So a while back, I went to Sachenhausen concentration camp. It is 10 km north of Berlin. It was quite sad and quite moving. But I cannot write about the enormity of it. Perhaps I can write about a tiny sliver.
In one of the rooms of the Jewish barracks, foot-washing basins line the walls. There is a sign on the wall that says "the SS brutally drowned some prisoners in these basins." I wonder at the word "brutally." They were ambivalently drowned? Gently drowned? Delightfully drowned?
The whole exhibit is like this. A thousand adverbs cling to the events they describe, as if by their presence they could make the reader believe that the events they describe were brutal, savage, and evil. If only adverbs had this power. Seventeen years ago, Neo-Nazi arsonists set fire to the building of the "brutally drowned." The adverbs burned along with all the rest.
It is only the humanity of the reader that will give words their meaning. For most, "brutally" is superfluous. For some, no adverb will ever be enough.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Omnibus
Last night (Saturday) I went out to my first proper European club. On a Saturday night. In Berlin. The music the DJ played was called dubstep, which is apparently some sort of techno. Maarten, the Dutch guy I went with, was absolutely crazy about it.
I found the whole experience rather underwhelming, as when I've done it in North America. Clubbing really just isn't for me.
On Friday I had the most delightful dinner with Lisa, Lisa's mother, and Marty's parents. It was a superb evening. And I heard all sorts of embarrassing stories about Marty from his childhood.
Friday morning I had breakfast with a girl from Montreal who has been living in Paris and Tel Aviv for the past eight months. Apparently the Jews are profoundly racist against the Arabs, and vice versa. There is an enormous amount of hatred. The guy she was staying with in Jerusalem carried a gun around with him all the time, even slept with it under his pillow. The lack of peace in Isreal and Palestine makes much more sense to me now.
I made reference a long, long time ago to "inflaming" North-South German rivalries. What I meant was that most of the people I know from Germany grew up in Bavaria. (Marty, Messi, Jesse, Christine, Daniel.) Bavaria was described to me as the Texas of Germany. It's independent-minded and has a lot of state pride.
So a fun conversation starter with non-Bavarian Germans (almost every German I meet in Berlin) is to say something rather provocative about how "When foreigners think of Germany, everything they think of comes from Bavaria." (Wurst, Bier, Liederhosen, Oktoberfest.) Then we get into a lively discussion about the relative merits of different parts of Germany. It is quite fun.
Oh yes, a completely-unrelated but funny story from a while ago:
I got profoundly fucking drunk on the most amazing combination of apple juice and vodka. It was 60% apple juice and 40% vodka, yet it was so very smooth. The Austrian who gave it to me made me get out my notepad so she could write down its name. She must have realized that I was too far gone to remember a specific brand of vodka. (To be honest, it took less than Sherlock-Holmes-level investigatory powers to figure that out at that point.)
And she was right. I have completely forgotten everything about it, except that it was delicious and German. A few days after I remembered and took out my notepad to get the name: "Büffelgras-wodka."
These same Austrians were going to Amsterdam the next day. They were going there to compete in a hot-air balloon race. I assumed this was some complicated marijuana metaphor. But no. They were literally going to compete in a hot-air balloon competition. Something about landing on a certain spot with the most exactness.
I found the whole experience rather underwhelming, as when I've done it in North America. Clubbing really just isn't for me.
On Friday I had the most delightful dinner with Lisa, Lisa's mother, and Marty's parents. It was a superb evening. And I heard all sorts of embarrassing stories about Marty from his childhood.
Friday morning I had breakfast with a girl from Montreal who has been living in Paris and Tel Aviv for the past eight months. Apparently the Jews are profoundly racist against the Arabs, and vice versa. There is an enormous amount of hatred. The guy she was staying with in Jerusalem carried a gun around with him all the time, even slept with it under his pillow. The lack of peace in Isreal and Palestine makes much more sense to me now.
I made reference a long, long time ago to "inflaming" North-South German rivalries. What I meant was that most of the people I know from Germany grew up in Bavaria. (Marty, Messi, Jesse, Christine, Daniel.) Bavaria was described to me as the Texas of Germany. It's independent-minded and has a lot of state pride.
So a fun conversation starter with non-Bavarian Germans (almost every German I meet in Berlin) is to say something rather provocative about how "When foreigners think of Germany, everything they think of comes from Bavaria." (Wurst, Bier, Liederhosen, Oktoberfest.) Then we get into a lively discussion about the relative merits of different parts of Germany. It is quite fun.
Oh yes, a completely-unrelated but funny story from a while ago:
I got profoundly fucking drunk on the most amazing combination of apple juice and vodka. It was 60% apple juice and 40% vodka, yet it was so very smooth. The Austrian who gave it to me made me get out my notepad so she could write down its name. She must have realized that I was too far gone to remember a specific brand of vodka. (To be honest, it took less than Sherlock-Holmes-level investigatory powers to figure that out at that point.)
And she was right. I have completely forgotten everything about it, except that it was delicious and German. A few days after I remembered and took out my notepad to get the name: "Büffelgras-wodka."
These same Austrians were going to Amsterdam the next day. They were going there to compete in a hot-air balloon race. I assumed this was some complicated marijuana metaphor. But no. They were literally going to compete in a hot-air balloon competition. Something about landing on a certain spot with the most exactness.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Back in Berlin. Amsterdam was nice, but it feels good to be back in Berlin. Oh Berlin, how I love thee.
I met up with a cool Dutch guy on the train. We are staying at the same hostel, and he is also studying history. Post-Napoleonic France to be specific. So we are just going to hang out in the park and drink today, the traditional German Sunday pasttime.
His name is Maarten and this is his first time in Berlin. I took him to a döner shop late last night. He said he wanted something bigger than "just a döner." I suppose I should have explained to him what Berlin döners were like, and this shop in particular. Oh well. In the end, he managed to roll himself away from the table after eating his döner plate (like a döner sandwhich, but bigger and on a plate) and fries.
If only I had a picture to capture his face upon the first bite. It was a look of pure bliss. The scales had finally fallen from his eyes. He saw for the first time that the Dutch "döners" upon which he had been raised were but a shallow imitation of the one True Döner, which can only be found in Berlin. For dinner tonight, I think we will go to the same place again and have another döner.
Upon finishing the döners, then we took our half-full dinner beers with us from the restaurant, and sipped from them as we strolled up this awesome street filled with bars and cafes, called Simon-Drach Strasse (Strasse = Street). It is sort of like NW 23rd in Portland. But more diverse and less expensive, with more energy and fewer cars.
I went to Sophie Charlotte's Palace and then a concentration camp used by both the Nazis and Stalin (Sachenhausen) before I left Berlin and went to Amsterdam. I shall write about it next time though, as I am now out of time.
I met up with a cool Dutch guy on the train. We are staying at the same hostel, and he is also studying history. Post-Napoleonic France to be specific. So we are just going to hang out in the park and drink today, the traditional German Sunday pasttime.
His name is Maarten and this is his first time in Berlin. I took him to a döner shop late last night. He said he wanted something bigger than "just a döner." I suppose I should have explained to him what Berlin döners were like, and this shop in particular. Oh well. In the end, he managed to roll himself away from the table after eating his döner plate (like a döner sandwhich, but bigger and on a plate) and fries.
If only I had a picture to capture his face upon the first bite. It was a look of pure bliss. The scales had finally fallen from his eyes. He saw for the first time that the Dutch "döners" upon which he had been raised were but a shallow imitation of the one True Döner, which can only be found in Berlin. For dinner tonight, I think we will go to the same place again and have another döner.
Upon finishing the döners, then we took our half-full dinner beers with us from the restaurant, and sipped from them as we strolled up this awesome street filled with bars and cafes, called Simon-Drach Strasse (Strasse = Street). It is sort of like NW 23rd in Portland. But more diverse and less expensive, with more energy and fewer cars.
I went to Sophie Charlotte's Palace and then a concentration camp used by both the Nazis and Stalin (Sachenhausen) before I left Berlin and went to Amsterdam. I shall write about it next time though, as I am now out of time.
Friday, August 21, 2009
So I had my first encounter with an obnoxious hostel roommate last night. It was early evening, and I was relaxing on the bed after a long day spent walking around the city. He walked in, turned on the light, and declared that I was in his bed. In general, he seemed quite stressed and hurried. I managed to talk him down after a bit, and we figured out the reason why he has been having such trouble with the cleaning staff and his roommates over the past five nights: he has been sleeping in the wrong bed.
