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.

China: Prussian style

The Chinese House, which sits in beautiful Park Sanssouci, Potsdam, is known to my daughter as the "pretty house".

I'm afraid I don't share her opinion. It's a striking structure, I admit (all that gold does catch the eye), but I find this example of 18th century Prussian chinoiserie... well, baffling.

The statues of "Chinese" musicians surrounding the pavilion are obviously modelled on Europeans playing dress-up in whatever vaguely oriental-looking clothes they could find. And I'd be very impressed if anyone could explain how the architecture of the building itself resembled any authentic Chinese structure.

If something like this was built today, it would be considered incredibly ignorant and embarrassing, at best. But, hey, I'll cut the poor old park-and-palace building Prussians some slack... except for the general bad taste/ugliness, which I'm afraid is evident in all sorts of "theme" rooms in Potsdam's palaces. (Seen the shell-covered grotto room in the Neues Palais, anyone? Ghastly! No photograph does justice to its hideousness. It's so ugly, it's worth a visit.)

The tent room (Zeltzimmer) in the Charlottenhof Palace, designed to give its inhabitants the impression of being on a far-away expedition, is definitely more tent-like than the Chinese House is Chinese, so it scores higher on accuracy. But still, full points to both for imagination, I suppose! Let's give credit where credit's due... while reserving the right to shriek: "UGLY!"

Confessions of a reforming pantihose hoarder

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just done a terrible thing.

(And no, I'm not talking about purposely vacuuming up live spiders. That was yesterday, and I don't feel nearly as guilty about that as I probably should.)

No, what I'm talking about is a grave, grave sin. The sin of waste. The crime of Throwing Something Away, Even Though it Might be Useful Later.

Given that I'm moving overseas in about a month, I thought I ought to go through my drawer and see what, in that overstuffed tangle of pyjamas-that-need-mending, embarrassing panda socks and holey, laddered hosiery, I could actually get rid of.

"I'm clearing it out," I told myself sternly. "Anything unwearable goes."

I pulled out a couple of nice pairs of pantihose, well-worn favourites. "Lovely," I said. "Just a couple of holes, a ladder here, a tiny ladder there. Nothing a bit of clear nail polish won't stop. Nothing that can't be hidden by a longish skirt and a pair of knee-high boots. No. I 'll keep them."

And then I pulled out a pair of footless teal tights. "Haven't worn them in a while," I admitted. I examined the three ladders extending downwards from the seam. By my own logic, the flaws could be hidden, so the tights were still wearable. But something inside me said, "I'm not going to wear them again," and I snapped. I put them down on the floor, starting a pile destined for the bin.

Every fibre of my being screamed, "Noooooooo! They might come in handy! You could use them to tie a tomato plant to a stake! You could use them to hang out a wet woolly jumper on the Hills Hoist clothesline! Don't throw them away! Old tights are worth their weight in clothes pegs, at the very least!"

I looked at the tights sadly, drew myself up to my full height, and reminded myself that the days of tomato plants were left behind when I moved out of Mum and Dad's place. I don't grow plants. I don't have a garden (just two pots of herbs that I'll have to leave behind when I move). Worst of all, I don't even live in the same hemisphere as my parents, so my tights are no good to their garden, either... and they don't have much water, anyway, so their need to stake plants is significantly less than it used to be.

Naturally, I don't have a Hills Hoist, either. I have a weird clothes rack with wings, an evil washer-dryer, and, for my heavy woollies and things that might stretch while drying, a couple of nets on curved frames, so I can lay the clothes flat. (Note: don't hang these off your shower rail. It will rip out of the wall.)

It's time for me to get used to this simple fact: old, unwearable tights have no use in my life anymore, and they're no good to anyone. They're just taking up space in my drawer, and if I keep them, they'll only add to the expense of moving, along with all the other useless junk that ought to go out, and would have, but for that voice in my head screeching, "what a waaaaste!".

And so, the tights are in the bin (under some food scraps by now), along with some unfixable, falling-apart knickers, some laddered knee-high stockings, an old, now ill-fitting bra with rust stains, and a pair of socks which are in good condition, but which, let's be honest, I just hate.

