IMPRESSION OF A BRIT Exotic escapism It’s not surprising that the best way to describe a longing for something one doesn’t have is a German word: Sehnsucht. According to Wikipedia, it is “difficult to translate adequately and describes a deep emotional state.” Its meaning is somewhat similar to the Portuguese word saudade, but without as much emotional content. Richard Hill T he Sehnsucht factor suggests the unarticulated conviction that life in Germany is less than ideal, what Gregor von Rezzori, the author of An Ermine in Czernopol, called “a restless delusion welling from a melancholy deep within.” It may have something to do with the weather, but I think it’s more likely to be a reaction to the dullness of German everyday life. You have to go some way back to explain the intensity of the Sehnsucht factor and the closely associated cult of romanticism. As in other national cultures, nature plays an important role. Germans have an almost mystical relationship with their environment of hills and forests, and these certainly helped shape the German psyche. A study made in the 1980s by the military surveyors of the Bundeswehr found that the average horizon across 80 per cent of what was then West Germany was only one kilometre, because of all those hills and trees… Romanticism was an important element of German cultural life in the 18th and 19th centuries, thanks to the Brothers Grimm, Schiller, Goethe, Tieck, Novalis and others less famous. The impulse took an upward tack in the early-20th century with short-lived and ultimately unsuccessful forays into sub-Saharan Africa, and the arrival of exotic animals in German zoos and circuses. The trend was reflected in the works of contemporary German expressionist artists. Today, German TV throws more light on this romantic instinct. There’s rarely a weekend that goes unadorned with a dramatisation of a fairy story (from Grimm or a source somewhere deep in Mitteleuropa). Sunday morning programmes also frequently feature overblown outdoor lets-have-fun events where the good cheer and the clapping seem to be slightly forced, even if the weather is good (most often it’s not). Drama programmes are often set in significantly escapist surroundings and sunny climes – most often the eastern Mediterrean, if not African safari country, or cooler but romantic settings like the Irish coastline, Scottish moors or Cornish villages, all involving elitist things like thoroughbred horses, Range Rovers and manor houses. Uniforms have always appealed to the German psyche but these days, for reasons difficult to fathom for a foreigner, German TV viewers are most excited by police officers in green or blue (depending on the state) and medical personnel and pharmacists in white. Maybe the daily late-afternoon/ early-evening bombardment of advertising spots promoting a wide range of cures for a wide range of ailments has something to do with this. The ultimate TV environment is a cruise-ship scenario where the programme-makers have the econ omic advantage of being able to blend a German cast into an appropriately exotic setting. In all these scenarios, which are invariably upmarket and elitist (to add to the exoticism), everybody including even a few token natives speaks fluent German. The only exceptions are the horses. In short, German TV viewers seem to associate with the over-privileged even when their own status falls far short. For them, the exotic has irresistible charms. Maybe this compelling taste for exoticism is best explained by Paolo Ciucani, an Italian who renovates vacation homes for Germans in Tuscany: “We almost feel sorry for the Germans. They are so wealthy yet so unhappy. Maybe they come here to try and learn how to enjoy life. But they end up going back to the same miserable place, so they never really change.” ● BECI - Bruxelles métropole - juin 2015 57
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