To his credit, he was quite embarrassed about it and apologized profusely. So I think he will be an amiable enough companion for the rest of our roommate-dom.
By the way, I was in Amsterdam last night. And the night before. And am sitting in an internet cafe in Amsterdam right now.
(Important Dutch cultural note: I am in an internet cafe. In Amsterdam, the cafes sell coffee. The "coffee shops" do not, which I learned when I went into one on my first afternoon here.)
I feel as if the experience with the roommate could serve as a model of my experience in Amsterdam in general. People are busy, hurried, uptight, and irritable. The bed mix-up would never have happened in Berlin. Partly because of the more relaxed, easygoing atmosphere of people in Berlin. And partly because in all the hostels I stayed at in Berlin, they just assign rooms and trust everyone to choose their own beds, first-come first serve. Which we did flawlessly for the sixteen days I was in Berlin.
This experience of Amsterdam is as far from my expectations as possible. I expected it to be laissez-faire, tolerant, and generally pleasant.
To be fair, it has been incredibly hot for the whole time I have been here. The humidity of this port city is quite high. And it is August, the height of Tourist season. So there are a large number of people packed into a small, hot area, with a large proportion of them either travellers or having to deal with travellers. This is not a recipe for patience and kindness. Even if the distinctive scent of marijuana can be smelled every few minutes when walking around here.
Everything is also almost exactly twice as expensive in Berlin. Hostel for 1 night? 13 euros Berlin; 25 euros Amsterdam. An hour of internet? 1 euro Berlin; 2 euros Amsterdam. Dinner at a cheap indian restaurant? 4.5 euros Berlin; 8 euros Amsterdam.
And don't even get me fucking started on the doners here.
Pehaps there is a lesson in all this: no matter the natural tolerance and kindness of the people, when they are hurried, hot, and stressed, people are assholes.
Today, the weather is reasonable, people seem to be in better moods (TGIF), I have accepted the fact that I will have to pay twice as much for everything, I have figured out the public transit system, and I know my way around reasonably well. So it is much more pleasant.
By the by, I went to the Amsterdam Historical Museum this morning. They talked forever about how cool Amsterdam was in the 17th and 18th centuries. Those exhibits were really cool. Then they rushed right past the nineteenth century, and barely mentioned what happened in the Second World War. Quite disappointing.
To his credit, he was quite embarrassed about it and apologized profusely. So I think he will be an amiable enough companion for the rest of our roommate-dom.
By the way, I was in Amsterdam last night. And the night before. And am sitting in an internet cafe in Amsterdam right now.
(Important Dutch cultural note: I am in an internet cafe. In Amsterdam, the cafes sell coffee. The "coffee shops" do not, which I learned when I went into one on my first afternoon here.)
I feel as if the experience with the roommate could serve as a model of my experience in Amsterdam in general. People are busy, hurried, uptight, and irritable. The bed mix-up would never have happened in Berlin. Partly because of the more relaxed, easygoing atmosphere of people in Berlin. And partly because in all the hostels I stayed at in Berlin, they just assign rooms and trust everyone to choose their own beds, first-come first serve. Which we did flawlessly for the sixteen days I was in Berlin.
This experience of Amsterdam is as far from my expectations as possible. I expected it to be laissez-faire, tolerant, and generally pleasant.
To be fair, it has been incredibly hot for the whole time I have been here. The humidity of this port city is quite high. And it is August, the height of Tourist season. So there are a large number of people packed into a small, hot area, with a large proportion of them either travellers or having to deal with travellers. This is not a recipe for patience and kindness. Even if the distinctive scent of marijuana can be smelled every few minutes when walking around here.
Everything is also almost exactly twice as expensive in Berlin. Hostel for 1 night? 13 euros Berlin; 25 euros Amsterdam. An hour of internet? 1 euro Berlin; 2 euros Amsterdam. Dinner at a cheap indian restaurant? 4.5 euros Berlin; 8 euros Amsterdam.
And don't even get me fucking started on the doners here.
Pehaps there is a lesson in all this: no matter the natural tolerance and kindness of the people, when they are hurried, hot, and stressed, people are assholes.
Today, the weather is reasonable, people seem to be in better moods (TGIF), I have accepted the fact that I will have to pay twice as much for everything, I have figured out the public transit system, and I know my way around reasonably well. So it is much more pleasant.
By the by, I went to the Amsterdam Historical Museum this morning. They talked forever about how cool Amsterdam was in the 17th and 18th centuries. Those exhibits were really cool. Then they rushed right past the nineteenth century, and barely mentioned what happened in the Second World War. Quite disappointing.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The days seem to pass so quickly. I think I am beginning to understand why travel blogs are updated so infrequently.
This past Monday, I tried to get up early to go to the Reichstag. It opens at 8. And I managed to get there at 9:15 in the A.M. That I was up so early is, as you all know, a minor miracle in and of itself. But at that hour, the line was actually longer than the first time I went by in the late afternoon. There were a bunch of tour busses outside and huge gaggles of old people filling the line, so I may just have been unlucky.
So instead I took a bus east and walked through the crypts of the last of the German Kings. Their sarcophagi lie under the Berliner Dom, a massive church built in 1905 by Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last of the Hohenzollerns. Thirteen years later, in 1918, his reign and his dynasty would end with Germany`s defeat in the First World War.
The crypt is filled with row upon row of sarcophagi. They come in pairs. The first has a crown resting on a pillow on top of the sarcophagus: the King; the other has no crown: his Queen. They fillthe basement. There are a solid three hundred years of German Kings.
Upon exiting from the crypt, I saw the open space south of the Dom. A century ago, the palace of the Hohenzollerns stood there. A half century ago, that palace was destroyed and a concrete and steel building was constructed to take its place. This was the Palace of the Republic, which housed the parliament of the East German government. A few years ago, this was in its turn destroyed. Now nothing stands. It is now just a grassy field.
I do not know what they are planning to build in the space. From what I hear, the Berliners don`t know what they are going to build either.
Then I walked a few blocks east to Alexanderplatz, the shopping center of Berlin, in search of decent coffee from Starbucks. And found it. It's in the bottom of the Fernsehturm Berlin, a massive television tower which was built by the East German government to be the tallest structure in Berlin and a symbol of the city. And now a Starbucks, the quintessential symbol of American capitalism, sits in the bottom. Ah, irony.
Alexanderplatz was the site of the largest protest in the revolution of 1989-1990 that brought down the government of East Germany. There is quite a cool exhibit now that commemorates the 20 year anniversary of the "Friendliche Revolution" (Peaceful Revolution) as it is called. It tells the story of the activities of various protest groups that started in the late 1970s until the formal, legal reunification of Germany in late 1990.
Then on Tuesday I loafed around all day. Went to cafes, studied a bit of German, read some Goethe, ate a döner, chatted with people. Then Tuesday night I went and met up with Lisa, a friend of Marty's who lives here in Berlin. She showed me a very cool beer garden and Lebanese restaurant. She recommended a sandwich made with "Halumi," a type of sheep cheese. It was quite delicious. I had stayed up in her part of town for three days and had walked by both of these places many times without ever stopping by. Knowing a local makes all the difference.
Marty asked me what my daily routine is like. And I suppose it might be of general interest. So here it is, at least for today.
9- Wake up. Go to a cafe. Drink coffee and study German. Today it was all about comparitive and superlative adjectives. Like good, better, and best. Which in German are gut, besser, und best. But it gets more complicated than that very fast because German grammar is a pain in the ass.
If I say "A better man is here." Or "I talk to a better man." Or "A better woman is here." Or "I talk to a better woman." In English, you just use the word "better" every time. In German, you have to use a different form of the word "besser" in each of those four sentences. (Nominative masculine/dative masculine/nominative feminine/dative feminine.)
10- Walk around, look around. Stumble upon a free-to-use ATM (Deutsche Bank).
11:30- Eat the best döner I have yet had in Germany. It was cheap (2.30 euro) and delicious. Walk back to my hostel. Ask if they have a bed available for the weekend. Answer: yes. My response: fuck yes. I really like the neighborhood (Friedrichshain) I am living in now. More on that later.
