Having lived more than half of my life in Ireland, taxi drivers still ask me whether I like living here (I stopped thinking about this a long time ago) and colleagues at work wonder why on earth I still haven’t figured out how things are done: put pressure on your TD, have a chat over coffee – but never refer to any kind of written agreement, regulation or procedure, unless you really want to get yourself into trouble. They think, I am German. Here in Germany, I am Irish: I don’t believe in timetables (works of fiction – but: it’ll be grand), I try to connect with people (rather than procedures), and I can’t believe that the former president of Germany has just been put on trial, having resigned over the affair some time ago, of course: he had allowed someone to pay a 700 euro bill for him at the Oktoberfest (I would have expected a tribunal of investigation).

Why is this relevant? Here is one reason: I am on a bus this morning to go from Hamburg via Bremen to Münster to collect a car our German relatives have organized for us. At 08h28, the driver stepped onto the bus, took off his jacket, sat down, and pulled out at 08h30. Within minutes we were on the motorway because the rush hour, of course, was long over. I was so proud that I had discovered this bargain when I bought the €25 ticket for the 330km long journey – until an elderly lady told me that she had just paid €37 for her 800km return trip to Düsseldorf (there was a bit of ‘Schadenfreude’ on her face when she did:). So, if you want to visit Pádraig and cannot find a cheap flight to Hamburg, check out the flights to Berlin, Köln, Düsseldorf, Bremen (Ryanair), Amsterdam – they all have good-value and regular bus connections to Hamburg. No matter where you will arrive in Hamburg, central train station (or Hauptbahnhof), bus station (right beside the train station), or airport, just take a 10-15 minute ride on the Hamburg equivalent of the DART (S-Bahn) for less than 2 euro: it’s the S1 and you get off in Friedrichsberg – kind of in the middle between the airport on one and the central train station on the other side. From there, it’s just ‘um die Ecke’, a 5 minute walk to the hospital.

But there is another reason why this is relevant: people are held responsible and accountable for what they are doing here. ‘Herr Schäler’s’ favorite nurse comes in every 15 minutes or so to check on Pádraig apologizing, of course, for the interruption when she comes in. She tells Pádraig who she is and explains to him what she is doing. When it’s going to be uncomfortable, she tells him in advance and apologizes. But there are also limits to her kindness – when I went out to the corridor in my blue gown and mouth protector to look for a second chair yesterday, I was told quite firmly to get back in, and quickly: can’t leave the room in this gear! In fairness, she then organized a second chair for us, ‘kein Problem’. Turns out she also checked out the bed sore on Pádraig’s right heal and took pictures of it to document that this injury hadn’t happened under her watch. (She removed the bandage from the heel, and it’s healing well.)

She also removed the Beaumont ID arm band, and another strange looking ‘ID tag’: his Oireachtas arm band / ticket that his friends had brought in for Pádraig as he couldn’t make it in person to Killarney this year. When a colleague told her that this was not just another auld hospital ID tag, but a very valuable concert ticket she went through the bins, found the armband she had cut off, then taped it back together, left it in his drawer – and told us all about it (we didn’t even have to ask).

I am still on the bus, listening to the regular announcements of the driver’s ‘navi’ (“Fester Blitzer in 400…300…200…100 Meter”) warning him of the ever-present and, no doubt, well-functioning stationary speed cameras. It’s all under control, now we’re movin’.

(Note: I wrote this blog on Friday morning. By the time I got back, visited Pádraig,  collected Pat and Maria, drove our new car up to Tating, and managed to publish the blog, it was just after midnight, Saturday morning.)