I Did It!

After six months of living in Germany, I decided it was time to have a proper bratwurst for God's sake. My vegetarian friends are not excited for me, I know. I don't eat meat 95% of the time but the other night when I was at the Cassiopeia bier garten with my dear friend, I couldn't resist the smell of the grill right behind us. Plus, I have been amused for months now by the meat/bread ratio of the bratwurst sandwich here. I was actually surprised by the amount of bread I was given. Typically, it's a tiny bun like a bread roll with the ends of the wurst hanging out on each end. Clearly, the bread is really just a holder for the delectable meat inside.

Anyway, when I sat down with this thing, I said to my friend, "I don't eat meat often and this is a lot. Please have some with me," at which she replied, "Aw, you can do it."

And I sure did.

Wow, was that a delicious wurst. I mean, a girl can really eat so many beans and cheese before she apparently starts to crave a chunk of pig. Oh dear, time to start fresh with those vegetarian ideals.

Next week.

I have only 24 hours left in Berlin. Let's see what else I can demolish. Do not even think about double daring me. I may be small but I sure can put it away.

But Before I Head Back to My Repressed Country...

Everyone knows that Americans tend to get a little freaked out by the nudity at European beaches. This is because we don't typically run around topless back home and quite frankly neither do you, Europe so yes, it's a little surprising when we suddenly see you lounging in the sand all free. But okay, whatever. It's easy enough to get used to. Years ago, the beaches in Valencia got me over my initial discomfort.

I never did make it to any sort of beach during this trip (sigh) but I did take my friend's son to the neighborhood pool a couple of times. Now, let me just say this: a public pool right smack dab in Mitte does not seem at all synonymous to beach culture if you ask me. In fact, at first I was comforted by how normal and familiar it felt to me. Similar pool set up with requisite snack bar. Yep, seemed all pretty American-like, that is, until I looked up from spreading our blanket down on the grass and was greeted by a man's bare bum in my face.

??????

Okay, first off, being topless is one thing. Bare from the waist down is a totally different, err, ballgame.

I tried not to look surprised but I highly doubt that my face complete with bulging eyes did not reveal utter shock. Was this some sort of flirtation? My God, just buy me an ice cream bar, for God's sake! But no, this young man wasn't even looking at me. He was just simply changing out of his swimming trunks back into his shorts. But wait, weren't we in the middle of a busy poolside park? With people everywhere? And isn't this Germany? Aren't people supposed to be repressed here??

Well, actually I've learned quite a bit about the nudity here and just how free a whole lot of people tend to be with their bodies. How refreshing. And it's not just about adults on the beaches. On many occasions, I've seen groups of kids (and I'm talking 5 or 6-year-olds, not babies) from kindergartens peel off all of their clothes at the neighborhood park to play in the water. Can you imagine, dear American friend, the assumptions if one went to his/her kid's day care and found the whole class naked? Lawsuits aplenty!

And funnily enough, a few minutes after I witnessed dude drop his drawers, I noticed a crowd of kids around him. It then hit me that he was some sort of recreation leader for a group of school aged kids. This about made me howl with laughter. A teacher gets naked in front of his class?? I can just imagine the headline back home: Pervert Teacher Shows His Stuff on Class Trip: Parents say they had no clue of Mr. Schneider's Pedophiliac tendencies.

I promptly asked all of my German friends if parents here would tend to freak out about such behavior. Although they said this wasn't quite the expected behavior of your kid's teacher, they admitted that it would be nothing to get worked up about.

Amazing.

It's also kind of amazing to think that if I want to go sunbathing topless at a public beach back in Wisconsin, I could go to jail. (Because that's where we need to put our tax dollars. I shall stop before a big, huge tangent ensues...)

So soon enough, I will be back to being repressed. Oh well. I can at least put my eyeballs back into their sockets. I prefer other kinds of surprises anyway.

Kind of Like the 2nd Avenue Stop in NYC!

Except with all of that art. Anyway...

So I've been in Berlin for how long now and haven't yet explored Tacheles? For shame!

Okay, for my non-Berliner friends, I should probably first explain what this graffiti laden, dilapidated, six floor monstrosity is all about. A quick history...

Built in the early 1900s, this structure was first used as a shopping center. Then creepily enough, from the mid 30s until the end of the war, it was used by the SS and other Nazi related organizations. Beat to hell (as was a whole lot of Berlin) during the Allied air raids, it remained a mess for the next several decades as the East Berlin government didn't have the money to properly restore it. However, soon after the wall came down, it became a refuge for squatting artists. Today, it still looks like a pit but attracts artists, art lovers, and curious folks like me from around the world. At any given time, about 30 artists from approximately 20 different nationalities are exhibiting.

Considering I have rushed past Tacheles maybe 50 times while on my way to this or that, I decided the other day that my limited time in Berlin meant no more rushing by. Unfortunately though, I made this decision on one of those 90 degree days. Although a respected artistic institution, Tacheles very much still has a punk rock (read: dirty) vibe to it.

