The sound of music

The train ride back from Winterberg on Monday was quite the cultural experience. I had found a seat on the sunny side of the train next to a big picture-window and was ready to enjoy the scenery of contented cows, trimmed forests, and tidy villages as the train would be winding its way down from the mountains and into the industrial city of Dortmund. 

Sauerland train in Winterberg

Cute village (not Winterberg)

Naturally, this peaceful little journey was shortly ruined as a pack of young men (dare I say kids) decided to occupy the seats across the aisle. They were all joking and trash-talking that is typical of such gatherings. I tried to eaves-drop so as to pick up some words, but it was pretty difficult. They were actually just regular kids - clean cut and squeaky-clean, lolling about in their shorts and sweatshirts, fiddling with their handheld digital devices. Naturally they brought out a mini-speaker gadget and soon the whole wagon could hear what was playing on one of the iPhones. So I was serenaded all the way down the valley by German rap.

It is heartening to know that the Blacks of Germany, who represent about 0.01% of the population, have been hard at work finding an equivalent for "Gangsta bitches" in the vernacular (rhymes with schnitzel). What with the phenomenal medical care, perfect public transport, and booming economy it must be hard for these DJs to make a musical career out of sullen posturing, but they are doing their bestest.

Of course I could have just gotten up and found a seat elsewhere. But if I went to the other car I would just be surrounded by the grey-haired wrinklies who are everywhere. Nope, this is the real Germany too I said, and it is just as valid even if it does not conform to the cuckoo-clock stereotype. So I stayed put and tried to grin and bear it, listening to the hit "Ficky, Ficky, Ficky" (try this fun do-it-yourself translation: replace the "i" with "u").

One of the kids then began to fiddle with the iPhone and suddenly the whiny tunes of "Wait a Minute Mister Postman" (by Shondelle and the Sha-Na-Nas) filled the train. That was the last straw: anything but 60's doo-wop! I wailed and covered my ears, imploring the guys in my primitive German to please turn it back to Ficky, Ficky. This elicited much hilarity, with some ribbing of whomever's iPhone contained such drivel. The ice was broken, and we joked around a bit.

Out of politeness the kids played English rap such that for the last part of the trip I was able to clearly understand the "motherficken" lyrics. So considerate of them.

Winterberg is the end of the line and a ski destination