I went to a concert at the Philharmonie with C last night, part of MusikFest Berlin - he had an extra ticket. The Concertgebouw Orchestra from Amsterdam played a program of Wagner and Debussy, some of my favorite music. Chromatic, hesitant, full of interesting orchestral colors and instrumentation. We also went to an exhibition at the Haus der Kulturen der Welt beforehand. Last night was also the "open door night" at the Staatsoper on Unter den Linden; the opera house was open to the public past midnight to watch rehearsals and small concerts of the Oper singers and instrumentalists, held at different venues and areas of the opera house and surrounding buildings. Amazing, such a great idea. We stopped by after the Philharmonie, since it's on the way (on bikes). We saw part of a rehearsal on the main stage (the most gorgeous hall, quite small but tiered with 5 balconies, straight up) of a big opera, some singers in the downstairs bar (a large hall, really a work of art), some clarinetists, and then 4 cellists playing their own arrangement of pop songs in the huge, warehouse-like storage magazine - that especially was great. Lots of people were there to hear all the music.
A good way to enjoy Berlin before I leave for the fall.
I had the typical Sunday Berlin brunch this morning with A at a decadent Russian restaurant. The weather was lovely, perfect brunch weather, and everyone sat outside; the food was even lovelier, and A and I stuffed ourselves for nearly 3 hours. A is British; she works here in translation but, ready to get out, is looking for new programs and other countries to live in. But it's hard because she's been here 10 years. C and D had a booth at the big flea market at Mauerpark today - I guess it's a yearly thing for them, getting rid of stuff they don't want anymore - so I went over and watched weird Berlin people looking through all sorts of junk and not-junk (a lot of East German communist memorabilia) and goofed around and had a nice afternoon. I don't know D as well, but she's nice; her English is ok but not great, heavy accent, and she speaks so fast that sometimes I only catch half of what she says.
I don't miss many people in general, which is kind of mean, I guess; I don't do it purposely. But I will miss C and A. And I miss R. Three of the best people I've ever met. Absolute gems.
Showing posts with label Germany. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Germany. Show all posts
02 September 2007
05 July 2007
A Rainy 4th
The wintry weather in Berlin did not make 4th of July very festive for any Americans seeking sunny summer fun. I got rather drenched in a few downpours and ate dinner at a Spanish tapas restaurant. Star-Spangled Banner indeed!
In sad news: 3 of my (um, like 8?) friends in Berlin moved away this week, two to London, one to Chile. :(
In sad news: 3 of my (um, like 8?) friends in Berlin moved away this week, two to London, one to Chile. :(
26 June 2007
Dear...
I hope you enjoy the:
1. sunshine while it lasts
2. bike riding
3. brown-bagged lunch
4. library browsing
5. frantic reading
because life could be a whole lot worse, and someday you might look back and think "Those FU Berlin days weren't really so bad - kind of relaxing, idyllic" in the split second before your pregnant 15-year-old daughter starts screaming about the empty refrigerator, your 7-year-old boy throws the remote control at the TV, missing and smashing a hole through the living room window, and your second ex-wife's new boyfriend, who is over to collect the 3-year-old, crashes, in his drunken stupor, into the glass case containing your mother's precious porcelain dishes handed down four generations, and just as the shelves start tipping, a cascade of painted white bone china like a mountain avalanche, your 3-year-old, momentarily dropped by the startled ex-wife's boyfriend, projectile vomits all over the newly polished hardwood floors, and as this cacophony is turning you into a Moses Herzog figure, a cocktail of paralyzing self-pity and enraged insanity, you glance out the window to see your ex-wife impatiently glaring at you from the passenger seat of the shiny blue Mustang parked in your shabby driveway, and you jolt into action, run to the door, and shout, "How dare you let this RAVING DRUNK MADMAN drive with little Bobby in the back seat!"
This is why all of you, dear readers, would be lucky to maintain email communication with me: I'm known to send wishes, possible predictions, and very long sentences at 10 in the morning, to unsuspecting homo sapiens.
