Potsdam's treasures (accent and supermarkets not included)

The last week has disappeared in a bubblewrap-filtered blur of packing and panic... and farewell dinners. 'Tis the season for departures (and mosquitoes).

It's now a matter of days before the removalists arrive, and I'm not enjoying this international moving experience any more than I did when I left Australia. In many ways, it's worse this time.

In between trying to organise the move, I've been trying to see a few things around Potsdam, one last time, but there won't be a chance for much more of that. (I did manage to eat two "last" ice creams, though. Mmmm.)

So, here's a view of some of the places I'm leaving behind... sadly, there are no videos of the local supermarkets, so palaces and gardens will have to do for now.

There's a good range of footage of Park Sanssouci and the New Garden in this next video, but I should warn you, the voiceover is all in German. If you don't understand, just pretend you're me: listen politely, watch carefully, and nod and smile, or say "oh" whenever there's a pause. Pretending to understand is an essential Ausländer/in skill, even if only used to fill the gaps when you're struggling with a new language. It feels good when you get away with looking like less of an ignoramus than you really are.

(Note: I can't identify the narrator's accent. Definitely doesn't sound like a Potsdamer/Berliner, so it's not an accurate reflection of the Sound of German I experience every day.)

And now, I really should try to get some sleep; all this upheaval is feeding my insomnia. (Like it needed any help!)

Homesick already! (But look, it's my tram route!)

As I pack up all the belongings in my flat, not only do I contemplate burning everything instead, and dancing around the bonfire (or putting it all out for hard waste collection, which wouldn't be so satisfying without the dance), I also feel just a tiny bit... homesick.

Yes, it's true. I'm starting to miss Germany, before I've even left. Then again, I used to miss Canberra, and everybody (except those born there, who've never left) knows that Canberra is a boring old hole full of public servants and oversized roundabouts. And yet, I missed it when I left. I missed the comfortable habits, familiar haunts, the second-hand book fairs... and yes, my pleasant public service job.

Relocating to a new town or city, a new state, and especially a new country changes every aspect of life. It can be a frightening prospect, not exciting like a holiday, because there's no option of going "home" again. (And moving isn't relaxing, either: the preparations are so time-consuming and wearying that I haven't even been near my blog in nearly a week. Ooh, dear.)

Every move gives me somewhere new to miss. Leaving Germany makes me homesick for everywhere I've ever lived, for every hope, every dream of settling down somewhere and being comfortably boring forever. I miss, too, the thoughts I've had that are tied to the places I've had them in. All those little reminders of people and experiences get left behind when you move. In a new place, I won't have the comfort of walking past my memories every day.

Obviously, England promises an easier life (for starters, I ought to be able to communicate with people properly), and a society I can be more actively involved in. Once again, I'll be able to understand TV shows and newspapers and answer the telephone without a feeling of dread.

But, on the other hand, I'll never again watch the seasons change in Park Sanssouci, or scoff Milchschnitte when I'm hungry late at night. I won't hear this announcement when I get off the S-Bahn, because there won't be an S-Bahn:

The footage on that one is a bit wonky, but perhaps if I just listen to the sound on an endless loop it will help me sleep better at night once I hit the UK. (Either that, or I'll go mad.)

I'm not sure who films all these public transport trips, but a quick glance at YouTube leads me to believe that the train/tram spotters make up a bigger group than I would have expected. Or, alternatively, there could be just a small band of very enthusiastic guys filming public transport everywhere and watching their own videos thousands of times, plus commenting under countless pseudonyms. Hmm. It might be possible.

At any rate, here's another video: the tram (Potsdam tram 91, on its way to Bahnhof Pirschheide) stops at the end of my street at approx 1:30. If I ever get desperately homesick, I can just look at these, I suppose... thanks, all you YouTubing public transport fans. You perform a valuable public service!

To drool over: Welsh food!

I hadn’t known much about Welsh food before I started planning my trip, but I made a point of trying traditional fare, such as cawl or Welsh cakes, whenever I could. Delicious!

Traditional Welsh food is flavourful, unpretentious and filling, and the quality of fresh, local produce really shines through in a well-prepared dish.

