Postcards From Berlin #16: Return to Göttingen

By Jeff Allers
June 5, 2007

German word of the month: Spielerfindung (game design)

Ever since my first trip to the Game Designer’s Meeting last year, I have been looking forward to returning to Göttingen. I’m sure it’s exciting to see the stacks of new shrink-wrapped games at Essen, but lately I’ve actually been spending more time developing and testing prototypes in our Berlin group than trying out new releases. And for two days, the Stadthalle in this quaint university town becomes the ultimate games workshop.

I traveled alone this time, opting for the fast and smooth ICE (Inter City Express) train ride. Though I enjoyed the company last year when I drove with a few friends, reclining in the train was much more relaxing than navigating Autobahn traffic. I even scribbled down a new game idea as I watched the German countryside fly by. I arrived in two and one-half hours, sandwiched myself between two large backpacks—half full of prototypes—and began the trek to the apartment that fellow Berliner Günter Cornett had reserved for our group.

One look around the main train station was enough to see that this was definitely a college town. A Walmart-sized parking lot was filled entirely with bicycles. Young people were everywhere, and bicycles whizzed by in every direction as I made my way down the narrow pedestrian-only streets of the old city center. I passed unending rows of beautiful facades, and nice shops and cafes stretched out in every direction. I ducked into an art store to grab a small piece of cardboard and a few sheets of colored sticky-back dots, then I made my way to the apartment where Günter greeted me at the door.

He led me upstairs where he was in the middle of playing a prototype with a designer named Uwe who was only there for the evening with his wife, Susanne. Günther was interested in possibly publishing one of the prototypes for the upcoming Essen convention. I caught the end of the second game and watched them play the third, a very strategic two-player game set in Bali that had been considered by Kosmos for several years. After taking a photo for my article, I asked Uwe for his last name, and he replied, “Rosenberg.”

I laughed as I sat back in my chair and said, “Ah, yes, I think I know a couple of your games! The Bohnanza king himself.”

Susanne and Uwe chuckled, and he said that it never takes too long after hearing his name before he hears the word “Bohnanza.”

While they continued playing, I inflated my air mattress. Then I brought out the cardboard I bought and began cutting it into square tiles, sticking different combinations of colored dots onto each one. They asked what I was doing, and I told them about my idea on the train. Uwe laughed again, “That’s classic—and my wife thinks I’M crazy, always working on new ideas!”

Soon afterward one of our roommates for the weekend, Stephan Riedel—self-publisher of Old Town and Fleet 1715—walked in with Olaf Hartmann, another Berlin friend. Uwe and Susanne had to leave, and Günter took off for the Gamer Designer’s Association meeting, so Stephan guided Olaf and me to a Cuban restaurant for dinner.

On the way there, a group of young women were passing by, and one started calling to us across the street, “Hey, young studs (approximate translation)!” Before I let myself feel too awkward, I noticed that one of the women wore a wedding veil and I realized it was simply a German bachelorette party. She was wearing a T-Shirt that said, “I won’t be on the market anymore!” and had a box strung around her neck with miscellaneous items in it. Her extroverted friend who had called to us then began her sales pitch, offering us an item of our choice for a small donation to the bride-to-be. I bought something for the bath for my wife, then we wished her well and continued on our way to the restaurant.

While we were waiting for our food, we were treated to tales of Stephan’s adventures in self-publishing. An engineer by trade, he decided to start Clicker Spiele when he received good feedback for his Old Town prototype but was turned down by all the German publishers. Through good reviews and word-of-mouth, he easily sold the 3,000 copies he had produced. At Essen, he sold 400 copies alone. After that, he was busy weekends packaging the game for the approximately 50 orders he received each week. Even his children helped put the game components together. “They had to earn their allowance somehow,” he said with a smile. He also said that more than half of his customers are Americans. After all the sales—and many positive reviews—the game was even considered by the Spiel des Jahres jury, but unfortunately never made the nominations list because one member just couldn’t understand how to play it, Stephan said with a sigh.

Those who are familiar with Stephan’s games know he is particularly fond of puzzles and will be happy to find out that he has several new ideas in the works, including a sequel to Old Town that will be about reconstructing London after the great fire of 1666. He also had a jigsaw puzzle prototype that’s so innovative, I can’t wait to see how it develops, even though I’m not really a jigsaw puzzle fan.

We returned to the apartment to meet another roommate for the weekend, Leipzig designer Ulf Siebert, a physical therapist who works with mentally and physically handicapped people. He also self-publishes his designs—both as part of his work and as a hobby.

My fourth and final roommate, Volker Schwägerl, also arrived. Olaf then left for his mother’s home in nearby Kassel, and Günter returned from his meeting. We played a couple of prototypes, talked awhile, then called it a night.