Now I need to work out what to do with the several pairs of perfectly serviceable, opaque blue tights that I've had, unused, in my drawer for at least 12 years (when I stopped wearing them to school). I consider them a mental-health hazard. Nightmares about being back at school are bad enough, let alone daytime flashbacks caused by wearing part of my old uniform. But I can't give them away; who wants second-hand pantihose? (No... don't answer that.)

So perhaps, unless I happen to meet someone who needs to stake some plants, I might go a sin further and Throw Away Something in Perfectly Good Condition.

Priests on standby, please. Confession coming soon.

Sommerszeit=Nacktheit

Summer. Public nudity.

These are two things that belong together in Germany, the home of Freikörperkultur (lit. "free body culture").

For the prudes out there, the foreign types who think that even statues should always be clothed (fig leaf, minimum), there are certain public, outdoor places to avoid.

1. The nudist beach, known as the FKK-Strand or Nacktbadestrand. These areas are usually adjoining one end of the general beach, and while there may be some fencing to protect privacy, there also might not be. So, if you don't want to join the nudists, and you don't want to see them, pay attention to the signposts and head along the beach in the opposite direction. (Note: these beaches are commonly found on lakes, which leads me to my next point.)
2. Parks surrounding lakes. Chances are, if the lake allows swimming, it has a dedicated nude swimming area. It's entirely possible that you will find yourself copping an eyeful of a naked man, backstroking towards you across the lake. This might be a bit of a shock if you're taking a wide-eyed, touristy stroll through a park, on the opposite shore to the swimming beach. Especially if you happen to have your camera (with telephoto lens) out, and you're taking some photos of the pretty German scenery, when suddenly, you catch sight of pink flesh on the water, and can't quite believe your eyes.
3. Other parks. They might not contain much total nudity, but parks such as the Tiergarten in Berlin are full of semi-naked people on warm days. It's not nudism, it's just sunbaking, but for those of us who might expect semi-nakedness, but only on the beach, topless women and barely smuggled budgies can seem a strange backdrop to your picnic on the grass. (Beware: if you decide to sunbake nearly nude in a park, especially if there's water nearby, your vulnerable body is in danger of being randomly attacked by cranky swans.)
4. Children's playgrounds - especially those with water features. Here, the adults keep their clothes on, but many of the children don't.

I feel like a bit of a freak, sometimes, insisting that my own daughter doesn't leave our flat without clothes. After all, on a nice day, the neighbours' children in the next building can be seen, naked, running around in their garden. And the playgrounds are full of sandy, naked kids. So why don't I want her to join in?

There are several reasons why I don't like the idea of my daughter being naked in public. The first is simply because I come from Australia, where people not only swim in bathing suits, but in boardshorts, T-shirts and hats, and I'm well-versed in the dangers of skin cancer. I don't want my daughter getting burnt. The second reason is because I've also been well-versed in the dangers of paedophiles. The third reason is that I don't like the idea of my daughter being photographed naked, even accidentally, just as part of the background, because of the ever-expanding ways in which photos are published and distributed. I prefer that she has some modicum of privacy. (For the same reason, I'm careful to avoid taking photos of her if there are naked children in the background.)

It's a lovely idea, that there's no reason to be afraid, that there's no danger of paedophiles worth worrying about. And it sure beats some of the over-the-top protective measures we've had in Australia, such as banning cameras from many public pools because children might be photographed (by paedophiles) in bathing suits. But are children really safer in Germany than in Australia, or is there a possibility that some parents here are simply too trusting?

As far as sun exposure goes, I can understand why people here aren't so worried about that. Most of the year it feels like there's no sunshine at all. And children, in particular, are almost entirely covered up to keep them warm through the long cold months. It feels good, healthy, necessary even, to get some sunlight on your skin when it finally comes out. We're all desperate for a few warm rays.

For this reason, 2009, with its tiny number of sunny days, has been a good year for prudes, and a bad one for nudes. (The summer of 2008 was a more naked one.)

But, here's a warning for the prudes out there. Even if you avoid all the naked places you can in public, and you don't have saunas or have a shower in the gym, there's still a chance that, like my friend in Berlin, you might look out your kitchen window on a Sunday and see, on the other side of the street, a naked man standing on his windowsill, pressed up against his window, trying to fix something and blissfully carefree about whether or not anyone notices his full-frontal nudity. (And indoors, in front of windows or not, people can go nude all year round.)

