Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The sound of Berlin is that of empties clinking

Germany has a very old school bottle deposit policy. Beer, bottled water and soft drinks are subject to a small deposit (or pfand,) usually at 8c a beer bottle, but up to 25c depending on the bottle type and store it’s bought from. Lidl, for instance, runs at a strict 25c a bottle. Sure, you can get that money back, but they want you to put a down payment on your shame. [see The Pork Shank Redemption] Most supermarkets have these machines that you feed your empties into via a gaping mouth with two tiny conveyor belts inside. A mechanical ‘open wide for the aeroplane’ in my mind. When you’re done, you press a little green button and out pops a receipt, a store credit voucher, if you will. With this you can go and buy more beer. Or, if you were so inclined, fresh fruit and vegetables. The choice is yours. It is also possible to take your empties to one of the many, many Turkish convenience (read: bottle) stores that around, where such mechanical wonders do not exist. In this case, you rather put the bottles in crates and the dude behind the counter deducts however many bottles you’ve returned x8c off your next purchase. Incidentally, returning 6 bottles to my local late night store will leave you with a 32c bill to pay for one bottle of beer. The plus side to the system is that one becomes fanatical about recycling. And I think we can all agree, recycling: good. Waste: bad. The not quite so good part is that to get to the point where the return of your bottles gives you the illusion of free beer, your stock of empties makes you look like you live in a frat house.... Or at Shellrick on a Thembi-less week. It also means that when you walk down the street on your way to damage your liver/save the planet, you clink.

Clinking is the sound of the city. The other day I sat outside a cafe and counted clinkers walk past me. There were eleven. In a row. Eleven people walked past. Eleven people clinked. It wasn’t even a busy street. There was an old woman, and I mean OLD, walking with a walking stick in each hand. She had a backpack on. And the backpack that clinked. She was one of the illustrious eleven.

My landlord/housemate told me that he once saw an industrious drunk in Amsterdam feed full bottles he took off the shelves of a supermarket into the machine at the back. He used the ‘deposit’ money to buy a six pack.

All this begs the question that I know that some of you are asking, “You are drinking beer?”
Incredibly, yes. While I haven’t been completely adverse to the poison of choice for frat boys and their funnels everywhere, it’s by no means my first choice of intoxicant. However, I can no longer go to wine as my drink of choice (damn you grape intolerance!) and there’s something so sordid about a bottle of whiskey for one. So beer is something I have been partaking in the pleasures of. It’s also an easy option when ordering out. By all accounts, wine lists here can be a veritable minefield. “Ein bier bitte” is a phrase that even the most linguistically challenged (a category in which, sadly, I find myself) can manage.

1 comment:

  1. No shame in a solo Scotch, my love. To quote my father " a bottle of whisky doesn't go far between one."

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