1- More coffee. Study more German.
2- Go to internet cafe. Check email. Write a blog post. (i.e., what I am doing right now.)
Then for the rest of the day it`s going to be:
4- Shower and take a nap
5- Eat dinner. Indian maybe? Or Lebanese. Or Pizza.
6- Go to Museum district. From 6-10 PM on Thursdays, most all the museums of Berlin have free admission.
11- Return home and sleep.
Friedrichshain: so Lisa lives up in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood, which I stayed at when I first got to Berlin. And for the past few days I have been living in Kreuzberg. But yesterday I moved on to the Friedrichshain neighborhood. It is definitely my favorite part of town so far. There are lots of young people, lots of cafes, lots of trees, lots of döner shops, and just a general feeling of energy. And everything is much closer together than in the part of Kreuzberg I was staying at before.
The hostel I am at is very low-key, unlike the chain hostel I was staying at in west Kreuzberg. And it is uh . . . cool? I don't know how else to describe it. It is a little bit rough around the edges perhaps and a little bit dirty, but I don't mind that. And the people are very friendly.
Some English girls I had been staying with at the hostel in Kreuzberg thought Friedrichshain was a bit dodgy when they got off the U-bahn. And so they fled back to clean, normal west Kreuzberg.
Part of this is valid. I witnessed my first crazy (maybe Schizophrenic?) Berliner today. He was staring at the sidewalk and yelling at it.
But I think a part of their sense of the dodginess of the area came from an insufficient understanding of the uh . . . aesthetic culture of Berlin? In the States (and presumably in much of England), an area with lots of broken glass on the sidewalk, lots of trash on the ground, and lots of graffiti denotes a dodgy, unsafe area of the city. But in Berlin, pretty much the whole city has lots of broken glass, lots of trash on the ground, and lots of graffiti. There is less the farther west one goes, but even in the nicer districts there is still quite a lot of it by American standards.
But there are tons of moms pushing strollers about and kids playing in the park. So it's not the red-light district of Berlin by any means.
Speaking of which, I am amazed at the laissez-faire way in which Berliner parents deal with their kids. The four year-olds walk in sandals along a sidewalk covered in broken glass. I mean, a lot of broken glass. Which I suppose they have to do, otherwise they couldn't walk anywhere in Berlin.
The physical distance the parents allow between themselves and their kids on the city streets is also quite striking. I saw a six-year-old riding along the sidewalk on her little bike and her mother following on her own bike. The mother saw something in a store window and so stopped to look at it. The kid kept going. The mother looked at it for awhile. The kid was almost a city block away when the mother stopped window shopping and started riding forward again. All the while, neither mother nor kid seem concerned in the least. This is so utterly normal. I see stuff like this all the time.
And in the parks here, there is a fenced off kids play area and then the main park area. So in the evenings, a bunch of adults sit in the park with a joint in one hand and a beer in the other. And a large number of kids play in the adjacent playground. The area that separates them is all of five feet.
Oh yes. The possession and public smoking of pot is legal in Berlin. I hear it is legal to have up to an ounce. But I have seen a number of shops that advertise "legal drug sales" and a number of dealers sitting in the parks, nonchalantly selling it. And they both definitely have more than an ounce. So I'm not sure how exactly what is legal and what is enforced with respect to pot in Berlin.
And when I say graffiti is everywhere, I mean graffiti is everywhere. At least in Prenzlauer Berg and Friedrichshain. The residents seem to tolerate it, and many seem to have done their own on the front of their shops and houses. I watched a documentary on graffiti once. (Or "street art," if you want to sound classy). I guess there are districts in Barcelona where it is actually legal to do graffiti. In Berlin, I imagine it is illegal, but the laws against it are just not enforced very much. No one seems to mind.
I speculate that this might have something to do with the fact that East Berlin didn't have freedom of the press in the 1980s, and so messages scrawled in spraypaint at night on the sides of houses was probably one of the safest ways to make political statements that were critical of the communist regime. But that is pure speculation on my part.
This past Monday, I tried to get up early to go to the Reichstag. It opens at 8. And I managed to get there at 9:15 in the A.M. That I was up so early is, as you all know, a minor miracle in and of itself. But at that hour, the line was actually longer than the first time I went by in the late afternoon. There were a bunch of tour busses outside and huge gaggles of old people filling the line, so I may just have been unlucky.
So instead I took a bus east and walked through the crypts of the last of the German Kings. Their sarcophagi lie under the Berliner Dom, a massive church built in 1905 by Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last of the Hohenzollerns. Thirteen years later, in 1918, his reign and his dynasty would end with Germany`s defeat in the First World War.
The crypt is filled with row upon row of sarcophagi. They come in pairs. The first has a crown resting on a pillow on top of the sarcophagus: the King; the other has no crown: his Queen. They fillthe basement. There are a solid three hundred years of German Kings.
Upon exiting from the crypt, I saw the open space south of the Dom. A century ago, the palace of the Hohenzollerns stood there. A half century ago, that palace was destroyed and a concrete and steel building was constructed to take its place. This was the Palace of the Republic, which housed the parliament of the East German government. A few years ago, this was in its turn destroyed. Now nothing stands. It is now just a grassy field.
I do not know what they are planning to build in the space. From what I hear, the Berliners don`t know what they are going to build either.
Then I walked a few blocks east to Alexanderplatz, the shopping center of Berlin, in search of decent coffee from Starbucks. And found it. It's in the bottom of the Fernsehturm Berlin, a massive television tower which was built by the East German government to be the tallest structure in Berlin and a symbol of the city. And now a Starbucks, the quintessential symbol of American capitalism, sits in the bottom. Ah, irony.
Alexanderplatz was the site of the largest protest in the revolution of 1989-1990 that brought down the government of East Germany. There is quite a cool exhibit now that commemorates the 20 year anniversary of the "Friendliche Revolution" (Peaceful Revolution) as it is called. It tells the story of the activities of various protest groups that started in the late 1970s until the formal, legal reunification of Germany in late 1990.
Then on Tuesday I loafed around all day. Went to cafes, studied a bit of German, read some Goethe, ate a döner, chatted with people. Then Tuesday night I went and met up with Lisa, a friend of Marty's who lives here in Berlin. She showed me a very cool beer garden and Lebanese restaurant. She recommended a sandwich made with "Halumi," a type of sheep cheese. It was quite delicious. I had stayed up in her part of town for three days and had walked by both of these places many times without ever stopping by. Knowing a local makes all the difference.
Marty asked me what my daily routine is like. And I suppose it might be of general interest. So here it is, at least for today.
9- Wake up. Go to a cafe. Drink coffee and study German. Today it was all about comparitive and superlative adjectives. Like good, better, and best. Which in German are gut, besser, und best. But it gets more complicated than that very fast because German grammar is a pain in the ass.
If I say "A better man is here." Or "I talk to a better man." Or "A better woman is here." Or "I talk to a better woman." In English, you just use the word "better" every time. In German, you have to use a different form of the word "besser" in each of those four sentences. (Nominative masculine/dative masculine/nominative feminine/dative feminine.)
10- Walk around, look around. Stumble upon a free-to-use ATM (Deutsche Bank).
11:30- Eat the best döner I have yet had in Germany. It was cheap (2.30 euro) and delicious. Walk back to my hostel. Ask if they have a bed available for the weekend. Answer: yes. My response: fuck yes. I really like the neighborhood (Friedrichshain) I am living in now. More on that later.
1- More coffee. Study more German.
2- Go to internet cafe. Check email. Write a blog post. (i.e., what I am doing right now.)
Then for the rest of the day it`s going to be:
4- Shower and take a nap
5- Eat dinner. Indian maybe? Or Lebanese. Or Pizza.
6- Go to Museum district. From 6-10 PM on Thursdays, most all the museums of Berlin have free admission.
11- Return home and sleep.
Friedrichshain: so Lisa lives up in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood, which I stayed at when I first got to Berlin. And for the past few days I have been living in Kreuzberg. But yesterday I moved on to the Friedrichshain neighborhood. It is definitely my favorite part of town so far. There are lots of young people, lots of cafes, lots of trees, lots of döner shops, and just a general feeling of energy. And everything is much closer together than in the part of Kreuzberg I was staying at before.
