Germany

With an ambition to dispel and/or exploit stereotypes the world over, today’s instalment of DDW’s Complete Generalisations About Other Cultures fattens its sarcastic sausage in honour of the forest nation of Deutschland. After half a century of providing the world with an endless supply of Hollywood cannon-fodder, the 2006 World Cup in Germany saw the Jerries waving their flag with pride once again, showing the world they are still the prudish know-it-alls we all love.

Contemporary Germans are generally modest and polite, albeit straight-forward compared to the English manners Australians have (somewhat) inherited. Efficiency is one quality all Krauts like to boast and after looking at the cars, the trains, the autobahn, the recycling, the education and the economy it seems to add up. However, after witnessing twelve Germans look at a map for 40min only to open it up again at the next intersection, the validity of this efficiency comes into question.

Up until Napoleon force fed escargot to Europe, the Holy Roman Empire was a chessboard of independent principalities for the better part of a thousand years. In practical terms, it would be easier to name the thirteen hundred German breweries than to discuss German history. Simply speaking, German kings and princes fought each other over religion, land and sauerkraut until the Prussian Movember Champion, Otto von Bismarck, united the Germany in 1871. Now, the closest thing you’ll find to a German monarch is Queen Elizabeth II*.

Movember 19th Century Style: 'The Teutonic'

If factories and well maintained roads are not your thing, German food should be enough to get your knees slapping. Start the day with a leisurely two-hour breakfast including processed meats, four kinds of butter and bread heavy enough to build a house with. Mix things up a bit for lunch with bratwurst, mustard and bread heavy enough to build a house with. Come dinner time, remember that nothing washes down a light and healthy 850g slab of pork like a litre of Bavarian wheat beer.

Beer is one of the most important facets of German nationhood. The Reinheitsgebot, or beer purity law, was enforced until its repeal in 1988 which prescribed barley, hops and water as the only three ingredients allowed in German brew. Such simplicity pales in comparison to the other German cultural icon – extremely long compound words. While ‘Preliminary World Cup Qualifying Match’ is a single word, the hands-down winner is the 1999 Wörter des Jahres which is (deep breath):

Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz**

Considering that most Germans speak better English than the average Australian, it is worth seeing more than just Oktoberfest. Whether you’re being chased out of town for asking for the Dusseldorf variety of beer in Cologne or trying to pretend a bunch of frigid Berliners getting naked in the lake doesn’t make you uncomfortable, Germany is the place for you. Although if you think trying a Basil Fawlty impression through the streets of Berlin is really original – chances are you will be severely reprimanded by the Techno Viking.

* Her grandfather, George V, changed the family name to Windsor in 1917 after he and his German cousin, Kaiser Wilhelm II, had an argument on a ski holiday.

** Although only a legal term, this word does exist and can be translated as the “beef labelling regulation and delegation of supervision law”.

Bicycles

As the ever-waging war on our roads rolls on, your humble cycling author thought it appropriate to untangle the chain of ignorance about bikes. Before unleashing a predictable rant upon the velocipedally challenged, let me state for the record that I enjoy riding on busy footpaths, running red lights, cutting across three-lane roads and riding down stairs. That said, I do wear a helmet, equip my bike with lights and need not don a pink fluorescent vest due to the protective chip on my shoulder.

Being Australian, it is difficult to imagine a city in which walkers, riders and drivers all get along. We are a nation of people married to our cars, with long distances to travel and few public transport options to take on as a mistress. While cycling itself is an uphill battle in Sydney, bike-riders have more than topological difficulties grinding their gears. Although Sydney will never be Amsterdam, drivers would benefit from a Dutch bike education – or could at least roll a doob and calm the fuck down behind the wheel.

One can appreciate the irony that the petrol-heads of today would have been the pedal-heads of the late nineteenth century. With early models earning names like the ‘bone-shaker’ due to their iron-banded wheels and cast iron frames, cycling was an activity for blokes with a death wish*. Come the penny-farthing in the 1870s, bike-riding was hardcore. The uneven roads and great speeds resulted in most young men “taking a header” and breaking both wrists in the process.

Thanks a lot Clover Moore.

The varieties of velocipede are as varied and perplexing as the types of idiots that ride them. There is the Arts student BMX rider clinging to his skate-bowl youth while pretending he owns a legitimate mode of transport. There is the middle aged man with freshly shaven legs as repugnant as his lycra bodysuit trying to peddle his way through mid-life crisis on a brand new $12,000 racer. Then of course, you have the wannabe Parkour mountain bike riders who treat the city as their private playground, making enemies of motorists and pedestrians alike. *AHEM*

On the positive side, things are slowly improving for cyclists, much to the distaste of respected and even-handed radio hosts. If Sydney were to have extended cycleways it is doubtful they would be much better than our roads, but after riding to work over the past six months it is noticeable that cycling is growing. Apart from the sporadic Mercedes badging resulting from bike-rage and a general fear for your life during peak hour, cycling gives you a decent dose of liberty in the gridlocked city.

At the risk of alienating readers and being a target on the road, please give bikes a chance. If we take up your lane, consider if that seven seconds of your day is worth running us off the road. If we ring our bell on the footpath, it does not mean “Get out of the way!” it means “I’m a happy Dutchman that will not hit you even though you have your headphones in and have no idea about your surroundings.” Can we try to get along? Bike riders will not hurt you – they might even give you a tulip.

