“Traveling to Rügen means traveling to Saßnitz,” is what Theodor Fontane once told the husband of his novel heroine Effi Briest. We Reclam slaves remember with a shudder. Well, Fontane was wrong. Traveling to Rügen means traveling on the German Alleenstraße, you can’t want more here. A hand on the steering wheel, an arm dangling out of the rolled down window, a green roof over the roof of the car and the roof of the sky above. If you can, take a convertible.
You trees, what do you want to tell me? Are you well, as well as I am? Do we want to be friends? The ash trees and crimson linden trees lean towards each other, as if there was a secret to be whispered against the Baltic Sea wind: He now again, he here again.
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