The hostel I am at is very low-key, unlike the chain hostel I was staying at in west Kreuzberg. And it is uh . . . cool? I don't know how else to describe it. It is a little bit rough around the edges perhaps and a little bit dirty, but I don't mind that. And the people are very friendly.
Some English girls I had been staying with at the hostel in Kreuzberg thought Friedrichshain was a bit dodgy when they got off the U-bahn. And so they fled back to clean, normal west Kreuzberg.
Part of this is valid. I witnessed my first crazy (maybe Schizophrenic?) Berliner today. He was staring at the sidewalk and yelling at it.
But I think a part of their sense of the dodginess of the area came from an insufficient understanding of the uh . . . aesthetic culture of Berlin? In the States (and presumably in much of England), an area with lots of broken glass on the sidewalk, lots of trash on the ground, and lots of graffiti denotes a dodgy, unsafe area of the city. But in Berlin, pretty much the whole city has lots of broken glass, lots of trash on the ground, and lots of graffiti. There is less the farther west one goes, but even in the nicer districts there is still quite a lot of it by American standards.
But there are tons of moms pushing strollers about and kids playing in the park. So it's not the red-light district of Berlin by any means.
Speaking of which, I am amazed at the laissez-faire way in which Berliner parents deal with their kids. The four year-olds walk in sandals along a sidewalk covered in broken glass. I mean, a lot of broken glass. Which I suppose they have to do, otherwise they couldn't walk anywhere in Berlin.
The physical distance the parents allow between themselves and their kids on the city streets is also quite striking. I saw a six-year-old riding along the sidewalk on her little bike and her mother following on her own bike. The mother saw something in a store window and so stopped to look at it. The kid kept going. The mother looked at it for awhile. The kid was almost a city block away when the mother stopped window shopping and started riding forward again. All the while, neither mother nor kid seem concerned in the least. This is so utterly normal. I see stuff like this all the time.
And in the parks here, there is a fenced off kids play area and then the main park area. So in the evenings, a bunch of adults sit in the park with a joint in one hand and a beer in the other. And a large number of kids play in the adjacent playground. The area that separates them is all of five feet.
Oh yes. The possession and public smoking of pot is legal in Berlin. I hear it is legal to have up to an ounce. But I have seen a number of shops that advertise "legal drug sales" and a number of dealers sitting in the parks, nonchalantly selling it. And they both definitely have more than an ounce. So I'm not sure how exactly what is legal and what is enforced with respect to pot in Berlin.
And when I say graffiti is everywhere, I mean graffiti is everywhere. At least in Prenzlauer Berg and Friedrichshain. The residents seem to tolerate it, and many seem to have done their own on the front of their shops and houses. I watched a documentary on graffiti once. (Or "street art," if you want to sound classy). I guess there are districts in Barcelona where it is actually legal to do graffiti. In Berlin, I imagine it is illegal, but the laws against it are just not enforced very much. No one seems to mind.
I speculate that this might have something to do with the fact that East Berlin didn't have freedom of the press in the 1980s, and so messages scrawled in spraypaint at night on the sides of houses was probably one of the safest ways to make political statements that were critical of the communist regime. But that is pure speculation on my part.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Varieties of Döner Experience
I have yet to sample as many varieties of döner kebab as I`d like, due to the aforementioned free breakfast and skipped lunch. Still, I have come to believe the key to delicious döners is to look for as many signs of Turkish proprietership and patronage as possible. The really good döner I had in Frankfurt was run out of a little shop in the bottom of a skyscraper in the banking district. It had "Türkische" in the name, which my rapidly burgeoning powers of language enabled me to translate. Not-the-worst German speaker, indeed.
The key to a good döner, as in so much of cooking, is the sauce. One döner I had used a thin, tomato-based monstrosity. I bought it in a tourist district near the Hauptbahnhof (Main Train Station) on the first day I was in Germany. There was no Turkish flag anywhere to be seen and the man selling them was quite fair-skinned. I do not think he really care about the beauty that is the döner. He was merely cashing in on the trend.
Wait a moment. Have I described what the döner is yet?
A hunk of lamb is put on a kebab (a long, rotating stick, like shish kebabs) and roasted. When a döner kebab is ordered, the chef puts some bread, shaped like a pocket, in the toaster, and cuts off strips of meat from the lamb. Then the bread is removed from the toaster and the sauce is spread across it (garlic, yogurt, and-or chili, usually). The meat is thrown in, and the vegetables after that. Usually there is the choice of onions, red cabbage, lettuce, and tomatos mixed with cucumbers. Finally, some garlic sauce is added to the top of the rather hefty construction, at least in good döner shops.
The dish was supposedly developed by Turks living in Germany a while ago. It has since became a staple of the country`s cuisine; there are now döner shops everywhere.
The strangest döner shop I have yet found was in Frankfurt. It was a boat-based döner shop, at a dock on the banks of the Main. There were two flags hanging from the mast at equal heights: one Turkish and one German, and the boat was named Istanbul. All of these I thought were very auspicious signs.
I sat in a park beside the boat for a while, watching its operations.
A radio on the top of the boat was playing a German Top-40 station. After a little while, a song came on that I recognized: Eminem`s "Beautiful." It is the only song I have heard off Eminem`s latest album that I really like. About halfway through the song, the Cathedral bells started ringing and the little stereo was drowned out. I was quite annoyed to tell the truth; I wished to hear the end of the song. After the bells stopped, I sat for awhile longer. After a bit, a woman having a picnic nearby brought a bottle of wine up to the boat, and the man making döners opened it for her.
Everything mixes so strangely here. The food cart sits on a boat. It sells a dish invented by Turks living in Germany. A rap star from Detroit attracts customers, until he is drowned out by bells built by some Kaiser almost a thousand years before. The German woman asks to borrow the Muslim`s corkscrew.
The key to a good döner, as in so much of cooking, is the sauce. One döner I had used a thin, tomato-based monstrosity. I bought it in a tourist district near the Hauptbahnhof (Main Train Station) on the first day I was in Germany. There was no Turkish flag anywhere to be seen and the man selling them was quite fair-skinned. I do not think he really care about the beauty that is the döner. He was merely cashing in on the trend.
Wait a moment. Have I described what the döner is yet?
A hunk of lamb is put on a kebab (a long, rotating stick, like shish kebabs) and roasted. When a döner kebab is ordered, the chef puts some bread, shaped like a pocket, in the toaster, and cuts off strips of meat from the lamb. Then the bread is removed from the toaster and the sauce is spread across it (garlic, yogurt, and-or chili, usually). The meat is thrown in, and the vegetables after that. Usually there is the choice of onions, red cabbage, lettuce, and tomatos mixed with cucumbers. Finally, some garlic sauce is added to the top of the rather hefty construction, at least in good döner shops.
The dish was supposedly developed by Turks living in Germany a while ago. It has since became a staple of the country`s cuisine; there are now döner shops everywhere.
The strangest döner shop I have yet found was in Frankfurt. It was a boat-based döner shop, at a dock on the banks of the Main. There were two flags hanging from the mast at equal heights: one Turkish and one German, and the boat was named Istanbul. All of these I thought were very auspicious signs.
I sat in a park beside the boat for a while, watching its operations.
A radio on the top of the boat was playing a German Top-40 station. After a little while, a song came on that I recognized: Eminem`s "Beautiful." It is the only song I have heard off Eminem`s latest album that I really like. About halfway through the song, the Cathedral bells started ringing and the little stereo was drowned out. I was quite annoyed to tell the truth; I wished to hear the end of the song. After the bells stopped, I sat for awhile longer. After a bit, a woman having a picnic nearby brought a bottle of wine up to the boat, and the man making döners opened it for her.
Everything mixes so strangely here. The food cart sits on a boat. It sells a dish invented by Turks living in Germany. A rap star from Detroit attracts customers, until he is drowned out by bells built by some Kaiser almost a thousand years before. The German woman asks to borrow the Muslim`s corkscrew.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Not So Ancient History
So in rereading my old posts, I realize I have gone on an exorbinantly long time about cost and prices. Hopefully when I get used to the daily routines of life (eating, sleeping, cheep bear), those topics shall rather recede in my posts.
But not today!
