I didn't care. Namely, we found a clearing of true wild blueberries and attacked them. The sun shone through the pine trees, it smelled of moss and needles, it was peaceful and quiet. Both of us have slaw, slaw, and blueberry slaw. And although we came to the meeting with the pleasant director of the local mountain railway with purple around the mouth, as I say, I didn't care for a while. There is no such thing as real German wild blueberries.