Ratisbonisms | „Excuse me, are you English?”

Unser Autor Ross kommt aus dem Norden Englands. Letzten Herbst verliebte er sich in eine Regensburger Erasmus-Studentin und ging mit ihr nach Deutschland. Doch die Stadt und ihre Einwohner bescheren dem Zuagroastn seitdem den ein oder anderen “what the fuck?!”-Moment. In seiner wöchentlichen Kolumne „Ratisbonisms” erzählt Ross mit seinem dry english wit von Regensburgs Eigenheiten.

Light denim jeans, running shoes, cap, camera complete with neck strap for ease of access, sunglasses mounted on the peak of the cap (the sun could appear at any moment). Strolling at a leisurely pace with a raised, panning head, taking in every possible sight Regensburg has to offer. The tourist is not an elusive or camouflaged creature.

On this occasion, the pack on Neupfarrplatz was not moving in their regular meandering way. They had a purpose. Their prey was in sight.

“Excuse me, are you English?” – enquired a rosy cheeked American sporting a Yosemite national park visor. How did he know? What gave me away? Was it my pale skin? I wasn’t sipping a cup of Yorkshire tea nor was I stuffing my face with fish and chips. I considered mimicking Queen Elizabeth with my reply… “Yes, my good man! And what assistance may I offer you on this fine day?”  But I settled for “yes”.  He wanted to know where he and his wife could find the best Bavarian restaurant in the city. The question was straight forward but his reasoning eluded me. He actively searched for an English man to ask where he could find the best Bavarian restaurant in town. This poor chap’s ability to think rationally had clearly been inhibited by his overwhelming desire for Schweinshaxe. Realising his urgency I sent him in the direction of Kneitinger. The tourist honey pot. Kneitinger is bursting with rucksack and gore-tex laden folks of all nationalities and it always smells delicious!

While running a few errands in town, I felt comfy in the knowledge that a couple of vacationers would be tucking into a rich plate of Bayerische deliciousness and discussing what a brilliant suggestion that English guy had made.

Heading for home I passed through Arnulfsplatz. It was the visor that gave them away. In the window of McDonalds, the Yankees were eating cheeseburgers! Evidently their innate inability to resist the allure of the golden M had proved too powerful. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.