How Not to Jaywalk

(source)

 

It’s a curious thing, jaywalking.

 

In the US, it’s against the law (you know, to save lives and all), but no one seems to follow that. Generally, if it’s clear, most Americans will cross in disregard of flashing neon signs. (In no way do I condone this, but it’s an interesting study in culture.)

Perhaps it’s our spirit of adventure or willingness to take risks, but Americans apparently need to be reminded of jaywalking’s dangers in other countries:

 

"No jaywalking" sign in Singapore (source)

 

Sign in Shanghai (source)

 

"No jaywalking" sign in Malaysia (source)

 

But apparently it was enough of a problem in America in the late ’30s, as evidence of this WPA sign:

 

WPA sign warning Americans not to jaywalk (source)

 

Which brings us to Germany (how’s that for an awkward transition?). Picture this:

 

You’re walking down the street in Germany and approach a cross street. Wanting to cross to the other side, you quickly pull the grade-school drill: listen, look left, look right, look left again, and if it’s okay, cross. Looks okay to you!

Though the crossing sign is red, you step one foot out on the street, but suddenly notice that everyone else is patiently waiting at the pedestrian crossing, waiting for the sign to turn from red to green.

“Ummmm…okay,” you think to yourself, looking around to see if there’s a policeman or another car coming that would be preventing this people from crossing. Nope, nothing. There are absolutely no cars in the vicinity.

It looks safe, so you begin to cross. You notice that everyone on the opposite side of the road is burning holes into you with their eyes (oh, if looks could kill…). Slightly puzzled by this display of hostility, you continue towards the angry mob, when suddenly one of the old men waiting starts yelling at you in German.

“He doesn’t look happy…maybe I’m not supposed to be doing this.” You weigh your options: a) continue on your path, or b) retreat back to where you came. You’re already more than halfway to the other side, so you nervously power-walk, head down, trying to pretend that if you can’t see them, they can’t see you. You’ve never wanted to be more invisible in your life.

Reaching the other side, you quickly scurry away and keep your eyes fixed straight ahead, in case direct eye contact would incite the pedestrians further. “Next time,” you pant, “I’m waiting.”

 

Welcome to Germany.

 

In all honesty, the strict “won’t-cross-the-street-until-the-signal-tells-me-so” occurs in some areas of Germany more than others, and with some types of people more than others. For instance, it’s more likely to occur in East Germany and with older people. I have seem some kids jaywalk, for full disclosure.

In West Germany, the pedestrian signals are simply the figure of a man standing with his hands at his sides in red, and the profile of a man walking in green. However, in some places in East Germany, as a vestige of the DDR (GDR), the pedestrian signals are affectionately called, “Ampelmännchen,” or “little traffic light man.”

 

"Don't Cross" Ampelmännchen in Dresden

 

Notice how he wears a little hat, a rather plush accessory for East Germany, don’t you think? (The light above him reads, “The signal is coming.”)

 

"Cross" Ampelmännchen

 

There are some variations on the Ampelmännchen, such as one carrying an umbrella or with an umbrella, but the one above appears to be carrying a bird? I was lucky enough to spot the female version of the Ampelmännchen, die “Ampelfrau,” in Dresden a few weeks ago.

 

"Don't Cross" Ampelfrau

 

 

"Cross!" Ampelfrau

 

It’s a bit endearing.

 

What interesting street signs have you seen?

If you’ve been to Germany, have you noticed the Ampelmännchen?

Karneval 2012: Frankfurt

The Scene:

The streets of Frankfurt, Germany, around 1:00 pm on a snowy Sunday. The streets are lined with  bystanders watching colorful parade floats and marching bands.

The Cast: 

Exuberant, enthusiastic children dressed in costumes, watched over by equally exuberant adults.

You.

Supporting Cast:

Alcohol.

Begin Scene:

You chanced upon this parade after lunch, as you wandered in the city. Drawn in by the shouts and colorful costumes, you find a relatively open spot along the street and nudge your way to the front. “Ah,” you realize with a sudden excitement, “this is the Karneval parade!”

Passing by is a marching band made up of musicians wearing what can best be called caricatured paper mache masks. You notice their band name: Gaschtro-Noome, and make the association that it sounds a bit like the German word “gastronomie,” meaning “restaurant,” or, more obviously, “gastronomy.”

As you wonder what that has to do with a marching band, you spot a group of Smurfs heading down the street.

Suddenly, as you’re wondering why the Smurfs faces aren’t painted blue, plunk! You feel something hard hit your head. Plunk, plunk, plunk! A shower of bonbons (hard candy) shoot from the hand of a parade participant.

Suddenly, like little mice after pieces of cheese, the costumed children around you squeal and scamper to pick up every last piece. You watch with amusement, remembering the days when you used to do that as a child. Although, you have to admit, you were all about the “good candy,” leaving behind the undesirable pieces, like those pink hard candies with the gooey insides that were wrapped up to look like a strawberry, or the icy blue hard candies that always seemed to partner with the gold, butterscotch flavored ones. You never did figure out what flavor those blue ones were.

This idyllic scene is interrupted when your ear is pierced by the air-horn-like shout of the man next to you (who you have been trying to keep from invading your personal space),

“Helau! HELAU!”

(You find out later that they’re not really saying “hello” with a weird accent, as it sounds, but they’re really chanting a typical Karneval greeting.) You firmly believe that this man thinks that the louder he shouts, the more candy will be thrown.

Each time The Shouter sees a parade participant carrying a bag that even remotely looks like it might have candy in it, he shouts again. “HELAU! HELAU!“

You continue to be pelted by the bonbons, but every once in a while, a bag of popcorn (only kettle-corn…the concept of regular buttered popcorn has not yet reached Germany) or a small waffle wrapped in plastic is thrown your way. These are eagerly snapped up by the children.

Next, you spot this:

A “Baby Pirat.” You find this absolutely adorable at the time, but fast forward an hour later, when approximately 1,000 pirate-costumed participants have passed. Apparently the #2 costume for Karneval 2012 was “pirate.”

Plink, plunk, plop! Another shower of candy. You’re still watching the marching bands and floats go by when you feel a slight nudge from the side. You turn to acknowledge it and see a woman in her 60s bending over and picking up the bonbons that were left behind by the children. As she gleefully shouts about her treasures, you discover that she’s in the same group as The Shouter. Figures. You can only hope that she’s saving that for her Enkelkinder (grandchildren).

It’s a bit unsettling as she weaves around you, picking up every. single. last. piece. To each her own.

You notice a man rolling what looks like an old-fashioned baby-buggy fit for a baby elephant. He’s calling out what he’s selling, but you can only tell what it is when he lifts up the cover of the baby-buggy to reveal mounds of fresh Brezeln (pretzels). You remember you just had lunch, so it’s better that he didn’t come down your side anyway.

As the parade draws to a close, you look down again and see the sure signs of Karneval: colorful paper confetti swimming with crisply wrapped bonbons.

“HELAU!”