Sitting by the Spree-side

First of all, I simply cannot take credit for "Spree-side", I saw it on someone else's blog.  I should be ashamed, but it was so cute I copied it.  Sorry, internet! 

All the same, my Berlin experience was notched up to slightly even more Berlin-esque when I went to Badeschiff today with my lovely friend David.  Those of you who are familiar with Berlin may not be aware of this, but it is the most Berlin place that I have ever been to - that is, fully of the strange, contradictory, outdoor, and fun, but with rules of course. 

It all starts with the classic Berlin conundrum of the best places being the most difficult to get to.  Go past Club der Visionaere, one of the top rated bars in Berlin, which is open 24/7, constantly plays some form of techno, and is outdoors.  Follow the randomly placed signs through the sketchy looking warehouse area, and suddenly you find yourself at a rudimentary beach area. 

You have to pay to get in, which is par for the course in Berlin, but unlike other beach areas, you cannot bring in your own drinks or food - water, fruit, nothing.  I brought in my own fruit which I managed to hide in the nick of time, but unfortunately the water went into the large trough of confiscated water bottles that had to be disposed of by the staff.  Pay your fine (student discount!), and go in. 

At first sight, you are treated to a sandy beach that leads to no water of any kind, but instead to a look over the industrial sights of the Spree river, before heading downstairs to the open deck, chairs included, and of course, in Berlin fashion, a swimming pool on a river.  We are not in Kansas anymore! 

Darling David!

Berlin constantly surprises me with its obsession with outdoor everything in summertime, despite the ostentatiously cold winter, and its near worship of deckchairs by the river.  Not that I'm complaining, of course.  As a woman that originally comes from another city with a large, focal river and many lakefront beaches, however, I find it hard to do anything but rejoice that this city at least has fully embraced its ability to find warmth and joy in its few weeks of stifling summer heat.  Here's to you, Berlin, and may our parting be far off. 

A Brazilian and an American walk into an 80s club...

The night finally cooling down heated Berlin, my friend R. and I walk into a club, Talking Heads blasting as Foosball is played in one corner and the rest of the enormous room is crowded by dancers of all ages, some dressed up, some not, and all moving to the 80s.  Over the night, we move from one spot to the other, trying to find the best vibe to dance in, avoiding cruel stares by the sometimes haughty Berlin women, and of course trying to find the cutest single guys. 

Luckily for us, we had no problem finding gorgeous guys all around us - making out to other guys.  Little known fact (that probably everyone else knew): 80s night is home to the gays, at least outside Shoneberg, Berlin's famously gay-friendly neighborhood.  The fabulous gentleman who stepped on R.'s foot a whopping three times soon became our friend as he told me my Madonna-inspired dancing was "fierce" and tried to help us pick out straight guys for us to dance with as he intimately interacted with the other gentleman behind him.

Fog and cigarette smoke obscure vision, not to mention our previous drinks, as we try to pick out the cutest guy, give him the eye and strike up a conversation.  Another fun fact about Berlin - German guys do not, I repeat, do NOT go up to girls and chat them up!  German women find it creepy for men to approach them and start a conversation, so it's up to women to say the first hello.  Very, very different than how I was brought up!  R. and I have decided we need to garner some practice in chatting up guys, since now all the pickup lines are sadly up to us. 

But never fear, as we learned upon leaving the club, when the men are drunk, they have no problem coming up to you and asking you to accompany them "over there" to party.  Before you ask, we refused.  Time to prep for another night out in Berlin!  :)

Kind Requests

When discussing what to blog about in Berlin, my current flatmate suggested that I write about something very unique to Berlin: the large variety, rather than large number, of people asking you for money. 
Today, someone asked my friends and I to buy cookies from them so they could get tickets back home - wherever that is, as they did not have accents that we could identify.  Eastern European, perhaps?  With packs on their backs and hand-carrying a basket of cellophane-wrapped cookies, we wondered how they got the money for cookies and a myriad of other roadblocks to their cause, including the possibilities of its truth. 

Very common to Berlin are hippies younger than me, dirty and pleasant, asking for money for beer or weed.  Often in a group, sometimes with a dog, they are usually a jubilant bunch, hoping to score a little change to be spent on a good time in Berlin.  As usual for me, I continue to have questions: where do you live and how do you pay for that?  Do you simply not have enough left over for beer, or is it just a sign that you made in hopes that it would inspire donations, no matter what the funds are really used for?  What is your history, what brought you here and made you decide to stay?  Perhaps just the availability of street donations. 

My personal favorite are of course the street musicians.  I have taken to giving them my smallest coins if I think they are playing well, and considering it good karma, have kept up the practice.  I inherited quite a bit of small change from friends and family leaving Europe, and I certainly think that decent musicians are a good avenue for that small investment.  However, I do not like them on trains - the space is too small, and makes it impossible to gossip with one's friends.  Those I ignore - I don't want to encourage them!  However, they are all a part of what makes Berlin, especially in this warm time of year, an incredible place to live.  Someone's always doing something, and there's always something to talk about. 

A wave to the hated tourists

At least once a week, I do a jog/walk along the canal near my flat in Kruezberg.  I go past the open tables of restaurants where people are having coffee or wine on the river, underneath a swaying willow tree.  I go past Kottbusser Brucke, where I dodge cars and bikes to cross one of the busiest streets in xberg, as my neighborhood is called, and I hit Admiralbrucke, where friends meet for a quick drink from the local spati.  I continue on, focusing on panting down the dirt paths instead of the more damaging stone ones, and try to improve my form with each step, moving as if through water.  I pass friends meeting for lunch, preschoolers on an outing with their teachers, homeless men looking for bottles to make some quick change.  I turn back when the river turns away from me, and work my way back on the other side.  I pass the wine store that tempts me with liquid gold and sometimes jump my way through the obstacle course that is the Kruezberg Market, mostly Turkish men selling cheap and in-season fruits and vegetables that pass by. 

