Tuesday 29 January 2013

New Years Revelations

 Despite its best efforts, the dusting of fresh snow is unable to conceal the evidence of last night’s festivities. Empty beer bottles and spent fireworks emerge as stubborn as chimneys, and faint smudges of ash are still visible through the thin white coat. A sulphurous fug clings to the crisp morning air. As we walk, a slightly frazzled squirrel bounds across the path in front of us and scrabbles up a nearby oak tree. Craning his head back, he inspects us warily as we pass. But he needn’t be afraid, the time for pyrotechnics has passed. The sky today is blue and still. It’s New Year’s morning in Munich.

I can understand the squirrels trepidation. I as well was caught off guard by last night’s celebrations. I rub the fresh blister on my thumb. Somehow I had been lulled into the sense that Germans were a sensible and serious folk, not prone to overt displays of emotion. Last night though, this ill-informed generalization was blasted skywards where it exploded into a million, techni-coloured fire-balls.

The first surprise came after dinner, when our host decided it was Bleigiessen - or lead pouring - time. A popular Silvester tradition where walnut-sized lead figures resembling various animals and objects are placed on built-for-purpose tea spoons and melted over a flame. Once the soft metal is completely liquified it’s tipped into a bowl of cold water. The resulting snap-hardened shape is then taken and analysed for clues as to the person’s fortunes for the upcoming year. Obviously there’s a lot of room for interpretation and, as we discovered, one person’s flamingo can quite easily become another’s grim-reaper. If there’s any confusion, a book is usually provided to help with the correct divination. Having studied and discussed these mangled pieces of metal for long enough, convinced there was no major storm clouds forecast for our immediate future, (apart from the poor soul left contemplating her tiny figure of Death) it was time for another New Year’s tradition of murky origins. The viewing of a peculiar British comedy named “Dinner for One”.

Why this 1960’s production has become so popular in Germany is a mystery as dark as the workings of Bleigiessen. Nevertheless, since first being aired on New Year’s Eve in 1973 it has become the most repeated television programme in history and a treasured part of the Silvester evening programme.


The gist of the story: a woman, Miss Sophie, celebrates her 90th birthday alone, seemingly unable or unwilling to process the fact that her four invited guests have died long ago and therefore have not shown up. Her butler James, serves their empty places with food and alcohol, proceeding to knock back all the glasses each time Miss Sophie makes a toast (which is often). In the process James gets completely hammered while Miss Sophie enjoys her evening seemingly oblivious. Slap-stick comedy scenes ensue which seem to tickle the festive funny bone of Germans no end. Perhaps a clue to the shows popularity lies in Miss Sophie’s catch-phrase: “The same procedure as every year.” With a history like Germany’s, I guess it’s good to have some things you can count on. If that happens to be a delusional 90 year old british woman enjoying a meal with imaginary deceased friends while her butler gets shit-faced - who am I to judge?

After this slightly bewildering cultural experience, there were only a few minutes remaining before midnight. So with fireworks and freshly filled glasses of Sekt in hand we ventured out of doors. Once on the street I noticed that many others from the surrounding bars and apartments were doing the same. In fact all throughout the city the streets, parks, bridges and balconies were slowly filling with revelers. Every one of us braving the cold for a single purpose: to set the sky alight in a communal release of pent-up pyromania. Coming from New Zealand, where the most extreme fireworks get is writing profanities in the air with a sparkler, I knew I had to make the most of this opportunity. So, unsheathing a 1m long rocket from it’s plastic case, I strode bravely forward, eager to prove my pyrotechnic abilities to my new friends.

Following the lead of our neighbours I thrust the stick attached to one of our rockets in a pile of snow, pointed it heavenwards and proceeded to light the funny-looking red fuse. As the new year grew ever nearer, the frequency of the skyrockets, which had been illuminating the sky all evening, began to build. Perhaps because of my excitement (and slight inebriation), I was having trouble getting the fuse of my rocket to light. More and more rockets were being set off all around me, growing in both number and intensity. Zehn, Neun... the countdown began, I could feel the expectant gazes of my friends behind me. Why wouldn’t this fuse light? Above our heads it was starting to become impossible to distinguish one explosion from the other, ...Sieben… the lighter was growing hot in my hand, the fuse was still not lighting! ...Fünf, Vier… Suddenly there was a voice from behind me “Die Schutzkappe, nimm mal die Schutzkappe ab!” That wasn’t a funny looking fuse I was trying to light, it was a safety cap! I ripped it off and lit the wick which instantly spat into life with a hiss ...Zwei, Eins… Success! My rocket flew into the sky adding to the symphony of explosions. ...Frohes Neues Jahr! The night sky filled with a thunderous symphony of light and sound, I could almost picture Richard Wagner appearing in the clouds like Mufasa, sternly nodding his approval. Frohes Neues Jahr indeed.

This morning in stark contrast though, the streets couldn’t be more quiet. The city knows when to party, it is of course famous for perhaps the biggest party of them all, but when the fest is over it quickly slips back into its sensible Haus-schuhe. My first Silvester in Munich provided some surprises, and what better way to start the new year in a new city. Like the snow was attempting to do this morning, I decided to wipe the slate clean of everything I thought I knew about this city and its inhabitants. I would treat the new year as a blank canvas on which I would let Bavaria reveal itself on its own accord. And, most importantly, next time I’ll remember to remove that damned safety cap.

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