It’s a funny feeling being the only American for miles around, but there I was, feeling funny in the middle of the Baltic Sea as I made the six-hour crossing from Sweden to Germany on the final afternoon of August.
After four days exploring Skåne, the country’s southernmost province of fertile farmland, squeaky sand beaches, and an inexplicable annul “Palm Festival” (despite palm trees not being anywhere near native to the area), my ears had just begun getting comfortable with the swirling symphony of the Swedish language — even if my lips were still wary of its obscene vowels.
My friend Dan had hosted me at his apartment a short walk from the city center of Trelleborg, site of said PalmFestivalen, whose occasion I was delighted to chance upon in his very last minute, hastily planned vacation. We rode some rides, ate some halloumi, discovered Italian Brainrot trading cards, and spent one memorable evening in the highly spirited company of Dan’s ex-con uncle Matzi perambulating the side streets in search of an appropriately vibed pub.
We also made several day trips, east to the tucked away fishing village of Kåseberga and “Sweden’s Stonehenge,” Ales staner — with pit stops at Dan’s childhood home in Smygehamn where I picked perfectly ripe plums right off the plum tree in his backyard, and at one of Europe’s hidden gems, apparently: a seasonal restaurant in Hörte where we were among the very last guests of the season, and where we befriended the American chef who masterminded our kimchi tacos.
Oh and we picked the FUCK outta some wild blackberries. These puppies are $7.99/pint at Whole Foods!
But the most ‘fruitful’ activity Dan and I shared was the creation of a new podcast, now part of The 40 Year-Old Podcaster network, which we’re calling Brain Drain 90210. It’s really three-way collab with Dan’s custom-trained GPT he named SYMBA joining us on the mic as we go deep into whatever fleeting inanity has captured our ADHD-addled minds.
Episode 2 — in which we deconstruct the meanings and metaphors of childhood classics Pinocchio and Peter Pan — is out now!
Rostock and Two Smoking Barrels
I arrived in Germany’s 39th largest city too late to do anything other than find my hotel and crash. After navigating a bus transfer to the S-Bahn with the help of a friendly couple from Stuttgart, I reached the funky ‘Prize by Radisson’ (found hours earlier on hotels.com) around 11:30pm. The overnight manager checking me in gave me the scoop on Rostock, what once was a perennial All-Star in the Hanseatic League and more recently was the strategic coastal hub of the German Democratic Republic during its four decade run.
The next morning I strolled along the banks of the Warnow River, its shipyards and boat docks rousing my inner ancient mariner. I began imagining another life for myself… a boater’s life. Scott, the Boatsman. The man with a boat. It makes perfect sense why The Lonely Island went platinum with “I’m On A Boat” — they tapped into a subliminal maritime drive seemingly shared by the collective consciousness. The idea of being on a boat straight up rules, yet few can even fathom ever finding themselves on one. “Never thought I’d be on a boat,” muses T-Pain, speaking for all of us.
But it was a car I was after. I had hatched a plan to rent one in Rostock and drop off in Düsseldorf, with three-day road trip through northern/western Germany in between. First stop: Warnemünde, the seaside resort district of Rostock, known for their dozens of kiosks and cafes serving fischbrötchen (fish sandwiches). I got one with smoked halibut, and asked the vendor if the fish were freshly caught in the Baltic.
His answer: “No, it’s all empty out there. This fish is coming from Denmark and the Netherlands.”
Sad! But of course, the fishmongers of Warnemünde continue to monger their foreign fish, crafting the sandwiches that form the pistons of Warnemünde’s economic engine. God forbid there be consequences to extractive capitalism, no! The fish will simply keep coming from further and further afield until there is none left there, and there, and there…
DEBBIE DOWNER HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.
From Warnemünde I made stops in Wismar (home of Nosferatu!) and Lübeck (picturesque Medieval city whose gates are still standing 560 years later) before settling into Hamburg for the night, in time for a late dinner. You KNOW your boy hunted down a hamburger, for the plot.
I put in 30,000 steps the next day, starting with a loop around Hamburg city center, through the Speicherstadt and HafenCity, up to the top of the Elbphilharmonie. I took an elevator 250 ft up the spire of St. Nikolai Church — or at least, what was left after “Operation Gomorrah” destroyed the bulk of it. The tower is practically all that remains — charred black by the firestorm that consumed 60% of the city and killed 40,000 civilians — standing forevermore as a memorial to the horrors of war.
Germany, I love you, but… don’t start no shit there won’t be no shit!
Look, I could go on and on about this trip, but I’m itching to hit PUBLISH so you can listen to the new pod! Suffice it to say, the rest of the way was a breeze. Bremen, Osnabrück, Münster, Düsseldorf, train to Amsterdam, flight back to New York. I discovered the life and works of Felix Nussbaum, scrambled up the side of a 12th century castle, nearly overdosed on apfelkulchen, and saw the word ‘ausfahrt’ so many times it no longer seemed funny.
And not only did I feel completely safe as a Jew, but it struck me as slightly empowering to be traipsing through a country that only a short 80 years ago was eagerly genociding my ancestors. Maybe it was all the German men rocking below-the-knee jorts and Tevas, or the German kids I observed licking comically oversized lollipops in a brazen display of self-stereotyping, but the vibes from North Rhineland to Western Pomerania were immaculate.
And with that I’ll say, auf wiedersehen!
