The end is almost near. No, not you, Rapture, we all know you're a load of hooey. No, I mean, the end of Our Berlin is nigh.
I can't say I have any super duper awesome stories to share with you right now, but I felt like waxing a little nostalgic/poetic/philsophic, as 5 weeks from this very day, Jack and I head back to Reality, AKA the United States. Huh.
I remember when we got here--it was cold, rainy, and sheets of ice covered the ground, making our apartment search nearly impossible--well, it sucked. We found our awesome apartment, settled in, and it felt like home. Except I didn't have work, the sun wouldn't shine, and I felt like Berlin was a big hole that was slowly swallowing me alive. I wanted to come home. I didn't know why I was here. Did I come to Berlin on someone else's dream? Of course. I had come here to accompany my partner-in-crime, so that he could take this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I could share it with him. But I didn't know how to share it--I felt like I was grasping at straws trying to justify my presence here while he was doing, learning, experiencing.
By the end of February (and a lot of crappy weather later), the sun began to poke out from behind the clouds. It was still cold, and the city felt colder, but for whatever reason, I felt inclined to come out of hibernation. Perhaps it was the realization that I needed to make the best of what would amount to a 6-month European vacation...or drive both Jack and myself insane. I planned a trip to Italy to see my good friend, had an AMAZING time, and then had the opportunity to go home for nearly a week. Honestly, going back to Chicago was a turning point, because I realized that I didn't actually live there. Chicago is not my home. I belong in Berlin--with my love and our life there. I looked forward to coming back here, starting German classes, and therefore my continued integration into this wonderful culture that is Berlin.
In hindsight, it's easy to see that in some ways, I was ungrateful. Although I'd been here before, I was unable to foresee what lessons the city would teach me. This is a common thread in my life: I want to know what I'm going to receive/experience/how I'm going to feel about X, Y, Z, just so I can be prepared. Often times, the emotional preparation dissuades me from having a natural reaction to whatever it is I'm receiving/experiencing/in actuality, feeling.
Berlin caught me off guard. Berlin forced me to improvise. Berlin made me realize that I needed to make it my own, or face the inevitable consequence of being swallowed up. And now that I've been reminded of this wonderful freedom, I don't want to let it go. Perhaps that's why I've been a little bit weary in my outlook about coming back to Chicago; Berlin has provided the proof that I can be adaptable, teachable, open to lots of changes in a short period of time, and as a result, I feel like I could conquer the world. I don't want to go back to what I know--I want to move onto what I don't, and see what wonderful treasures there are to be found elsewhere.
But, Reality is going to kick back in. In 5 weeks from today, we're outta here. This space in time will have vanished into history, and once again I'll be confronted with What Is Happening Next. I suppose though, if I've learned anything at all, that I'll be fine, Jack and I will be fine, because we know how to improvise--we've learning how to make what we've got into what we want, and I can only imagine that we'll get better and better at it.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Berliner Standard.
The longer I've been here, the more I've learned about The Berliner Standard (would you like that sentence in German? I can write it if you like! Hooray, I'm actually learning). Now, mind you, this isn't an established term, but perhaps for those of you who have the desire to visit Berlin in the future and feel like whoopin' it up or gettin' local, doing as the Berliners do, then you will need to know The Berliner Standard. Of course, this could apply to many things, but I will use it to describe one particular feature of Berlin life that really does feel unique--or perhaps, only unique to an American who has never had the opportunity to experience something like this before.
Saturday night started out fairly low-key. We had spent the day playing ping-pong in the park, and then came home to some beers and leftover homemade pasta Bolognese for dinner (oh, and if I've never cooked this for you, demand it when I am in town). Our friend Moose (yes, his legal name is actually Moose) came over and hung out along with my Dutch friend Annemarie, and we decided to head out to a bar nearby. We spent an hour or so in this bar/club, which by the way was Soviet-themed and therefore VERY red, and as I was wondering where the time was going and how long I'd have to stay before I could go home and collapse. Suddenly, Moose announces to us that he's going to head out. Wait, what? You're just going to leave? Where are you going? Well, he wanted to meet some German friends of his at A CLUB. Really? A club? A place where you're going to knock up against meaty dudes wearing tight t-shirts, girls wearing too much makeup and dresses that don't cover their bums, while bouncing up and down to ooms-ooms music? Having American club experience in mind, I was ready to decline almost immediately, considering my partner-in-crime is, shall we say, dance averse (and I was wearing stretchy pants and my favorite Tom Petty baseball tee, mind you)...but for whatever unknown reason (and thinking my PIC is going to negate our dancing chances) I said to Moose, "Ask Jack. He's the one who hates clubs. If he wants to go, I'll go." Well by gollygosh, what do you think Jack said? "Let's go." Huh.