* Although the bicycle was also nicknamed the ‘dandy horse’ as only reckless, foppish twits could afford them.

Apple

Fuck Apple.

Rather than leave it there and create the first two word article in history, prudence and clarification demand that such a material-rich topic be described with more than a lazy, multi-purpose obscenity*. Not even war, religion, politics or abortion create a bigger divide amongst the technological populace than which side of this proverbial orchard that you chose to dedicate your every waking keystroke to.

As an almost experienced and somewhat literate PC user/computer gamer, I grew up with a cassette-powered Commodore 64, through the dir/w days of MS-DOS to the happy day I installed Windows 3.1 in 1992. Combined with a CD-Rom and a Wingman Extreme joystick, that was a hard combination to top. Sadly, each new version of Windows brings a “simplified” approach, hampering the usability of a flawed but effective product. The reason? The rotten fruit from the tree of excrement we now call Apple.


“Why fight the strudel of our society Dan?” I hear you say, “I love Apple products because they are so easy to use and do everything I need them to do!” Absolute balls. The attitude of the average Apple user says it all – that understanding a machine is secondary to ease of use and the ego hand job of owning the latest device**. A PC is a tool of freedom – you can open it up, tinker with it and change the components to suite your lifestyle. Apple, on the other hand, is a philosophy – it opens you up, tinkers with you and changes your lifestyle to suit its usage.

Error 404: Common Sense not Found

Not convinced? Try taking a broken iPod to your local Apple store. My iPod was clever enough to display a sad face when switched on, so I knew it needed fixing. Some research indicated that either the battery was dead or the hard disk corrupted. The friendly girl at the counter agreed with this diagnosis and I asked if it could be fixed. No, because I need to make an appointment with the ‘Genius Bar’ who will sit with me one on one so we can “identify out the problem and find a solution”. 

Naturally, there were no such appointments available for several days and I was not permitted to leave my broken device to be repaired without a diagnosis session for a problem that has been already diagnosed. This secrecy and smothering personal service is the backbone of the whole Apple experience – like an illiterate peasant relying on bible interpretation of the medieval church. Control the device – control the customer. Although it seems ill-fitting to compare Apple to religion, they seem very concerned with dictating our lives – their attitude to smoking is a good example.

A brand gone mad, Apple has taken on Woolworths for having a "similar" looking logo, forced Ellen DeGeneres to apologise for even criticising the iPhone and burnt any heretic who shows an understanding of their technology (or should that be gospel?). Combine that with voiding warranties for even taking apart an Apple device, you have a captive market that would rather smile and synchronise than think for themselves. Keep your usability – give me the blue screen of death any day.

* A subject that will be tackled at a later effing date.

** Although, I pretty sure they’re good for designing and stuff.

Disclaimer: To the Thought Police at Apple - this is not an attempt to undermine your products, merely your intention to dominate the world.

Queensland

To all loyal followers of DDW, please accept my apologies for the break in transmission over the past week. During that time, I delved into the chasm of skin cancer that is our sunny northern neighbour of Queensland. A wondrous combination of natural splendour and unnatural breeding, this Australian state is home to the Big Pineapple, the Brisbane Broncos and almost as many bad tattoos as there are creatures that want to sting, bite or eat you.

For the Sydney urbanite, it is easy to understand why those in the Sunshine State live where they do. The fine sands and warm water are most addictive, while the birds, marine life and mammals of Fraser Island are almost as impressive as HD David Attenborough on a 42” plasma. After encountering the locals of small seaside towns, the stress of the city seems far behind, along with the need for computers, fuel-efficient vehicles, correct spelling or tasteful hats.

Once a rotten-egg basket for escaping convicts, the penal colony at Moreton Bay has developed into Australia’s third biggest metropolis. Brisbane is unique amongst Australian capital cities, managing to ignore the 7000km of sandy coastline in its home state, preferring to colonise a sweltering swamp 23km from the beach. By 1859, Queensland separated from New South Wales, formed its own colony and thankfully took their beer with them back to Brisbane.

If it don't fit on me ute, it ain't worth floggin'

If there is one thing Queensland has, it is space. So much, in fact, that once you reach the suburbs of the Gold Coast you will scarcely see huge multi-storey shopping centres or car-parks blemishing the rich environment. Instead, countless identical single-level shopping centres, each with their own 12 hectare car-park protect as much of the environment as possible with pure asphalt. Three generations of women walk hand-in-hand from the hairdresser, with as few stylistic differences as there are years between them.

The Gold Coast is unique among stereotyping – nowhere else on earth is typecasting so accurate. The processed tourism of Surfers Paradise is the finest example, with enough plastic boobs to raise the Titanic, enough bronzed retirees to support Australia’s leather industry and enough frustrated families arguing to turn anyone off holidays ever again. Although Queensland Police are short of manpower when faced with drunken violence after dark, one can always crawl across the New South Wales border to Tweed Heads to find a station open past afternoon tea.

Despite the minor rift, cultural difference in Australia really is little more than imagination based on a few varying factors. All states have their merits,* but when it comes to theme parks, sunshine and Steve Irwin, Queensland pips us at the post. The beer might be weak, the drivers insanely impatient and the insects plentiful enough to inflict thirty-seven sand fly bites in less than ten minutes, yet Queensland opens her heart to tolerance, compassion, multiculturalism and sexual freedom.

* Except that Melbourne is full of self-righteous toffs, Adelaide is full of stoners and I have not been to Perth yet.