RETROWURST: Richtfest September 2007

 

Well, well, well.

By strange coincidence, on the eve of yet another long journey back to Brexit island, I see that 18 years ago, I was writing about jollier circumstances. Not selling up and moving out, but building and moving in.

Here’s the story of the Richtfest, some insight into Germans and DIY, and the state of the DIY retail brands back in September 2007.

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Last Friday, I attended another “first” for me here in Germany. After over 11 years in Germany, I had thought that I had exhausted my list of “first times” but it seems that there are ever-new obscure and fascinating traditions and opportunities for celebration here. The occasion on Friday was something called a Richtfest, which took place just over the road from our house. 

 

We live on an area of new housing in a small town east of Frankfurt. While some of the houses are finished, there are still a number of vacant lots available plus houses in various stages of completion. While much of the UK’s new housing is built by developers or the Barrett/Wimpey Homes of this world, it is still very common in Germany to search for your own plot of land and then commission an architect and building company to build to your own wishes.

 

The Richtfest is traditionally held when the main structure and roof beams are in place. A relation of the Christmas Tree, the Richtbaum – a pine, spruce or similar decorated with coloured ribbons, is fixed onto the gables and the craftsmen, workers, architect and building foreman are all invited along with the neighbours who have undoubtedly put up with all manner of dust, dirt, noise and huge machines in the last few months. To open the Richtfest, the carpenter, dressed in his traditional black corduroy outfit (which looks like a cross between a cowboy and someone from a 70s rock group) stands on the roof, a full Schnapps glass at the ready to give his carpenter’s speech or Zimmermannsspruch.The speech is a thank you to all concerned and asks for God to bestow His blessing on the house and all who live within. A little reminiscent of the launching of a ship, the Schnapps is then downed and the glass hurled from the roof. If it breaks, this is a good omen, but, should it stay intact, then all will not necessarily run smoothly for the new home-owners. This is, understandably, one of the most nerve-racking moments in a carpenter’s life – far more so that balancing 10m up on the roof wielding a heavy and dangerous saw!

 

Now, you may have heard that most Germans live in rented accommodation, mainly apartments and this is indeed true. Only 43% of Germans (45% former West Germany, 35% former DDR) own their homes, a level way below the European norm. The equivalent figure for GB is 69% and Southern Europe has even higher levels of home ownership, with Italy at 72% and Spain at 86%, for example. But the point is that, when Germans do decide to buy their home, the “gold standard” is literally to start from scratch with buying a plot, designing and building the house complete to one’s own specifications. Buying a house that someone else has built or had built is not seen as ideal as it is not likely to match your own personal needs and wishes. In addition, German houses tend to be pretty solid, so it is not usually a case of simply knocking down a few dividing walls.

 

Going back to all those rented flats: the vast majority of these are rented not only unfurnished but without what we would see as normal fixtures and fittings. The chances are that, if you move into a rented flat, the last occupants will have taken their kitchen and anything else built-in with them. And whether there are any light bulbs left will be the least of your worries: there will be no ceiling or wall lamps at all! And the tenants are responsible for the state of decoration of the property while living there and on moving out. This all leads me on to the main topic of this Extrawurst: DIY in Germany. As you can imagine, with all this building of homes from scratch, re-building someone else’s house to suit your personal needs and renovating your rented accommodation, DIY is big business in Germany!

 

Before I move on to look at some of the interesting players in the DIY market here, it’s worth looking at the psychology of DIY here, which I believe has a major influence on the market. Overall, the average German is probably more keen and more adept at DIY than his or her average British counterpart. From my work with IKEA, I have been in plenty of German homes and the occupants are always very keen to point out which tasks they completed with their own hands. I think it all stems from a pride in craftsmanship: craftsmen and skilled workers are very highly regarded in Germany. There is none of the “class divide” that still pervades the UK and a master carpenter will be regarded here as being on a professional level with, say, an accountant. Because no-one feels that “working with your hands” is “beneath them”, most Germans are quite keen to give it all a go themselves.

 

Another interesting point about the psychology is that Germans generally feel “safe” in an area where there are set rules and ways of doing things, that one can learn, rather than in the area of personal inspiration and creativity, where one can make a dreadful faux pas as there are no set rules. There is only one way to lay tiles, generally, but choosing the colour, pattern and matching it to the existing style is the area where Germans are more likely to flounder.

 

The market for DIY in Germany is huge and has a large number of players. Most of these are now large chain superstores rather than independent builders’ merchants, although these still exist, mainly for the professionals. Many of the large chains also have some presence in other European markets.

 

The number 1 in Germany is Obi www.obi.de with 334 stores in Germany alone and a major presence in Italy, Austria, Poland, Czech Republic and other European markets. Obi is one of the best-known brand names in Germany and the orange and black logo and “busy beaver” symbol are universally recognised. Obi started in 1970 and was one of the first to develop the USA DIY concept of “everything under one roof”. Obi is active in sports sponsorship and was one of the major sponsors for the World Cup 2007.

 

Bauhaus (www.bauhaus.info ) is probably the “gold standard” in Germany. The chain has 185 stores across Europe and positions itself on a “best choice, first class quality and excellent value for money” platform. Bauhaus’ advertising line “Wenn es gut sein muss” (“when it’s got to be good”) reflects this. The store experience in Bauhaus is probably the best in Germany, with excellent and well-qualified co-workers and a range of services from tool hire to video workshops on DIY topics.

