Where Fontane stopped rambling: A Technological Switzerland
Essay by Matthias Gerschwitz, a marketing and communications specialist, writer, and satirist
Do you remember “Die Mundorgel”? The small red book and a collection of songs that people would belt out on bus rides, youth camps, and bonfires? It featured songs full of travelling tales and Wanderlust – which weren’t always all that positive. Songs like »Wenn die bunten Fahnen wehen, geht die Fahrt wohl übers Meer« right next to »Alle, die mit uns auf Kaperfahrt fahren, müssen Männer mit Bärten sein«, or »Wir lagen vor Madagaskar und hatten die Pest an Bord«. It seems nobody asked about climate action or protecting the environment back then. Maybe your version of “Mundorgel” had a different name, maybe it was just a collection of loose sheets of paper, maybe you even knew the lyrics off by heart. Indeed, there were times when people memorised lyrics, because there was no other way to store them or to google them on the way.
Those were more carefree times. The musical journeys became real ones; the distance between one’s holiday location and the homely hearth became the yardstick for wealth and social recognition. If one could travel at all. For some, Lake Balaton and the Black Sea coast were places of longing – for others, simply a chance to go on a cheap vacation. It was considered the highest goal to conquer the world. The Prussian general Carl von Clausewitz might have rephrased his famous utterance: “Tourism is the continuation of war by other means.” When some parts of the population were finally able to go to a travel agent and book a long-distance trip, others discovered that long distances had somehow lost their spark. That they were, in effect, not that different after all.
Then came a virus that changed the world. Instead of the United States, the Seychelles, or the Maldives, the longing gaze turned to the North Sea and Baltic, Black Forest, and the Ore Mountains. Suddenly, many discovered that there are places in their own countries worth discovering. I remembered a friend I had in the 1980s, who travelled to a different continent every year until she suddenly discovered that she was afraid of flying. From then on, she would only go to Switzerland. Not to the Swiss confederation, however, but the Switzerlands in Holstein, Saxony, Brandenburg, and Franconia. If you care to do the same, don’t be surprised: There are over 120 places in Germany that call themselves “Switzerland”. During the Romantic era, this is what people called hilly and appealing country landscapes; later, advertising people came along and defined “Switzerland” as a beautiful and well-organised swath of land. By the way: Berlin is also included on the list, if only its allotment gardens and so-called “mansion colonies”.
Even Theodor Fontane complained about the term’s inflationary use: “The Switzerlands are getting smaller, and now, not only do we have one in the March, but also in Rupping,” he says in his travel book »Wanderungen durch die Mark Brandenburg«. If he were still rambling today, surely he would come to Berlin’s Southeast, take a break, and note: »On my way I passed through Adlershof. And where once the king had mulberry trees planted, where later planes took off, cars were built, and films were shot, today is a Technological Switzerland. Full of ideas and innovation. Instead of travelling the world to educate themselves, people come here and share their knowledge. This is a place to linger.«