I'm happy being an outsider in Germany

Notes on the tricky topic of integration while living abroad, feeling overwhelmed by paperwork and trying to enjoy German life. Plus a recommendation for strong coffee.

One of the biggest tell-tale signs that I have failed to properly assimilate into German life is that I don’t own a printer. I must have missed the memo to get one when I arrived.

It means I have to go to my local print shop a lot. KopieFrosch is hidden away in a Hinterhof (rear courtyard) off Karl-Marx-Straße. The people there are friendly and it’s cheap to get documents printed off, bound or scanned.

But my God… does Germany love paperwork. Printing, posting, paying in cash – and sometimes even faxing – are part of daily life.

Lately, I’ve found myself getting pulled further into the tangled webs of German bureaucracy. This is something I actively try to avoid. A close friend and I agree that it’s best for us amateurs to fly under the radar in Germany as much as possible. Because when you fall too hard, it usually leads to nasty surprises in your mailbox.

But I have to dig deeper because I’m relying on authorities and applying for a grant and other support. (It’s a very cool part of Germany that they offer opportunities like this, and please cross your fingers for me!)

It means I’m spending quite a bit of time communicating in official surroundings. Which is frustrating for all involved because my German is horrible.

Why do Germans love printing stuff so much?! Photo by Prasopchok on Unsplash

I keep over-peppering my speech with dramatic phrases like “Es tut mir leid! (I’m so very sorry!) and starting emails with: “Ich hoffe, es geht Ihnen gut” (I hope you are doing well). Which is far too British!

This is the wrong approach. The German way is to be direct. Get to the point. It’s a cultural blunder to apologise too much or beat around the bush. It’s something else that reminds me: I am an outsider. But I also do not change so it’s my own fault.

Half in, half out

You see, I actually like being an outsider. I don’t want to commit fully to Germany. I like the freedom of having my foot half in and half out. There have been points in the past where I’ve thought about throwing myself into Germany completely. And I have to say that applying for citizenship is tempting. Not least because you’d have the right to vote.

But I realised that I was bending myself into someone else. I was trying too hard to be accepted and deemed “integrated”. And what does that mean anyway? Integration is a complicated word, especially in German politics. To many on the right, even holding more than one nationality is considered disloyal to Germany (even though it is allowed).

The reality is: I am not German and I don’t particularly want to be German. I would rather just be… me.

That doesn’t mean I don’t like it here. Or that I’m not grateful for the experiences. Far from it. As a German resident, I pay my taxes and social security contributions, and I stick to the (many) rules.

But I also simply want to enjoy my time here. I am fascinated by this country; from its complex history to the geography and culture.

I want to travel to the coast and sit in the little beach chairs overlooking the Ostsee. I want to sip on a beer at a Union Berlin game in Köpenick. I want to spend more time in the south; swim in majestic lakes like Königssee and Eibsee.

I want to read and hear more perspectives about life in Germany. And yes, I do actively try to improve my language skills (it’s a work in progress). Just, please, no more paperwork!

German passport by Markus Spiske on Unsplash, me in Tempelhof with a pretzel and gorgeous Königssee.

The reality of being an Ausländer

Brexit sucks for plenty of reasons but, from my point of view, the way it clamped down on freedom of movement is truly shameful.

It robbed people of the opportunity to come to Berlin or Paris or Lisbon or wherever else, without a job or a certain amount of savings. Now, it’s much harder and depends on your bank account and connections.

When I moved to Berlin, I came without a solid plan. I’d saved up a bit but was free to see where the wind blew me. I ended up writing and teaching.

Luckily, people who’d been in Germany before the UK left the EU did not have too much trouble staying. And I now have permanent residency which is a pretty sweet deal. But we do have to be involved with the dreaded Ausländerbehörde (the immigration office brings foreigners out in a cold sweat).

I’m not complaining. I know Brits generally have it easier. I’ve heard horror stories from people who’ve been treated badly there. Brexit complicated matters in that: it’s not as easy to stay somewhat detached from the system, like people in the EU can (to some extent).

The German flag. Photo by Mark König on Unsplash

In a world with visas, residency permits and immigration offices I understand that for some, securing a German passport is a relief and may even be a necessity. It might even come to that for me in future (especially if I need EU membership, for example).

But right now, the thought of printing reels of paper. Filling out more damn forms, translating certificates, begging for appointments for citizenship/language tests, and then trying to convince a (quite possibly) mean-spirited person sitting behind a desk in an office already annoyed with my existence that: I am worthy! I am worthy to be German! It makes me shrivel up inside.

I am doing enough. I am trying my best.

OKAY that’s not true. I’m not doing enough – I don’t have a printer. I’m not ready for one and who knows if I ever will be. But I hope me and Germany can accept each other, differences and all.

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Where to go for Kaffee+Kuchen

📍Isla Coffee Berlin,Hermannstraße 37, 12049 Berlin

Sometimes, the best thing you can do is go to a cafe with a book. Preferably a second-hand paperback (feminist literature optional). And if you can get good coffee while you’re it, you’re onto a winner.

Step forward: Isla. This little cafe serves some of the best coffee in Berlin. If you like it with a kick, this is the place for you.

I recently spent an hour or so with an oat flat white, reading Virginia Woolf and watching the world go by. It’s the kind of coffee that you would quite like to linger in your tastebuds for the rest of the day.

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