Does This Feel Like Euro Summer?

There are certain movies that children somehow never seem to grow tired of watching over and over again. In my house, that specific movie is Zootopia 2, a film that I have seen more times than I would like to admit. And when we are not watching Zootopia 2, my kids are incessantly demanding to listen to the song “Zoo” by Shakira. One day, after listening to “Zoo” for what might have been the hundredth time, my son told me that Shakira is a good singer because she is pretty.

I responded by telling him that ugly people can be good singers, too. Not convinced, he then asked to see a picture of Shakira. After coming face to face with the Google search results, my son was genuinely surprised to find out that Shakira is indeed a human and not a singing gazelle/activist who lives in the fictional city of Zootropolis.

This realization led us to listen to more of Shakira’s songs, including, but not limited to, “Eurosummer,” a collaboration between Zara Larsson and Shakira. As a result, the refrain from the song has been stuck in my head in typical Ohrwurm fashion: “This feels like Euro summer.”

Sometimes, I am a bit concerned that my Substack algorithm does not know me at all. Like clockwork, during the months of June, July, and August, my Substack feed becomes flooded with articles and notes about what to wear for a European summer vacation or how to have the best Euro summer, whatever that means. Even better are the inevitable articles about how Europeans do everything better than Americans and how if you move to Europe, all your dreams will come true! Or was that Disneyland?

Never mind the fact that I already live in Europe. Albeit in Germany, where apparently no one wants to spend their summer vacation, as I have not read any articles about people eating Schnitzel or participating in Freikörperkultur. So, in an effort to diversify summer travel writing, I would like to share a few experiences from my Euro summer.

Back in May, when it was still technically spring, we had a warm spell that had everyone looking forward to summer. A month later, at the end of June, we experienced a record-setting heat wave that had everyone cursing summer, or at least global warming. In fact, Germany recorded a new high temperature at 106.7 degrees Fahrenheit (41.5 Celsius) on June 28th.1 It was so hot that schools implemented Hitzefrei and sent students home early, sections of the Autobahn were closed because the highway was literally melting,2 and the Frankfurt Ironman was shortened by race organizers due to the extreme temperatures.3 More seriously, over 10,000 people have already died this year from heat-related causes, a number that surpasses every full-year death total since 2016.4

I have never lived with air conditioning. But trying to conduct daily activities and string coherent thoughts together in the sweltering heat, all while blowing hot air around our house with a fan only to have my kids wake up in the middle of the night and croak “Water,” was somewhat difficult.

The heat wave did not exactly bring out the best in me. There were times when I did, indeed, lose my cool. For example, my family and I spent a considerable amount of time at public pools this summer. And no matter where we went, there always seemed to be people who lacked the ability to judge which water activities were appropriate in crowded swimming pools, along with a questionable assessment of their own athletic abilities. In one instance, a group of teenage boys was throwing around a ball and my son, mistakenly caught in the crossfire, was hit square in the head and started crying. This accident triggered something in me, and I briefly transformed into the Incredible Hulk, complete with a manic outburst that led the boys, as well as my husband, to slowly back away from the premises. However, since the pool was so full, no one else appeared to take notice of my curious behavior.

Not entirely due to the summer heat wave and its personality-altering effects, my husband and I decided to take our family to Denmark for our summer vacation. When preparing for our trip, we looked at a map and settled on a location close to the northernmost point of the Jutland peninsula. Surely, we would not be needing any air conditioning up there.

Until our vacation, my exposure to the Nordic countries had been limited to two business trips to Finland a while ago, which I mostly enjoyed but didn’t really notice any fundamental differences to Germany, other than the widely accepted use of Apple Pay. I was, therefore, in no way prepared for the onslaught of tall, blonde, and tan people who infiltrated the small beach town of Løkken, where we were staying. Not only was I unable to keep my cool in the heat, but it also became apparent how uncool I am compared to Danish and Norwegian parents on a number of occasions.

One late afternoon, after spending the day at the beach, we walked to the town center. There was a little square where people gathered to sit in the sun and some toy tricycles were lying around by a ramp for kids to play with. As the town was in full summer vacation mode, there were kids everywhere. And, despite kids of all ages playing together in one concentrated area, in some sort of hygge miracle, I didn’t witness a single accident. There were no tears, no fights, no parents scolding anyone, or any of the other scenes I’ve come to expect whenever children gather in large numbers.

Left to their own devices, the children simply moved out of the way when another tricycle was coming and no one left with even so much as a scrape on their knee. All the while, the parents sat around with their designer sunglasses, Birkenstock sandals, and occasionally smiled and took notice of their kids.

Kids? What kids? Completely forgetting about my own children, I was too busy looking around, bewildered. If there was ever a time to feel incompetent about my parenting style or fashion sense, then this was it. Meanwhile, my husband and I hadn’t showered that day, hadn’t combed our hair after the beach, and were still wearing the same clothes as the day before. To put it gently, we looked frumpy in comparison to the polished Scandinavian parents surrounding us. I spent the rest of our vacation contemplating whether I should start learning Danish, and if a change in geography would not only improve my parenting skills, but my general disposition and personal hygiene, as well.

After spending a week at the North Sea, we drove south to visit Legoland, and made a stop in Aarhus on our way there. When we first arrived on a Sunday afternoon, we used a public restroom for which we had to text a code to a phone number to open it, and voilà, it did. We ate lunch in a food hall that used to be a bank. Then, we went to a public library disguised as a children’s paradise with an entire floor full of books, legos, play areas, as well as strategically placed high tables and chairs so that parents could work and keep an eye on their kids. On one of the in-between levels, there was a ping pong table, but instead of using paddles, people played with books.

I was so overwhelmed that I turned to my husband and said, “Deutschland ist so weit entfernt.”5 Immediately, a mom swivelled around in her chair. Of course. A German Mutti with a Handykette.6 While I was mostly able to avoid running into any Germans up north, I was now in too close proximity to Germany. I should have known.

I arrived back in Germany wondering if Denmark had everything figured out. Electric cars, climate change, family life. I wondered how a country sharing a border with Germany could be so different. Was it just the politics, or the people, as well?

And why is it so easy to be impressed by the novelty of a new place? How could I have fallen prey to the classic vacation trap? The very same one that made me want to move to Ireland and become a sheep farmer last summer. Haven’t I gathered enough life experiences by now to know that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side? (Except for Ireland. The grass there is literally greener).

Fifteen years ago, I remember that same feeling of awe the first time I arrived in Germany. Everything was new, everything was different, everything [is] awesome when you’re living out part of a dream… oh wait, that’s the song from The Lego Movie.

Somewhere between contemplating learning Danish and remembering my fleeting desire to become an Irish sheep farmer, I realized that I am remarkably good at convincing myself that life might be better someplace else. And while a wandering mind like mine enjoys a good daydream, the stress and mundaneness of everyday life inevitably follow me wherever I go. Responsibilities, grocery shopping, laundry, all of it.

And despite it all, I do have a pretty great life in Germany, even if no one wants to spend their Euro summer here. Every once in a while, it’s worth remembering that.