So when I wandered into the entrance on that hot, muggy afternoon, I am sorry to report that a stench of urine about knocked me over. I was quite shocked actually, considering all the talk about Tacheles cleaning itself up and no longer being true to its anarchistic, squatting roots. But I continued on. I walked up a flight of stairs only to find all of the studios on that floor closed. I then walked up another flight, hotter and although not quite as stinky, still stomach churning. It sort of took me back to my social working days, heading up some suffocating stairwell afraid of what I would find at the top.

By the third flight, I was beginning to seriously feel queasy. The over stimulation of the screaming posters and graffit on every inch of wall space did not help. I quickly told myself, "Not worth it today" and hightailed it out of there.

I think I am officially old and irreparably uncool.

I'm on month seven now of my time in Berlin and have passed Tacheles approximately 51 times and now feel like I need to apologize to somebody about this. So...I'm sorry. I know a lot of people are probably judging me as a wimpy American who couldn't make it past a bit of stinkiness to get to the really cool stuff. And it's absolutely true. I will make it in there sometime, I promise. Just not in the smoldering heat.

Why Do I Even Bother?

Berlin is a pretty artsy fartsy city and I was quite pleased to learn that every Thursday night, the major museums in the city are free from 6 until 10pm. This includes all the biggies of Museum Island in Mitte: the Bode, the Altes Museum, the Neues Museum, the Alte Nationalgalerie, and the Pergamonmuseum (which I will never, ever be able to say).

Now I'm no fan of art museums, classical or modern (let the stoning begin) but I do appreciate most anything that's been dug up out of the ground, be it a dinosaur skeleton or a pot from ancient Greece.

Usually.

Considering my propensity to be flighty in any museum unless it is steeped in natural phenomenon or compelling, historical fact, I thought the whole freebie night was perfect for me. I could wander in and out versus feeling compelled to stare at everything whether I wanted to or not, simply because I paid 10 euros to get into the place.

But man, did I feel stupid. All of those Europeans, eagerly taking advantage of this free evening, examining busts of Augustus at the Altes Museum or the 897,325th painting of the Last Supper at the Bode while I strolled through every room at a moderate pace, barely stopping to look at anything. I think the security guards were unnerved by me. Who was this chick who wasn't stopping to read anything? Was she casing the place, trying to find a good little spot to plant that microscopic explosive device of hers?

And here's the other thing. I wasn't wearing my glasses (stupid me) which meant that if I did want to read about anything, I had to get very close to it. This scares the absolute bejesus out of me, considering that these ANCIENT ARTIFACTS were sitting VERY precariously on these ridiculously skinny, surely unstable (come on, Germany, where is that good ole' engineering?!?) pillar things. To this day, any time I walk into a store or museum that is stocked full of glass, porcelain, or ancient handicraft of plenty, I hear my mother's even voice as plainly as I did when I was about 7 years old. "Do...NOT...touch...ANYTHING."

It's not that she was overly strict either. She just knew who she was talking to. I'm the girl who spilled her glass of milk at the dinner table every single night for about two years straight, I swear. This is the girl who to this day, cannot seem to walk a straight line down the street, instead always bumping into my companions. (God help me if I ever get asked to complete a sobriety test). This is a girl who broke about three coffee carafes in a six month period before deciding it was wise to move onto a stainless steel model. Translation: I am a first class klutz.

So you can imagine my anxiety as I walked past a gorgeous sculpture of Aphrodite, screaming to myself, "WHY ISN'T EVERYTHING CONTAINED IN SOME SORT OF PROTECTIVE GLASS BOX ON A STURDY STONE TEN FOOT WIDE PLATFORM?!" I mean, really, I could've tripped and fallen into any one of these things, creating a very unfortunate domino effect of all the emperors and gods of Rome.

It really would've given "the fall of Rome" a whole different meaning. Hardy har har...

So although I envisioned spending a good three to four hours, meandering throughout the museums, I lasted about an hour and a half, popping into only two. Although I'd like to blame my flightiness on my poor eye sight or my fear of destroying an entire exhibit or even my general disinterest in art, I know it had more to do with my mind being elsewhere. Yes, I am in an amazing city with a whole lot at my disposal but what's the point if my mind constantly wanders to the things that are more important to me? I mean, ancient artifacts are fantastic but I think they'd be even more fantastic if the people you adored most were staring at them right next to you.

Plus, they'd probably stop you from falling into Ceasar.

Home

As I mentioned recently, I went back home (first NYC and then on to Wisconsin) a few weeks ago. During those ten days, I was lucky enough to spend time with some of my favorite people in this world. Although I cannot say that it was a stress free vacation, I definitely had my moments of tranquility. After three months of German classes, apartment hunting, bureaucratic stress, and a slew of deadlines, it felt fantastic to smell the hay and feel the summer breeze from my sister's porch while reading The Three Little Pigs to my niece.

And although those lovely moments are not to be taken lightly, life is rarely that easy. This has become painfully clear the past few weeks. For a multitude of reasons, I have found that it is necessary for me to leave Berlin earlier than anticipated and head back to Wisconsin. Although I know it's the right thing to do, this has not been an easy decision. I have had a torrid love affair with Berlin, that is certain, and I don't expect my passion for this city to die. In fact, in many ways, it's the perfect city for me. It's just too bad that it's not conveniently located within driving distance of everyone I love. But that's okay. I am finding peace with my decision to leave. Right now, I've got a good handle on my priorities and interestingly, I think Berlin is exactly what I needed to make this discovery.

