We moved house in August and as most expats would agree, the worst thing about moving in Germany is what to do with all the stuff you don’t want. Not only are the trash bins not big enough to hold all the junk that inevitably gets pitched in a move, you have to purchase green (for recyclable waste) or red (for real trash) bags at a price of two euros each to hold the excess trash. Then and only then will it be removed by the trash collectors.
That doesn’t account for old clothes, which have to be taken to a clothing bin, or to the Red Cross. And it doesn’t account for unwanted furniture or broken lamps, for which you have to book a date with the trash collectors at least two weeks in advance. Wood must be separated from iron or metal, which is collected separately.
This might explain why suckers like us inherit household goods from the previous tenants just about every time we move. So far, the previous tenants have always been older women. Coincidentally, their surnames all begin with the letter S.
The first time was shortly after reunification, when East Germans were moving west in droves, triggering a housing shortage. As a short-term solution, we moved to a furnished apartment, vacated by an old woman who was invited to enter a care facility. Her books were on the shelves, her pots and pans in the kitchen. Some months later Frau Schl. was back among the living and decided she wanted to move home, forcing us once more to up sticks. By this time, I had discovered personal photos between the pages of one thick volume, photos that were taken at a railway station probably sometime in the late 1930′s or early 1940′s. They showed Hitler surrounded by young women with fawning expressions. We didn’t actually inherit anything from Frau Schl., but it felt as if we did, since we lived amidst her green swag and watched her television for several months.
In 1995 we bought a little house Swedish prefab that had been built by two sisters, Evelyn and Gertrude S. After they died, the relatives took the piano and the mint condition Opel, and hired an “Entrümpler” to perform triage on the remaining contents of the house, taking anything that would fetch a few euros at auction (including an ancient set of kitchen scales) and throwing the rest in a dumpster. I took a few things too – a chaise longue, a butler’s table, antique wooden cutlery trays, a collection of jet buttons, and picture frames, most of which I still have.
This year we bought a big, solid, three storey house with good bones and nice features (including a sauna and a fireplace). I liked the vendor right off the bat. Frau Sch., a tall, attractive 70-something widow who drives a BMW Z3, repeated several times how she and her family enjoyed living in the house (“Wir fühlten uns immer hier wohl“). I figured, if it worked for them, it will work for us. We inherited: a Japanese tea set, five rice bowls, four armchairs, a coffee table, a wardrobe, three lamps and many more items too numerous to mention. I must admit, I donated many of the items too numerous to mention to someone who is going to hawk them at a flea market.
I’ve always been a collector and in preparing for this move, thought it would be cute to archive some of the vintage clothes and collectibles that I cannot emotionally part with. But now I am ready to live a pristine, uncluttered Zen-like lifestyle.