One of the attractions of staying in a B&B was, for me, the option of a hearty cooked Welsh breakfast, and I wasn’t disappointed. We stayed at the Old Radnor Barn in Talgarth, where the accommodation was delightful and the hosts were kind, friendly, helpful and patient with all our odd behaviour. (We had never stayed in a B&B before, and I think it showed!)

The Old Radnor Barn is child-friendly accommodation (complete with splasher pool in the garden if you visit in the warmer months). We booked a double room with a portable cot (available for use in any room for £5), but, as the family room was unoccupied that night, we were lucky enough to be upgraded to the larger room.

Breakfast was as wonderful as I’d hoped, with the most delicious bacon and sausages (from the famous Morris Butchers of Blaenavon) on offer… and I should point out that I'm not particularly carnivorous, but this was really good meat! (Had I wanted something lighter or meatless, there were, of course, plenty of other tasty options.)

When we arrived in the evening and were welcomed by Lynne (after somebody in my party - no names - accidentally barged straight into her kitchen and gave her a bit of a surprise), she was very helpful in suggesting local places to eat. In fact, even though it was late and we hadn’t pre-ordered dinner at the B&B (which you can do), she offered to rustle something up for us herself if we couldn’t find anything else.

There were a couple of family-friendly Talgarth eateries just a short walk away on Bronllys Road, including a fish and chip shop adjoining a pub (where you can apparently eat your fish and chips in the pub, a novel concept for me), though the fish and chip shop was shut that night, and a new Thai restaurant (the Gatha Thai) adjoining another pub, the Crown Inn.

This was the only time in my life that I’ve sat in a pub (with a Coke from the bar) waiting for my takeaway Thai. But what a memory! My daughter ran loose with the other (local) kids, everyone said hello… and suddenly, I saw the appeal of pubs, despite never having liked them in Australia. It was warm, friendly and very comfortable. And, to top it off, the food was pretty tasty, too.

I was very sorry to have to leave Talgarth so quickly. It was a beautiful spot and I would’ve loved to explore the wider area of the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains thoroughly. (Maybe next time!)

Moving onwards, through cawl and delicious brown bread at Carreg Cennen Castle, and into the big city, there was a wide range of international cuisine to be found in Cardiff (and a good selection of child-friendly restaurants, offering children’s menus and colouring materials/activities).

If you expect food in Wales to be awful, you’re very much mistaken. There’s a lot of marvellous, quality food to be found… and even if you just want something quick and greasy, there’s plenty of good, vinegary fish and chips to be had!

Further information on Welsh food, for those who really love to eat

• An introduction to traditional Welsh foods
• Traditional Welsh recipes, so you can try cooking Welsh food yourself at home when you miss Wales (which I’m certain you will, once you’ve visited!)
• Local Welsh growers and producers – find out what's available at your planned destinations, or perhaps plan some extra pit-stops!
• Some suggestions for where to eat out "in style" in Wales
• Restaurants with rooms – a bit different from the B&B, and a mouth-wateringly good concept. It’s worth noting that Wales has two Michelin-starred restaurants, the Crown at Whitebrook and Plas Bodegroes, both of which are restaurants with rooms. (Here's a list of 5-star restaurants with rooms, as well as B&Bs and other accommodation, but this is just a starting point.)

Screamless: a small girl runs free in South-East and Mid Wales

My daughter doesn’t have the greatest liking for stuffy, indoor, grown-up carryings-on. She's never liked sitting still, or being pushed around or carried through museums, galleries or palaces. She has always preferred to run free.

Wales was, in retrospect, a stroke of genius in terms of choosing a family holiday destination. Firstly, because Mummy was desperate to visit, and secondly, because it was a destination that a small girl could enjoy. It was a place she could run almost wild, make noise, and make friends with strangers (adults and children alike). It was a place where she was welcome, and welcome to be herself.

Gall henebion fod yn beryglus - Rhaid goruchwylio plant bob amser (Ancient monuments can be dangerous - Children should be supervised at all times)

A visit to an awe-inspiring ruined castle or abbey is the perfect activity for anyone with children able to walk. You can all get some fresh air, explore, and even the youngest children will have a wonderful time, while burning off some excess energy that may have built up during a car ride. There’s no need for you to hold onto them constantly or hiss “Shhh! Get back! And don’t touch!”