So we said goodbye to Annemarie (who had participated in The Berliner Standard the night before) and followed Moose to Maria am Ostbahnhof. Luckily, instead of having to wait 2 HOURS to get in (seriously, people?) we joined Moose's friends at the beginning of the line, who were waiting for us. Remaining skeptical of this warehouse-like structure on the river, we were further annoyed by the 15 Euro cover charge to what seemed like, at first glance, a complete and total dump. We walked through a rubber curtain to what seemed like the bar and dance area, which was thick, smoky, dirty, and neon-lit, with that inevitable ooms-ooms rhythm. It wasn't looking good.
But then I started to observe my surroundings. Almost no one was dressed up all hoochy-like, there weren't tons of frat boys swigging Coors, people weren't shooting each other dirty looks for bustin' a move--everyone was just dancing. Huh! Jack's and my collective skepticism began to melt away, seeing the opportunity we had in front of us. One ladyfriend of Moose's, Marlene, immediately sensed that I wanted to dance, and thus swiftly thrust us into the crowd to begin our maze-like search for the best scene. Maria am Ostbahnhof didn't just have one bar and one huge dance floor--it had four, each of which had hundreds upon hundreds of Berliners moving to the hypnotic beats with smiles on their faces.
So we joined in. We found a spot on one of the dance floors, which quickly enveloped us. We put aside any pretenses about the music, which turned out to be refreshingly unpredictable yet rhythmic, and lost ourselves in it. We truly moved like no one was watching. And no one was watching--there was no capacity for judgment, because everyone there expressed themselves differently and individually. All of a sudden, it didn't matter that I was wearing my Tom Petty shirt and purple Adidas sneakers. It didn't matter how wildly I swung my arms, swayed my hips, or how much I bounced up and down. It was beautifully freeing. Being at Maria truly epitomized what I truly love about Berlin: there is so much room for individuality, yet individuality isn't what makes people different; it is what unites them. I've never danced in a larger crowd, but I've never felt more a part of one than I did Saturday night.
Night quickly and unassumingly turned into day. At one point, our group had gone outside to get a breath of fresh river air while it was still dark. But the next time we went to do the same, the sun had come up. It was now morning, and the scores of people who were dancing inside hadn't left--they were still going, until who knows when. Truly amateurs, we decided to hit the road and walk back to the U-Bahn station to take the train home. Marlene, the unaffected Berlinerin, grabbed a cup of coffee like she was ready to go to work. We rode sleepily back to Alexanderplatz, where Jack and I wandered around in search of anything resembling American breakfast. We then arrived back at our apartment around 7am, sticky from sweat, still hungry, and totally exhausted, ready to fall asleep in broad daylight. We were happily and completely spent.
And that, my friends, is what I will call The Berliner Standard. To know it is to love it. No drugs necessary.
Saturday night started out fairly low-key. We had spent the day playing ping-pong in the park, and then came home to some beers and leftover homemade pasta Bolognese for dinner (oh, and if I've never cooked this for you, demand it when I am in town). Our friend Moose (yes, his legal name is actually Moose) came over and hung out along with my Dutch friend Annemarie, and we decided to head out to a bar nearby. We spent an hour or so in this bar/club, which by the way was Soviet-themed and therefore VERY red, and as I was wondering where the time was going and how long I'd have to stay before I could go home and collapse. Suddenly, Moose announces to us that he's going to head out. Wait, what? You're just going to leave? Where are you going? Well, he wanted to meet some German friends of his at A CLUB. Really? A club? A place where you're going to knock up against meaty dudes wearing tight t-shirts, girls wearing too much makeup and dresses that don't cover their bums, while bouncing up and down to ooms-ooms music? Having American club experience in mind, I was ready to decline almost immediately, considering my partner-in-crime is, shall we say, dance averse (and I was wearing stretchy pants and my favorite Tom Petty baseball tee, mind you)...but for whatever unknown reason (and thinking my PIC is going to negate our dancing chances) I said to Moose, "Ask Jack. He's the one who hates clubs. If he wants to go, I'll go." Well by gollygosh, what do you think Jack said? "Let's go." Huh.
So we said goodbye to Annemarie (who had participated in The Berliner Standard the night before) and followed Moose to Maria am Ostbahnhof. Luckily, instead of having to wait 2 HOURS to get in (seriously, people?) we joined Moose's friends at the beginning of the line, who were waiting for us. Remaining skeptical of this warehouse-like structure on the river, we were further annoyed by the 15 Euro cover charge to what seemed like, at first glance, a complete and total dump. We walked through a rubber curtain to what seemed like the bar and dance area, which was thick, smoky, dirty, and neon-lit, with that inevitable ooms-ooms rhythm. It wasn't looking good.
