Bad American

I am now in week six, I believe, of my Deutschkurs (which I probably just misspelled). Even though my teachers are awesome, my brain does not seem to retain a whole lot of information which means I can say little aside from "Das ist mein Kuchen!" (and you better believe that a statement about cake necessitates exclamatory punctuation).

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. I have actually learned quite a bit in a short amount of time. In fact, this afternoon when I sat down to make a salon appointment, I realized that my vocabulary at this point would allow me to just possibly make this request in (gasp!) German. I wrote down a few words as guidance and then boldly punched the numbers into my phone. But as soon as I heard "Guten Tag" on the other end of the line, I crumbled.

"Hallo!" I chirped cheerfully. "Sprechen Sie englisch?"

And of course, she did. This is Berlin.

Bad, bad American.

I Didn't Want to Go to Your Stupid Club Anyway

It's been an insane month. With intensive German classes, a whole lot of work, and a side of crap weather, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see the light of day (both figuratively and literally) again.

But la-dee-da! The sun has started to shine again! A big work project has now been completed and although spring was pretty much non-existent, we have recently been thrust into summer. The weather has been perfect and my mental health has much appreciated it. Yesterday, I was walking around like an idiot, a big dopey grin on my face. Ahh, to feel the sun on one's face is to feel human again.

To celebrate the completion of this latest project as well as the commencement of beautiful 80 degree (err, 25 degree?) weather, there was no choice in my mind but to get a little crazy on a dance floor somewhere. After a few beers on our balcony last night, some friends and I headed to this amazing bar/rec space/campground(??). After some recent hard core pangs of homesickness, this is exactly where I needed to go to be reminded of the awesomeness that is Berlin.

After winding through some hidden alley next to a car dealership, we found ourselves amongst people playing ping pong and pool in wide open, grassy spaces (yes, there was a pool table randomly planted under a tree) while others were chilling around smoldering campfires. A little further on, we were on the banks of the Spree alongside other people kicking back in low slung chairs, quietly chatting and sipping their beers. And if you ever decide to Kiki Blofeld it, don't forget to descend down into the crazy boat/deck area! While enjoying your drink, you might even notice some random dude undress down to his skivvies to take a little dip. Good times.

We should have just stayed there but there was a lot of curiosity amongst the group about Bar 25 on the other side of the river. Not exactly the caliber of Berghain, this place is still quite an institution amongst the Berlin club scene. Plus, another outdoor bar space? Sign me up!

We trekked across the bridge to the other side to find a significant line in progress. I was instantly annoyed. This girl has no patience for lines at 3 am. However, considering we had already made the journey, we decided to wait. The time went quite fast actually considering our entertainment, like the people next to us playing charades or the folks in full Renaissance gear falling out of a cab to join the party.

As we reached the front of the line, I also noticed an interesting array of door people. There was one particularly giant guy who somehow looked both wholesome and terrifying at the same time. The woman who seemed to be making the decisions of who was in or out was the epitome of all hipsterness. Ill fitting mesh truck driver hat, ugly non-matching shorts, ridiculous glasses, pretty much everything I loathe in the "fashion" world and was glad to leave behind in Brooklyn.

As we patiently waited our turn, a couple of guys who seemed to have escaped a traveling circus appeared out of nowhere and were allowed immediate entrance. I couldn't stop staring at one of them, his purple sequined pants and jacket (bare chested beneath), his coordinating derby hat, and loads of matching eye make-up. After he and hipster chick kissey, kissy-ed (barf!), he ducked into the club and she then turned to us, smiled sweetly, and said, "This way please" and chauffeured us to the side. At first, I thought she was showing us to a different entrance. But no, she was simply showing our way to the exiting line.

My friends and I were dumbfounded. Did our whole group seriously not meet the standard of Bar 25 coolness? I mean, did I just get denied entrance because I forgot my pink rhinestone pants and matching hat at home? OR should I have gone with the red velvet Guinevere get-up? Or wait...where's that hat that Grandpa used to wear on the tractor?

Honestly, though, I couldn't even be pissed because that kind of crap just makes me laugh. Wah, wah, so I didn't get into your fabulous club. Fine then. Take me back to the the campfire so I can toast a marshmallow and get on with my night.

The group then decided to head to one last waterfront bar, Club der Visionaere. But as we weaved through the throngs of people on the street and down the path to the bar area, I immediately noticed a line and halted.

"I...am...done," I said to no one in particular. I had to pee, the sky was lightening, I had dragged one of my friends all the way over there to have one last drink and was not about to wait in one more @(*%&! line to possibly be rejected.

So we headed down the street to a half empty bar for one last drink. Although I never found my way to a dance floor, I managed to have a nice, relaxed chat in a cozy little bar until the sun came up. Bummer that there was no cutting of rugs but I have a feeling I will have plenty more chances to dance the night away in this town. And thank you, Summer, it's good to see you again.

Good Job, Germany!

