October 15, 2008
Long before I lived in the "wild west", I had my own romantic fantasies about what it looked and "felt" like. They were all based on the idealistic depictions of the west by the German author Karl May. The books were describing the adventures of Apache Winnetou, his sister Nscho-tschi and his "blood brother" Old Shatterand. I was 9 years old and read the thick book late at nights, with a flash light under the blanket. (Maybe that is why I am nearsighted today.) This book was magical to me and followed the cowboys as they crossed the Mississippi and the Rio Grande, both such a very exotic sounding names to me. I knew nothing of these far away lands, but they seem very exciting and dreamy to a young girl. In the years that followed, I have forgotten all about this hero of my youth, until I recently stumbled upon the Winnetou movie on one of the German channels on my cable TV. Although the movie felt outdated, silly and at times naive, it did bring back sentimental memories of my childhood, when imagination had no limits and everything was possible.