Chapter V

 In which Josh pays a visit to Saarbrücken and an undersized - but nevertheless pleasurable – Jahrmarkt, enjoys a gay old Hallowe’en and endures an abortive trip to Luxembourg.

 

 Heeding my resolve to “do things” as often as possible, so as to make the most of my Auslandsjahr (of which I may or may not have informed my readership), I have been relatively busy of late, occupied with outings and activities in the general pursuit of “a nice change”. The first destination to be ticked off my list was Saarbrücken, one of the outermost cities (in the rightwards-direction, I believe) to which we can travel, free of charge. Since Saarbrücken suffers from a relative dearth of “sights”, but for a castle which we couldn’t really be arsed to visit, yet rich in shops, we had a jolly good time spending our Erasmus grants and scholarships respectively. Amongst the more satisfying purchases were a snood, bootie-slippers and a fantastic Stormtrooper keyring discovered in the Lego shop. I feel at this point that my boundless excitement at this shop goes without saying, and that I immediately regressed to a little boy. We spent hours in Saarbrücken, where we disappointingly caved into temptation and visited one of relatively few Starbucks. I hate myself for it, but the Chai Latte does not seem to fit in with the national palate, necessitating a visit.

The following day - a Saturday, as I recall - we went to a marvellous little Jahrmarkt (fun-fair) at the Viehmarkt, in the centre of Trier. It was far from large, but we had the most marvellous time dicking about, and thanks to our diurnal timing, it was relatively quiet. This meant no queuing and longer goes on the rides. Particular highlights were the funny swingy-thing (c.f. photo, top), which quite unexpectedly swung us on two axes. We laughed like idiots throughout, particularly when I confessed to Isabella midway through one ride that I had “trapped my willie the last time we went upside down.” The recovery of my balance after most rides was a slow affair, taking me a good while before I was once again able to walk properly. The waltzers were particularly vicious and rendered Pippa positively green. We decided to take a break before tackling the dodgems (which all, quite adorably, sported little German flags) and enjoyed a cheeky Schoko-Banane each (as well as rather a lot of gingerbread).

That evening I was taken on a little pub tour by my own personal guide, my new, native friend Nathanael. We were accompanied by Isabella and made the rounds of some as-yet unvisited, lesser known, bijou bars. Some of these were actually really good finds, and also included a marvellous establishment which committed quite fully to the whole “bordello” vibe (think lots of red velvet and gold fixtures). By our last stop, we were quite tiddly and it was already knocking three. We’d even got Wahl oder Pflicht out of the way (a shameless attempt at matchmaking on Isabella’s behalf) and encountered a terribly cute dog called Wolli (according to the owner, he’s only called Wolfgang when he’s naughty).

This rather excellent evening ended at a nippy -4 degrees, which necessitated a taxi-ride home, and was followed by a rather uneventful elapse of time, during which I decided to join a fitness centre. Lols, I know, but allow me to stress that my enmity for exercise has not slipped and the decision was motivated solely by the promise of yoga and a sauna. Despite this, I find myself obliged to attend a “check up” with a massively buff, gym-ghoul of a trainer. This apparently involves being subjected to a fitness test on all those bloody machines which I have no intention of ever using. That won’t be at all embarrassing… He intends to come up with a training plan, but I bloody well hope he’s not expecting me to embark upon it.

Hallowe’en struck on the Wednesday night, and in the post-Erasmus Hallowe’en Party atmosphere, I was rather loathe to engage in the whole fancy-dress rigmarole. I spend rather enough time wandering around in a foreign country looking like a dick as it is. Instead, I went round to Nathanael’s WG with some red wine and had a nice dinner before, inevitably, ending up staying at the local gay club, Schmit-Z, ‘til half four. Think Baby Love, but with no 2^nd floor and a less competent DJ. In addition to the usual Hallowe’en crap and gay club cheese (think Thriller and The Spice Girls), I was also treated to a generous helping of German-language cheese. Wow. Wir sind Helden obvs made an appearance, as well as the song Perfekte Welle, which I am told is somewhat of a classic. It must be said, the Germans are majorly loving Gangam Style at the moment. However, they hadn’t the faintest idea who Nicki Minaj was – I ask you! I naturally informed those around me that they were all bad gays, treating them to an edifying rendition of the first verse of Super Bass. Speaking of bad gays, there was a particularly persistent fellow who repeatedly attempted to follow me into the toilet. Being the apparent Mecca for weirdos that I am, I knew to begin evasive manoeuvres (i.e. hiding in a cubicle until I thought he’d gone away). Unfortunately, he took this to mean that I just needed a bit of privacy to pee before he was allowed in. After some particularly athletic dodging, and playing the well-meaning, oblivious Englishman to bulldoze through the awkwardness, I made my escape. The baffling thing, however, is that the fellow expected to pull whilst heavily made up to give the impression that his face was grotesquely unzipping. Hold me back, lads!

Anyway, I found a much suitable dancing partner (out in the open) and, to my shame, got off with him to Hit Me Baby, One More Time. Still, it was most enjoyable, and I ended up once again being a dirty stop-out. Cue music:

Not an entirely appropriate song choice, given my level of satisfaction, but in lieu of any “Stride of Pride” alternative, I suppose that will have to suffice.

On the day after my Thursday hangover, we discovered to our detriment that Luxembourg is, in short, shite. Tell your friends. Don’t go. This was the most interesting thing we found there:

(It’s funny ‘cos it looks like they’re bumming).