Germany's No-Go Zones
Germany.
German residential architecture.
It had one decisive difference from Korea.
Creak—!
Namely, the basements.
The host couple opened the door to the underground storage.
"You can't follow us from here."
"Okay."
"It's not that we don't want to show you…"
"It's lambic, so of course."
Mass media loves to preach that only wine is refined and truly great, but…
This was the neighboring country. There was no way the cultures wouldn't overlap. That was why every house had a cellar.
"Something smells musty."
"Don't go any farther."
"Why?"
"Lambic is an extremely sensitive beer."
There was a reason for everything. Like wine, lambic was a drink that slept for long years.
An aging cellar.
It was even more delicate than wine. Just an outsider setting foot inside could kill the brew.
Creak—!
They brought out two bottles of lambic. One was clearly homemade—a plain, unmarked bottle.
"This is the lambic my wife and I made…"
"I made all of it."
"You just stay quiet!"
It was a common hobby among middle-aged couples, the same way Koreans steeped plum wine. One difference, though:
The process was pure luck of the draw.
They didn't pitch cultured yeast the way you did with wine or clear rice wine. It fermented naturally. Wild yeast from the air drifted in. That was why outsiders were such a threat.
Glug glug glug~!
The wild yeast might die. Then they couldn't make lambic anymore—or if they did, the flavor would change.
"It's an incredibly complicated drink."
"Yeah."
"The aroma isn't exactly pleasant."
"Ahem."
It really was a precious liquor. So precious that it was commercially awkward.
No quality control, no mass production.
Relying on spontaneous fermentation made it nearly impossible to produce the desired volume at the desired quality on demand.
Gulp!
The taste was ambiguous too. Charitably, it was tart. Uncharitably, it tasted like vinegar that had gone off.
"For me it's a little…"
"Hmm~ It's properly made, though."
"Looks like authentic lambic is still too early for this kid."
That was why it was a point of debate among serious drinkers. Should you drink lambic straight?
Or blend it?
Lambic was aromatic. Add fruit or mix it with beer and it became something luxurious.
"This one's delicious!"
"Right?"
"It's a bit sour, but the cherry aroma just bursts out…"
For the brat Sora, the old man had pulled out a commercial kriek—lambic with cherries added.
Glug glug glug~!
I drank the old man's lambic. The taste of rotting straw and tobacco seemed to be this house's signature.
Every now and then you hit the jackpot with these.
This one's pretty good, isn't it? Plenty of regional or family traditional drinks had gone mainstream that way. In stock terms, it felt like uncovering a hidden multi-bagger.
This house didn't seem to be one of them, though.
"Thank you so much for the wonderful hospitality. This is nothing special, but…"
"Oh, Kimchi! Next time you're in Freising, drop by again."
"I definitely will."
"By then I hope things have progressed with that young lady who's your sex friend."
"She likes sex so much it's exhausting."
"?"
It was decent enough. You had to taste all kinds of liquor so that when you finally found a truly great one, you would recognize it.
That was why experience mattered.
Sora had grown a little too. She was learning about Germany itself.
"I thought they'd all be completely blunt…"
"Germany does have that image."
"Next time I meet a German, I won't feel awkward—I'll just start talking."
Sora, who had been floating, regained her footing. Looking at cocks seemed to have made Germans feel familiar to her.
But not every cock is a good one.
Tourist special: you only see the good side of a country. Some things you only feel by living there. Especially if you were an investor, you needed to know what was actually happening in Germany right now.
This wasn't my first time in Europe. I'd come several times on family trips.
I was really little back then, though…
Back then it was just a tourist destination. I never paid attention to people on the street. What stuck were the beautiful scenery and the food. Photos I pulled out now and then. Good memories.
But calling that real experience was a stretch.
"Guten Tag? This please!"
"What's this? An Asian comes to Germany and speaks American."
It finally felt like I was getting to know the real Germany. Sora was talking to the shop auntie.
If you just point at the phone screen, they understand.
We had come to the market. Rows of shops that felt like a traditional Korean market. Unfamiliar goods, unfamiliar people. It was exciting, like returning to childhood.
"Cock— I mean, the sausage is huge."
"What's a cock?"
