In the middle of… Washington
(Illustration: Marc Herold)
The scarf is now being taken off more often in Washington, which makes you less conspicuous. Recently in the taxi, the Ethiopian driver asked me if I was European. Because of my accent? I asked. “The scarf”, corrected the chauffeur, the scarf. “Americans don’t wear scarves.” Since then, I’ve had the impression that the number of formworkers in the US capital is actually small. This may be due to my changed perception or the weather. If I still see people with thicker headscarves, then they are definitely European immigrants. The expert driver knew another way of distinguishing: He could tell Americans by the way they ate cheese cake. Namely the back edge first. I later ordered a cheesecake and automatically started at the front. Peter Burghardt
In the middle of… Kizimkazi
(Illustration: Marc Herold)
A mild evening in Zanzibar, the sun has set in the sea, we are sitting outside with “Scrabble”, our feet in the sand. It squeaks. well? Probably the playful dogs of the family that runs the property. It squeaks louder. One of the dogs has something in its mouth, in the semi-darkness it looks like a squeaky bone. The dog puts it down. It runs. When he takes another bite, we hear a soft crack. A vacationer from South Africa holds the cell phone light on: “Oh, a rat!” The animal is more the size of a Chihuahua and doesn’t look dead. “Did you know that the locals eat them?” asks the South African. A man rushes over and clears the rat away with two sticks. Wait a minute, wasn’t that the chef? Luckily, the all-clear is sounded immediately when the owner of the accommodation arrives. “Don’t worry,” she says, “we won’t cook them.” Veronica Wulf
In the middle of… Rome
(Illustration: Marc Herold)
Largo di Torre Argentina, Rome, late Friday afternoon. The sun is about to set, with the usual color drama. Everything is waiting. The buses from a dozen lines pass here, including the 64 and 30 – if they do come. And in the midst of this slowed down city noise stands a young woman with wild curly hair. Under her arm she carries a bundle of the small newspaper Lotta Comunista, Communist Struggle. She just called: “Signori: Lotta Comunista! Five euros.” And waved an issue. It’s not going so well. Now she is chatting animatedly to an older nun in a blue robe, who is silent and smiling, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. Then the young woman says: “You know, we need a revolution, a really big revolution.” The nun gently strokes her arm. Then comes the 64. Oliver Meier
You can find more episodes of the “In the middle of …” column here.