Saturday morning, I got up early to explore the town a bit before the official activities began. I was proud of myself for remembering where the convention center was, but took a little longer to find the café where I had enjoyed a tall latte macchiato the year before. With my caffeine fuel for the day, I weaved through the old town center, strolling through narrow streets that suddenly opened up to picturesque plazas with fountains and cathedrals. Flower stands were being set up on the market square in front of the town hall, and cafés were setting up their outside seating, awaiting the busy Saturday morning shopping hours. I returned to the apartment to grab my prototypes and headed to the convention center.

Designers and publishers were already waiting outside for the 10 a.m. opening. I stood in line with Stephan and chatted with Harold Mücke, from whom I order many of the wooden bits in my prototypes. He had a dolly loaded with boxes of everything a designer could want: wooden cubes, pawns and discs of every size and color, cardboard tiles of every shape, plastic card game boxes, and more. Stephan and Harold knew each other from Essen, where they usually share a booth.

While we were talking, Reinhold Wittig, the founder and organizer of the meeting, which is now in it’s 27th year, popped out to make an announcement. Apparently, the decorative necklaces from Africa that participants wear each year (you must admit it’s a refreshing switch from the usual armbands) were not available in time this year, and we were required instead to wear plastic chameleons around our necks after paying the 10 Euro entry fee. Michael Schacht and Abacus had to be pleased.

After I registered and drew a wooden block out of a cloth bag with my table assignment on it—what other method would you expect from a game design convention?)—I brought out some of my prototypes for display. I noticed a familiar face getting set up nearby, and I went over to say hello to Sébastien Pauchon. He had just finished organizing the third Swiss designers meeting in his hometown, Vevey, and had about 50 participants from Switzerland and France. I still remember when I bumped into him in Bern a few years ago as he was planning the first meeting. “Göttingen is all business—no one ever just plays,” he had told me. “I want to organize a meeting where the designers get a chance to play the prototypes!”

I noticed a few copies of the much-coveted Animalia on his table and asked whether he was selling them. He wasn’t, but he slipped one into my hand and told me not to tell anyone. (So, dear reader, it’s our little secret, okay?) He also had a new prototype on the table, of course, and it looked equally interesting: a pirate race and collecting game that had an interesting dice mechanic. It was clearly an heir to Yspahan’s now famous dice innovation, but still different enough to make this game one to watch for. And the gorgeous art was produced by the same graphic designer who illustrated Animalia. Unfortunately, though, for the majority of the gaming public, this design is also slated for promotional release only. Some lucky Swiss company will be handing this out to its customers, and I seriously doubt it will be Swatch or Swiss Army.

[Editor’s note: Jeff is talking about Jamaica, designed by Pauchon, Bruno Cathala, and Malcolm Braff with artwork by Mathieu Leyssenne—the same team that did Animalia—and Jamaica is another promotional item for insurance company Assura. Unlike Animalia, Jamaica might make it into general release.]

I left the main hall and went through the gallery to see who else was setting up. I bumped into the only other American at the convention, Bruce Whitehill, a designer who has worked for all the big companies in the USA including Parker Brothers and Mattel, but now resides in Hamburg. He just finished selling 6,000 games from his collection in the U.S., trimming it down to a mere 750. Even more exciting, his first game through a German publisher is coming out at this year’s Essen through Eggertspiele. Bruce explained that it was a horse racing game with a twist.

I then found Günter Burkhardt who had two tables, one for his adult strategy games, and one for his two young children who were showing off their own designs. Stephan joined me as we squared off against Günter’s daughter in a racing game of tower building using colored wooden cubes. The cubes were shaken from a canister by one player until enough cubes in the right colors came out to build one of the towers pictured on several victory point cards. The trick was that you could only use a straw to stack the cubes in the tower. In addition, you only have as much time as it takes one of your opponents to stack five cubes using his own straw.

I’m happy to say I was one of the first people to play this game (and use the straw). Günter’s daughter was clearly a pro, as she kept changing straws, much like a caddy changing golf clubs. I quickly discovered that one cannot laugh and maintain the suction required to lift a wooden cube at the same time. Günter was clearly proud of his children’s effort and lauded the creativity of children in discovering new games to play with common materials around the house—and wooden cubes are, I venture to say, very common articles in the Burkhardt household. I must admit, it was probably my favorite prototype at the event, and I’d love to see it produced by Haba or Selecta—maybe even Zoch if they could somehow add chickens to the design. I tried to convince the young designer to promise me a homemade copy in a few years if a publisher didn’t pick it up so that I could play it with my sons.

I went back to my table and pretty much stayed there for the next eight hours, flagging down publishers to explain my prototypes and catching up with acquaintances from last year. Whenever I had a break, I took another stroll through the gallery, introducing myself to the published designers and taking photos. The tables filled up in the afternoon, as many of the participants were delayed by massive traffic jams. Did I already say how much I love taking the train?

It was much easier this year presenting my designs because I now knew some of the publishers and they remembered me. I also made a couple of appointments in advance: one with Phalanx Games for an archeology game that my friend Bernd Eisenstein and I have been working on for years (and Phalanx has seen each version), and another appointment with Hans im Glück in order to demonstrate a prototype that I had recently sent them.