Later today, I move from one neighborhood of Berlin to another. I`m headed from Prenzlauer Berg (on the north side) to Kreuzberg (on the south side). The hostel I have been staying at in Prenz since I got to Berlin is full for this weekend. Note to self: always make reservations for the weekend if you think you are going to be staying for the weekend.
The change of neighborhood is not altogether unwelcome though. I walked through Kreuzberg yesterday afternoon, and it seems quite lively and diverse. There are fewer playgrounds filled with babies, more flyers advertising live music, and more döner shops. And the Turkish quarter is contained in Kreuzberg. It is there that I shall find the best döner, I think.
Kreuzberg was in West Germany and Prenzlauer Berg was in East Germany. So it wasn`t until today that I really walked around West Germany at all. Completely unbeknownst to me, I had been walking around what used to be East Germany.
There are a few more trees, a bit less graffiti, and a bit less trash in West Germany. But other than that, it is quite indistinguishable to me. The two neighborhoods I have walked in (Prenz and Kreuz) are more similar to each other (in terms of the niceness of buildings, parks, etc.) than some neighborhoods of Portland. Like Sellwood versus 82nd and Foster.
The second day I was here I walked around the Mitte district, the center of the city. ("Mitte" = Middle in German). It is the big downtown area, but not so very long ago it was East German. There are lots of nice buildings now, and it is indistinguishable from any other major urban center.
Tammy mentioned that when she was in Berlin shortly after the wall fell, and the place was covered in cranes. Now it`s all built. I`ve only seen two cranes.
Last night I went out with a friend from the sprachschule (lit, speaking school, i.e., language school) and saw some Salsa dancing. Ut is a very impressive dance when done well, damn. And they all did it very well.
Out at the bar, I met an American from Nebraska. Which is noteworthy because of how seldom I meet another American. (English people, on the other hand, are dime a dozen.) None of the Europeans knew where Nebraska is, but I assured them not to worry: I have no idea where it is either. He too was studying German at the sprachschule. Which he desparately needs: he spoke in German quite a bit over the course of the night, but his German was so bad even I could understand it.
I also met a very nice Finnish guy, who will be studying the German language in Munich. He claimed his German was terrible, but I feel like all Europeans claim their language skills are "terrible" unless they are perfectly fluent. He said he has no problem listening and understanding, but has a hard time speaking. I have the opposite problem. I have little trouble speaking and making myself understood (at least in the limited context of restaurants and buying things and directions). But when it comes to listening, I am terrible. I think this may be my American roots coming out: terrible at understanding others, but great at giving commands.
So at a restaurant the word for the check is "die Rechnung." Which I suspect may have had a similar root as the English word "the Reckoning" long, long ago. From Answers.com: reckon comes from Middle English reknen, from Old English gerecenian, to recount, arrange. And "rechnung" is derived from the German verb "rechnen." But there I must stop, for I don`t think I could read a German version of the OED well enough to see if "rechnen" comes from something like "gerecenian" too.
At any event, whenever I am finished eating, I have an urge to stand up, throw back my (imaginary) cape, and declare in a loud, deep voice, "The reckoning is at hand!"
But I did not. Instead I asked for "die rechnung" with a hard k, like reck-nung. And then the waiter thought for a moment, and said ah, "die resh-nung." And then I said this later to a Belgian girl who is studying German at the sprachschule, and she said it in yet another way, like "die resch-nung." Then she asked if the guy who had told me it was "resh-nung" was Indian. Which he was. Apparently the Indians pronounce their "ch" like that. So I think I`m going to trust her. But still. German is hard enough, without people with different dialects pronouncing things in different ways!
But now let us speak of touristy stuff I have done. Three days ago, I went and saw the Mitte section of the city, which houses an opera house and the university and a Cathedral. And while there I saw that "Tristan and Isolde" is playing in Berlin at the end of August, so I will try to go to that. I hear the Wagner version is much better than the Hollywood production. I am quite excited. And the cheap seats are only 8 euro. Visibility is limited they say, but as I will not be really understanding what is going on anyway, I do not think that shall be too much of a problem.
Two days ago, I saw the Brandenburg Gate and the Tiergarten and the Reichstag. Well, not the inside of the Reichstag. The line was enormous. But I heard later from a guy who has friends who work there that it is deserted at 8 AM . . . like that`s gonna happen. Maybe I`ll try late in the night, shortly before closing time.
The Tiergarten (animal-garden) is the biggest park in Berlin, and the little plaque says it is one of the biggest urban parks in the world. It seems massive on the map. But I was suprised at how small it is. Forest Park could swallow two or three Tiergartens, easy. But then again, any urban park compared to Forest Park is probably going to seem small. I think it`s the largest urban park in the US? Something like that.
And yesterday I saw Checkpoint Charlie and the "Topography of Terror," which is like a Nazi Museum that sits on the site of the old Nazi SS headquarters. They were both quite moving. Checkpoint Charlie tells the story of the Wall in these floor-to-ceiling posters, filled with images and maps and text.
It is very hard to wrap my head around just how recently the wall fell, and how different this city was then. 1989 was so very recent. I look at every German with grey hair a bit differently now. Many of them were part of the massive peaceful protest that brought the wall down. I cannot even imagine the excitement and sense of danger of that moment.
JFK is well-remembered here, for his standoff with the Soviets over the rights of West Berlin, and his resistance to the Wall. I do not often think of this sort of thing. In general, I am inclined to remember the errors of the United States in pursuing the Cold War (Vietnam). But seeing Checkpoint Charlie, and the reverance with which it is treated by visitors from all over the world, one also remembers the many good things that America did in resisting the USSR.
The "Topography of Terrors" was also quite moving. It was mostly about the German secret police and its activities of censorship and taking Jews and other "undesirables" into "protective custody." There are descriptions of how the Nazis came to power and cemented it, and the gradually increasing program of persecution over the course of 1933-1945. There are also profiles of many of those who suffered at Nazi hands, both those who died during the war and those who survived and went on to do very cool things in West Germany after the war.
The /pièce de résistance/ comes at the end, with the description of the trials of the German SS officers. Their careers since 1933 are described throughout the exhibit. And then after the war? Nearly all of them get off, either not prosecuted at all or serving very short jail sentences.
The exhibit also talked about the desire by Germans to not talk or think about the war, right after it happened. And how that has been changing in recent years. Walking around West Berlin, I even saw a poster advertising a play that had "Adolf Hitler" in the name. (Not sure what exactly it was about beyond that.)
I went to an exhibit on "Democracy in Germany." It was free and very well-staffed and there were people outside directing tourists in (which is how I found out about it). Obviously, someone is paying a lot of money to build and run this thing. My German skills are limited, so I couldn`t pick up all of it. I might go back with my dictionary and use the English audio-tour that was offered.
But I did notice one thing: the 1848 revolution is talked about at extraordinary length. And I notice this is a general trend in the exhibits and monuments. The few who died in that short-lived (and dismally unsuccessful) revolution are treated as martyrs. I think this is part of a general desire to date the true birth of German democracy to 1848. Which is not how I have learned German history exactly. Among other problems: the nation of Germany did not yet exist in 1848, and probably never would have existed as a single nation had the 1848 revolutions been successful.
But perhaps this is a story that will work for the Germans of today.
But not today!
Later today, I move from one neighborhood of Berlin to another. I`m headed from Prenzlauer Berg (on the north side) to Kreuzberg (on the south side). The hostel I have been staying at in Prenz since I got to Berlin is full for this weekend. Note to self: always make reservations for the weekend if you think you are going to be staying for the weekend.
The change of neighborhood is not altogether unwelcome though. I walked through Kreuzberg yesterday afternoon, and it seems quite lively and diverse. There are fewer playgrounds filled with babies, more flyers advertising live music, and more döner shops. And the Turkish quarter is contained in Kreuzberg. It is there that I shall find the best döner, I think.
Kreuzberg was in West Germany and Prenzlauer Berg was in East Germany. So it wasn`t until today that I really walked around West Germany at all. Completely unbeknownst to me, I had been walking around what used to be East Germany.
There are a few more trees, a bit less graffiti, and a bit less trash in West Germany. But other than that, it is quite indistinguishable to me. The two neighborhoods I have walked in (Prenz and Kreuz) are more similar to each other (in terms of the niceness of buildings, parks, etc.) than some neighborhoods of Portland. Like Sellwood versus 82nd and Foster.
