#wandergesellen

By Melissa Eddy, NY Times, Aug. 7, 2017

They hitchhike across Europe, instantly recognizable in the wide-bottomed, corduroy trousers, white shirts and colored jackets that identify them as bricklayers, bakers, carpenters, stonemasons and roofers.

They are “Wandergesellen,” or journeymen--a vestige of the Middle Ages in modern Europe--young men, and these days women, too, who have finished their required training in any number of trades and are traveling to gather experience. Most are from German-speaking countries.

In the past, journeymen traveled under the auspices of a trade association, and today many still do. But many also take up the practice freely, though still adhering to the strict, often arcane, rules handed down largely through word of mouth to preserve the tradition.

According to custom, young men and women wishing to become journeymen find someone already on the road to sponsor them and help organize their trip. Prospective journeymen are debt-free, unmarried and no older than 30. They agree to stay away from home for at least as long it took to complete their traineeship--usually two or three years--plus a day, and to live by their wits, their trade and the generosity of strangers.

The night before setting off from home, a future journeyman traditionally hosts a party to say farewell to family and friends. In the course of the night, a hole is made in his or her earlobe for an earring to wear throughout the journey. Tradition holds that anyone who breaks the rules will have the earring torn out, marking that person with a cleft lobe, or a “split-ear,” a term long since adopted in the German language for a crook.

The morning after the party, the neophyte buries a memento near the boundary of his or her hometown, then climbs over the city limits sign to fall into the arms of fellow journeymen who have gathered to see the new traveler off before they resume their own journeys.

Over the coming weeks and years, the journeymen will share a kinship, serving as guides and providing a professional network and emotional support.

Journeymen carry a pocket-size diary to be filled with stamps from cities visited and testaments of work accomplished along the way. Traditionally these books were used as a résumé for finding work after a journey. Today they serve more as a travel diary.

While on the road, journeymen are not supposed to pay for food or accommodations, and instead live by exchanging work for room and board. In warm weather, they sleep in parks and other public spaces. They generally carry only their tools, several changes of underwear, socks and a few shirts wrapped into small bundles that can be tied to their walking sticks--and that can also double as pillows.

Most journeymen will work in the jobs for which they are trained. But they also take other work, either to expand their skill set or out of a need for food or a change of pace. Large summer projects, lasting several weeks, will see bakers handling jackhammers and gardeners helping out in the kitchen.

In public, journeymen wear distinctive traveling garb, their trousers sewn with pockets deep enough to hold a folded meterstick or a bottle of beer. The color of their jackets indicates their trade: Carpenters and roofers wear black, tailors maroon and gardeners deep hunter green. There are other clues, too, in their belt buckles and the brooches on their ties.

Their dress makes them instantly recognizable in the German-speaking world, though not necessarily beyond. “Outside of Germany, we are often taken for cowboys,” said Arnold Böhm, 25, a carpenter from Görlitz who spent time working in Cape Verde, Namibia and South Africa.

During the World Wars the tradition stopped, fully reviving only in the 1980s and ‘90s. Many trade associations from the Middle Ages are still around, and others have sprung up for new vocations. Women also are part of the modern tradition.

In an adaptation of the old rules to modern times, journeymen do not carry devices like cellphones that allow them to be found. They carry digital cameras, if they like, and write emails from public computers.

Journeymen travel in groups or on their own, depending on their trades and their routes, often finding one another by sight. “Have you seen people who look like me?” Mathias Müller, a carpenter, asked people in Tübingen after arriving there to meet up with friends.

Traditionally, a journeyman was not allowed to travel or seek work within a 60-kilometer radius of his hometown--a guideline intended to encourage an exchange of ideas among those practicing any given trade. Today, it remains a way to ensure that the journeyman develops independence.

Nepomuk Neyer, 26, a wicker weaver from Innsbruck, Austria, recounted once traveling beyond the radius but still near enough that he could look down the valley and see his home. “That was the hardest moment,” he said.

Many of the young people who head off on such a journey had rarely left home, and then only with their parents or on school trips.

Nonetheless, for many the hardest part of their journey is deciding when to end it. The responsibilities and monotony of a daily routine have a way of making the challenges of wandering from place to place, not always knowing where you might sleep, seem like fun.

Rommerskirchen: Handwerker auf der Walz zu Gast beim Bürgermeister

Rommerskirchen – Stefan und Linda, zwei Handwerker auf der Walz, statteten Bürgermeister Dr. Martin Mertens jüngst einen Besuch ab. (more…)

Das Craft Center in der Innenstadt haben mir schon verschiedene Leute ans Herz gelegt. Hier gibt es Schmuck, Kleidung, Kunst, eben handwerklich Gefertigtes zu kaufen. Ich gucke mich nur ein bisschen und sammle Ideen für Souvenirs. Nebenan ist ein Buchladen, dessen Besitzer mich auf Deutsch anspricht. Ich frage nach einem Afrikaans-Sprachführer. Er hat keinen und sagt: „Einen Liebhaber zulegen“. Das ist schon das zweite Mal, dass ich diese Antwort bekomme. Vielleicht lasse ich das mit dem Afrikaanslernen einfach.

Auf dem Weg zurück komme ich an Marktständen vorbei. Ich frage nach dem Preis der Ohrringe. Die Verkäuferin meint: „50. But I am ready to negociate“ - „They are not for me, they are for my mother.“ „Ok, 40.“ Naja, das geht noch besser. Am nächsten Stand haben Himba-Frauen ihre Ware ausgelegt. Bei der rotbraun bemalten Haut, den kunstvollen Frisuren und nackten Brüsten fällt es mir schwer, sie nicht anzustarren. Obwohl das wahrscheinlich ok wäre. Sie sind es gewohnt und bieten vorbeigehenden Touristen an, Fotos zu machen. Die Damen wollen mir ein Armband für 50 Dollar verkaufen. Ich zeige 20, das akzeptieren sie nicht. Dann krame ich so lange in meiner Tasche nach Münzen, bis sie sich mit 21 und einem verpackten Teebeutel zufrieden geben.

Am Nachmittag gehe ich mit meinem Laptop ins Roof of Afrika, einem Hotel-Restaurant, dass etwa zehn Minuten von meiner Wohnung entfernt liegt. Hier gibt es guten Cappuccino und vor allem W-Lan - hat Janna gesagt. Ich habe mich kaum hingesetzt, da werde ich von einem volltrunkenen Buren Mitte 50 angeplappert. Er möchte die Lady aus England (?!) gerne zum Essen einladen. Ich bin ziemlich geduldig, aber nach einer Weile wird es mir zu blöd und ich ignoriere ihn. Da schläft er ein. Als er wieder aufwacht, nervt er weiter. Der junge Wandergeselle, der mir schon beim Reinkommen aufgefallen war, bietet einen Platz an seinem Tisch an. Den nehme ich gerne. Wegen des Trunkenbolds, aber vor allem, weil ich schon immer mal mit einem Wandergesellen reden wollte.

Stefan ist Maurer aus dem Sauerland und seit zwei Monaten hier. Mit seinem Freund, einem Tischler, ist er von Deutschland aus nach Israel getrampt. Dann wieder nach Deutschland, Belgien und jetzt Namibia. In zwei Wochen gehen sie nach Angola. Die beiden wohnen im Roof of Africa. Auf der Welt gibt es eine Handvoll Treffpunkte für ihre „Gesellschaften“, das ist einer von ihnen. Er erzählt, dass das ganze Hotel von Gesellen gebaut wurde und macht mich auf kunstvolle Schnitzereien aufmerksam.