1. sunshine while it lasts
2. bike riding
3. brown-bagged lunch
4. library browsing
5. frantic reading
because life could be a whole lot worse, and someday you might look back and think "Those FU Berlin days weren't really so bad - kind of relaxing, idyllic" in the split second before your pregnant 15-year-old daughter starts screaming about the empty refrigerator, your 7-year-old boy throws the remote control at the TV, missing and smashing a hole through the living room window, and your second ex-wife's new boyfriend, who is over to collect the 3-year-old, crashes, in his drunken stupor, into the glass case containing your mother's precious porcelain dishes handed down four generations, and just as the shelves start tipping, a cascade of painted white bone china like a mountain avalanche, your 3-year-old, momentarily dropped by the startled ex-wife's boyfriend, projectile vomits all over the newly polished hardwood floors, and as this cacophony is turning you into a Moses Herzog figure, a cocktail of paralyzing self-pity and enraged insanity, you glance out the window to see your ex-wife impatiently glaring at you from the passenger seat of the shiny blue Mustang parked in your shabby driveway, and you jolt into action, run to the door, and shout, "How dare you let this RAVING DRUNK MADMAN drive with little Bobby in the back seat!"
This is why all of you, dear readers, would be lucky to maintain email communication with me: I'm known to send wishes, possible predictions, and very long sentences at 10 in the morning, to unsuspecting homo sapiens.
21 June 2007
One of the Worst
Today was a really bad day.
A really really bad day.
I want to go home. Where is home?
A really really bad day.
I want to go home. Where is home?
05 June 2007
Baby Steps
Setting: Cafe in East Berlin, 10:30am, morning after the bombshell
Me: drawing; Friend: writing
[Silence; ambient cafe noises]
Me: (turning suddenly to friend in outburst of despair) OH F#&%! What am I going to do?!?
Friend: (ponders for a moment) Well, in a little while you'll eat lunch. It's not much, and beyond that I don't know. But it's something.
---
Epiphany: What is any relationship - be it friendship, marriage, or anything in between - if not a promise, spoken or unspoken, to catch you when you fall?
Me: drawing; Friend: writing
[Silence; ambient cafe noises]
Me: (turning suddenly to friend in outburst of despair) OH F#&%! What am I going to do?!?
Friend: (ponders for a moment) Well, in a little while you'll eat lunch. It's not much, and beyond that I don't know. But it's something.
---
Epiphany: What is any relationship - be it friendship, marriage, or anything in between - if not a promise, spoken or unspoken, to catch you when you fall?
22 March 2007
An Unnecessary Exercise (in Frustration)
Hallo IKEA,
Meine Möbel ist am Montag gekommen, aber es war kaputt. Die Männer
hat mir gesagt, dass sie wären die Möbel zu IKEA zurücknehmen und
wären am nächsten Tag mit neue Möbel kommen, aber die Männer sind
nicht gekommen. Heute ist Donnerstag - ich möchte meine Möbel, bitte!
Ich habe anrufen probieren, aber niemand beantwortet das Telefon.
Morgen (Freitag, März 23) ist am besten für mich, um 9 bis 14, für die
Möbel zu kommen.
Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut - ich hoffe, dass Sie können dieses
Email verstehen.
Danke,
A.
(Meine Muttersprache ist Englisch)
Meine Möbel ist am Montag gekommen, aber es war kaputt. Die Männer
hat mir gesagt, dass sie wären die Möbel zu IKEA zurücknehmen und
wären am nächsten Tag mit neue Möbel kommen, aber die Männer sind
nicht gekommen. Heute ist Donnerstag - ich möchte meine Möbel, bitte!
Ich habe anrufen probieren, aber niemand beantwortet das Telefon.
Morgen (Freitag, März 23) ist am besten für mich, um 9 bis 14, für die
Möbel zu kommen.
Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut - ich hoffe, dass Sie können dieses
Email verstehen.
Danke,
A.
(Meine Muttersprache ist Englisch)
06 February 2007
Learning the Hard Way
So while at the grocery store this evening, I decided to take a walk down the cookie aisle. Usually I don't allow myself the temptation (the plethora of bakeries in this city is sinful enough), but this time, I thought, I'll just look.
And while just looking at the bags of yummy things, I ran into my neighbor, the one 5 floors up who has been a big anti-piano advocate to the building owners, the one who has complained from day 1 about my practicing, the one I haven't seen in two weeks and was hoping to continue the streak.
I've done everything possible to cut down on sound - mattresses against the wall, meters of thick acoustic foam inside the piano and stuck into all sorts of places underneath that you didn't even know existed, blankets heaped on top. In fact the piano is now so quiet that I can barely hear it when I play.
But he apparently still can.
And wants to meet again next week to discuss the "problem."