The second day I was here I walked around the Mitte district, the center of the city. ("Mitte" = Middle in German). It is the big downtown area, but not so very long ago it was East German. There are lots of nice buildings now, and it is indistinguishable from any other major urban center.
Tammy mentioned that when she was in Berlin shortly after the wall fell, and the place was covered in cranes. Now it`s all built. I`ve only seen two cranes.
Last night I went out with a friend from the sprachschule (lit, speaking school, i.e., language school) and saw some Salsa dancing. Ut is a very impressive dance when done well, damn. And they all did it very well.
Out at the bar, I met an American from Nebraska. Which is noteworthy because of how seldom I meet another American. (English people, on the other hand, are dime a dozen.) None of the Europeans knew where Nebraska is, but I assured them not to worry: I have no idea where it is either. He too was studying German at the sprachschule. Which he desparately needs: he spoke in German quite a bit over the course of the night, but his German was so bad even I could understand it.
I also met a very nice Finnish guy, who will be studying the German language in Munich. He claimed his German was terrible, but I feel like all Europeans claim their language skills are "terrible" unless they are perfectly fluent. He said he has no problem listening and understanding, but has a hard time speaking. I have the opposite problem. I have little trouble speaking and making myself understood (at least in the limited context of restaurants and buying things and directions). But when it comes to listening, I am terrible. I think this may be my American roots coming out: terrible at understanding others, but great at giving commands.
So at a restaurant the word for the check is "die Rechnung." Which I suspect may have had a similar root as the English word "the Reckoning" long, long ago. From Answers.com: reckon comes from Middle English reknen, from Old English gerecenian, to recount, arrange. And "rechnung" is derived from the German verb "rechnen." But there I must stop, for I don`t think I could read a German version of the OED well enough to see if "rechnen" comes from something like "gerecenian" too.
At any event, whenever I am finished eating, I have an urge to stand up, throw back my (imaginary) cape, and declare in a loud, deep voice, "The reckoning is at hand!"
But I did not. Instead I asked for "die rechnung" with a hard k, like reck-nung. And then the waiter thought for a moment, and said ah, "die resh-nung." And then I said this later to a Belgian girl who is studying German at the sprachschule, and she said it in yet another way, like "die resch-nung." Then she asked if the guy who had told me it was "resh-nung" was Indian. Which he was. Apparently the Indians pronounce their "ch" like that. So I think I`m going to trust her. But still. German is hard enough, without people with different dialects pronouncing things in different ways!
But now let us speak of touristy stuff I have done. Three days ago, I went and saw the Mitte section of the city, which houses an opera house and the university and a Cathedral. And while there I saw that "Tristan and Isolde" is playing in Berlin at the end of August, so I will try to go to that. I hear the Wagner version is much better than the Hollywood production. I am quite excited. And the cheap seats are only 8 euro. Visibility is limited they say, but as I will not be really understanding what is going on anyway, I do not think that shall be too much of a problem.
Two days ago, I saw the Brandenburg Gate and the Tiergarten and the Reichstag. Well, not the inside of the Reichstag. The line was enormous. But I heard later from a guy who has friends who work there that it is deserted at 8 AM . . . like that`s gonna happen. Maybe I`ll try late in the night, shortly before closing time.
The Tiergarten (animal-garden) is the biggest park in Berlin, and the little plaque says it is one of the biggest urban parks in the world. It seems massive on the map. But I was suprised at how small it is. Forest Park could swallow two or three Tiergartens, easy. But then again, any urban park compared to Forest Park is probably going to seem small. I think it`s the largest urban park in the US? Something like that.
And yesterday I saw Checkpoint Charlie and the "Topography of Terror," which is like a Nazi Museum that sits on the site of the old Nazi SS headquarters. They were both quite moving. Checkpoint Charlie tells the story of the Wall in these floor-to-ceiling posters, filled with images and maps and text.
It is very hard to wrap my head around just how recently the wall fell, and how different this city was then. 1989 was so very recent. I look at every German with grey hair a bit differently now. Many of them were part of the massive peaceful protest that brought the wall down. I cannot even imagine the excitement and sense of danger of that moment.
JFK is well-remembered here, for his standoff with the Soviets over the rights of West Berlin, and his resistance to the Wall. I do not often think of this sort of thing. In general, I am inclined to remember the errors of the United States in pursuing the Cold War (Vietnam). But seeing Checkpoint Charlie, and the reverance with which it is treated by visitors from all over the world, one also remembers the many good things that America did in resisting the USSR.
The "Topography of Terrors" was also quite moving. It was mostly about the German secret police and its activities of censorship and taking Jews and other "undesirables" into "protective custody." There are descriptions of how the Nazis came to power and cemented it, and the gradually increasing program of persecution over the course of 1933-1945. There are also profiles of many of those who suffered at Nazi hands, both those who died during the war and those who survived and went on to do very cool things in West Germany after the war.
The /pièce de résistance/ comes at the end, with the description of the trials of the German SS officers. Their careers since 1933 are described throughout the exhibit. And then after the war? Nearly all of them get off, either not prosecuted at all or serving very short jail sentences.
The exhibit also talked about the desire by Germans to not talk or think about the war, right after it happened. And how that has been changing in recent years. Walking around West Berlin, I even saw a poster advertising a play that had "Adolf Hitler" in the name. (Not sure what exactly it was about beyond that.)
I went to an exhibit on "Democracy in Germany." It was free and very well-staffed and there were people outside directing tourists in (which is how I found out about it). Obviously, someone is paying a lot of money to build and run this thing. My German skills are limited, so I couldn`t pick up all of it. I might go back with my dictionary and use the English audio-tour that was offered.
But I did notice one thing: the 1848 revolution is talked about at extraordinary length. And I notice this is a general trend in the exhibits and monuments. The few who died in that short-lived (and dismally unsuccessful) revolution are treated as martyrs. I think this is part of a general desire to date the true birth of German democracy to 1848. Which is not how I have learned German history exactly. Among other problems: the nation of Germany did not yet exist in 1848, and probably never would have existed as a single nation had the 1848 revolutions been successful.
But perhaps this is a story that will work for the Germans of today.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Berlin
Last night my hostel was full up, so I thought what the hell? I`ll go to Berlin. Frankfurt was getting boring.
Marty once said that if he had to sum up the spirit of Germany in a single sentence once, it would be, "The trains are always on time." What sort of omen was it that on my first train trip in Germany, the train to Berlin was 7 minutes late? We managed to make up the time on the trip to Berlin though, and arrived exactly on time. So I guess I can`t complain.
I am awed and intensely jealous of the train system here. It is no more difficult to board a train between Frankfurt and Berlin than it is to board the MAX between Portland and Gresham.
On the trip up to Olympia, my Amtrak train had major technical problems and had to wait for other trains: a not uncommon occurance on Amtrak. So it took about 4 hours to go 115 miles. One the Inter-City Express (ICE) train from Frankfurt to Berlin, it took 4 hours and 15 minutes to go about 343 miles. Only three times more efficient!
A big chunk of the stimulus money is supposed to go to building a train system like this in the US. Not across the whole thing of course, but along certain distinct corridors: Vancouver, BC to Eugene; San Diego to Sacramento; New York to DC; etc. I can`t wait.
When I arrived in Berlin, I immediately liked it. So cheap, so laidback. The hostel I am staying at was recommended by a friend of a friend (Marty). It is awesome. I am thinking of staying a week. Nice showers (plenty of hot water, strong flow), free coffee, and free internet access on two computers in the common room. I am partaking of the latter two now, and plan to partake of the first very soon.
Price for a döner in Frankfurt: 4 € ($5.60)
Price for a döner in Berlin: 2.5 € ($3.50)
And that cheap döner was equal to the best one I had in Frankfurt. On the first time out the gate! I have high hopes of finding a new best döner soon.
Price for half a liter of beer (16.5 ounces) in Frankfurt: 3.5 €.
Price for half a liter of beer in Berlin: 1.0 €
That`s right. $1.40 for a pint, bought individually! And the beer was relatively good (berliner pilsner).
P.S. The hostel room I stayed in last night had four English girls, one French girl, and one French-Canadian girl. ("Not Canadian. Québécois. It`s different.")
First impression of English girls: they complain all the time. It really is astounding the inventiveness with which they find things to complain about.
