Down & Out in Jedville: October 2010

So our new abode is right in the heart of Munich, well, at least just outside the original city walls, so as close to the centre as you can get. There is an eclectic mix of people here. From the baroness von suchandsuch upstairs to the small and dingy hotel across the street filled with Russian Gastarbeiter.

The word Gastarbeiter literally means guest worker and must have come into use as kind of a cruel joke I think. Guests, in this culture as in many others, are treated with great respect, and as you can imagine, these people, the Gastarbeiter - though, hardworking, lonely, mostly male and from some part of Eastern Europe - are not really welcomed with open arms. Their work is appreciated but the people themselves certainly aren't. Not that this is a specifically German trait or situation.

I have to confess to finding the Gastarbeiter more sympatisch (a great German word meaning something along the lines of "this person looks like I could get along with her/him even if I have know intention ever making personal contact") than said Baroness but maybe I'm just a snob in the reversed sense. Maybe it was just the first encounter with her that clouded my judgment somewhat.

I had seen her walking down our street and just somehow guessed it could be a baroness or at least someone extremely well-off, well-bread and well-endowed with lives many other graces, especially of the social kind. Yes, exactly those that those who know me know I am sorely lacking. Maybe it was the whiff of very expensive perfume, the waft of perfectly coiffed hair and the riding gear that looked too clean and immaculate to have ever been worn in close proximity to a smelly horse's bottom, that triggered my bold assumption that this was indeed a member of that exclusive and elusive club of people with titles. Aristocratic that is.

Not that the obsession with academic titles is any less baffling to those of us who have this silly notion that all men and women are created equal. No, I hear you cry, how far that is from the truth. Tell me your title and I tell you how much, not just in a monetary sense, you are worth. There are indeed people here who are not satisfied with having a mere DR in their title, but a DR DR. A double doctor? A person of such worthiness that a simple doctor would not suffice to express just how amazing they are? Anyway, I digress.

Said baroness had made her appearance and I - with a schooled eye for women who not only appear perfect, but are perfect - had spotted her and seen her enter the building we had now made our new home in. OK, the reason I suspected her of being a baroness - rather than say a duchess or a lady of higher standing and calling - was that there was a little brass plate next to one of the bells that read "Baroness von ..." followed by a very long colourful name I can't recall. So I knew we were neighbours and sure enough I ran into her again. I was just about to carry Leon downstairs to assist me in getting the mail and to prevent him from chewing through every cable in the apartment, when the baroness and her companion, another well-presented creature of the masculine orientation, floated past us on the red carpet down the stairs past the statues of some minor Greek goddesses. I respected the baroness a lot for her nonchalant nod and hint of a smile, when she breathed a hello. Although I was an obvious sign for the riff-raff bringing down the neighbourhood, she didn't bat an eyelid at my appearance which included a rather ill-fitting tank top and the strap of my breastfeeding bra was showing and I was an overall picture of disheveledness and motherhood in disarray. I was impressed that she managed to look totally nonplussed. Less impressive was her beau's disdainful smirk at the sight of me. He could barely hide his disdain at this obvious overstepping of class boundries. So I have to say, baroness one - distinguished gentleman, a big fat zero.

The other people in the building are either non-existent or really nice. The non-existent people bit I have to explain as the building is mostly occupied, or rather unoccupied by people who use their apartments as a weekend stay in the city, as opposed to their probably even more humble abode in the country they live in during the week. I got this goss from the lovely Italian teacher who lives on the top floor - an absolute gem of a neighbour. She rescued me after I had locked myself out in the course of trying to carry a heavy washing machine upstairs while carrying a baby at the same time. But that is a story for another day.

Nadja