But then I started to observe my surroundings. Almost no one was dressed up all hoochy-like, there weren't tons of frat boys swigging Coors, people weren't shooting each other dirty looks for bustin' a move--everyone was just dancing. Huh! Jack's and my collective skepticism began to melt away, seeing the opportunity we had in front of us. One ladyfriend of Moose's, Marlene, immediately sensed that I wanted to dance, and thus swiftly thrust us into the crowd to begin our maze-like search for the best scene. Maria am Ostbahnhof didn't just have one bar and one huge dance floor--it had four, each of which had hundreds upon hundreds of Berliners moving to the hypnotic beats with smiles on their faces.
So we joined in. We found a spot on one of the dance floors, which quickly enveloped us. We put aside any pretenses about the music, which turned out to be refreshingly unpredictable yet rhythmic, and lost ourselves in it. We truly moved like no one was watching. And no one was watching--there was no capacity for judgment, because everyone there expressed themselves differently and individually. All of a sudden, it didn't matter that I was wearing my Tom Petty shirt and purple Adidas sneakers. It didn't matter how wildly I swung my arms, swayed my hips, or how much I bounced up and down. It was beautifully freeing. Being at Maria truly epitomized what I truly love about Berlin: there is so much room for individuality, yet individuality isn't what makes people different; it is what unites them. I've never danced in a larger crowd, but I've never felt more a part of one than I did Saturday night.
Night quickly and unassumingly turned into day. At one point, our group had gone outside to get a breath of fresh river air while it was still dark. But the next time we went to do the same, the sun had come up. It was now morning, and the scores of people who were dancing inside hadn't left--they were still going, until who knows when. Truly amateurs, we decided to hit the road and walk back to the U-Bahn station to take the train home. Marlene, the unaffected Berlinerin, grabbed a cup of coffee like she was ready to go to work. We rode sleepily back to Alexanderplatz, where Jack and I wandered around in search of anything resembling American breakfast. We then arrived back at our apartment around 7am, sticky from sweat, still hungry, and totally exhausted, ready to fall asleep in broad daylight. We were happily and completely spent.
And that, my friends, is what I will call The Berliner Standard. To know it is to love it. No drugs necessary.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Adventures with bicycles.
Hey ya'll. How's everyone? Happy Friday!
So it's not that early in the morn there in the states, but I figured a new edition of thejellydonutnews was in order. We're heading into a really nice weekend here in Berlin--it's in the high 60's today and should warm up to the low 70's this weekend. Perfect for outdoor adventures!
Speaking of which, I had a fantastic time last Saturday. At the urging of our friends Monica and Steve, I (hesitatingly, at first) rented a bike and set out to enjoy the weather--and Berlin--from a perspective I'd not yet experienced. Perhaps I should give a little background to my bike-related anxiety: not only did I seriously fear for my life the last time I road a bike on the street in Chicago, I've also hit a biker. With my car. Ugh. Talk about traumatic. If you don't know the story, here's a little recap--I was driving eastbound on Wilson on the western edge of Uptown, making my way towards Lake Shore Drive. I pulled up to a four-way stop sign, stopped, and looked in order to proceed. At the same time I decided I was in the clear, a large white van going westbound on Wilson drove through the intersection, and just as we passed each other, a girl on a bike, headed southbound, decided that she could just cut through the intersection, right behind this white truck. I had absolutely no time to stop, and it was seconds before she, in slow motion of course, rolled up onto my windshield. Luckily for the both of us, I couldn't have been going more than 10-15 mph, so I didn't injure her. She immediately admitted (and I've often wondered whether she was stoned or something due to her lackadaisical response) that it was her fault; she saw the stop sign but didn't think she should stop. Ironically, I was on my way to see my therapist when this happen. Hah!
Okay, so you get it: bikes freak me out. But, observing how many people ride in this city, and how easy it is to navigate via bike paths and ACTUAL BIKE TRAFFIC SIGNALS (!) I figured, what the hay? Monica and Steve had been riding--they said it was great--so I'd give it a whirl. Jack and I rented bikes from Fat Tire Bicycles at Alexanderplatz, Monica and Steve met us there under the Fernsehturm, and we headed to Kreuzberg...and beyond!
Ohhhh, the freedom. The sights! The sounds! The feeling of pedals beneath you! Oww, my legs! Geez, this is hard work! But oh, the action! The wind in your hair! I can't tell you how refreshing it was to be on a bike and FEEL SAFE, like the cars and the people and the city respected my choice to get myself around. We road through Kreuzberg and down to Treptower Park, as Jack and I hadn't seen it yet. Then we rode to the other side of the park which extends along a river and found a biergarten to take a break in. Lemme tell you, this biergarten was HOPPIN'. And not with the clientele you'd expect: it was seriously geriatric in there. I mean, I'm not sure I've seen this many people over the age of 75 in one place, let alone all drinking beer. And dancing! They had a DJ on a stage, and when he started spinning the tunes, many couples came to the cement dance floor and started bustin' a move. Wow. All I can say is that I hope I'm drinking beer and dancing with their kind of energy when I'm that old!