Street food stimulated the appetite. Smell and sound alike were thrilling.
Sizzle…!
Sausages cooking on the grill. So many varieties I didn't know what to pick.
"Bockwurst. Try, try!"
"So it's called bockwurst. One please. Please!"
We decided on the biggest one. It looked like it went into a bun like a hot dog.
One centimeter bigger than oppa's cock.
Stuffing it into your mouth would definitely taste good. I wanted to chew it up. They must have been attentive, because it came out fast. On top of the big hot dog wrapped in bread—
Squirt!
Sauce. Just like the other customers, I piled on ketchup and mustard.
Fucking delicious!
The full-course meal on the plane had been good too. But street food had its own romance. It felt like I had become an ordinary German citizen. Excited, I started buying everything.
"Senior, look at this. The peaches are flat!"
"Flat peaches."
"Did they just name them half-assed?"
"The name was always half-assed."
Even the fruit was new. Senior already knew how to eat them.
Crack!
He split one in half with both hands, then gently peeled the skin like a sweet potato.
"Oh… Senior, you're good at peeling."
"I'm always good at peeling things."
"You're good at talking shit too."
One bite and juice overflowed. Familiar yet somehow different.
So this is a German peach.
Juice exploded in the mouth. The overall flavor wasn't that different. But the atmosphere—buying it at a German market and eating it right there—was just too fun.
Fired up, Sora wandered everywhere. Before she knew it she had gone too deep.
"Senior. Senior?"
She had lost him too. With the crowds, even looking around right away made him hard to find.
Beep— beep—
The call wouldn't connect either. Sora panicked for a moment, but then—
Whatever.
The country that had felt strange was now fairly familiar. Even without Senior, no problem. She toured Germany's traditional market alone. Just as she was thinking that wandering by herself was fine—
No-Go-Zone
A peculiar sign came into view.
Investing in a country. You had to consider many things.
Germany might look like it's rolling along peacefully…
In reality the cracks were spreading wide—because of political risk.
Refugee policy. Pro-Russia policy. The current chancellor, Merkel, was pushing both.
Of course she was doing it under political calculation.
Europe wanted to stand on moral high ground. It extracted benefits by forcing that stance on other countries. Even our country got all kinds of interference—nuclear power isn't eco-friendly, your exports have problems, and so on.
"What are you doing?"
"Ah, Senior."
"Why are you standing there like an idiot?"
"There's a weird sign here…"
But when it went too far, the price you paid only became clear with time.
The side effects of accepting refugees.
She had no idea. The Sora who had gotten lost was lingering right on the lot she absolutely must not enter.
"Don't you know English?"
"I know English, but… the top part is German."
"It obviously means don't go."
"If someone says don't go, people want to go even more. That's human nature."
"Hmm."
Normally she wouldn't have. But people get excited on trips. Sora was acting like a kid—without the slightest idea how dangerous it was.
Danger. Zone you must not enter.
So why? It was true that the reason was hard to imagine.
"That side is a district where a lot of refugees live."
"Ah~ I see. But why can't I go?"
"Because law and common sense don't work there."
"??"
A face full of question marks. Having lived peacefully in Korea, it was understandable she wouldn't get it.
Common sense.
That common sense was different. She hadn't even begun to grasp the global standard.
"You don't get it?"
"Well…"
"Then go once."
"Wah!"
I shoved Sora's back. The strong repulsive force half-forced her foot across the line.
A dark alley. With the sun down it was already dim, and the shadows there were even thicker.
Gulp!
Residual momentum and curiosity moved her feet. The place she entered after steeling herself—
"S-Senior, I…"
"What."
"My feet. My feet."
She seemed to want to show off the smell of her toes. Or maybe it was a serious SOS. From the plump ass I wanted to stroke, her whole body was trembling in a straight line.
Ugh. Body stacked like crazy and still a total brat inside.
I grabbed Sora's slim waist and made her take a step.
"What's wrong."
"Th-there are people."
"Of course. People live here."
"They stared right through me."
I had scared her a little. Humans learn through experience that touching something hot burns you. Same here. You had to experience at least once that Korea and foreign countries were different before it sank into your head.
This isn't Korea.
She would have grown up just a little.