And, without constant grizzling and pleas to leave (or glares from security guards worried about Junior's sticky fingers or muddy boots), the interested adult or older child can take the time to read their information leaflet or guidebook. Everybody wins.

Having said that, ruins do pose their own dangers. They’re not adventure playgrounds, and for the sake of the site, other visitors, and your own kids, adequate supervision and “no climbing” instructions are vital.

Many castles, too, have other dangers onsite, in the form of cliffs, steep and narrow staircases, missing floors, dark tunnels/stairwells, holes, steep hills, and so on. It’s all part of the experience and the excitement, but caution is vital.

Sites run by Cadw (the historic environment service of the Welsh Assembly Government) offer family tickets for two adults and any accompanying children under 16, a very good deal indeed if you have a medium or larger family! (Note: children under 5 have free entry.) And, whether you're accompanied by children or not, if you’re planning to visit a few sites within a limited timeframe, there are also good value 3- or 7-day Explorer Passes to choose from.

Most sites either have their own toilets/baby change facilities, or are within close proximity to such facilities (if you’re not sure, check the Cadw website for facilities and accessibility information).

Many popular attractions also have other family-friendly aspects, such as the working farm at the base of the walk to Carreg Cennen Castle. My daughter was fascinated by the farm animals (and so was I), which included some rare Welsh breeds. There were also farm buildings and displays to see, which added a whole new dimension to our castle visit, and gave us all an insight into another way of life.

The walk up the hill to the castle, past gorgeous sheep and stunning views of the countryside, was nothing short of exhilerating. (From the moment we’d seen the castle appear on the hill as we drove towards the farm, I’d had trouble believing it was real. The view was the stuff of my childhood dreams.) I couldn’t wait to get up there, and when I did, I wasn’t disappointed.

Although there had been plenty of cars in the carpark, the castle wasn’t crowded at all, and there was a very friendly atmosphere of a big family day out. Older children made friends with my daughter, even trying to speak Welsh with her (although her foreignness was obvious enough that friendly grownups asked plenty of questions about her origins). We had hired torches to take down into the cave below the castle, but found the way down a bit too difficult with a toddler. Carreg Cennen Castle is definitely one of those sites that requires parents to keep their wits about them, but it's well worth visiting if you get the chance.

Cardiff: a very quick glimpse (as seen by mother chasing toddler)

While there’s a wealth of things to do in Cardiff, many of them perfect for older children, my focus was, naturally, on finding things to do with a toddler. She was delighted to run loose in Bute Park, and around the Bay, where she had her first ever carousel ride (with me). She’s since seen photos of the carousel and demanded to go back to Cardiff!

My daughter even enjoyed popping inside the Millennium Centre to get out of the weather for a bit. We had a stop at one of the cafes there, and yes, took advantage of the excellent toilet/baby change facilities. I would have loved a tour of the building (and of the beautiful Senedd building close by), but on this flying visit, and with that toddler, it wasn’t to be. We did take her to visit the Doctor Who Up Close Exhibition in the Red Dragon Centre, which, perhaps surprisingly at her age then, she really enjoyed. I think she’d enjoy it even more now that she’s old enough to enjoy pretending she’s a “baby Dalek”. (Don’t ask.) And then there’s her reaction if she sees a man who she thinks resembles David Tennant…

My verdict: yes, I'm just bursting to take her back to that carousel!

(For more photos, please see the slideshow on the right-hand side of the blog.)

Across the Severn and beyond: an introduction to Wales in a hire car

The best tip I have for visiting Wales is to take a car.

Despite the merits of using public transport, and tourist-targeted railways through scenic spots, access to a car affords tremendous freedom (especially if used in combination with other forms of transport). Isolated spots are more easily accessible, you can travel at your own pace and to your own timetable, and you can make as many impromptu stops as you like. Some places can be difficult to reach for the independent traveller who is relying on public transport, and some scenery is just too breathtaking to watch speeding by through a window. Sometimes you need to stop and explore the castle that appears out of nowhere on a hill, or the ruined chapel that peeks out from between the trees.

