I take a walk through the strips of forest and fields bordering Recklinghausen, a medieval town turned mining centre in the industrial heartland of the Ruhrgebiet. Here slag heaps and steels mills rub up against horse paddocks and wheat fields, the old heavy industry threaded through with recovering wilderness and neat parks.
Mark tells me that to become a Wegwart one as to attend seminars where one learns the correct way to attach a route sign to a lamp post, the appropriate paint to use for marking potholes, the minimum requirements for safe passage to avoid lawsuits from injured hikers. An up and coming Wegwart has to pass an exam or two to show their competence. It they conduct themselves properly they are eventually given expanded route networks and may even be allowed to train other wannabe Wegwarts. It strikes me that the German hiking groups have managed to turn a mildly enjoyable hobby - going for a walk - into an unpleasant chore, complete with studying for exams and the stress of having to work at what was once relaxation. How very German.
Since it's Mayday I have discovered another strange German tradition: troops of friends (mostly youngsters) drag a wheeled trolley around with them while drinking beer and listening to the loud music blaring from the stereo on the trolley. Apparently it's entertaining to walk around the neighbourhood and parks all day while drinking.
And last but not least we shop at the local farm store for freshly cut asparagus and new potatoes for our dinner. Asparagus season is taken very seriously here, with recipes traded as treasures, asparagus festivals and wines that match the most popular recipe of asparagus, new potatoes, slices of ham and Hollandaise sauce. A perfect combination, I think. And asparagus season is over far too soon, so we stuff ourselves at dinner time.
Coming from Malawi and Zambia we had gotten used to a very easy and pleasant life style. There were cheap and comfy camp sites within reasonable driving distances, nature reserves with reasonable entrance fees, more or less available shopping locations, with fresh food on the roadside and small but useful supermarkets just prior to running out of supplies completely and most of all people were friendly even at tourist locations, even when they were trying to sell us stuff we didn't want, even though we would sometimes get overcharged. Not so in Tanzania. Tanzania was mzungu (white person) prices and being mobbed when shopping for pineapples by the roadside; it's an overpriced hotel room with no hot water or electricity, which isn't fixed because "you didn't complain enough"; it's being charged US$480 for a day in Ngorongoro crater, and then told we'd have to pay an extra US$20 for the guide; it's signs at the Dar Es Salaam campsite: "inside camp=safe, outside camp=unsafe" and Merryl harassed while walking on the beach; it's the sight of corruption and the resulting neglect of every public piece of infrastructure, except for the government part of town; it's being stopped by traffic cops for speeding using dubious equipment and then finding that the fine is less if there is no receipt; it's money changers at the border who are seriously good cheats; it's street vendors and touts who really won't take no for an answer, rude to the point of insult when we show no interest in their rip-offs; it's being charged for parking even though there is no signage indicating official involvement anywhere in sight; being charged for guide fees for a guy who uninvited trundles after us; it's neglected camp sites and neglected museums and neglected streets and neglected parks...; oh, and it's the loudest mosques we have encountered anywhere, including Egypt, Jordan, Dubai or Malaysia - and it's Ramadan, so the Imam is on the loudspeaker from 4.30 am to 10pm at full blast, turning even the locals off.