I stop at "my" bridge, Hobrechtbrucke, and there, I stretch, using the gate that keeps me from drowning as a barre to stretch my tired, jumpy legs.  My neighborhood is covered with graffiti, and this bridge is no exception.  As I look down to focus on my stretch, I see three separate statements hating the tourists, damn them all.  And as I look up, I give a wave to a boat full of them as they pass underneath me, my disco music drowning out the tour guide as he rambles along.  Berlin is a little gritty and conflicted in that way, and that's why I love it. 

Cocktails in India...in Berlin

In Berlin, the best place to get cheap cocktails is at your local Indian restaurant.  At the place down the street from me, it goes from about 6pm-9pm, or 18-21 in European time, which I now prefer, and provides cocktails for 3.90, an unreasonably amazing price.  Now, you do get what you pay for, but for those of us who just want to drink something sweet and not worry about a price point, it is absolute perfection.  In other neighborhoods in Berlin where Indian restaurants are more prolific, there can be a variety of happy hours.  Some restaurants provide the cheapest price from 9-12, others only from midnight on, and even others restrict it to lunch.  If you're a very lucky duck, you can simply go from one Indian restaurant to the next, getting more and more drunk on cheap, and probably low liquor, cocktails. 

 Start with a mojito and continue onto a cosmopolitan, served here in a tall glass, not as a martini, and before you know it, you'll be screaming for a long island iced tea and enjoying your Berlin weekend quite thoroughly.  For those of us with a fairly low tolerance and a certainly small pocketbook, this is an ideal way to spend the day.  After all, in Berlin, it is completely normal and even expected to start your Saturday drinking with a glass of something libatious at a late lunch, and keep on trudging along until you are pleasantly drunk at midnight, right in time to go clubbing and get hit on by the usually very reserved, but currently plastered, German boys.  Only in Berlin!

Thoughts on Life

Every single day is riddled with choices - what to eat, who to spend (or waste) your time with, where to call your home, and on and on, ad infinitum (now that I've added a touch of Latin you may think I'm a douchey pseudo-intellectual and stop reading - yet another choice!).  Some are the best choices we've ever made, and some are the most regretted.  My life choices have been of severe debate amongst all of my acquaintance, and unfortunately I'm not even sure yet whether they're good.  But I can tell you that I've never regretted the choice to be happy.  Because to my surprise, happiness is a choice, not a gift from God, not something formulated by putting together the magical recipe that bakes into your happiness, but something you have to work for, and that you have to focus on.  Who knew?!

Living abroad, however, is a choice overflowing with challenges, most generally ridiculous and unforeseeable.  Going to the hardware store suddenly becomes an adventure, and talking to your co-workers is an absolute impossibility.  In cases such as these, to paraphrase Jane Austen, a bad attitude is impardonable.  And it is a lesson I need to learn, every damn day, and only the hard way. 

When I tell people in my home city how I live my life, and especially where, the first response is assuredly "OH, I could never do that", spoken in a low whisper of fear and almost horror at the thought of how difficult it would have to be.  Of course there have been difficulties, but I worked through them, one step at at time.  What I consistently find interesting is that for me, it would be horrible to stay where I was, and to just be another part of what I call the Minnesota Machine.  Make decent friends, get a decent job, have a decent amount of fun, marry a decent person, have very decent children, get a decent house, and have a decent life.  I looked upon my future there, and found that "decent" was all I was going to get out of it.  I know wonderful people who have been very happy living their lives there - and feel that they are more than decent.  I rejoice in their happiness, and would never try to change them.  But I wanted more - I wanted something different.  And to stay where I was would have been robbing myself of the full life that I fully expect of myself. 

As many of you already know, and some of you could probably suspect, if you know me that is, I have been going through an existential crisis for many weeks now.  I get up, I go to work, I see my friends, I have my fun, but all the while, underneath all the bravado (of which I have perhaps too much), I am wondering what the hell it is all for.  Why am I here?  Why do anything?  Why do nothing?  What is the purpose of the universe, and what is my purpose in it?  Can I even contribute anything at all of value?  Does anyone at all really benefit from my contribution to the world in a way that no one else could provide?  I currently teach at a preschool, and I think I do a reasonably good job, but there are I'm sure many others who could, and do, a much better job than I ever could.  I feel myself floating in a world without a purpose or direction, and I'm not sure what to make of it. 

Is there any solution out there?  As of yet: unknown. 
The existential crisis continues!

Rough day...and it's not even 10am

Exhaustion coats my insides as a morning that started at 3:30am finally comes to rest, my bones creaking even as I write. The tears that have made me infamous come to my eyes and I mentally beg the Berlin transit system to get me home soon, where I can cry my years of frustration in peace.
Thoughts of my family, my job, my future, my life, fill me with an inescapable sense of helplessness, uselessness, and the reality that I am entirely without power hangs heavy with dread. I have no solutions, no avenues left to explore except to try again and again, making myself insane by definition, and yet I cannot help it because I have no other choice.
I pray that sleep will help, that fear will recede and solutions will appear to make this better before the next collision occurs & I am useless again.

And for the millionth time I ask myself: is it worth it? But it has to be, for this is me, forming myself, building an emotional future I can count in, and I must continue forward. There is no other direction to move in.
I am powerless.