My friend noticed, all right, and she (a self-confessed prude) was quite put off her brunch.

Berlin S-Bahn: shock, horror!

The very day I wrote my first post, commending German public transport, Berlin's S-Bahn system went almost right off the rails.

According to the BVG, the S-Bahn service in Berlin is "limited", due to technical difficulties and "extensive special maintenance problems".

Grumblings around here blame "greedy private operators" for their unwillingness to dent their profits by paying for required safety checks and maintenance programs, until investigation of an S-Bahn accident lifted the lid on the neglect.

While it's unbelievable that in Berlin, the S-Bahn system is not expected to be running as normal until December (5 months away!!!), there are alternative ways of getting around. It may take longer, and it may require more planning, but it's still possible to get from A to B (even if some trips have become simply too inconvenient to bother making).

The "disgruntled passenger" in this Time article, who described the transport chaos as like "being in the Third World", should really try travelling by public transport outside Germany. Many developed nations' public transport systems are still worse than what's currently on offer in Berlin. And in the developing world... well, let's just say that "disgruntled passenger" would get a serious shock.

First escape: Copenhagen

Our first escape from the humid, dungeonesque flat (which had sprouted mould all over the skirting boards after just two weeks, long before our furniture arrived) came in mid-November 2007. I'd booked cheap flights from Berlin to Copenhagen on a whim, a couple of months earlier while we still lived in a guesthouse (and therefore had an internet connection).

September and October saw me fantasising about the trip constantly.

"How amazing," I thought, "to get away from all this, and sleep in a bed again. Oh yes, bring on a hotel!" (Two months sleeping on an inflatable mattress was taking its toll.)

About two weeks before the trip, our telephone/internet was finally connected, so, mostly using the Wonderful Copenhagen site, I could plan the trip online. Having decided that we wanted to pack in as many sights as possible, mainly because of our then 16-month-old daughter's short attention span, I balked at the high entry prices to most attractions. The hotels, too, were pricey. Even the ones that had shared bathrooms... The only cheap part of the holiday was the flights.

The CPHCard

I started investigating the CPHCard as a way to save money, and when I added up the admission prices of the places we'd like to see, plus public transport costs, I could see that the CPHCard would pay for itself pretty quickly (despite the fact that it, too, seemed very expensive, particularly when converting the price back into Australian dollars... ouch!). The CPHCard also had the advantage of being able to be used from the moment we arrived in Copenhagen and took the train from the airport into the city. Therefore, we had no need to work out the local transport ticketing system (which was much more confusing to a foreign tourist than the German system).

Our CPHCards arrived in the mail very quickly, along with a trip planner which was more user-friendly than the website. For this reason, I'd recommend that anyone planning to buy the card does so in advance, rather than picking one up on arrival.

I was disappointed when I realised that many attractions were completely closed in November, due to the weather and the short daylight hours, but I still found so many things to do that we were flat-out for the 72-hour duration of our trip, and could easily have kept busy for days longer.

Planning to get the most out of each day: opening hours and public transport

Because many attractions (castles, for example) open late and close early in the winter months, if you travel at this time, it's a good idea to check opening hours in advance, and plan the order of each day's itinerary according to the location and opening hours of each attraction. It sounds obvious, but some planning is advisable when it comes to navigating the public transport, especially if you choose to visit castles which lie a bit further afield. (I recommend using the DSB website to plan your trips in advance. Take a copy of important timetables with you, if you can, especially if visiting the city on a weekend, when transport departs less frequently.)

During the evenings, there weren't many options for a family with small children, but we solved this by visiting two attractions, both of which had entry included on the CPHCard in 2007.

The first option was Hans Christian Andersen's Wonderful World (next to Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, which we had no interest in visiting). A visit won't keep the family entertained for too long, but it was interesting, different, a welcome respite from the cold, and our daughter enjoyed it (apart from a scary giant rat in one of the displays) much more than the castles and museums she'd seen during the day.

The second option was the Tivoli Gardens. Luckily for us, it had just opened for the Christmas season, and was decorated beautifully and set up with a Christmas market (of the more expensive variety) and plenty of special displays. There was also some rather potent gløgg, a mulled wine with interesting extras, including raisins and almonds, on sale.