To that end, it would also be a wonderful place to take a cycling or walking holiday. Unfortunately, we only had a couple of days so couldn't afford such a relaxed pace of travel. In our case, a car was perfect.

Hiring a car

We arrived at Luton Airport (from Berlin) and picked up a hire car. Researching prices in advance, we found it was much cheaper to book a car through 1Car1, whose Luton branch is a short trip from the airport. We called them on arrival, they sent a car to collect us, and then we sorted out the paperwork and installation of the child car seat (which cost an extra £15 to hire). The whole process took quite a while, and I admit to feeling a bit impatient, but a little extra time saved us a lot of money over picking up a car at the airport.

(Note: a quick internet check revealed that 1Car1 went into administration in March 2009. I'm unsure of the business's fate.)

Don't get lost!

I recommend a sat-nav system if you'll be doing a lot of driving in out-of-the-way, unfamiliar territory, or a street directory, at the very least, if you can get hold of one along the way.

We managed to make our way through the entire trip using only print-outs of directions, from an internet service such as the AA's route planner, and a 1:650,000 scale map of Britain (picked up in Germany before departure). While this method was OK, and saved money (yes, I'm a cheapskate when I can get away with it), I have to confess that the starting points on the directions were not always entirely clear, especially if we were leaving a location that had, say, three exits on three different streets, or a car park that was located off the site of the attraction. (Although, a quick look at the AA website recently gave me the impression that the directions provided there are somewhat clearer than the directions I had at the time.)

While we were always able to head in the right general direction, and in most cases we made it to the target location without too many problems at all, we did have a problem reaching our Cardiff hotel after heading into the city from Caerphilly Castle. We drove around in circles for at least an hour in the city, due to the fact that our city maps, printed from the internet, didn't reveal which streets were only one-way, or which were closed to vehicles during peak traffic times. And, of course, our prior knowledge of Cardiff was zero.

If you enter Wales via the M4 Second Severn Crossing

• Make sure you have cash to pay the toll, as credit/debit cards are not accepted.
• Ideally, have the appropriate amount in coins so you can use the automated coin machines (which, as of 16 June of this year, have only "limited availability"). The staffed toll booth is probably not the best place to break your crisp £50 note. (Better yet, fellow foreign tourists, don't allow your bank to issue you any £50 notes at all. I had real trouble spending them in England, though no problems in Welsh shops.)
• Don't attempt to cross on a bicycle. There are no foot/bicycle lanes. Use the (old) M48 Severn Bridge instead.
• Check the latest information on tolls, closures and maintenance work here.

First views of Wales: through the car window

Wales is, immediately over the border from England, decidedly Welsh. (What a surprise: there really is a difference!)

Traffic signs are bilingual (Welsh first in some places, English first in others). Red dragons flutter on their white and green flags, and in late March, the ground was covered in clumps of daffodils (the floral emblem of Wales), more daffodils than I could have imagined. They seemed to spring up in every available space, and, as we headed into the Brecon Beacons, they almost covered some of the fields. Viewed through the soft, golden light of the setting sun, the colour alone was enough to make me gasp, especially when offset by the sombre grey stone of ruined castles and churches poking up, surprisingly often, in between.

The Welsh countryside is full of beautiful ruins, and home to over 400 castles (a very high concentration for a nation only about 20,800 square kilometres in area). And, unless you've researched them all thoroughly and know exactly when and where to expect them, as you drive around Wales, these castles and ruins seem to appear out of nowhere as you round a bend. At times like this you'll wish you were on a bicycle, so you could savour the view slowly, stop, and probably take a photo. In a car, sometimes you're gone too quickly and the most beautiful spots often don't have a safe place to park the car off the road.

Furthermore, any photos you take, or view, of the Welsh countryside will struggle to capture the real beauty of the place. Looking at the trees on the hills near Tintern Abbey, for example, I was fascinated by the softness, the painted-on look of them. A photograph couldn't quite capture that.

But, having a car does enable you to stop wherever you can park, and I certainly found myself stopping unexpectedly at Llandovery when I caught sight of the castle and shiny statue of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd Fychan (not to be confused with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd) on the hill.

(Note for parents: this is a great place for your kids to stretch their legs. Clambering up to the castle is great fun, but there's also a playground/park behind the hill. As it's in town, you can also find the all-important food and drink.)

