highly sensitive power

Surprised? I was too when I first started spending time in Germany. Now I want to move there. Here’s a sampling of why:

Quietude is respected. Yes, there are laws about noise, which may not suit everyone, but which means that there are actually quiet times that can be counted on. Also, there’s a general presumption of quietude in most of the places I’ve spent time in Germany, including in cities like Berlin and Freiburg, and in most public spaces like restaurants and trains. After a while, I can feel my ears relaxing as I realize it’s safe to let down my guard a lot more than I ever do in North America.

Quality is assumed. Not for absolutely everything, but for much more than we in North America are accustomed to. The high quality of the food in restaurants, grocery stores, and homes gets me salivating every time. Material things are generally made to last, and they do. And consumers tend to be choosier about what they buy, knowing it may last into the next generation, whether they’re buying a belt, a curtain, or a pen.

Beauty is everywhere. Whether the view is of the big picture (out the train window as the kilometres unfurl) or the details (high eaves decorated exquisitely), the beauty of Germany is balm to my highly sensitive soul. When I spend time with my in-laws in Germany, no matter where we are, in every city or town or village or on every country path, my constant refrain is, “Go ahead. I want to look at this. I’ll catch up!” There’s enough beauty, all around, to fill the heart to overflowing.

Sustainability is old news. Cobblestones everywhere allow rain to penetrate the earth, unlike acres of unbroken pavement. Washing machines are tiny, and whole families are raised on the assumption that small is just fine, and it is. Homes in country villages are crammed together, giving the arable countryside more room. Bicycles rule, and there are plenty of bike paths to prove it. People have lived closely in Germany (as in all of Europe) for a long, long time, and they’ve figured out a lot about how to do it sustainably – they’ve had practice with taking the long view.

Standard windows are brilliantly designed. With very few exceptions, the windows I’ve seen in German homes operate via a clever, functional design that makes me smack my forehead and say, “Why in the world isn’t this the way we do it back home?” Their heavy, built-to-last windows (and some doors) open inward from the top so air can flow even on a rainy day. Close the window (or door), turn a lever, and they open from the side, allowing fresh air and the draping of bedding over the window sills in the mornings.

Trains rule. A map of Germany’s train routes is a dense, tangled affair. The clean trains run on time. That’s superb, but there’s more, from the friendly train staff and the orderly train stations, to the views out the windows and the generally quiet travelling companions. (If there’s any way you can swing a first-class booking, your high sensitivities will thank you profusely the whole way. First-class compartments are marvelous oases of quietude and spaciousness. Eurail passes for non-European residents, purchased before you leave home, are a reasonably priced way to achieve first-class train travel in Europe.) Besides the trains, public transit is well developed in Germany, dependable and full of character – and I mean that in the very best of ways.

I’ve also spent time in France. It’s beautiful, yes, and lively, and there’s much that’s wonderful there. But I find that France is also loud, and messy, and has other qualities that challenge my senses, the accumulation of which becomes overwhelming too soon. My high sensitivities and I can stand only so much of France before I’ve had enough and find that I’m pining for Germany. Again.

Train photo by Michael Mundhenk.