I am still alive

bawinkel

Just without inspiration. And time. Sometimes both. I’m not lazy, I promise. I’ve written a couple of drafts that are just not quite good enough. They didn’t cut it with the one-man editorial team of this publication.

I have to re-train my writing muscle. Form the habit of writing again. Will try to post again daily, just to get back at it. TRY is the keyword here. Please DO scold me heavily in the comments if miss a day or two.

Otherwise, I’m all good. Lost in rural Germany. Ever since I’ve arrived it’s raining and we have seen the sun exactly once. It feels like England. But it’s not. I’m living in Bawinkel, one of the smallest German villages I’ve ever seen, with one of the biggest carnivals. The place is so small in fact that from the welcoming town sign you can see the exiting one. The carnival is as big as you saw on Instagram. Germans know how to have a good time, they know how to party. Paradoxically they have no idea how to dance, which is not really an issue… with music like this:

And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Everyone knows the lyrics, they are jumping and singing along and having a hell of a time. But it’s not Lambada.

Also, after a carnival the village seemed devastated. They are throwing candies, popcorn and whatnot from the trucks that pass by. Later during the day people leave their beer cans and bottles also wherever. They are littering like there is no tomorrow and the whole place is a mess by 2 a.m. The dirtiest post-party scene I’ve ever seen. But by 11 a.m. the next day, everything is hospital hygienic. Children collect beer and soda cans, so they can trade them in for money. Every can here is worth 25 cents. Others do the serious cleaning, with brooms and water and whatnot. They leave no signs of the previous night’s debauchery. By noon this place is the small village again where not much happens.

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