I should never have walked down the cookie aisle.
I may never go to the grocery store again.
After the food I bought today runs out, I'll probably never eat again.
I've learned my lesson.
And while just looking at the bags of yummy things, I ran into my neighbor, the one 5 floors up who has been a big anti-piano advocate to the building owners, the one who has complained from day 1 about my practicing, the one I haven't seen in two weeks and was hoping to continue the streak.
I've done everything possible to cut down on sound - mattresses against the wall, meters of thick acoustic foam inside the piano and stuck into all sorts of places underneath that you didn't even know existed, blankets heaped on top. In fact the piano is now so quiet that I can barely hear it when I play.
But he apparently still can.
And wants to meet again next week to discuss the "problem."
I should never have walked down the cookie aisle.
I may never go to the grocery store again.
After the food I bought today runs out, I'll probably never eat again.
I've learned my lesson.
22 January 2007
Rant
(In case I ever run for President of something, I've decided to remove comments that I might regret later on, though I believe what I wrote is true - the following paragraph shall suffice in summarizing my feelings of last week.)
The Germans bask in their so-called European liberalism, and let me tell you, it is ANYTHING but liberal. Freedom of speech, of expression, of thought, they control it all. You don't toe the line, their line, their imaginary little line in the sand, and you're more than the black sheep. You're on the other side of the fence. And it ain't green on the other side of the fence. It's a swampy bog of crap. Underneath that shiny facade of recycle-by-glass-color bins, something is rotten, and it stinks.
The Germans bask in their so-called European liberalism, and let me tell you, it is ANYTHING but liberal. Freedom of speech, of expression, of thought, they control it all. You don't toe the line, their line, their imaginary little line in the sand, and you're more than the black sheep. You're on the other side of the fence. And it ain't green on the other side of the fence. It's a swampy bog of crap. Underneath that shiny facade of recycle-by-glass-color bins, something is rotten, and it stinks.
07 January 2007
Lyrics to Live By
"The sky is lit up
Day will be richer than night"
Sometimes, everything clicks. The right circumstances, the right actions, the right people, the right time of year aligning with new beginnings. Even the right music plays along as a soundtrack, new lyrics, new sounds that perfectly describe both inner feelings and external events. Everything is lit up. Nothing is simple, or simplified, but the complexities hiding in long shadows have been exposed to the radiance of day, and the intricacies, once so frightening, are shown to be part of a luxurious weave. Sink your fingers in.
"You show me the world as it could be
Through your kaleidoscope, it's beautiful"
Joseph Conrad wrote, "The human heart is vast enough to contain all the world." When the world expands, do our hearts expand too? Whenever I see a new place, meet a new person, or have a new experience, extra dimensions are added to an already multi-dimensional world. Just over this holiday, I travelled to another country, met many new people, delved into the past, and celebrated traditions in new ways. I explored Amsterdam with a Dutch family, spent Christmas with a supermodel, toured Rembrandt's house and studio, made the pilgrimage to Anne Frank's secret annex, celebrated New Year's in a truly Berlinesque fashion, set off fireworks, watched night melt into day, heard a first-hand account of journalism in Africa from a journalist not much older than me, moved into a new apartment, read a book about the White Rose, and discovered a brilliant new singer/songwriter (real musician) whose songs add vibrant colors to my expanding world. Oh, also, my severe stomach flu and I spent an entire night throwing up into my former professor's toilet. There's nothing like being sick all over somebody else's bathroom. And then having that same professor standing over you in your misery, holding a glass of water and Tylenol, and with an evil gleam in his eye, saying, "Now you have to take back all the mean things you ever said about me, or I wont give you this!"
And I can't forget the Herring Sandwich Deal. I'm lucky to know such generous, genuine, caring people. And after all those essays too. Well, it's clear who the bigger person is. Which wouldn't be me.
"But I'm sure you're on your way
Yes I'm sure you're on the road"
A very exciting life I know of: Ivory Coast, England, Ireland, Berlin, Amsterdam, England, Congo
Me (I try): New York, California, Berlin, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Berlin
Amsterdam: winter evening, dark shiny sky, people everywhere, walking, biking, driving, lights reflecting in the water, in the river, in the canals, shimmering a glow of welcome, bells ringing, cobblestones and pavement, my suitcase in the basket, my professor on the bike, me perched on metal bars over the rear tire, hanging on for dear life as we swerve through traffic, puff over bridges, and catapult down the other side into inky blackness.