The lights and Christmas/winter scenes were fascinating for our daughter (even though she was too small to go on any rides), and amusing enough for us to spend two evenings there. Like most attractions in Denmark (castles included), the Tivoli Gardens have good nappy-change facilities. There is a nice little stand-alone parents' room, which was easy to find, clean and convenient, and equipped with a microwave for warming bottles, as well as chairs for feeding.

Castles

Although I'm Australian, I don't harbour any Princess-Mary-who-might-have-been fantasies, so I wasn't as excited by the sights of modern Royal Copenhagen as some of my compatriots might be. However, we did stop to see the changing of the guard outside the Amalienborg Palace, as well as the museum in Christian VIII's mansion. More interesting to me were the older castles of Frederiksborg and Kronborg (Hamlet's castle), which require a little bit of travel outside the city (though they're still within the travel zone covered by the CPHCard). The train trips are a great way to see a bit more of Denmark, even if you're in a hurry, and from Kronborg, you can stand on the roof of the Telegraph Tower (accessed via the Maritime Museum) and look over to Sweden.

If you have children who are getting bored with the castle, Kronborg, like others around Copenhagen, has been fitted out with a children's play/activity room. It's also a castle where children can walk around fairly freely, look out windows, and let their imaginations run wild. My daughter grizzled her way through Versailles (understandably), but Kronborg was fine. She didn't even mind the Casemates underneath (though I for one wouldn't like to be locked in there, even with a torch).

Frederiksborg has a stunning baroque garden, which we walked through after the castle had closed, since the garden is open much longer.

Rosenborg, which was only a walk away from our hotel, had a lovely park and even some pigs (or similar - I don't know my swine) kept near the castle, much to our daughter's delight. It's a great spot to visit, but a word of warning: if you have a noisy child, especially a screaming one, avoid the treasury (which houses the Danish crown jewels). It's been fitted with a sound-activated alarm, which, if set off, will trap everyone inside the treasury (below ground) for a couple of hours. (How do I know this? A security guard started panicking when my daughter started wailing.)

Other sights (and tastes)

• For anyone who's ever wanted to push their child's stroller up a tower (go on, you know you want to!), you can't go past the Rundetaarn. It's got a great view of the city at the top, and only a minimal number of stairs. The rest of the tower is like one giant spiral ramp (a bit steep, though - if you park the stroller, make sure to put the brakes on!).
• Nyhavn is a picture-perfect spot, lined with places to eat and drink on either side of the waterway. Nyhavn happened to play host to a free Christmas beer tasting on the day we visited, as well as a Christmas market. It's well worth checking events listings to see what the locals are up to, and maybe participate in something yourself.
• Of course, everyone feels obliged to snap a picture of the landmark Little Mermaid statue. It makes a good stop on a self-guided walking tour of the city.
• Strøget is the main (pedestrian only) shopping strip, and there are some lovely things on sale (if you avoid the tacky souvenir shops), though price is certainly an issue, especially if your currency isn't worth much against the Danish Kronor. In November we enjoyed picking up some delicious warm almonds, with their crunchy, sweet and lightly spiced coating, from a street stall here. The smell was divine and the taste was just as good. There are other warm winter treats for sale, too, such as roast chestnuts.
• Lunch in the Glyptotek is a lovely, relaxing experience. In the middle of the museum, the cafe is situated beside the Winter Garden. (The Glyptotek's exhibits are worthwhile, too, of course!)

Copenhagen: a child-friendly city

Parents' rooms, nappy-change facilities and amusements/distractions for children are easy to find in Copenhagen. Unlike Germany, I never had to worry about where I'd find the next change-table.

Breastfeeding is perfectly acceptable in public. I saw plenty of nursing mothers in cafes (which again, made a nice change from Germany, where I've seen fewer mothers nursing in two years than I did in Copenhagen in two days.)

Public transport is easily accessible with prams or strollers. Train stations are equipped with lifts.

My verdict

Copenhagen is a beautiful, fascinating, charming and friendly city. I wished I could have stayed there, rather than returning to Germany (even though my furniture had arrived by then, so at least I was going home to a real bed).

Travel there in summer would be amazing, but winter (especially the five or so weeks before Christmas) is wonderful in its own way. The crowds are small and the experience is special, especially if you're from the southern hemisphere!

My advice: if you fancy a trip to Denmark, do it while the Danish Kronor is at a low! So... now's not too bad a time!