Before you drive off

If you're coming from abroad, you should make yourself acquainted with the basic UK-specific road rules and penalties for their infringement; even if you're an experienced driver, driving in another country, possibly on the other side of the road (depending on where you come from) can be a strange experience. Before you hire a car, you should also check with the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency to make sure your licence is valid in the UK (though most are).

Go away: it's Sunday and I'm couch-bound!

Unfortunately, I've missed the last couple of days of lovely weather (of which there haven't been many this summer), due to some mystery illness that's seen me drifting in and out of sleep on the couch.

Even my BBC Pride and Prejudice DVD was sick of it all today, deciding to play up in patches. And no, before you ask, I haven't worn out the part where Colin Firth jumps in the lake. I'm no Bridget Jones.

I made a huge effort to get up and feign good health this morning, for the benefit of a couple of prospective new tenants of the flat. Why they had to come on a Sunday, I don't know. The property manager didn't come - since she doesn't work on Sundays - so I was a bit put out that I couldn't declare the flat closed, too... like all businesses dealing in essentials. (I did miss 7-day shopping when I arrived here, though I'm used to it now.)

I considered using my illness as an excuse to shut the flat for quarantine purposes, but my German is too limited to make elaborate excuses. I could have croaked "Schweinegrippe" through the intercom when the visitors arrived, but that would have been about it. If only, I thought, I could have implied that I was suffering something mould-related, that would've sent 'em running.

Instead, there were quizzes about electricity and heating costs, how much sunlight gets into the flat in the mornings (considering it's partially underground), and when, definitely, the property would be vacant (leaving on August 31 - flights to Birmingham are booked). All of this took place in German, giving me the chance to make a complete idiot of myself by getting halfway through a sentence about electricity consumption before realising I didn't know how to finish it. It only emerged just as they were leaving that they could speak English.

"This my room," my daughter said proudly, pointing.

"Yes, your room," one of the visitors said. "It's pink!" And indeed it is. Here's proof: a photo of my daughter, then aged 16 months, in her newly-painted room.

After that, the visitors said "goodbye" and "danke", and went outside, where they burst out laughing as soon as the building door was closed. It was all clearly, uncomfortably audible due to the open windows. (Ventilation is vital in the fight against mould.)

Nobody likes the feeling of being laughed at, but I've become used to people thinking wrong things about me here (ie that my daughter has "two mothers", or that I'm English), so I decided that whatever they were laughing at, I didn't care.

Besides, if they move into this flat, the final joke will be on them.

Tales from Wales: how one little girl's obsession began

One of the easiest (and cheapest) ways to escape your everyday life is to pick up a book.

Some stories fade as soon as you read them, and some stay with you for life, informing your attitudes, your conscience, and your vision of the world around you. And sometimes, they kickstart unexpected obsessions.

When I was about eleven years old, on my summer holidays (just after New Year), I borrowed a book from my cousin, who I was staying with at the time. The book was The Earth Witch, by Louise Lawrence (the pen name of Elizabeth Holden, an English writer with a passion for Wales). It took me right out of the world I knew and into a damp, dark landscape of brooding, eerie power, a world where nature is menacing and terrible as well as life-giving. This was my first glimpse of the beliefs and mythology of old Wales, revealed through the prism of a modern setting. It's a story that doesn't retell any one particular myth, but draws on the author's wide knowledge of tales of the Mabinogion and other myths and folklore. The richness of intertextual references whet my appetite for hunting down those old stories, as if somehow I could find the "truth" contained in the fiction. I craved knowledge of Welsh landscape, history and literature and mythology. From then on, I was hooked on the subject, even though I lived on the other side of the world and had no Welsh heritage at all.

The best place to start for anyone wanting to read Welsh mythology is, of course, the Mabinogion, a collection of myths (the Four Branches of the Mabinogi), tales and romances (Welsh versions of Arthurian tales). There are, of course, plenty of debates about accuracy of translation, origins of stories and so on, which I won't enter into here, as I'm certainly no expert!