So on to the next phase. A difficult road lies ahead but I believe I am cultivating the strength to not only be there for others but to also take better care of myself. In the meantime, I have a week to enjoy the heck out of this city. For some reason, I don't think that will be so hard to do.

Thanks, Berlin for everything. I'm sure we will meet again. To my friends and family back home, thanks for reminding me where my heart is. See you soon.

Hot, heiße, hot, heiße...

Last week, I got to be in the concrete jungle of NYC when the temperature nearly touched the 100 degree mark (err, for the rest of the world, that's 38). So I was pretty ecstatic when I made it back to Berlin and found myself greeted by 80 (27!) degree weather. But a couple of days later, that all changed. We are now in the day four of sticky, record breaking heat. Tell me, is it possible to melt to death?

Now forgive me for getting a little feisty here but I'm finding myself more than a little annoyed about the limited cooling options available to me. First, let me preface this by saying I am not a huge fan of air conditioning. I can go quite a while before having to turn it on and when I do, I'll set it to a comfortable 80 degrees. And I understand that in general, the ole' AC is not too widespread in Europe. Overall, I very much dig that because let's not forget that the environmental effects are crazy bad. (Here's a little reminder).

So don't get me wrong, I did not expect that either of my summer flats in Berlin would have a little AC unit stashed in my bedroom window, as one would expect in most American apartments, to utilize only four days of the summer. HOWEVER (!!!), I did expect a little rotating fan to be a regular fixture in one's flat...you know, something sitting in the corner next to the infrequently used but equally important toilet plunger. Americans, if you don't have AC, count the number of fans in your home! Yet, neither of our flats have had even one! (Although quite frankly, my roomie and I would probably be at one another's throats if we had to share a fan).

Throughout the years, I have come to learn a lot about differences in American and European cultures. I adore the fact that overall, Europeans are much more environmentally conscientious and energy saving. But this, THIS is beyond my comprehension! Are you really telling me, Germany, that it never gets hot in the summer? How do you people sleep? Well let me tell you about my little secret for sleeping these days; Benadryl. Yep, not only does it make for a remarkable sleeping aid but it's also helping to manage what appears to be a lovely heat rash which comes back every day with a vengeance.

Hot, sticky, and itchy. Let me repeat: awesome.

But can I tell you how glad I am that I wasn't one of these poor souls? Talk about my worst fears coming to life!

I am also quite glad that I haven't had any class or appointments lately because folks, I haven't been out of the house since Saturday night. I had stepped out for a bit Saturday afternoon to do some shopping (foolishly assuming that the grocery stores and drugstores or at least the U-Bahns might offer some cooling relief, ha! ) and I pretty much wanted to die when I repeatedly discovered that everywhere I went, I was only greeted by more blasting temperatures.

So for the past 36 hours, my strategy has been to move as little as possible. I mostly just go to the kitchen to refuel with cold water and then to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my arms and legs to cool down. (This is my alternative to taking showers every six minutes). What a way to spend your free days in Berlin. But let me repeat...100 degrees, sticky, and no breeze. WWJD??

Well, a friend did tell me that the big shopping retailers are piping in the AC so I might wander around there a bit. Or I might spend another 24 hours inside. I mean, Roomie and I had also talked about getting ice cream last night but then we, err, sat down instead and couldn't seem to get up for the rest of the night. Maybe there's an ice cream delivery service?

Okay, time to make more ice.

Your melty correspondent,
Rachael

And Then the Whole Country Went into Mourning...

I was back in Berlin a whole 36 hours when I was thrust into the World Cup semi-finals. To make matters worse (because sleep deprivation's not enough), the match was between Spain and Germany. Up until now, my loyalty has always remained with Spain (in the plains, ha ha...). I mean, I lived there and it was in Madrid that I attended my first real deal fútbol game.

But I'm in the motherland now and I felt like I'd be committing a class A sin if I didn't root for Deutschland. Plus, I was going to watch the game with German friends in their German home. There could be no uncertainties. Well, unless I didn't care to be thrown out with my six pack of Radeberger.

Oh, kidding. Besides, my gut really was there with Germany although when Spain scored, I had to smile a teeny bit, picturing my entire host family back in Madrid crowded around their TV, screaming for their team. And when time ran out, I couldn't help but be a little thankful for Germany's loss. Thankful, that is, for quiet streets after three nights in a row of crap sleep coupled with my usual crippling case of jet lag.

But oh, was it sad to see those heartbroken fans wander the streets! So downcast yet still proudly wearing their flags, their red, yellow, and black leis and pretty much anything else in the tricolor family you can possibly imagine. In my opinion, the German fans were surprisingly non-fanatical and quite upbeat (although breaking bottles of beer seemed to be cathartic for many), considering all the hope they had wrapped up into this game. But tomorrow is another day, or wait...that's today, isn't it?

Stupid jet lag.

Anyway, my condolences, Deutschland but at least for the next round, I'll be guilt free. Go España!