"Rachael, what are you doing Saturday night? If you don't already have plans, you really must join us for the Eurovision contest. It's a real piece of European culture!" my German friend said, laughing into the phone the other day.

After hearing bits and pieces about this contest for the past two months, I still wasn't clear what it was actually about. I assumed it was American Idol-like but at the wedding the other night, I was quickly informed that this was no recent talent show phenomenon. This contest has been going on for fifty some years. Most people have grown up with the show, perhaps the way so many Americans watched Johnny Carson throughout the decades. However, millions of people (this show beats the Superbowl in viewership) from all over North American never sat glued to the television one night a year to see Johnny make some grand decision.

So of course I had no choice but to join these friends for a night of European "culture."

After settling down with some snacks and wine, our hostess handed each of us some paper to take notes of each performance (twenty-five performances representing twenty-five countries!!!) and rank them the way we thought Europe would choose their winner. Oh, and just to clarify, it is like American Idol in the way that people vote by phone at the end of the show. However, one major rule is that no one can vote for the performer of their own country. Therefore, a country such as Germany which is comprised of a whole lot of Turks ends up giving mucho points to Turkey.

My friends had warned me that the contest is extremely, extremely cheesy and is always guaranteed to produce a lot of laughs. Still, I was not fully prepared. WOW.

I decided that the performances fit into two categories:

a) hokier than thou love ballads (usually sung by some sort of fresh faced boy who may or may not have made it through adolescence)

or

b) crazy theatrical pop, often utilizing dancers in garish costumes along with the occasional transvestite.

Either way, though, it appeared as though everyone was stuck in 1985. Yikes.

Anyway, it was terrible. I mean, really, really terrible but in the most entertaining way. We couldn't wait to see if the next act would be more ridiculous than the last. We howled with laughter as Spain showed us dancing clowns and Moldavia produced some sort of Lady Gaga inspired bit. And the cheesiness of the kid from the UK? I was so embarrassed for him, I balled myself on the couch, practically hiding under a blanket until he was done.

But what about Germany? I was informed that Germany hadn't won in something like thirty years. (Umm, could it be because of performances such as these?) However, this year, Germany was feeling pretty good about their contender, a 19-year-old from Hannover named Lena. We all sat in shock as she performed a fun, upbeat tune in a cute black dress. No whorish looking dancers, no ridiculous transformation into butterflies, and absolutely no pyrotechnics. And despite having a somewhat unusual voice, she actually sounded, well, good.

At the end of the performances, we all cast our own votes. I assumed that Europe would go for one of those fresh faced boys so my top pick was Norway. As the votes came in though, I quickly learned that Europe much preferred crazy and slutty over innocent and sweet. Geez. But I also found out that a whole lot of Europe was digging Lena, too. My friends sat in disbelief as more and more votes came in for Germany.

Could it be possible? After how many years??

At 12:30, it was clear. Little Lena from Hannover had won. Maybe the victory doesn't meet World Cup status but I'm still seeing that it's a pretty big deal for Deutschland.

Also fun? Whichever country wins gets to host the show next year. This means that next spring, there will be another reason to party in Germany. Hmm, wonder if I will be here to partake? Regardless, I hope that they continue with Lena-like contestants because if there's any more of this, I may have no choice but to renounce my German roots.

They Roared Here, Too

Another first.

1) Attended wedding reception in Berlin.

Actually, there were two firsts in one night.

2) Not only attended first German wedding reception, but also attended first theme oriented (1920s!!) wedding.

Oh, the roaring 20s! I have such romantic notions of this era, the women with their coal lined eyes and short, sassy haircuts and the hard drinking men sporting fedoras and carrying who knows what in those violin cases? And although the amazing swing of Count Basie, Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman, and the like didn't really get cooking til the 30s, ragtime and other kinds of jazz were in full force. Who can't help but glamorize the idea of flappers and gangsters meeting in basement speakeasies to drink and dance the night away?

But as I surveyed the room the room the other night, I realized I had little idea of what the 1920s were like in Germany. I knew that my idea of the this decade most definitely involved prohibition and Al Capone. So without those two, I needed to re-conceptualize.

Looking around, I quickly learned that the 20s had been roaring all over the place. Style wise, the fashions were apparently the same. The wedding guests surrounding me were sporting the same kind of clothing I was used to seeing in American photos: pinstriped suits, wingtip shoes, fringed dresses, feathery headbands, and strings of beads. I chuckled as a friend in true 1920s fashion whipped out a flask from his jacket pocket and passed it around the table. (FYI - the word for a flask is Flachmann. I shall never forget).

Then I started thinking about what I knew about the 1920s scene in Berlin. Answer: Not much. So I decided to do a bit of reading. As you can imagine, the initial post-WWI years were horribly depressing. Reparations. Strikes. The plummeting mark. However, by the mid 20s, between the new chancellor and loans from other countries, the economy picked up and people, quite frankly, started going a little crazy. It wasn't just about jazz and Marlene Dietrich, either. From what I've learned, it was complete hedonism. Back in America as flappers and gangsters drank and danced the night away in underground bars, this was only stage one of a night in Berlin. (Ahh, some things never change!)