One of my favourite stories from the Mabinogion is the story of Lleu, Goronwy and Blodeuwedd (also spelled Blodeuedd), contained in "Math, Son of Mathonwy", one of the Four Branches of the Mabinogi. The Visit Wales website has a light, easy-to-read retelling (along with a couple of other tales), and some links to local websites that give readers a look at the real backdrops of the tales. Even if you can't or won't visit Wales, a look at the landscape really helps bring the stories to life.

The following experimental film, inspired by the Lleu-Blodeuwedd-Goronwy story, also gives a look at some relevant locations.

This particular story, while not very long, has been retold and reinterpreted many times. One famous and very enjoyable example (yes, for adults as well as younger readers!) is Alan Garner's book, The Owl Service. I first read it as an adult and found it quite compelling.

The following tale, of Bran and Branwen (from the branch "Branwen, Daughter of Llyr"), is a straightforward retelling for children (and will suit those who don't enjoy experimental interpretations).

(For more information on the DVD, see the Valley Stream Cultural Media site.)

For a broad and fascinating look at Wales, which ties myth and history together with landscape and culture (an "evocation of every aspect of Welshness"), try Jan Morris's Wales: Epic Views of a Small Country. It allowed me armchair travel to Wales, when I was too far away and too poor to afford a real trip, and later, when I finally made it there, it gave me plenty of background information on a place that was every bit as fascinating and beautiful as I expected it to be, and even more so.

Books ignited my obsession, but a visit only fuelled it...

This post has, obviously, barely scratched the surface of the wealth of literature out there. Any suggestions on further Welsh-themed reading would be more than welcome!

Even sealed plastic is no protection!

Ugh. Another mould disaster.

This time, I'm not talking about the fuzzy white blobs flowering on the wooden furniture (I'm either cleaning those off, or cheerfully ignoring them for the time being). No. This time I'm complaining about the contents of my kitchen cupboards.

I just took out a packet of par-baked bread rolls to put in the oven for my lunch. Par-baked rolls are cheap in Germany, cheaper than buying fresh rolls (and don't even think about sandwich loaf here - it's inedible). These packets of par-baked rolls usually keep well, but I've just found, in a packet with a month left before its expiry date, that every roll was covered with blue-green mould blobs. The packet was sealed, only purchased a couple of days ago... and very, very mouldy.

This isn't the first time I've opened a sealed packet of food, to find the contents green/blue/grey and fuzzy. The worst culprit is desiccated coconut... bleurgh!

Somehow, bugs seem to colonise sealed packets of food, as well. Ground hazelnuts are a particular favourite of these sneaky creatures.

I don't know how it happens (especially the bug problem), but it drives me nuts when I want to prepare food and it turns out that my unopened, within-date ingredients have to be turfed out, and I can't make the recipe I was planning. I always thought sealed packets were good protection against bugs, although I know by now that nothing stops mould! (And leaving a packet of, say, tea leaves, open in the cupboard is just an invitation to disaster. Don't do it. You have only yourself to blame, which is no comfort when you're throwing out that mass of tea-leaf shaped mould squiggles.)

My only tip is... don't keep a store cupboard full of useful plastic-packaged ingredients, even if the packet is sealed and the expiry date is sometime next year. Try to buy these ingredients only as you need them, because things that you might expect to keep well, won't necessarily do so.

For a distraction from mould (I know I need one), I've posted a YouTube player at the bottom of the page (under the posts), displaying some videos of south Wales, which mostly relate to places I visited in March 2008. I've also posted a slide show of some of my own photos. Related blog posts to follow soon!

Tantrums without subtitles

There's something deeply unsettling about a nation full of children who don't throw hissy-fits. I spent a long time, after my arrival in Germany, wondering where to find the German supermarket screamers, the train-riding terrors and the non-violent activists in training, staging their solo sit-ins in the middle of the footpath. Because for a very long time, the only tantrums I saw here were carried out by either my daughter, or some other child with frazzled, foreign parents.

My daughter used to do a terrific job of convincing every German we encountered that I was the worst mother in the world. Whenever she cried (which was almost every time I took her on the bus, for starters), everybody would look at her tenderly, and click their tongues, and say things that I assumed meant "poor baby", or similar. Even when she was being really, really naughty.

