(Studying Law in Germany: Index)
When I chose to take a year out from the middle of my legal studies in England to study at the University of Saarland in Saarbrücken, it was a braver decision than I realised. The problems started long before I even left my home country, as it took me half an hour just to locate the place on a map (on the French border halfway between Bonn and Stuttgart for those still struggling). A little further research revealed why I had never heard of Saarbrücken previously: though capital of the state of Saarland, it is by no means one of Germany's larger cities, and is currently one of the more economically depressed regions in Germany due to its historical dependance on the declining coal and steel industries. In short, there is no reason why the town's name should reach out and grasp your attention.
In the Saarbrücken tourist brochure, J.W. von Goethe is quoted as praising the town's beauty: "This small residence was a bright spot in a rocky, wooded region." Though this statement was no doubt fairly truthful in 1770, I soon discovered that it could not be more misleading for Saarbrücken in the 1990s, for the town is hardly a magnet for tourism. Saarbrücken may not win any beauty contests, but it has its shops and its bars, and indeed most things one would expect from a large town, so as a student sent out here primarily in the pursuit of new academic horizons, I could really have little to complain about. Besides, if one prefers the countryside scenery, there is plenty to offer in the near vicinity once one leaves the town; alternatively, the French border is less than five miles away if an excursion in that direction is preferred. If a little sight-seeing was desired between studying, I simply had to get used to the idea that it was first necessary to leave the town.
The university campus is situated just outside the town, a 10-minute bus ride from the town centre. True to the aesthetic feel of the town, the campus is by far one of the most ugly collections of post-war concrete architecture you could have the misfortune to set your eyes upon. On first entering the main gates I soon encountered the pièce de résistance, a spiralling steel sculpture aproximately 5 metres in height which has seen better days, and is now adorned with the graffiti of more than a few students who seemed to have questioned its cultural value. On a quiet Sunday morning, it completes the impression that everyone just gave up on the campus and abandoned it fourty years ago.
Of course I came here to study German law for a year and not to compose an architechtural critique, so I endeavoured to ignore the outer appearance; and reassuringly, within its walls the university functions as well as any other academic establishment. However, there were several aspects of the university which did come as a surprise to an English student. Primary among these was the absence of a "Students' Union". Such a building is taken for granted at English universities, in that it will offer subsidised bars, food, student societies and clubs, and a large number of other services for students: in short, it is the heart of English student life. In Germany, the rough equivalent is the Asta, which offers a comparatively limited selection of societies and clubs; cafes and a bar are spread around the campus, but they all charge the full prices, and none can stake a claim to being in its own right at the heart of student life. The bar, for example is no larger than any one that may be found in the town, and is usually deserted other than perhaps once or twice a week for special nights. And the arrangements for food were even more of a culture shock: the student is obliged to submit to the monopoly of the 'Mensa', a giant hall where the food is slopped out en masse in a manner one might have thought more appropriate for a nineteenth century prison - an impression accentuated by the spartan decor.
Naturally, the good exchange student (and I do try) will realise that none of the above can be grounds for complaint, and doing my best to broaden horizons from this German experience, I realised that perhaps the differences which at first seemed so shocking were really not all that bad. For example, it was not the case that German students declined to have a social life; it simply took place off campus, by and large. Gradually, as I settled into the German student life, I forgot just why I should have ever needed a Students' Union in the first place. Although, having said that, the dining hall did continue to represent a personal cultural challenge for quite some time after.
However, the greatest challenge the university likes to pose to its new students is the process of registering at the beginning of the semester. Like the average foreign student, I arrived with naive expectations of walking straight into an office where a helpful official would explain the relevant procedures and offer assistence - in and out in 5 minutes. But in contrast to the reputation of efficiency enjoyed by the German nation as a whole, its officials have acquired a reputation among their fellow countrymen for inefficiency and obstructiveness. This, I discovered, was exactly the case for the new foreign student, as I set off with joy in my heart on the first day of term. After trekking to a building in the farthest unknown reaches of the campus, and to the depths of its basement, I found the appropriate office, only to discover that it was closed, other than two mornings a week. Undaunted I returned the next morning, discovering that it was necessary to stand in line for about an hour, since quite naturally all students were trying to register in these two short mornings. The long wait was rewarded when I finally reached the front of the queue, and a six-page form was thrust in my face by an official whose glare had the uncanny ability to sap the will to live of any student who entered her realm; this was followed by loud sighs of impatience seconds later as I dared to enquire just what on earth I was supposed to be filling in. Grudgingly, she gave me her attention for thirty seconds, being sure to leave me in no doubt as to her opinion that I was remarkably stupid for failing to comprehend such a simple form. With the form completed, I had, as instructed, brought passport photos and 160 DM in cash (which I had just had time to change from my travellers cheques after my arrival in the country) for the registration fee. I sensed the impending relief from her glare, spying the finishing post in sight. But at the last moment another hurdle was raised: cash could not be accepted. There was almost a joy with which she informed me of this fact, at the same time exchanging a knowing look with her colleague to the effect that she really did wonder how these foreigners ever made it to a university. So I had to trek all the way over to the other side of campus and pay the registration fee into the university's bank account, and return with a receipt. I returned half an hour later and, naturally, had to join the back of the queue again. When I reached the front this second time, I could swear I caught a glint in her eye, betraying a preverted pleasure from drawing out this tortuous process, and relishing the power exerted over this hapless student. Thankfully, there were no more surprises, and I was able to escape shorty after, my will to live considerably drained by the morning's ordeal, but at least registered at the university. I couldn't help but wonder what she would have planned to catch me out when I came back to register for the second semester - a vision of her handing me a beaker and requesting a urine sample on the spot just kept jumping into my head, though.
David Thorneloe, 23 April 1997