 

The big personality among the German DIY chains is Hornbach (www.hornbach.de ). With their huge pink and orange monstrosities of stores and their unashamedly quirky advertising, you can’t really miss Hornbach. Although the roots of the store go back 130 years, Hornbach’s in-store experience is right up-to-date with demonstrations and seminars. The advertising campaign (“Es gibt immer was zu tun” “There’s always something to be done”) connects perfectly with the German Zeitgeist as far as DIY goes.

 

Finally, we come to Praktiker (www.praktiker.de ). Although a large chain with 245 outlets, Praktiker seem to have done everything wrong in the retail book and are suffering for it. From over-diversification (into travel and telecommunications), to an appalling in-store experience with non-existent service to a focus on price discounts that is ceasing to be credible, Praktiker seem to have messed-up.

 

Maybe the Schnapps glass didn’t break at their Richtfest.

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I don’t suppose there will be a Richtfest in Camberley when I move out, nor was there one when the houses were built in 1960. 

I wonder if there’s an alternative Richtfest for moving out - possibly celebrated by removing the house name sign - above?

Condiments of the season

 

The clocks have gone back, the feather duvets retrieved from the cellar and the beergarden afternoons definitely a memory of sunnier days. At the weekend, I experienced a last stand in miniature from a Bavarian speciality that I associate firmly with the dog days of summer through to the autumn jollity of the Oktoberfest.

At a birthday party, we were served canapés of Weißwurst, Salzpretzel and a dollop of Süßsenf. Rather like this:

Weißwurst is a delicacy that doesn’t have the immediate appeal to Brits of a Bratwurst. I remember meeting a UK colleague in Munich at around 11am and his stomach definitely turned when I ordered this particular snack and started tucking in. The sausage itself is made from veal (I’m not over-keen to find out which particular bits), pork fat, parsley and spices. The discarded sausage skin does look particularly unappealing. Traditionally, these sausages were made in the morning and butchers and restaurants were keen to get rid of them by mid-day. Again, I’d rather not ask too many questions as to why.

They are, however, delicious and there’s a certain charm in the way they are served, floating around in a terrine-type bowl with lion’s head handles and maybe a Bavarian flag pattern:

 

Now, you may have noticed that mini-terrine of brown stuff to the right. Once again, I’ll refrain from saying what this resembles, but it is Süßsenf - sweet mustard. The mustard seeds are roasted and the mustard is sweetened with sugar, apple purée or honey. The first commercial producer was Develey, who are still going strong today. But the market leader is the one pictured above - Händlmaier. 

Karl and Johanna Händlmaier opened their first butcher’s shop in Regensburg in 1910, and Johanna created the Süße Hausmachersenf  in 1914, to go with the sausages they sold to eat on the premises.  Son Joseph and his wife Luise took over the butchers’ shops after the 2nd WW, and it is Luise who turned these into a thriving mustard and condiments business after her husband’s death in 1955. She’s the lady depicted on the label, of course.

The website is full of Weißwurst wisdom, including the etiquette for eating the sausages. In typical German fashion, it’s less about “how do you eat yours?” and more about orderly steps and correct procedures. 

Whichever way, it’s fun to be writing about sausages again on Extrawurst. It’s been a while!

  

Sharing and caring

 

A couple of weeks ago, St Martin’s Day was celebrated in Germany. I’ve always thought that the traditions surrounding this Saint’s day were rather more charming and heart-warming than the gaudy, ghoulish and horribly commercialised Halloween. 

St Martin was a Roman soldier most famous for an act of sharing and generosity. It is said that he came across a beggarman dressed in rags in the depths of winter. Martin took his red cloak, cut it in half with his sword and gave half to the poor man to keep him warm. This act is celebrated by children in processions with (often home-made) lanterns, songs and a reenactment of the noble act. This may all take place round a bonfire and a real horse may appear if you live in a rural area. 

St Martin’s Day is all tied up with the end of harvest and the beginning of the “winter revelling season” - with roast goose and the first wine of the season. 

I was new to all this when I came to Germany, and learned about the customs when my son was at Kindergarten - many hours were spent making lanterns (more hours on the part of the parents than the children, usually). The story of St Martin is a universal one, which teaches children the value of sharing.

“Sharing” is one of those words whose meaning has shifted quite dramatically in the last twenty years. Going back to St Martin, the verb used regarding the cloak is teilen - which bears the sense of “parting”. St Martin divides his cloak into two parts, and he has to part with one of them to provide the beggarman with warmth. He makes a sacrifice -  sharing involves giving something to someone else that you don’t get back. This is sometimes a hard lesson to learn - I remember when my brother was in hospital as a child. All sweets that were brought in by parents were put in a communal tin, then divided out equally so every child got a fair share. My brother wasn’t happy at some other child getting his favourite sweets!

Sharing, when it comes to non-material things, has always had connotations of “having something in common”. But the word seems to be shifting from a meaning that’s about apportion, giving and generosity to one that’s about passing on, informing, making public. In this digital world, the sharer keeps whatever it is - photos, stories -unlike St Martin and his cloak.

“Sharing” sounds kind and generous - but is it really? Sometimes sharing feels like passing on a burden, or covering your backside.

I wonder, sometimes, when someone wants to “share some thoughts with me” whether they might be better keeping them to themself.