Good evening began with a tiny identity crisis. “Hi, Janita.”“Good evening, Natalie. Whoops.”And then, like a curtain lifting on a familiar stage: “Hello, Mr. Mayor.” It had that Lunch feeling instantly—warm, slightly chaotic, affectionate, and already laughing at itself . Today’s table had four seats filled: Nathalie (South Korea), Rosii (Brazil), Fruitloop (South Africa), and…
Wednesday, the internet cable was cut. Not metaphorically. Not philosophically. Literally cut.Men repairing the water mains managed to sever the fibre optic line, and suddenly Janita — my co-host in this civilized experiment—was joining meetings on mobile data like a field reporter in a conflict zone. Outside: municipal chaos.Inside: HTML. I was deep in code….
When the Mayor announced, with great dignity, that his bushy tail would be on the back as well, nobody in the video call was prepared for what would follow. In English, it sounded innocent. Woodland. Squirrel. Possibly festive. In German, however, Schwanz—tail—has… range. And thus began Martin’s January mission to Edinburgh. Operation: Angel Fish The…
I have a litre of excellent homemade pork knuckle stock. I want to use it as a basis for one week’s worth of cooking; budgeting should be fun, effective, and nutritious. List me one week’s worth of recipes, using the stock as a foundation, even a perpetual recipe. Mr Mayor, that’s liquid gold. A proper…
The first thing that happened was a photograph. Ritesh was describing Kerala like he was still standing there — heat that sticks to your skin, the long walk on the sand, the Arabian Sea holding only the sunset (not the sunrise), and his wife, glowing with that kind of excitement you only see when something…
I sometimes smile when people ask me whether I am German or Bavarian. On paper, of course, I am German. I have a German passport, I speak German, I work in Germany. It’s simple. But when someone asks me that question, it doesn’t feel simple. If I say, “I am Bavarian,” what do I really…
Monday has arrived again, and somehow, the weekend disappeared faster than a cake at a birthday party. After the few mishaps of last week, I had high hopes for a quiet sanctuary. I successfully avoided the swing ball and the driver’s seat, but I forgot one thing: the house was full and too small to…
When people hear the word Grünkohlwanderung, they often think first about the food. Or maybe about the drinking. But for me it is much more than that. It is walking, it is eating, it is laughing, it is standing in cold wind with red ears and warm hands around a little glass hanging on a…
There is a particular silence that settles in when the house empties. Not loneliness. Not drama. Just the absence of observation. When departures have happened and trains have left platforms and the motherland has reclaimed its citizens, the house shifts. And I shift with it. I become lighter. Looser. Slightly feral in an intellectual way….
The morning is a quiet, grey watercolor. Outside, the rain is doing that rhythmic, soft dripping on the roof that makes you want to stay in pajamas until Tuesday. I’m sitting in the living room, cradling a mug of coffee and staring into the middle distance, watching the house slowly come into focus. Then, I…
