Leipzig Area, Germany: Sometimes, German men just have to get naked


I am soon welcomed into Mira’s arms – warm, familiar and forgiving of my inability to answer Facebook messages (incurable medical condition). We drink raspberry vanilla tea (Heiße Liebe), consume the cake Mira’s gentleman friend baked, talk for hours and make plans to eventually meet at the Leipzig train station’s McDonald’s (this is important later, for those of you taking notes).

I spend the next days with Aunt M., who valiantly supports me in the quest to find the right candidate for a three-year denim relationship. We watch “Fifty Shades of Grey” together, and it’s not awkward, and I’m not embarrassed.


After several meals of starch, steamed vegetables, meat and starch, starch, starch, starch, starch worthy of Vikings at a British diner, we head downtown to Leipzig’s Fitness First. We experience treadmills, weights and an older man publically changing into his Speedo, carrying on the East German tradition of nudity in all swimming areas.

Later, I inhale Milka Easter eggs…


… which rank among the best and worst Germanic contributions to the western world, paired with oil-fried pancakes with apple sauce for lunch.



Made by Omi. Because former East Germans know how to live.

Next time: A brief interlude for development near Marrakech, as well as accidental publication in Somalia.


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