FAMILIARLY UNFAMILIAR — Roaming with Roth

I know these streets.

For the nearly four weeks I am here this summer, I will have walked the streets of Oberstdorf more frequently than I stroll down Franklin Street in Chapel Hill the whole rest of the year.

I know where the Kurpark Cafe resides, just off the square opposite Oberstdorfhaus. Adele will order IceKaffe and I a ‘doppio’ espresso with ‘kuchen’. They bake a killer Hazelnut Cake with Fresh Plum Topping that is hard to resist, especially with a dollop of “sahne”. We both can chill after a long hike or while away our time reading under the protective awning on inclement days. There is never a time limit on pleasure here.

I can certainly find my way to Rewe, [pronounced “Rev’ - a” with a long ‘a’ sound], the supermarket with a decent deli section for meats, poultry and cold cuts plus commercial salads that are a significant improvement over Harris Teeter. And, given that we don’t ‘cook’ (fresh green salads are about the extent of it, otherwise we eat out), quality prepared foods are important to our survival. Of course, we shop there for the usual pantry and household supplies from tuna to toilet paper.

The church bells ring several times a day. St. Johannes’ spire is the highest structure in the village and can be seen from nearly all four corners of town. Nebelhorn Station is easy to find since it is located on a perimeter road and its lifts and ski jumps can be easily spotted. Many tournaments take place here from the 75 and 90 meter jumps and in 2021, Oberstdorf will host the World Nordic Ski Cup for which they are constructing stainless stands and dormitories and other facilities to accommodate the anticipated crowds for the events.

Yet, I still need a moments pause to determine if I turn right or left at the corner of Fellhornstrasse and Reithallenweg on my way to my ‘Ferienwohnungen’ on Schlappoldweg. [You can imagine how Adele’s dyslexia really kicks in in Germany] A ‘ferienwohnungen’ in Germany is an apartment rental. The owners of the buildings most typically live in the house. Vacationers are renting whole apartments with living area, bedroom/s, kitchen, dining area and bathrooms.

A ‘Gasthaus’ (sometimes called ‘Gasthof’) or ‘Landhaus’ is a German-style inn usually with a tavern or bar. In this case, the visitor is renting a room. Likewise, a hotel rents rooms but offers a greater array of services, including breakfast and the presence of a restaurant and spa.

It is hard to get lost in Oberstdorf. One has to be “two sheets to the wind” to lose general orientation. On the other hand, German towns were never designed as grids, or crossing vertical and horizontal lanes. Finding your home from the town center is more like the old “maze” game, where you put your pen at the center and attempt to leave the circle without lifting the pen or getting stuck at a dead end. I have been known to end up like B.F.Skinner’s experimental mice, at a place where I know I’ve been but with no earthly idea how to proceed. So, I double back, rebound, and repeat until the path is cleared for me to get home. FAMILIARLY UNFAMILIAR. The only alternative is to leave pieces of smelly cheese along the path to our apartment.

Speaking of cheese, [a foul transition?] cheese stores abound in Oberstdorf and all the local villages.

Kase is ‘cheese’ in German. This is a cheese store…on of many. There are also Kase-Automats:vending machines with fresh local cheeses in small vacuum sealed packages.

The abundance of all sorts and styles of cheeses is easily appreciated as each climb up a mountainside presents the inevitable and irresistible valley or plateau of endlessly rolling green pastures, perfect for grazing…

and flowing water that is so pure its shimmering sparkles silvery stars in sunlight…

And, there as you turn, squeezing through the turnstile, you hear the distant clanking bells and in anticipation…

you enter the ‘bovine belt’…Massive specimens lazing, chewing the grasses or standing in the shade disdaining the flies that are feeding off their hides in symbiotic symphony.

Life can be familiar, but remain familiarly unfamiliar, particularly when it comes to cultural differences. I know German etiquette and can order coffee and cake well enough in my narrowly rehearsed German. Well enough to receive the accolades of a native at the next table for whom my effort at broken German garnered recognition. And, further evidenced by our being served exactly what I ordered? But, now that we’ve decided to return every year (and have already made our reservations for next year), I wish to earn my way to cultural anonymity by learning German sufficiently for simple everyday exchanges. I believe then I will be more familiarly familiar.

On Walstrasse there is a family from, I believe, Turkey, that owns the best fruits and vegetables store in town. The cucumbers are firm and brightly green, the peppers smooth and unwrinkled, the lettuce tightly composed, the tomatoes squirtingly fresh and along with the fresh salads they prepare there is always something to throw together for dinner. Each year I have enamored myself to the owner, Omer. The first time I met him we chatted and I patted him on the back in friendship. After I completed my purchase, Omer came around the counter, and with a laugh and a smirk of dubious familiarity, gave me a ‘zetz’ on my back. “Zetz’ is a ‘yiddish’ word meaning a strike or hit. A zetz. I don’t think he mistook my affable gesture, I simply think he was mimicking (or mocking) me with a somewhat chaffing, comedical comeraderie.

At the end of our stay, I reliably say goodbye to Omer as a sign of respect and because I really like him. And, each year upon my return, he fails to recognize me. Admittedly, I am an annual resident for one month every year, but like my misguided returns home, Omer cannot seem to escape the circle without a stop, rebound and repeat. He now knows me after two weeks. I am familiar. He laughs in greeting. However, I likely will be familiarly unfamiliar next year.

I HOPE ALL OF YOU ARE WELL AND ENJOYING YOUR SUMMERS. MUCH LOVE FROM ADELE AND ME.