"And I've always known you're like a feather
You go where wind and fire melt together"
(land of wind and fire....)
Then: a wild (Wild) New Year's Eve party, full of English speaking Germans and half-Germans only a couple years older than me, a reunion of classmates from nearly 10 years ago - the camaraderie, the fondness, the continuance of shared experience was sweet, and I felt a little sad that I have nothing like that. But the hosts made me feel welcome and wanted in the celebration. From the 6th floor balcony, the night sky exploded with furious bangs and nebulae of flame for hours. I burnt my finger on a fire-cracker, but hey, you gotta live. Champagne, bubbly bubbles, overflowed glasses and spouted geysers over exuberant, intoxicated partiers. This was no polite hello to 2007. This was AWESOME.
And then, from a window, I saw the birth of the first day of 2007. The new year doesn't really start at midnight. It starts around 7:45am. That's what you must stay up for. Unless your New Year's Resolution is to start waking up early and being productive.
"Beautiful day, watching you as you awake
Morning stars in your eyes, your hand in mine"
Not all the complex intertwinings are illuminated at once. Through the present glow, one can make out, far into the distance, the undulating outlines of weaves undiscovered - hopefully not made of thorns. Mystery future. Sometime, the light will be cast on those as well.
Until then: wait.
Day will be richer than night"
Sometimes, everything clicks. The right circumstances, the right actions, the right people, the right time of year aligning with new beginnings. Even the right music plays along as a soundtrack, new lyrics, new sounds that perfectly describe both inner feelings and external events. Everything is lit up. Nothing is simple, or simplified, but the complexities hiding in long shadows have been exposed to the radiance of day, and the intricacies, once so frightening, are shown to be part of a luxurious weave. Sink your fingers in.
"You show me the world as it could be
Through your kaleidoscope, it's beautiful"
Joseph Conrad wrote, "The human heart is vast enough to contain all the world." When the world expands, do our hearts expand too? Whenever I see a new place, meet a new person, or have a new experience, extra dimensions are added to an already multi-dimensional world. Just over this holiday, I travelled to another country, met many new people, delved into the past, and celebrated traditions in new ways. I explored Amsterdam with a Dutch family, spent Christmas with a supermodel, toured Rembrandt's house and studio, made the pilgrimage to Anne Frank's secret annex, celebrated New Year's in a truly Berlinesque fashion, set off fireworks, watched night melt into day, heard a first-hand account of journalism in Africa from a journalist not much older than me, moved into a new apartment, read a book about the White Rose, and discovered a brilliant new singer/songwriter (real musician) whose songs add vibrant colors to my expanding world. Oh, also, my severe stomach flu and I spent an entire night throwing up into my former professor's toilet. There's nothing like being sick all over somebody else's bathroom. And then having that same professor standing over you in your misery, holding a glass of water and Tylenol, and with an evil gleam in his eye, saying, "Now you have to take back all the mean things you ever said about me, or I wont give you this!"
And I can't forget the Herring Sandwich Deal. I'm lucky to know such generous, genuine, caring people. And after all those essays too. Well, it's clear who the bigger person is. Which wouldn't be me.
"But I'm sure you're on your way
Yes I'm sure you're on the road"
A very exciting life I know of: Ivory Coast, England, Ireland, Berlin, Amsterdam, England, Congo
Me (I try): New York, California, Berlin, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Berlin
Amsterdam: winter evening, dark shiny sky, people everywhere, walking, biking, driving, lights reflecting in the water, in the river, in the canals, shimmering a glow of welcome, bells ringing, cobblestones and pavement, my suitcase in the basket, my professor on the bike, me perched on metal bars over the rear tire, hanging on for dear life as we swerve through traffic, puff over bridges, and catapult down the other side into inky blackness.
"And I've always known you're like a feather
You go where wind and fire melt together"
(land of wind and fire....)
Then: a wild (Wild) New Year's Eve party, full of English speaking Germans and half-Germans only a couple years older than me, a reunion of classmates from nearly 10 years ago - the camaraderie, the fondness, the continuance of shared experience was sweet, and I felt a little sad that I have nothing like that. But the hosts made me feel welcome and wanted in the celebration. From the 6th floor balcony, the night sky exploded with furious bangs and nebulae of flame for hours. I burnt my finger on a fire-cracker, but hey, you gotta live. Champagne, bubbly bubbles, overflowed glasses and spouted geysers over exuberant, intoxicated partiers. This was no polite hello to 2007. This was AWESOME.
