Acts of kindness

"But it's such a beautiful sound, for a young girl like you," reasoned the salesman, who had a mustache that went from ear to ear, braces and a red silk scarf tied around his neck.

The white Dutch bike - a Gazelle - looked great with its long sloping crossbar, big wheels and elegant curving handlebars, but you'd be able to hear the creaking saddle for miles.

'My old one was a creaker,' I thought to myself, 'And I was sort of hoping that I might be able to ride in a more dignified manner with my new one.'

As I was mulling this over, I suddenly felt a hand go into my bag. I looked up and his whiskers were twitching; his eyes glistening.

"I didn't see that," he said, looking around cheekily.

In my bag was a yellow bottle of grease.

"Just put it on the springs under the saddle and that should sort it," he told Daniel, who was just as surprised as me that the salesman was stealing from his own shop.

"Now, let's find you a bike lock," he continued. "You should bargain a bit when you go to buy. Get the manager to throw the lock in for free," he said. And I was half-expecting him to slip it into my bag too.

This was the first of a long line of acts of kindness that I've had over the past few months.

From the receptionist at the swimming pool lending me her own personal towel when I forgot mine to the woman in the bakery giving me a free cookie, just because I stood and chatted to her for a while, and I think she liked me.

Germans have even been kind recently despite me breaking the rules. (See my earlier post "Ordnung muss sein" about why they really don't like rule-breakers).

Last week I was cycling to work on the pavement-cycle path along a busy main road when a policeman with a thick square mustache stopped me.

"Uh-oh," I thought, getting ready to pay the fine. I knew instantly it was because I didn't have my lights on.

But he turned out to be quite jolly and just told me to be careful and remember next time.

The same day, Daniel returned to his parked car to find a couple loitering beside it.

"You can't park here," the woman said. "This is a doctor's parking space."

Daniel had broken the rules and normally I would have expected the Germans to get a bit hot under the collar about it.

Daniel apologized and said he would move it straight away to the spot that had become free in front of him.

"No, no," the man said. "We'll push you."

At first Daniel protested, but the couple was already behind his car. They told Daniel to release the hand brake and rolled him into place.

I told an American friend about it, and she said she often has these experiences: "They feel sorry for me being a clueless American," she explained.

But Daniel says it's more about the part of Germany that we're in. These are typical Rheinlaender.

I noticed it first when I went into cafes in Bonn, and the strangers at the table next to me would wish me "Guten Appetit". Coming from London when only weirdos speak to you, I was totally shocked by this familiarity.

The German stereotype for someone from the Rhine region is a merry sociable drinker who talks a lot in a funny dialect. This is a region where Carnival isn't just a week-long excuse to binge drink. It's a way of life where boisterous pantomime-like characters go to events over most of winter to dress up and sing silly songs.

The warm-hearted Rhinelaender is one of the many reasons why I love living in Bonn.