Signs of right-wing attitudes cannot be overlooked on a trip to Thuringia. It's so beautiful there.
Where the world still seems to be in order: the Thuringian Forest Photo: Steve Bauerschmid/imago
A weekend in Thuringia, a big house that can fit all your friends. They come from Hamburg, Berlin, Frankfurt am Main, Leipzig, London and Boulder. Many years ago they studied media together in Magdeburg. Today they work for pharmaceutical companies, in public administration, in an NGO, in the computer industry and as journalists. Some of them grew up in East Germany, others in West Germany. All post-reunification children.
The house in the small village on the edge of the Thuringian Forest was a chance find, a stroke of luck. It has a terrace and a chicken coop, sheep live next door and two horses graze on the hill above. Spring has arrived and made everything explode, in yellow, green and white, under a blue sky.
Walk on Saturday morning, to the center of town, to the notice board. Look what's happening. In Brandenburg I have often experienced that there is little or nothing there. But not here, there is the “Knickknack” yoga offer for seniors, there was recently an Easter festival and the church invites you for coffee and cake every week. I pass by a car with a pennant hanging in the rearview mirror: “East Germany – Love of the Homeland,” in old German writing. Black White Red.
Gap between the eye and the heart
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At noon we went on an excursion. The landscape passes by me, it looks like a Windows background. In between are towns where things still seem to be in order. All the roofs look freshly covered, the facades freshly painted, there are orchards and family cars in the garage everywhere. Are these the blooming landscapes? We passed a city sign. Next to it is a small gallows, from which hangs a carefully crafted traffic light.
A little later we parked the cars and changed to an old mountain railway that once supplied goods to the inhabitants of the small mountain range by cables and is now operated by Deutsche Bahn. You can travel with him with the Deutschlandticket. I look down the valley, the view is wide. To my right is a man with a tattoo on his arm that says “fair play.”
The cracks of the idyll. They create a gap between what my eyes see and what my heart feels.
At the farewell breakfast someone says: “The house is so beautiful and so big. Maybe we can book for next year?” Someone else replies: “Maybe it will be better to wait for the September elections.” Everyone laughs bitterly. One helpless one too.