I went on a lovely walk with the Québécois last night. We explored the streets of Berlin, casually sipping from beers as we walked. (Oh what I would give to be able to do that in the States. So pleasant.) She is studying at the Sorbonne, which quite impressed me when I first heard it. But then she explained that there are now four different Sorbonne campuses, and it takes a great many students every year. And we talked about the difference between North Americans and Europeans. They are so different.
Marty once said that if he had to sum up the spirit of Germany in a single sentence once, it would be, "The trains are always on time." What sort of omen was it that on my first train trip in Germany, the train to Berlin was 7 minutes late? We managed to make up the time on the trip to Berlin though, and arrived exactly on time. So I guess I can`t complain.
I am awed and intensely jealous of the train system here. It is no more difficult to board a train between Frankfurt and Berlin than it is to board the MAX between Portland and Gresham.
On the trip up to Olympia, my Amtrak train had major technical problems and had to wait for other trains: a not uncommon occurance on Amtrak. So it took about 4 hours to go 115 miles. One the Inter-City Express (ICE) train from Frankfurt to Berlin, it took 4 hours and 15 minutes to go about 343 miles. Only three times more efficient!
A big chunk of the stimulus money is supposed to go to building a train system like this in the US. Not across the whole thing of course, but along certain distinct corridors: Vancouver, BC to Eugene; San Diego to Sacramento; New York to DC; etc. I can`t wait.
When I arrived in Berlin, I immediately liked it. So cheap, so laidback. The hostel I am staying at was recommended by a friend of a friend (Marty). It is awesome. I am thinking of staying a week. Nice showers (plenty of hot water, strong flow), free coffee, and free internet access on two computers in the common room. I am partaking of the latter two now, and plan to partake of the first very soon.
Price for a döner in Frankfurt: 4 € ($5.60)
Price for a döner in Berlin: 2.5 € ($3.50)
And that cheap döner was equal to the best one I had in Frankfurt. On the first time out the gate! I have high hopes of finding a new best döner soon.
Price for half a liter of beer (16.5 ounces) in Frankfurt: 3.5 €.
Price for half a liter of beer in Berlin: 1.0 €
That`s right. $1.40 for a pint, bought individually! And the beer was relatively good (berliner pilsner).
P.S. The hostel room I stayed in last night had four English girls, one French girl, and one French-Canadian girl. ("Not Canadian. Québécois. It`s different.")
First impression of English girls: they complain all the time. It really is astounding the inventiveness with which they find things to complain about.
I went on a lovely walk with the Québécois last night. We explored the streets of Berlin, casually sipping from beers as we walked. (Oh what I would give to be able to do that in the States. So pleasant.) She is studying at the Sorbonne, which quite impressed me when I first heard it. But then she explained that there are now four different Sorbonne campuses, and it takes a great many students every year. And we talked about the difference between North Americans and Europeans. They are so different.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sundays, Baristas, Goethe
I was going to do laundry today but the laundromat is closed. Today is Sunday, and perhaps 80% of the retail shops are closed. In Europe, where most people do not go to church, the sabbath is a day of rest. In America, where most people do go to church, the sabbath is great for getting some shopping done.
Have no fear though. The closed laundromat is but a minor setback. I shall survive. And tomorrow, marching forth in my dress socks and swimming trunks, I shall do battle with the laundry beast.
In truth, everyday seems like a day of rest. In the future, I will write about the sedate pace of life here. This is the banking capital of Europe, yet in spirit it is as far from New York as could be. The pace is even slower than in Portland.
Maybe it has something to do with summer vacation though. It was explained to me that each of the different German states have their own vacation period. They fall anywhere between June 15th and September 15th. I`m not sure when Frankfurt`s is.
I ordered a coffee in German at Starbucks earlier today. The first part was astoundingly difficult, but I managed. "Grande Kaffee bitte." Then I got tripped up at the point when he said "for here or to-go." I`m glad the German`s who named me not-the-worst-speaker were not there.
"Gehen" is the literal German verb for "to go." I was expecting it, or some variant on it. But the phrase they use for to-go, when transliterated, is "to take with" (zum mitnehmen.) Take-out. Much of learning German seems to be understanding which English synonym they use. For example, you don`t say "I know a little German." You say "I know a bit of German."
As with many of the Germans I meet, the barista was quite enthusiastic about me learning the language. And quite eager to help. Unasked, he wrote the phrase for to-go on the back of the receipt, then we chatted for a while about how my studies were going and the differences between English and German. Another barista soon joined him and started offering words and suggestions of her own. As the conversation wound down, she suggested I find a "tandem person to study with." I like the idea. Find some German who wants to learn English. When I get to Berlin, that will be high on my priority list.
What is not so high on my priority list is going to the Goethehaus. (Haus = house.) Well, the first day I wandered over to it, but it`s five euros for entrance! (It is about 1.4 dollars to euros, at the moment.) Instead, I went to a beer garden and sat for an hour. I read Wilhelm Meister`s Apprenticeship and had a few beers. I think Goethe would have approved.
I will leave you with a quote from Wilhelm Meister that I read last night:
"You are right," replied [Wilhelm Meister], not without embarassment; "man is ever the most interesting object to man, and perhaps should be the only one that interests. Whatever else surrounds us is but the element in which we live, or else the instrument which we employ. The more we devote ourselves to such things, the more we attend to and feel concern in them, the weaker will our sense of our own dignity become, the weaker our feelings for society. Men who put a great value on gardens, buildings, clothes, ornaments, or any other sort of property, grow less social and pleasant; they lose sight of their brethren."
Next post: the hunt for the best döner kebab, the European (lesser) equivalent of the burrito.
(And the "next post" I promised last time is coming too. Pehaps I should start saying "A future post.")
Have no fear though. The closed laundromat is but a minor setback. I shall survive. And tomorrow, marching forth in my dress socks and swimming trunks, I shall do battle with the laundry beast.
In truth, everyday seems like a day of rest. In the future, I will write about the sedate pace of life here. This is the banking capital of Europe, yet in spirit it is as far from New York as could be. The pace is even slower than in Portland.
Maybe it has something to do with summer vacation though. It was explained to me that each of the different German states have their own vacation period. They fall anywhere between June 15th and September 15th. I`m not sure when Frankfurt`s is.
I ordered a coffee in German at Starbucks earlier today. The first part was astoundingly difficult, but I managed. "Grande Kaffee bitte." Then I got tripped up at the point when he said "for here or to-go." I`m glad the German`s who named me not-the-worst-speaker were not there.
"Gehen" is the literal German verb for "to go." I was expecting it, or some variant on it. But the phrase they use for to-go, when transliterated, is "to take with" (zum mitnehmen.) Take-out. Much of learning German seems to be understanding which English synonym they use. For example, you don`t say "I know a little German." You say "I know a bit of German."
As with many of the Germans I meet, the barista was quite enthusiastic about me learning the language. And quite eager to help. Unasked, he wrote the phrase for to-go on the back of the receipt, then we chatted for a while about how my studies were going and the differences between English and German. Another barista soon joined him and started offering words and suggestions of her own. As the conversation wound down, she suggested I find a "tandem person to study with." I like the idea. Find some German who wants to learn English. When I get to Berlin, that will be high on my priority list.
What is not so high on my priority list is going to the Goethehaus. (Haus = house.) Well, the first day I wandered over to it, but it`s five euros for entrance! (It is about 1.4 dollars to euros, at the moment.) Instead, I went to a beer garden and sat for an hour. I read Wilhelm Meister`s Apprenticeship and had a few beers. I think Goethe would have approved.
I will leave you with a quote from Wilhelm Meister that I read last night:
"You are right," replied [Wilhelm Meister], not without embarassment; "man is ever the most interesting object to man, and perhaps should be the only one that interests. Whatever else surrounds us is but the element in which we live, or else the instrument which we employ. The more we devote ourselves to such things, the more we attend to and feel concern in them, the weaker will our sense of our own dignity become, the weaker our feelings for society. Men who put a great value on gardens, buildings, clothes, ornaments, or any other sort of property, grow less social and pleasant; they lose sight of their brethren."
Next post: the hunt for the best döner kebab, the European (lesser) equivalent of the burrito.
(And the "next post" I promised last time is coming too. Pehaps I should start saying "A future post.")
