A Tale of Two Cities
Wrong Turn: Strasbourg / Stuttgart
Stuttgart
My first impression of the city of Stuttgart was a raspy elevator dispute between two crackheads. As it turned out, that was the most relaxing and interesting part of my visit.
Unlike the lively dopefiends of New York, New York, or the scampish nittys of London town, even the tweakers of Stuttgart weren't that captivating. I’ve always said, the personality of a city is reflected in the charisma of its crackheads, I’ve always said that.
My second impression was a seven-suspect pat-down against the artless graffiti of a Stadtbahn tunnel. The only times I’ve seen friskings of that magnitude were in fictionalised West Baltimore. Incidentally, The Wire also set my unrealistic standards for the charm of skagheads.
Now, obviously, it is in no way fair to summarise an entire city on a few snap judgments, but that is pretty much the basis of travel writing - so, here we find ourselves.
The pinnacle of the city’s cultural appeal is the Mercedes-Benz museum. The number 1 must-see tourist attraction, a walk-in car advert. After a rigid brainstorming session, the city branded itself ‘the Cradle of the Automobile’.
In a recent misleading rebrand, they landed on “The New Heart of Europe.” I’ve come up with a few more fitting epithets:
“The Coccyx of Upper Swabia.”
“The Workshop Floor of the Rhein valley.”
“The Schengen’s gouty fourth toe.”
The city is Germany’s commercial 2nd capital - even being the most boring city would be too interesting for Stuttgart. Renowned for its plentiful office space, unplanned layovers and dry, tire-kicking auto-pilgrims.
In a hopeless bid to hold off my transition to a leaky old guffbag, I won’t mention how ineffectually signposted the place was. The town planning challenged stereotypes at every turn. All the challenge of a maze, without the scenery, pleasure, or resolution.
The only redeeming quality was the honey-toned Weiss beer, which washed over the drabness of the place. Food was as good as food gets, under the Bavarian circumstances. There is a reason nobody outside of Deutschland orders in a ‘German’ at the tail end of a long week - or anyone outside of England an ‘English’ for that matter - or inside England, for another matter.
Strasbourg
Strasbourg is a stirring fairy tale of a city, with timber-framed gingerbread houses lining the city’s waterways.
Restaurants with all the treats, gabling, and allure of a pedicidal witch’s cottage. In medieval cellars, tourists can slurp down German beer without paying the visual tax of the surroundings.
The outlying villages of the Alsace region seem even less believable. Model streets seemingly constructed only for the wonder of tourists, without a tobacco shop or a petrol station in sight. The inhabitants live off sugar and spice, all things nice, and the knickknack sales of dazed tourists.
The people of Strasbourg have none of that Parisian snootiness, often mistaken for Frenchness, where a Maitre d’ takes your paid presence as an intolerable affront. If you gob off the Eiffel tower, odds on you’ll hit someone deserving. The people of Strasbourg were the most welcoming French people I’ve ever known.
Normally the contrast of holiday comes from the boredom of day-to-day life. But travelling from Stuttgart to Strasbourg was like emerging out of a coal mine into the pages of a children’s book.
So, if you’re looking for something a little bit different from your usual city break - unsafe, dull, confusing, ugly - can’t recommend Stuttgart highly enough.
If you liked this… check out:
Wrong Turn: Thailand
Wrong Turn: Brazil
Wrong Turn: Vietnam
The Dangers of Making Holiday Friends
New episode of Bedraggled out this Christmas
We filmed another episode of our C-O-M-E-D-Y web series ‘Bedraggled’ at the weekend. The guys are editing it up now, but episode 3 ‘Coke or Trousers?’ will be released this festive season.
If you want to catch up in time, you can watch episode 1 here.
Slippery slope and match of the day. Enjoyed that
Such a coincidence that my son travelled to Stuttgart this week on his first "business trip" - I mean of course my real flesh-and-blood son, not you, you hallucinatory heffalump. It tickles me plenty to think that my two progeny, the real son-o-my-loins and the skraggy aspirant, could have rubbed shoulders in such an exotic locale. What larks, eh Pip?
So we've established that if you gob off the Eiffel Tower you'll hit someone who merits it, but what if you rub one out? Will your seed be also cast out to the deserving? Or will it fall on stony ground as with the seed of Onan?
Great little sketches, Sam.