From there, we found a place in the park to set up our new hobby (which I'll tell you about in the next post), and hung out for a couple of hours, practicing this new skill (seriously! I will tell you what it is once I receive the photographic evidence from our friends). Then, taking a new route home, we rode through Treptow and into Neuköln, and back up to Mitte, where Alexanderplatz is located. Ditching our bikes (and welcoming new butt bruises, haha) we ate dinner at a little place across the street from my language school, and rewarded all our hard work with pizza and beer. A seriously awesome day.
So! Although I don't own a bike and it really wouldn't be worth it to buy one now (idontwannatalkaboutit) renting a bike here was easy, fairly cheap, and I know I'll be doing it again. And I won't be fearing for my life. Although, I might get those damn internal butt bruises again! Seriously, I was waddling later that night.
Who has a good bicycle story? Let's hear 'em!!!
So it's not that early in the morn there in the states, but I figured a new edition of thejellydonutnews was in order. We're heading into a really nice weekend here in Berlin--it's in the high 60's today and should warm up to the low 70's this weekend. Perfect for outdoor adventures!
Speaking of which, I had a fantastic time last Saturday. At the urging of our friends Monica and Steve, I (hesitatingly, at first) rented a bike and set out to enjoy the weather--and Berlin--from a perspective I'd not yet experienced. Perhaps I should give a little background to my bike-related anxiety: not only did I seriously fear for my life the last time I road a bike on the street in Chicago, I've also hit a biker. With my car. Ugh. Talk about traumatic. If you don't know the story, here's a little recap--I was driving eastbound on Wilson on the western edge of Uptown, making my way towards Lake Shore Drive. I pulled up to a four-way stop sign, stopped, and looked in order to proceed. At the same time I decided I was in the clear, a large white van going westbound on Wilson drove through the intersection, and just as we passed each other, a girl on a bike, headed southbound, decided that she could just cut through the intersection, right behind this white truck. I had absolutely no time to stop, and it was seconds before she, in slow motion of course, rolled up onto my windshield. Luckily for the both of us, I couldn't have been going more than 10-15 mph, so I didn't injure her. She immediately admitted (and I've often wondered whether she was stoned or something due to her lackadaisical response) that it was her fault; she saw the stop sign but didn't think she should stop. Ironically, I was on my way to see my therapist when this happen. Hah!
Okay, so you get it: bikes freak me out. But, observing how many people ride in this city, and how easy it is to navigate via bike paths and ACTUAL BIKE TRAFFIC SIGNALS (!) I figured, what the hay? Monica and Steve had been riding--they said it was great--so I'd give it a whirl. Jack and I rented bikes from Fat Tire Bicycles at Alexanderplatz, Monica and Steve met us there under the Fernsehturm, and we headed to Kreuzberg...and beyond!
Ohhhh, the freedom. The sights! The sounds! The feeling of pedals beneath you! Oww, my legs! Geez, this is hard work! But oh, the action! The wind in your hair! I can't tell you how refreshing it was to be on a bike and FEEL SAFE, like the cars and the people and the city respected my choice to get myself around. We road through Kreuzberg and down to Treptower Park, as Jack and I hadn't seen it yet. Then we rode to the other side of the park which extends along a river and found a biergarten to take a break in. Lemme tell you, this biergarten was HOPPIN'. And not with the clientele you'd expect: it was seriously geriatric in there. I mean, I'm not sure I've seen this many people over the age of 75 in one place, let alone all drinking beer. And dancing! They had a DJ on a stage, and when he started spinning the tunes, many couples came to the cement dance floor and started bustin' a move. Wow. All I can say is that I hope I'm drinking beer and dancing with their kind of energy when I'm that old!
From there, we found a place in the park to set up our new hobby (which I'll tell you about in the next post), and hung out for a couple of hours, practicing this new skill (seriously! I will tell you what it is once I receive the photographic evidence from our friends). Then, taking a new route home, we rode through Treptow and into Neuköln, and back up to Mitte, where Alexanderplatz is located. Ditching our bikes (and welcoming new butt bruises, haha) we ate dinner at a little place across the street from my language school, and rewarded all our hard work with pizza and beer. A seriously awesome day.
So! Although I don't own a bike and it really wouldn't be worth it to buy one now (idontwannatalkaboutit) renting a bike here was easy, fairly cheap, and I know I'll be doing it again. And I won't be fearing for my life. Although, I might get those damn internal butt bruises again! Seriously, I was waddling later that night.
Who has a good bicycle story? Let's hear 'em!!!
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