Relocation Announcement!

Hello to my limited number of followers. 

I have decided, because I might garner more followers, to switch my blog to tumblr. 

It's just about the same name, VirginiaontheGo.tumblr.com, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as this one! 

I will be writing about the same things, my travels and life in Berlin, and I hope you'll keep up with it!  I look forward to seeing you on tumblr,

Virginia

Just another crazy Berlin night...

Friday, the 9th of August was in fact the most Berlin day I have ever spent in my entire life.  I have converted, they have taken me, I am now officially one of them.

Earlier this week I was shamed into buying a bike because almost everyone else has them, and they are by far the best way to get around.  So, on this particularly lovely day, after being classically lazy with my time and not doing anything, I left on my bike to meet a friend in Mitte, Berlin's central neighborhood.  We walked along through Museuminsel (Museum Island) to Alexanderplatz, discussing the merits and drawbacks of German and other international men before I buzzed east to the Warschauer Str area to go to an open air arts party.

Arriving around 7, I paid my one-day fee of €6 and milled around.  A maze of indoor and outdoor warehouse facilities confronted me, each passageway leading to another artistic exploration.  On one side, I went through a warehouse where a dj set up some beats for making art, and walking through I found myself watching graffiti artists tattooing the walls with their inspiration.  I watched for a while, impressed with their spray paint technique and design.  Then I moved back outside, where a band was starting to play on stage #1, grooving to chill sounds and leading the relaxed atmosphere of what in Berlin is considered a Friday afternoon.  Moving past the outdoor Foosball table and full bar to stage #2, I find myself sitting on a sofa outside as a singer-songwriter blends out her latest tunes while others chat and relax.  It is a simple day full of arts and inspiration, nestled in a warehouse but decorated with natural, real surroundings.

After a while without finding my friend, I return home to eat something, have a little rest, and get ready for the rest of the evening.  Berlin clubs don't start until midnight at the earliest, but a friend's band is playing back at this little mini-festival, so I return around 10 to hear them play.  After touring the now almost full festival and seeing what else is on display, we stayed for the band, which was in full Berlin style.  Berlin is home to techno - monotonous beats that are often enjoyed after a hit of Ecstasy and a looooot of alcohol, often while remaining high in a club for three days straight.  This, I do not generally participate in.  However, it did not surprise me at all to see a band that combined keyboard, beats dj, saxaphone, clarinet, violin, bass, bass guitar, and vocals in one handsome package.  As the band cleared the area for the hoola hoop artist to join them as they continued their jazzy beats, I realized how wonderful my life is here.  But not to worry, the night doesn't end there.

I had to leave before the end of the set to meet another friend at beach club on the other side of the city, but my close proximity to an sbahn stop sincerely helped.  The dj there played a mix of 90s, Top 40, and electronica, thankfully leaving out the endless techno that I find here, and with a joyful crowd we danced under the stars, surrounded by imported white sand and on the calm shores of the river Spree.  A completely Berlin night - if they could only teach me German, I'd be a national in no time. 

Tonight?  Another classic Berlin activity - Balkan Beats!

An Expat's Response to an Expat Article Written by...not an expat.

Opening up facebook this morning, as I rather pathetically do every morning, I saw a friend had linked to an article about what "the rest of us" could learn about expats: http://www.theage.com.au/travel/blogs/the-backpacker/what-we-could-all-learn-from-expats-20130711-2psde.html

My first observation was that the writer had never, in fact, been an expat.  Had never forced himself through the cavernous and jarring realities of looking for housing, employment, social environs, edamame, pears, or simply adventure in a new city, country, language, and culture than the one he or she had been initiated in through years of socialization.  I have, three times now, and although all of my experiences have been in Europe, they are none the less expansive or educational. 

To completely eradicate any myths that this article purports, we are not all people who act instead of dream.  I, and many of my other expatriate compatriots dream of trips we cannot take, adventures we cannot experience, and lives that we simply cannot live. 

Reasons why these experiences are not being had:
a) No money!  Teaching English, which is in fact at the bottom of the barrel of expat careers (righto on that one, Mr. Groundwater!), is also not very high paying.  Unless you are fortunate to have savings or another stream of income, you are sadly out of luck when it comes to traveling all the time. 
b) No time!  Funny thing - if you cancel a lesson to go on a trip, you also forfeit  profits from that lesson, which would have contributed quite nicely to said trip.  It's quite a no-win situation.
c) No teleportation!  Despite all the technological advances in international travel, and there certainly have been some, there is no magic wand that gets you out of the city to where you want to be, and then back to where you need to be.  Sometimes you just need to be where you chose to live, not elsewhere. 
d) No autonomy!  Your boss may not give you time off, you may need to go back to your place of origin for a family emergency, or you may need to take some personal time off because you need a break from all that expat life has thrown at you.  Sometimes it is simply out of your control completely. 
This is certainly not a complete list, and if you have more to add, I would love to hear them in comments! 

Other myths that I am here to refute:
-Just because you're adventurous to move to Prague or Berlin or even Taipei does not mean that you're going to be up for everything, eat insects, go on a dangerous excursion that could potentially have stupendous consequences, or risk everything for that big wave.  Not all of us are such amazing risk takers!  Some of us just wanted to be somewhere else. 
-Not all expats are friendly!  Just because they're at a couchsurfing meeting doesn't mean that they want to immediately become your best friend.  Sometimes people just want something from you, or in many cases in Berlin, some just want to get laid - not be your friend and travel companion. 

So...sorry kids, it's not always the dream it's cracked up to be.  But, I will say that it's always worth it, and that the tough experiences make your life richer, make your decisions easier, and generally contribute to the long list of awesome things you did with your life when you're thinking it all over on your deathbed.  I would highly recommend it to anyone, even if I have experienced all of the above.  Don't expect magic to come to you - you have to go out there and make it for yourself!

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.