I was pondering how to start this entry dedicated to the third letter of the alphabet when it hit me—German has very few words that begin with C! Rafi suggested Kuchen (cake), and Leo offered Katze (cat), not realizing that K has a lot more clout among krauts. I didn’t want to resort to a loan word like Cocktail or Cannabis, mainly because Erol and I haven’t had time for either, given the demands of overseas parenting.
So, I’ve landed on an English C-word that could serve as Freiburg’s unofficial password: Cycling. “Bike-friendly” doesn’t even begin to describe it. While Freiburg’s population of 130,000 isn’t exactly Amsterdam-level, I’ve never seen so many cycles of every shape and size in one place. Longtail cargo bikes, front-loader cargo bikes (like ours), box bikes, trikes, recumbents, folding bikes, road bikes, bikes with chariots, and even triple tandem bikes (not even sure that’s what they’re called?!). Cycling is, without a doubt, the best way to get around Freiburg, though it does require a crash course in traffic signs.
Whenever I ask Erol to explain the signs, I swear his summary is: “You have the right-of-way (Vorfahrt). Just don’t stop.” Eek! In Toronto, there are four-way stop signs on practically every corner. In Freiburg? I’ve yet to see a single one.
Well, I better do my traffic school homework because being a Freiburg mom means HAULING ASS. Seriously, the women here are ripped, and I don’t think it's thanks to CrossFit or F54 or whatever the latest fitness trend may be. I marvel at these moms shuttling three and four kids up hills on wild bicycle configurations, probably en route to a family swim or hike. And when they’re not dragging little humans around, they’re jogging through the woods. I am humbled!
Fortunately, I’ve been feeling steadier on our massive set of wheels, though I’ll admit I already tipped over once with the kids inside (which, thankfully, they found hilarious). I’ve noticed, however, that shuttling a seven-year-old like Rafi is unusual. Most kids his age bike independently, and I’ve even seen toddlers trailing behind their parents on tiny two-wheelers.
On Saturday, we biked into the Innenstadt (old town center) to explore the newly rebuilt Stadtgarten playground (Spielplatz, one of the few words my kids only say in German). There's no way to reach the playground by car. Though much of Freiburg was destroyed in WWII and rebuilt with cars in mind, things changed in the 1970s when the Green Party implemented forward-thinking urban transport policies. Expanded tram networks, integrated cycling paths, and pedestrian zones (including the entire Innenstadt) have transformed the city into a safe, quiet, and clean haven. (Could someone please forward this blog post to Doug Ford?!)
The kids were super whiny that day, but the playground was awesome. What I especailly love about German playgrounds -- strange as it may sound -- is that they're kinda dangerous! While I did notice some helicopter parents (Hubschrauber-Eltern), kids here are encouraged to take risks. Germans seem more worried about a draft from an open window than kids falling off treacherous multistory climbing structures.
Risk-taking at playgrounds and cycling from an early age are just two examples of a broader child-rearing ethos. Kids here aren’t pushed to read early—kindergarten focuses on play, and formal schooling starts at age six, sometimes closer to seven, depending on the kid's readiness. But once they’re in school, they’re given freedom and responsibility.
Rafi recently befriended a classmate, and we arranged a playdate over the weekend. After chatting with his friend’s parents over tea, the boys headed to the Bolzplatz (a muddy soccer pitch), evidently the place to be if you're a boy between the ages of 5 and 12. Rafi was the smallest kid there, but he held his own, and after about 15 minutes, his friend’s mom left without bidding him goodbye. Her son wandered home an hour later. The two remaining eight-year-olds asked for the time so they wouldn’t be late for dinner.
As we made our way back to our bikes, we realized we were on a designated play street! I’ve been trying (unsuccessfully) to convince our City Councillor to turn our residential street into a play street for just two hours a week. Meanwhile, in Freiburg, play streets are run-of-the-mill.
Both Rafi and Leo are making strides in German. Rafi understands splendidly but speaks cautiously, while Leo knows only a handful of words but uses them freely and with gusto (personality differences in a nutshell!). If I'm honest, Leo is starting to sound a bit like Bela Lugosi’s Count Dracula (of “I vont to suck your blood!” fame). He constantly asks “Was?” (pronounced vuss), and his first (half) German sentence was: “Was did you gesagt?” (What did you say?). At the soccer pitch, he likes to shout, “Weißt du was?!” (You know what?!) before thwapping the ball. Somewhat more bewildering is when he cannonballs into the pool, yelling, “Kartoffelbrei!” (Mashed potatoes!).
Speaking of pools, I must briefly sing the praises of the local Bürgerbad (citizens’ pool), which the kids adore, even if Rafi was disappointed to learn they don’t have burgers there. But get this! They do have a café that serves lattes in proper glasses, with tiny brownies on the side, and freshly made waffles served with applesauce in silver coupes, and grilled paninis, and, and, and can you tell I’m excited about this?!
We are used to public pools with a lot of rules. I know Germans are reputed to be major rule-followers, but maybe that’s why rules don't need to be so strictly enforced. A small sign reminds parents they’re responsible for supervising their kids. One lifeguard oversees 100 swimmers, no wristbands or height checks required (thankfully for tiny Rafi, who has been waiting for YEARS to reach the top of the dolphin at Riverdale Pool so he can finally go down that goddamn walterslide!). When Leo proudly collected rings from the bottom of the pool, the lifeguard said, “Wow, you’re a good diver!” I responded, “Yeah, he’s better at diving than swimming.” Upon realizing that Leo can’t actually swim, the lifeguard added, “Maybe stay out of the deep water,” and walked away. (By the way, today is Leo's first swim lesson at our fave pool!)
At Forest Kindergarten, however, Leo still feels a bit like a fish out of water. And yes, that means Erol pretty much attends kindergarten fulltime! When I asked Leo what’s bothering him, he said, “There’s nothing to do there.” My flimsy attempts to convince him—“What about whittling twigs? Or the rope swing, or um … that pile of dirt?!”—didn’t exactly land. As the saying goes, “Aller Anfang ist schwer” (every beginning is difficult).
But there’s hope! Today, Leo helped hand out apple slices during the daily hike, and yesterday, I heard him mimic his teacher as we walked through a park: “Weiter geht’s” (On we go). Indeed, we just keep on trucking!
German playgrounds ARE dangerous! I was so worried sending Lily to play when we visited Leipzig (she was four, I think?).
Another lovely blog. Makes me smile reading it while I ride our subway. Wish Toronto could do all these things too- proper snacks with no waste, active transportation infrastructure, and the focus on nature & play.
Toll geschrieben, liebe Rachel. Mit so viel Humor und Augenzwinkern. Es macht wirklich großen Spaß, Deinen Blog zu lesen. ❤️