Karlsruhe and the German GP

There are no Spätis in Karlsruhe. Maybe that’s all anyone needs to know…
There isn’t even a Kiosk, as Spätis are known in some less fortunate places. There’s an Alkoholverbot in Baden-Württemberg forbidding Spätis, Kiosks, petrol stations and their ilk from selling alcohol anywhere in the state after 10 p.m.
Strange then that I managed to see more pissed people in my short time in Karlsruhe than you’d see in a month in Berlin. There was a gang of wannabe punks that sat in the courtyard between the train station and the flamingos and of course the erratic dude I mentioned in the previous post.
Admittedly, I didn’t see much of Karlsruhe but the little I saw was enough to convince me the place is dull as fuck. The architecture is very nice and the buildings are pretty but dull, as, fuck. I know “ruhe” is in the name but still…
I was in town to cover the German Grand Prix in nearby Hockenheim. It went on for four days between practicing, qualifying and then actually racing the damn things. Thankfully there were a couple of crashes to liven that up.
Porsche treated me to lunch one day. Very nice. Some fancy shit I’d never eaten or even heard of before. Of course I had to eat it quickly. Apparently I could have eaten at Ferrari every day. But I only learned that on the last day.
There were a lot of fat people around. I guess that’s what happens when your idea of sport is watching cars going around in circles. But only the men were fat. The women were all supermodels. Standards only apply halfway across the board in Formula One.
I didn’t bother going back to Karlsruhe when it was all over, got the train instead to Mannheim, which seems to have its own Fernsehturm imposter. Inferior of course. That’s all I can tell you about Mannheim.
The train that took me back to Berlin was quicker than anything I’d seen over the few days. It shot back at frightening speeds. Even then, it wasn’t fast enough.

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