief package. If you don’t want to wait that long, you drive across the border.

Tobias Irlbeck fills up his silver station wagon at the gas station in Všeruby. The car consumes around ten liters per 100 kilometers, he says, which is no longer up-to-date, he knows that himself. But: “I just don’t have the money for a new car,” he says, who works as an interior fitter all over Germany Is on the way. He cannot currently afford a new, more efficient car. And so he must at least save where he can: on fuel. He has now tanked up around 40 liters of Super, saving around 15 euros. “Otherwise it would be really bad.” Tobias Irlbeck gets back in the car and drives the ten kilometers back home.

In Všeruby you meet people whose fate or lust for the countryside has brought them far from any big city, but who are very happy to live at least near this border. Some have been coming for years. One says that he drives to Munich to work at BMW, every day. That’s around 240 kilometers in each direction. A fuel price that goes up so quickly in such a short time can cause an already daring commuter concept to collapse. Despite the recently increased commuter allowance. The Všeruby gas station helps at least a little bit.

Others are here for the first time because of the increased prices. And they in particular seem so blissful, as if they had found a long-lost 50-euro note in a pair of trousers that they had just washed.

Open detailed view

This gentleness then comes unfiltered to two Czechs. Jiří Ticháček, 57, who has worked at the gas station for 25 years and has managed it for four years. And with Barbora Rácová, 32, his daughter, who supports her father from time to time and is a perfect interpreter. The majority of his customers are German, says Ticháček, about two-thirds. “They are good customers,” he says. Sometimes they still buy cigarettes, which are also cheaper here. And at the weekend they invest the 20 euros they save in Bohemian dumplings in a Czech inn. Incidentally, Jiří Ticháček himself is also a consumer commuter. He buys Rama’s margarine in Germany. “Simply the best.”

But now it’s getting wilder. The number of Germans has risen again in recent days, by around 50 percent, he says. It doesn’t take much patience to prove it. Every few minutes a driver with a German license plate puts the tank hose in his car. This is what happens here in the morning, at noon and in the evening.

It’s a good time for the gas station because commuters are coming more frequently. And they come not only from the neighboring district of Cham, but also from Regensburg and Landshut, and some even from Nuremberg. “They take fuel with them without end,” says Jiří Ticháček. Some don’t stop at just filling up their car. You also have canisters with you in the trunk. You are allowed to take 20 liters with you in this way. For some, even that isn’t enough.

Toilet paper, cooking oil, next the fuel

Kurt Schon, 68, is now standing at the checkout at the gas station, he filled up his car here, which is only natural, after all he, the German, has been living on the Czech side of the border with his Czech wife for several years. He sometimes finds his compatriots quite bold. He was only here a week ago when he saw a German filling four canisters with petrol. “That’s outrageous!” he exclaimed. Kurt Schon isn’t necessarily concerned about customs violations. He worries about the next phase of hoarding, in which he feels that after cooking oil and toilet paper, fuel could soon become scarce and more expensive. For German petrol stations, especially near the border, the Central Association of the Petrol Station Industry currently assesses the situation as “depressing”. Also because, according to the association, the Czech Republic and Poland hold back their petrol for their own use and do not sell it on to Germany. In any case, the man had not been dissuaded by Kurt Schon. He just drove away with his four full canisters.

However, the expected reaction of reacting to the increased prices with fasting does not appear to be happening. The Germans do not drive less and not slower, which is indicated by data from the navigation device manufacturer Tomtom, which is available to the SZ: The behavior of German drivers has hardly changed. For the week of March 14-18, the data suggests that even more vehicles were on German autobahns than the week before. Their average speed was lower, but only to such a small extent that this could also be explained by the heavier traffic.

Open detailed view

In the afternoon it gets even more crowded in Všeruby, the workers from the morning shift come back and spend their money on petrol. Some cannot believe that there is something like a parallel world only four kilometers away from them. “It’s much more expensive in Germany,” says a woman who filled up 60 liters. The employee behind the cash register smiles, of course she knows that, otherwise she might not even have this job. Then she pushes the debit card device over.

The rise in petrol prices, like so much else these days, is a direct consequence of the war, and yet of course it remains a measly banality compared to other consequences of the war. Incidentally, this is also how the people who fill up here see it. For example Ingrid Vasova. She is Czech, works as a doctor in Nuremberg, and commutes 500 kilometers a week to and from her place of work. “But if you think of the Ukrainians, then this is nothing.” She cannot understand the argument about the price of petrol. “Is that important now?” she asks. Then she gets in her car and drives off.

Germans are known to be fanatics when it comes to their cars and their gas prices. Petrol station boss Jiří Ticháček wants to make one thing clear: Those Czechs who live near the border with Poland would drive just as eagerly to the neighboring country to fill up gas there cheaper than at home. Especially now that they recently reduced VAT on gasoline in Poland.

And the Czechs who have to fill up here in Všeruby because there are no cheaper neighbors nearby? “They scold,” says Ticháček, and they scold him too. Most Germans are the more pleasant customers.