The German Getaway

Das siamesische Dorf (The Siamese Village)
By Eva Demski
381 pages, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2006 (in German)

For the past half century, Germans have been on a holiday from history. During the Cold War, the two German states lived in a kind of suspended animation. There was stability, to be sure, something inarguably positive and welcome after the horrors of war. But there was also atrophy these past few decades, born of such unusual dependence. In the West German case, being the junior partner of the United States produced a certain intellectual and political laziness.

Since unification, the use of German might, including the deployment of armed forces in Afghanistan, Bosnia, Kosovo, Somalia, and now Lebanon, is a sign that the atrophy has begun to reverse itself. Germans are starting to return to reality and face responsibility in an increasingly mature way. There are also signs that the simplistic moral posturing that has so often dominated difficult debates in the country — Iraq being one example — may begin to fade. The failed terrorist plot to blow up two trains in Germany this summer seems to have had a sobering effect. A frustrated British diplomat once said to me, "You know the Germans, when they face a dilemma they say, ‘That’s a dilemma’ — and then they walk away." That luxury may now be coming to an end. The old West Germany, the state that lived in the warm, soft cocoon of American protection, is gone. Although it feels almost good to be a German again, now comes the hard part. Germans are returning from a vacation that has lasted 60 years.

It’s fitting, then, that Eva Demski’s new book, Das siamesische Dorf (The Siamese Village), is in large part about the end of naiveté and self-imposed illusions. Born Eva Katrin Küffner in Regensburg in 1944, Demski has enjoyed an accomplished career as a broadcast journalist and writer of fiction who won Goethe prizes in 1990 and 2004. Here, the serious journalist lightens up with a fictional mystery that has all-too-real allusions to Germans’ current situation.

For Demski, where better to sprinkle heavy doses of reality into German fantasy and dreams than in Thailand, the quintessential getaway for her fellow citizens for the past two decades? Demski’s two main characters are part of a German tour group that sets off to Thailand for a three-week vacation. Kecki is a 50-something journalist navigating a midlife crisis. Max is her cynical photographer friend. The resort and surroundings are spectacular, of course. But the story is a mystery, not a travelogue. The convoluted, Agatha Christie-style plot follows Kecki and Max as they delve into a strange mafia world and investigate the deaths of two Thai women. They soon find themselves being sucked into a dizzying parade of ruthless Western real estate developers, sun-seeking hedonists, sex traders, and environmentalist do-gooders.

There are the usual ruminations about Third World exploitation, although Demski’s characters are not always sure who exploits whom. "I think [the locals] see us as useful animals," says Kecki. "They do not serve us … but rather we serve them. We are these big fat animals, which they feed in order then to suck our blood."

It’s true that the Germans have been passionate about Thailand for decades — and why not? Third World innocence, environmentalism, acceptable spirituality for a country where secularism has become a favored religion. The country has always been relatively peaceful and stable. It has history, with spectacular ruins and temples. The country’s beaches are pristine. There’s meditation, yoga, Buddhism. To some Germans, Thailand has always counted as refreshingly non-Western, nonmaterialistic and "authentic." At least that has been the fantasy.

The reality is, of course, much darker. Demski’s novel focuses briefly on that much-publicized intersection of utopia (at least of the male variety) and reality, Thai prostitution. With the sex industry accounting for roughly 15 percent of Thailand’s gross domestic product, Demski would be remiss to ignore it. So much of Thailand has changed through tourism and globalization. It is hard to overlook the fact that Western tourism, including golf tourism, has helped play a central role in this transformation away from unspoiled paradise. Some argue that the environment has been destroyed and land "stolen" from the poor. The United Nations has been critical of overdevelopment and the damaging, unintended consequences of ecotourism. It seems reasonable to make at least some connection between Germans’ waking up to reality in terms of both international security and in the damage caused to their vacation destinations. Demski’s book has garnered mixed reviews in Germany, but her themes are in keeping with the time.

At the end of Demski’s holiday mystery, Max concludes that paradise can be really stressful. That’s what happens when you see things with eyes wide open. When asked about her new novel, Demski said she was intrigued by Thailand because, "Even for those Europeans who live and work there, the way of thinking, the [social] structures remain so foreign." It sounds both true and slightly provincial to say such a thing. Read Demski’s book and look at Germany today and you get the feeling that a period of innocence (and ignorance) is about to pass. The dreamy and idealistic world that Germans thought they knew simply doesn’t exist.

In the past decade and a half, unification and globalization have changed everything for Germans. At home, the old consensus model no longer works. The social market economy looks increasingly unsocial. Abroad, uncomfortable dilemmas have to be resolved and the Germans can no longer stand on the sidelines, leaving the hard choices to others. Holidays, including those from history, never last.