I played a game with someone from Winning Moves, who was specifically looking for a tile-laying game for their Clans-sized square box. Actually, I heard quite a bit about box size from all the publishers this time around. Apparently, one of my games is too small for most publishers’ big boxes, yet too large for their smaller sizes. It seems that if they published it, they’d either have to super-size it or include tweezers.

I also got in a few good conversations with the folks at Pegasus Spiele, who were generous enough to give me my first contract after seeing “Heartland” at last year’s convention. They are still undecided about how to produce it: either the standard illustrated cardboard or a more abstract all-wood version. I’m still dreaming of the more thematic Vohwinkel-style board and tiles, but they are the ones who have to market it. I am pleased, however, that they are about to secure the rights to Grant Wood’s famous painting “American Gothic” for the cover art, after much persistence in overcoming the language barrier on the phone with the Chicago Museum of Art.

It wasn’t long before the organizers were shooing us out the door, and many of the 120 designers marched down to an Italian restaurant for the traditional spaghetti dinner. I walked alongside Christwart Conrad most of the way. In addition to showing prototypes, he was also selling new and used games at the convention. Several of his new game designs are not board games, however, but team-building games aimed at businesses. It seems that Sébastien is not the only one using game design in the corporate world.

After eating and chatting at the restaurant, and even playing a few quick games of Geschenkt, Stephan, Ulf, Volker and I headed back to the apartment where we played one of my card game prototypes and finally tested the idea I had come up with on the train, which I think has potential. (Ironically, the “pay to pass” mechanic of Geschenkt, also used in one of the Bausack games, was an inspiration.)

We also marveled at the production quality of my copy of Animalia. Only a Swiss insurance company would go so far for a promotional game, someone joked. We examined the box and noticed that it was made in Germany. After discussing all the games that are now being made inexpensively in China, we agreed that Germany was probably relatively inexpensive from the perspective of the Swiss.

Sunday morning, we had breakfast together, consisting of rolls and dark breads, with salami, cheese, marmalade and Nutella—and about a gallon of coffee.

I deflated my air mattress, packed up my backpacks, and headed for the convention center early, so that I could have a little time to myself before it opened at ten. Just outside the center, a cathedral that had been built between 1000 and 1499 opened its doors, and music poured out. It was only 9:30, so I decided to go in. A flutist was practicing with the organist for the upcoming service, and I sat alone at the front of the church, enjoying the music and architecture, my backpack towering above the pew. The ancient cathedrals of Europe were usually built at a scale that make visitors feel very small. It reminded me that my life is not like most Eurogames where so much is under my control—and yet I experienced a peace in that place that can only be a product of faith.

After my private worship service, I returned to the convention center for the remainder of the event. I showed one of my two-player games to a representative from TM-Spiele and showed a few things to fellow Berliner Thorsten Gimmler, who wanted to drop by our gaming group again sometime soon.

After that, I tried to flag down Amigo to show them a few card games, but they were too busy and told me just to send the prototypes to them. Ulf showed be a couple more of his games, including a tile-laying game with some very challenging shapes. It was definitely a thinker along the lines of the Mensa Mindgame.

I left a couple of hours early to catch the train and get back in time for “work,” the evening youth service at our Berlin church. It was another wonderful Göttingen experience, not just because I have a few more prototypes in circulation among the German publishers, but mostly because it was fun and encouraging to get together with friends made in the previous year and to make new ones.

Pictures - Click the picture for a larger version
	Stefan Dorra (left) is ready to demonstrate his latest designs with wife Rita
	Berliner Hartmut Kommerell speaks with Martina Hellmich and Christian Hildenbrand from Huch & Friends; Martina invited me to my first gaming group several years ago, and I went to my first game designers’ meeting with Hartmut last year
	Friedemann Friese catches up with Edith Schlichting, a veteran game designer since 1970; Friedemann came to the event mostly just to spend time with old friends, as most of his latest prototypes will be produced by his own publishing company
	Wolfgang Panning shows a new prototype to Peter Eggert of Eggertspiele with Steffan Brückner looking on
	On display by the Spiel des Jahres table near the entrance was this comparison between the Nacht der Magier prototype and finished product
	Fred Horn prepares a give-away version of his sardine game for me, complete with edible gummi-fish; “ Now don’t eat them right away because you won’t be able to try the game!” he warned
	Karl-Heinz Schmiel of Hans im Glück looks at a game from Belgian designer Dirk Liekens and Nicky Vermeerbergen
	Martin Schlegel enjoys a visit from Hans im Glück’s Georg Wild
	Michael Schacht sports his trademark baseball cap; could he win his first Spiel des Jahres award with Zooloretto?
	Günter Cornett has been helping these young Berlin designers develop their two-player game set in Japan; I playtested it back in Berlin a couple of weeks ago and thought that many of the mechanics were very good

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