Saturday, August 1, 2009
On Consumption
So in rereading the last post, I realized that I did not make explicit the purpose of the anecdote about the two people asking for directions and signatures for political petitions. I like to think it shows that I do not automatically appear American. At least not to everyone. At least not until I open my mouth.
Oh yes! It took me three days, but I ran into my first German who didn`t speak decent English yesterday. (Or so he claimed.) It was exciting. He was one of the ones who asked me for directions. He was about 50. Perhaps he learned Russian before the Wall fell? Now everyone learns English.
The person across from me at this internet cafe is playing Zuma. At 1.5 euros per hour, that could become a very expensive addiction.
Lodgings have been secured in Frankfurt. Hooray! In the process, I learned that internet booking is absolutely worthless if you want to make reservations for the the day-of or even the next day. I think I`ll only use the internet when I have about a week`s notice. Which will probably be never on this trip. Even for the hostel with the really fancy webpage. Both times I have tried it, it has not helped at all. So now I just call or visit the place in-person when I am trying for a room.
Man that guy sucks at Zuma. You don`t destroy the balls when there are only three of them. You get way more points if you wait and destroy a string of 10 or 20.
A few hours ago, I was sitting outside the Starbucks, drinking my coffee and looking up a few words in my dictionary. I was interrupted by the German version of "Der Kommisar" blaring loudly behind me. So I turned around, seeking the source of the music. (Good thing it was "Der Komissar." There are only three songs in German I can recognize. The other two: "99 Red Balloons" and "Yein.")
The music was coming from a vehicle . . . a very strange vehicle. It took me a few moments to work out how it was moving. It drove on the regular roads, right alongside cars.
So imagine a biker, facing forward on a seat, controlling the handlebars and peddling. Exactly as on a normal bike right? Now cut off the back half of the bike and attach a long wooden dining table instead. Put eight people on stools, along either side of the table facing each other. Then put a set of pedals below each of the eight people. Mount it all on wheels, add a kegerator at the front, and a roof on top. Now, rain-or-shine, you have a mobile, pedal-powered pub.
I immediately thought about finding schematics for this on the internet and emailing them to all the bike-modification enthusiasts and bike-taxi companies in Portland. It would be a smashing success. (I myself am far too lazy to be actually pedal while I drink. Well, to pedal in general. But others would!)
Then reality set in. In Germany, I believe the law is that passengers can drink in the cars, but the driver can`t drink any. But I don`t think US public drinking or vehicular drinking laws would allow it. Sadness. (Well, people can drink in the back of limos . . . hrm.)
The public drinking in Germany was definitely a shock the first time I saw it. People walk around with beer as nonchalantly as they walk around with a coke. I have yet to partake of this delightful custom. But I did run into a few American girls of my acquaintance the other night, carrying a half-full bottle of champange and drinking from two plastic glasses, as they strolled through the lovely park that runs alongside the Main. It looked like great fun.
I refrained from joining them at that moment. As a general rule in Germany, when all other things are equal, I try to hang out with Germans as much as possible. And I had fallen in with a group of people staying at the hostel who were headed to the fair. There were about . . . 10 of us? 2 Americans and 8 Germans. (No native Frankfurters of course, as they were staying at the hostel.)
Last night, the Germans I was with said that if the Americans they had met in Germany, I obtained the distinction of not-the-worst-speaker-of-German! I am thinking of making myself a plaque to celebrate this achievement.
Next post: my (mostly) inadvertent role in inflaming North-South German rivalries.
P. S. My one dirty German joke (which I created a few weeks ago) went over quite well. (So my friend taught me a traditional Bavarian greeting . . . .)
Oh yes! It took me three days, but I ran into my first German who didn`t speak decent English yesterday. (Or so he claimed.) It was exciting. He was one of the ones who asked me for directions. He was about 50. Perhaps he learned Russian before the Wall fell? Now everyone learns English.
The person across from me at this internet cafe is playing Zuma. At 1.5 euros per hour, that could become a very expensive addiction.
Lodgings have been secured in Frankfurt. Hooray! In the process, I learned that internet booking is absolutely worthless if you want to make reservations for the the day-of or even the next day. I think I`ll only use the internet when I have about a week`s notice. Which will probably be never on this trip. Even for the hostel with the really fancy webpage. Both times I have tried it, it has not helped at all. So now I just call or visit the place in-person when I am trying for a room.
Man that guy sucks at Zuma. You don`t destroy the balls when there are only three of them. You get way more points if you wait and destroy a string of 10 or 20.
A few hours ago, I was sitting outside the Starbucks, drinking my coffee and looking up a few words in my dictionary. I was interrupted by the German version of "Der Kommisar" blaring loudly behind me. So I turned around, seeking the source of the music. (Good thing it was "Der Komissar." There are only three songs in German I can recognize. The other two: "99 Red Balloons" and "Yein.")
The music was coming from a vehicle . . . a very strange vehicle. It took me a few moments to work out how it was moving. It drove on the regular roads, right alongside cars.
So imagine a biker, facing forward on a seat, controlling the handlebars and peddling. Exactly as on a normal bike right? Now cut off the back half of the bike and attach a long wooden dining table instead. Put eight people on stools, along either side of the table facing each other. Then put a set of pedals below each of the eight people. Mount it all on wheels, add a kegerator at the front, and a roof on top. Now, rain-or-shine, you have a mobile, pedal-powered pub.
I immediately thought about finding schematics for this on the internet and emailing them to all the bike-modification enthusiasts and bike-taxi companies in Portland. It would be a smashing success. (I myself am far too lazy to be actually pedal while I drink. Well, to pedal in general. But others would!)
Then reality set in. In Germany, I believe the law is that passengers can drink in the cars, but the driver can`t drink any. But I don`t think US public drinking or vehicular drinking laws would allow it. Sadness. (Well, people can drink in the back of limos . . . hrm.)
The public drinking in Germany was definitely a shock the first time I saw it. People walk around with beer as nonchalantly as they walk around with a coke. I have yet to partake of this delightful custom. But I did run into a few American girls of my acquaintance the other night, carrying a half-full bottle of champange and drinking from two plastic glasses, as they strolled through the lovely park that runs alongside the Main. It looked like great fun.
I refrained from joining them at that moment. As a general rule in Germany, when all other things are equal, I try to hang out with Germans as much as possible. And I had fallen in with a group of people staying at the hostel who were headed to the fair. There were about . . . 10 of us? 2 Americans and 8 Germans. (No native Frankfurters of course, as they were staying at the hostel.)
Last night, the Germans I was with said that if the Americans they had met in Germany, I obtained the distinction of not-the-worst-speaker-of-German! I am thinking of making myself a plaque to celebrate this achievement.
Next post: my (mostly) inadvertent role in inflaming North-South German rivalries.
P. S. My one dirty German joke (which I created a few weeks ago) went over quite well. (So my friend taught me a traditional Bavarian greeting . . . .)
I spent the first two nights (Wed and Thurs) in a hotel near the main train station. It was delightful. Very friendly service.
Frankfurt sits on the Main river. (Main is pronounced exactly like the english word "mine"). The river bisects the city in two.
I've had two people ask me for directions and two people approach me to sign petititons. Each time I say "ich bin ein Amerikaner," and then they say some variant on, "Oh ok, have a nice day."
Last night I went to the hostel. It overlooks the Main. I suspect this hostel is the nicest one I will stay at in the whole time. It is new and modern and very clean. And it is booked solid for Saturday and Sunday. Drat.
So I'm off to go look for lodgings tonight. And, if worst comes to worst, I'll try to see about a train to Berlin.
The fair started yesterday. Ferris wheel and the whole bit. I#ll talk about it next post.
Frankfurt sits on the Main river. (Main is pronounced exactly like the english word "mine"). The river bisects the city in two.
I've had two people ask me for directions and two people approach me to sign petititons. Each time I say "ich bin ein Amerikaner," and then they say some variant on, "Oh ok, have a nice day."
Last night I went to the hostel. It overlooks the Main. I suspect this hostel is the nicest one I will stay at in the whole time. It is new and modern and very clean. And it is booked solid for Saturday and Sunday. Drat.
So I'm off to go look for lodgings tonight. And, if worst comes to worst, I'll try to see about a train to Berlin.
The fair started yesterday. Ferris wheel and the whole bit. I#ll talk about it next post.
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