Bit of a difference to Football Camp I went to in April – the atmosphere has hit oestrogen overdrive, and there is a lot of bitchy cat fighting going on, a lot of over-inflated self-confidence about one’s own dancing and singing ability, a lot of toe-nail painting, eye-lash curling, a lot of push-up bras, a lot of calling mummy at 11pm and crying themselves to sleep, a lot of boy-friend swapping, and a lot more tears when it comes to time to go home.
……………..
Unfortunately the last few months amongst the Huns in Berlin saw my English deteriorate faster than my German improved. When I speak to the kids I now sport a really crazy mongrel schpeel:
‘Make we a photo, oder?’
‘Shut-up! I’m denking!!’
‘I don’t care if you’ve duched zwei-mal this week, you should be duching today and jendenday! You simply pong like a fledermaus.’
……………….
The sterile Youth Hostel we are stationed in is at the edge of a small town called Erbach, 50 kms away from Heidelberg and another 80kms from Frankfurt, just around the corner from Bravaria. Its tiny, quaint and seemed slightly unworldly – for the first time in Germany, I have walked around the streets where I made people turn heads because I am of a different race. The village has a medieval old town of little craggy houses and beautiful ancient stone paved lanes, towered over by the Glockenspiel of the monumental Erbach Castle, and a pretty little canal cuts through it, water mills, quaint little bridges and wild flowers lined along it.
On an afternoon break I went and checked out the Erbach Castle, and the famous ‘Count Franz I's Collection’ inside. (see also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erbach_im_Odenwald) The guide claimed that it is the largest collection of deer antlers in Europe, and I won’t try and dispute it. And its probably the weirdest too. The Count specialises on collecting deformed deer antlers, ie. antlers that grow in all sorts of shapes, sizes and forms due to disease or injury to the animal. For example, there were antlers belonging to poor deer that had a testicular disease, which caused furry velvets to grow at the bottom of their horns which eventually made them blind. The museum claimed that it was due to the Count’s interest in natural history rather than obsession with hunting that inspired his tireless gatherings of
random and weird antlers. Other rooms included a collection of armoury around the world and through out the ages (including Japanese Samurai and Middle-Eastern Armoury), a room full of shot guns including a duck hunting gun with a 2 meter barrel (which could never actually be taken out for a hunt because it was impractically heavy), a few themed rooms with a whole bunch of furniture, paintings, and Roman antiquities which apparently were discovered around this part of Germany, for this is how far north the Romans came to govern at the height of their prowess.
This strange and curatorially disjoint collection reminded me a lot of the Wagner Museum in Northland, New Zealand, where my father dragged us along to one Easter holiday many years ago, started by a German man who immigrated to NZ in the 1830s and just started collecting random shit, but particularly native animals and stuffing them. The obsession with collecting, cataloguing, and displaying, I have been told by our Team Director, is an example of the German character - of prioritising the execution of order, attention to fine details, expressing their inquisitive relationship with nature, and the need to be formally, concretely and publically admired by showing what they have – particularly stuff that no one else in the world could possibly get their hands on
. ………………………..
So apart from teaching English for 3 hours in the mornings, the multi talented team is also expected to entertain the children with workshops in the afternoons, particularly in the theme of the camp – ie. music and dance, and some ‘fun and action’ and ‘sports’ for those less inclined. The team consists of me and 4 Americans. A mousy rosy cheeked DJ who has a cougar twice his age – specialising on ethnic percussions, with his other duty being to give each child the most insulting nick names; an ayruvedic medicine practicing vegan guitarist with a beard long and thick enough to nest birds – specialising on string instruments and tie-dying; a nymphomaniac professional volley ball player – specialising on all forms of dancing from Meringue, Capriara to Hip Hop (he was called in last minute because the original team member who was a professional jazz ballet dancer specially here to teach dancing had to return home due to the death of her mother, and had to give himself a crash course on dancing by watching videos on Youtube); our Team Director, a hellishly neurotic, condescending German-American (think worst of both worlds and then multiply cringe-factor by 25) Business Coach (what-ever-that-is) with zero personality and going through a mid-life crisis – specialising on singing cheesy pop ballads with a soprano voice (she actually, to our horror, literally taught the kids ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine Dion and ‘We Are The World’ by the supposedly recently deceased Michael Jackson in her workshops); and me, the dubious Tiwi freelance social scientist – specialising in everything else they haven’t covered such as whistling little classical favourites (‘Eine Kleiner Nacht’s Musik’ by Mozart and ‘Dance of the Little Swans’ by Tchaikovsky), mask painting, rainbow making, non-alcoholic cocktail mixing, and gutter-ball, a tennis ball and makeshift wooden board game that once swept across all the corridors of New Zealand Primary Schools circa 1990. The dynamic is dynamitic. …………….
It’s the same story with any musician – great or not so great: it is not until you die that anyone bothers to celebrate your ‘talent’ properly, and forget all about those horrible things they used to say about you. Michael Jackson’s popularity amongst contemporary teenagers has certainly surged by about 500% since his death a few weeks ago. Ask any kid what their favourite music is right now – it would be Michael Jackson. Ask any kid to sing an English song back to front – it would be a Michael Jackson. Ask any kid what music the DJ should put on for disco night – Michael Jackson. Ask any kid to do a dance – they would do the moon walk. If these are the same answers in a month’s time, I will take my hat off to him.
……………. …
and consider my well practiced monologue:
Where’s the Southern Hemisphere then?
Ahh yes this bit, this side of the equator.
What happens to the seasons in the Southern Hemisphere?
Ah yes they are opposite to those in the Northern Hemisphere.
So what’s the temperature like in New Zealand right now then?
Ah yes that’s right, its very very cold.
So what season is it in New Zealand when Germany has winter?
Ah yes it’s the summer!
So what’s it like in New Zealand on Christmas Day?
Ah yes its really really hot!
In fact, it is so hot in New Zealand in December that my family celebrates Christmas on the beach.
Yes, the beach!
It’s too hot to sit inside and make a fire on Christmas Day! We have a picnic for lunch on the sand, and we open our presents outside under the sun, and we wear shorts, T-shirts, and jandals, and after lunch we go for a swim or play cricket…yes we do…
And so does Santa Clause – he does not arrive on a sleigh with reindeers like he does in Germany, of course not, he arrives in his little red speedos, on a surfboard, in a pair of sunglasses, his big belly covered in sunscreen… yes he does…crazy, I know…
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