Culture Shock #38: Let's fight en route

We are all familiar with the concept of a "Car Fight." Or "Car Disagreement" or "Car Strongly-Worded-Negotiation" if you're part of one of those families or couples who claim they never fight. Regardless, I think we can all agree on the fact that The Car serves as particularly fertile grounds for such heated encounters. It's an enclosed space with limited leg room that most likely smells vaguely of burnt rubber or old cheese. The seats in a car all face forward, which might maximize physical safety, but significantly hinders the engagement in meaningful eye contact essential for emotionally mature conversations. Not to mention, the car is a vehicle meant to take us away from places and towards other places. More often than not, when we duck our heads and scootch our butts into a car, we are either leaving a place we despise or heading towards a place we despise. Work. The doctor's office. Barbara's house, damn her smelly cats and dry casseroles. And god forbid Google Maps needs to be involved in this journey from Despised Place A to Despised Place B, or else it'll be a three-way showdown between you, your spouse, and Siri. This is all to say that, no matter if there is something to disagree about or not, we are rarely in the best of moods when we enter a car. 

Until last week, Car Fights felt like a distant figment of my imagination, something I only vaguely remember experiencing myself. I live in a mid-size town in Germany and can get pretty much everywhere I need to go on a bike. Most people in Freiburg opt for bikes over cars, meaning the whole concept of a Car Fight is something they've only witnessed on TV and in movies. This is not to say that Germans cannot relate to the urge to fight en route. The only difference is their vehicle of choice. 

"I need quiet!" 

A distinctly dad-sounding voice rang out from behind me, disrupting my peaceful sunset stroll. I turned my head to see a young father cycling, his two daughters strapped into double seats on the back of this bike. (The high biking prevalence in Germany means there is an extensive array of bicycle accessories to accomodate every kind of family configuration. The "bike seats" I am referring to here are made for children too young to ride their own bikes. The seats attach to the back of your bike, with leg rests on either side of the back wheel and a seatbelt to keep your kiddo from going flying. On this particular evening, I was witnessing my first "double bike seat", made especially for twin tykes). 

"But daaaaaaad", one of the daughters whined. 

"Why do you always have to have the last word, Lena? I need you to be quiet until we get home."

Whether Lena heeded her dad's orders to be quiet, I will regretfully never know. At this point, the father and his two daughters were too far away to eavesdrop any longer. However, I didn't care because I was busy having the realization that Bike Fights are deliciously auditorily accessible to passersby in a way that Car Fights are not. Car Fights are private - windows up, doors locked. Sure, you can peer into the tinted windows of a neighboring car when you're stuck in highway traffic, but you can't hear anything. Bike Fights on the other hand...

Ever since I had this realization, I've kept my ears nice and open on my long walks around the neighborhood, especially when I see parents on bikes with children strapped on the back. I've found that this bicycle configuration leads to the juciest Bike Fights with the most riveting topics debated. "No trampoline gymnastics tonight" was one of the best yet most tragic sentences I've ever heard a parent say to their child. I should've followed that bike home, so I'd know which house has a trampoline. You know, just in case.