I knew there was nothing the matter with her, in most cases, and nothing I could do. Often she was simply angry that she was on the bus, and I could hardly solve that by getting off in the middle of nowhere, just to please her. (Besides, then she would have cried because we had to walk, or wait for the next bus.) Other times, she cried because she'd been asleep, and always woke up extremely irritable. She cried for up to an hour, post-afternoon nap, most days.

Once she got wound up, nothing would please her. It only took a couple of minutes of screaming and bellowing before she was completely hysterical. She was a semi-professional tantrum-thrower, a child who could vomit of her own free will, simply by crying and forcing herself to gag.

Still, I found myself acting against my own better judgment, making what I knew to be futile (or even counter-productive) soothing attempts, just to escape the watchful eyes and unhelpful suggestions of those around me.

"Give her cake," people would say. "Feed her."

So there I'd be, proffering plain biscuits or sultanas or a drink of milk, even though that only made her more cross. (Eating was one of her most hated activities. There's a good reason, other than her genetics, that she's the size of the average German child, a year younger than herself.) But I had to be seen to be doing something; most Germans don't seem to be of the opinion that a small child will cry without a legitimate reason. Therefore, a parent deliberately ignoring crying is seen as nothing short of cruel.

One German mother I know, whose children did like to kick up a fuss on public transport when they were young, once let one of her children cry for a while, despite the increasingly angry glares she was getting from her fellow passengers.

"What kind of a mother are you?!" one of them exclaimed at last.

"A bloody good one," she answered, and continued to ignore the tantrum. Nerves of steel, I tell you!

I've often wondered why German children are generally so calm. They sit quietly in their prams or strollers (even the ultra-old fashioned prams, in which a sitting child has no backrest, and is strapped in with a sort of leather harness that allows them to move about but presumably not fall out), wearing calm, blank faces.

Admittedly, these quiet children are often eating. Bread rolls or pretzels are popular, and toddlers can often be seen feeding themselves juice from a bottle. (A big no-no in Australia.) So this is clearly why everyone recommended feeding my daughter - it works on most German kids.

Other problems I had with my daughter in public included her trying to climb out of her stroller as I was pushing her (she once fell right out in the food hall of KaDeWe, Berlin - people looked at me like I was an attempted murderer); my daughter running away out of my sight in shops (passersby tell me to let her, because "she will be all right"); and my daughter going absolutely ballistic, armed with a children's trolley, in the supermarket.

The nice thing is, nobody ever says, "Will you shut that kid up?", which people might, elsewhere. And on a recent trip to the supermarket, when my ears were filled with constant, blood-curdling screams emitted by the hot-headed little creature sitting on my hip, nobody said a word. Certainly, they looked, but there didn't seem to be any serious disapproval or malice. It must have been a bit like watching a foreign film, without the subtitles.

I, like my daughter, am a classic crazy foreigner. My voice gets louder when I'm upset or agitated (not quieter, as is the German way). I laugh, cry, gesticulate and shout too much. My face is never still. And even if captured in a still photo, I wouldn't look German; I even dress like a foreigner. My daughter does, too (surprise, surprise). Ethnicity aside, her clothes mark her out, boldly, as a foreigner. (I haven't even bought her any sensible German shoes... they don't appeal to my aesthetic, I'm afraid, no matter how well-made they are.)

I don't know why German children seem so content and calm, but while I'm very glad if they are (and even happier for their parents), I think it's impossible for any child of mine to be like that. The tantrums are just part of the package: a package that also includes dancing in the street, a yearning for music, a theatricality, and a wild and passionate nature. I love her imagination, her exuberance, and her loving, sensitive ways; but, like me, she's also capable of getting very, very upset. There's nothing too strange about her tantrums, really; after all, I had them when I was young, too.

Now that she's getting older, and I'm getting more self-assured as a parent (and a foreigner), I deal with her tantrums as I see best, without worrying too much about the impression I give others. I certainly have some very frustrating trips to the shops, but gradually, it's all getting easier.

I do see the occasional little German having a tantrum, too, which is a relief, really. It proves to me that there's no great German secret for manageable kids. And even if there was, I wouldn't really want to change my daughter... I'd just like a bit less screaming, and a bit more staying-with-Mummy in the shops. Sadly, I'm not going to achieve that with cake.