Identity 1: Kilts and knödl

by Colin Rae

Parallel worlds

That a Scotsman should feel at home in Bavaria is not hard to believe. Both places are part of something bigger but pretend they’re not. Scotland’s recurring bid for independence is well known, but Bavaria, too, has a long, hapless history of trying to secede from the Federal Republic of Germany. Both the Scottish and Bavarian flags are blue and white, and let’s face it, the inhabitants of both places like a drink.

Yet it takes more than superficial parallels to make a place feel like home. But what, exactly? Am I lucky because I have two homes or cursed because I’m caught between two worlds? What defines the relationship between nationality and identity? Or even between language and identity? After almost 15 years in Germany, I’m looking back at the course my life has taken by coming here. And as Brexit looms, I also find myself forced to deal with an unexpected future.

When I settled in Munich almost 15 years ago, I didn’t know exactly how long it would be for and where this decision would take me, but one thing I was sure of: I didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. The notion of being one of those English speakers who believe that anyone can understand you if you speak English – slowly and loudly, of course – was abhorrent to me. But still, when I was new in Munich and too nervous to reactivate my high school German, I naturally sought out native English speakers.

 

Zwei Bier, bitte!

One evening a new friend from the US, who had already been living in Munich for a couple of years, asked if I wanted to go for a beer. I remember being excited as I set out to meet him, thinking that I was about to discover the world of cool Munich bars and boisterous Bavarian beer halls. I was impressed when he told me he knew where we could get a beer for one euro. (Imagine that, a Scotsman jumping at such a bargain.) I was less impressed with what happened next.

He took me to a vending machine in the basement of some dingy university flats and we sat on some steps outside. Now, I don’t need an evening to be fancy or elaborate to make it enjoyable, and I did have a good time just hanging out watching the world go by. But I didn’t have the feeling of being part of life in my new home.

As the evening unfolded, I also realised that my friend had chosen the vending machine, not in an attempt to be thrifty, but rather to avoid having to speak German and be around the locals. I distinctly remember thinking two things: First, even my rusty German was good enough to walk into a pub and order a beer. Second, I didn’t ever want to feel afraid of doing something just because I lacked the linguistic confidence.

I decided to tackle the language issue head-on, and told my German-speaking friends to avoid speaking English with me whenever possible. I hit the books and was determined not to rest until I had mastered the German language – or could at least take care of my day-to-day affairs without losing too much face. However, I can’t pretend my situation didn’t raise a number of tricky questions.

 

Expat phone home

What did it mean to be Scottish but no longer live in Scotland? What did I mean when I referred to “home”? If I began living my life in a more “German” way, was I somehow betraying my heritage? The fear of losing one’s sense of self would at least begin to explain why so many of the expats I met seemed not only overly protective of their language and customs, but also remarkably resistant and even aggressively dismissive towards any kind of change. As if another (in this case German) mindset would corrupt or even pollute.

It didn’t take me long to realise that the better my German got, the more fun life was. I still remember the “little victories” – meeting someone new and not having to resort to speaking English, people taking longer and longer to catch on to the fact that I was from somewhere else, and the first time I was taken for a native speaker. Not only that, I wanted to demonstrate a certain respect. I remember being very worried that someone would think I was one of those English speakers who didn’t want to integrate. So much so that when my wife and I got together, she assumed I thought her English was terrible because I insisted on speaking German all the time.

I also chose to avoid the thriving Munich expat scene like the plague – especially since on the rare occasions I did find myself in an Irish or Australian pub, it seemed to be full of expats complaining about life in Germany. What’s more, they all seemed to be bent on trying to make their life in Germany as English, Irish, Canadian, Australian – or indeed Scottish – as possible; as if afraid they would be corrupted beyond repair.

But is there a real chance that this would happen? It’s true that on trips back to the UK I’ve experienced reverse culture shock, and have occasionally had to search for the right word or phrase because my brain has set my default language to German. But I never considered this to be a bad thing, just a little embarrassing. It’s odd when you notice that your second language has, in certain situations, overtaken your first. For instance, because my children were born here, my vocabulary for talking about pregnancy and childbirth is complete in German, but I sometimes struggle to find the right expressions in English.

 

Something fishy

All this means I sometimes feel like a fish out of water – in not just one but two places. To deal with this feeling, I decided to enjoy the best of whichever of my two worlds I’m in at the time. Whereas before I might have tried to force the trappings of one upon the other, I realised there’s no point in trying to transplant culture-specific rituals.

Take fish and chips: Yes, it’s possible to order this classic British dish in Germany. But for me, getting fish and chips – or “going for a chippy”, as I would say – is about more than procuring a piece of battered fish and some fried hunks of potato. It’s an experience that has as much to do with the setting itself (the way the place looks – the tiles, counter, fryers, fruit machines, signage – not to mention the sounds and smells) as it does with what’s on the menu, the way you order it and how it’s served. Similarly, I challenge anyone to find a Bavarian restaurant abroad that is in any way comparable to the real thing.

So it’s fish and chips in the UK and brezn and knödl in Germany, and never the twain shall meet. By indulging my old self in the old country and my new – I would say improved – self in my new home, I felt like I had the best of both worlds. In part 2, we’ll see how things can change overnight.