Berlin became an incredibly tolerant town and while Burlesque was indeed popular, so were gay clubs and errr, a whole lot of anything goes type of clubs. But the overall vibe in American cities and Berlin was the same: drink, dance, and for the love of God, rid yourself of some of those uptight social graces and allow yourself to be a bit free! I am quite pleased to report that certain elements of this liberal lifestyle have remained. Want to be a anarchistic, squatting, cross-dressing, Lego installing artist who only works on Saturdays? Come to Berlin! Or perhaps more importantly, you can simply admit that you're trying to figure it all out and that an open-minded setting is exactly what you needed, even if it sometimes leads to pangs of homesickness.

But with a drink in her hand and a Charleston in her step, this American with her short, sassy haircut and smokey eyes felt quite happy the other night to be an independent, open-minded gal in the middle of Berlin. And with those wing tips thumping and those feathers bouncing, it also helped to be reminded once again that home isn't really so far away.

A Recent Email

My little Ethan back in NYC, who I've known since he could barely sit up, recently celebrated the big "3." I sent him an e-card and received this from his mother in response:

Hi!

Ethan had a great birthday, he got lots of dinosaurs and was very excited, too excited to even eat his cake! Our big news is that he started going on the potty (finally!) so we spend most days in the toilet right now! I told him you said hi and he told me you were in Germany and he missed you.

Have fun!

Note to self: Implement advised fun once the ole' heart strings stop their tugging. Ouch.

Karneval der Kulturen!

This town always figures out a way to keep the party going. This weekend, it was due to CULTURE! Yes, in honor of culture, we would drink lots of caprihinas instead of beer! (Okay, that's probably an exaggeration. I doubt that any delicious, sugary cocktail ever wins over a cold, frosty one in this town). Anyway, I had found out from my German teacher the other day that there would be cultural festivities throughout Kreuzberg and Neukölln all weekend. Again, I am amazed how often Roomie and I are right smack dab in the thick of things. This was pretty darn clear when around noon yesterday, my work was interrupted by drumming, singing, and cheering from the street below. Apparently, there was a parade starting just down the street. I wish we had gone (check out the pic's from last year!) but we had heard there were festivities going on all day so we waited for our friends and headed to Hallesches Tor instead. On our way, we came across a troupe of young ladies wearing what appeared to be hot pink, stone studded bikinis paired with black hose and feathery headdresses. One of my friends referred to them as belly dancers. My mind, on the other hand, was thinking more along the lines of Las Vegas showgirl.

Once we reached the festival at Hallesches Tor, we secured a few drinks, took stock of what we might eat later (cone of french fries or veggie kabobs?), and then stretched out in a nice sunny patch of grass. Unfortunately, within minutes, a "magic show" decided to set up next to us. I could not for the life of me understand the "magic" or the humor of this show which was being put on by the following players: a hobo looking dude playing a cello, a sexy assistant type wearing shiny, rust colored spandex pants paired with a silver bustier and a big, yellow flower in her hair, and a clownish looking "magician" whose best trick seemed to be stuffing a ridiculous amount of kitchen scrubbies into his mouth. Considering the disturbed expression on my roomie's face, I don't think any sort of German translation would have made this act less wacko.

Then there were the stilt people (see above photo). Wearing all white, they wandered around, pantomiming the loss of a little, white bird. Now that in itself could be kind of beautiful. However, when one of the stilt people has long gloves/fingers a la Edward Scissorhands and another (whom I affectionately refer to as "Tube Guy") maniacally fingers the long white tubes flowing from his shoulder blades (???), you've got to wonder if at any moment, rifles are gonna appear from under those robes.

But aside from creepiness and the non-magical/non-humorous factor, who doesn't enjoy being amused in a park on a sunny afternoon?

A Healthy Obsession

Remember this? I had bust out laughing the first time the Frau from my Learning German CD taught me how to say "asparagus with ham." After I had blogged about it, one of my German friends had emailed me to confirm. "Yes, we are crazy about the asparagus," she had written which in its earnestness made me crack up all over again.

Then a few weeks after my arrival in Berlin, this same friend invited me over for dinner, this very dinner actually. White asparagus covered in a creamy hollandaise sauce alongside boiled potatoes and shredded ham. (And yes, I partook in the ham but I swear I haven't had a meat product since then!) It was indeed a delicious combo and just like my post-dinner state from the previous spaetzle dinner at their flat, I left with a hard, round tummy.

I've noticed since then that every other restaurant I now pass seem to be posting signs, beckoning people to come in for their very own weisse Spargel specialty. It is actually a bit of an obsession here in Berlin which is why I found this little bit amusing. Mmm, vegetarian ragout sounds pretty fantastic. Sign me up!