And then, from a window, I saw the birth of the first day of 2007. The new year doesn't really start at midnight. It starts around 7:45am. That's what you must stay up for. Unless your New Year's Resolution is to start waking up early and being productive.
"Beautiful day, watching you as you awake
Morning stars in your eyes, your hand in mine"
Not all the complex intertwinings are illuminated at once. Through the present glow, one can make out, far into the distance, the undulating outlines of weaves undiscovered - hopefully not made of thorns. Mystery future. Sometime, the light will be cast on those as well.
Until then: wait.
15 December 2006
Addition to the Hit List
So I didn't think it could possibly get worse.
And then after a Thursday with no opportunity to practice (choir rehearsals and yoga classes drove me far, far from the church), driven by the fear of another lesson this weekend, I decided I would try again at 10pm after the last choir rehearsal. At 9:30, a half hour early, I practiced a bit on the upright (free for the first time that day - the yoga room, the daycare room, the voice coaching room), waiting for the sanctuary and the grand piano to be free at 10. Finally the choir leaves. I walk downstairs, anticipating a night with the piano all to myself, and I open the door...and there, seated at the harpsichord, is an ancient man tuning the thing. Oh fine, I think, and stomp back upstairs to the upright. Tuning a harpsichord can't take all that long can it? I remember the tuner at MSM, and she didn't take too terribly long. I think maybe an hour ought to do it.
No. Exasperated and sick of the upright, I finally left the church over 3 hours later, at 1:30am, and the old man was STILL tuning the harpsichord. The worst part? It was still out of tune. What was he doing in there? WHAT was he DOING in there for all that TIME??? I mean SERIOUSLY. Somebody out there hates me.
And then after a Thursday with no opportunity to practice (choir rehearsals and yoga classes drove me far, far from the church), driven by the fear of another lesson this weekend, I decided I would try again at 10pm after the last choir rehearsal. At 9:30, a half hour early, I practiced a bit on the upright (free for the first time that day - the yoga room, the daycare room, the voice coaching room), waiting for the sanctuary and the grand piano to be free at 10. Finally the choir leaves. I walk downstairs, anticipating a night with the piano all to myself, and I open the door...and there, seated at the harpsichord, is an ancient man tuning the thing. Oh fine, I think, and stomp back upstairs to the upright. Tuning a harpsichord can't take all that long can it? I remember the tuner at MSM, and she didn't take too terribly long. I think maybe an hour ought to do it.
No. Exasperated and sick of the upright, I finally left the church over 3 hours later, at 1:30am, and the old man was STILL tuning the harpsichord. The worst part? It was still out of tune. What was he doing in there? WHAT was he DOING in there for all that TIME??? I mean SERIOUSLY. Somebody out there hates me.
12 December 2006
This land is my land....
This is a very weird city.
BERLIN, Germany (Reuters) -- German animal rights activists have launched a campaign against plans to put up a giant ferris wheel in Berlin, saying it would disturb the sex lives of rhinos in a nearby zoo.
A group of investors has unveiled plans to erect a 175-meter high wheel for 120 million euros ($158.9 million) in the German capital, hoping to attract millions of visitors from 2008.
But animal rights activists oppose the project, saying the fully-illuminated wheel would disturb the rhinos' daily routine.
"We're worried that these endangered animals won't breed any more, which would hamper animal protection programs," Berlin's animal rights association said in a statement.
The planned Berlin wheel would be higher than the London Eye, which claims to be the world's tallest observation wheel at 135 meters, according to its Web site.
BERLIN, Germany (Reuters) -- German animal rights activists have launched a campaign against plans to put up a giant ferris wheel in Berlin, saying it would disturb the sex lives of rhinos in a nearby zoo.
A group of investors has unveiled plans to erect a 175-meter high wheel for 120 million euros ($158.9 million) in the German capital, hoping to attract millions of visitors from 2008.
But animal rights activists oppose the project, saying the fully-illuminated wheel would disturb the rhinos' daily routine.
"We're worried that these endangered animals won't breed any more, which would hamper animal protection programs," Berlin's animal rights association said in a statement.
The planned Berlin wheel would be higher than the London Eye, which claims to be the world's tallest observation wheel at 135 meters, according to its Web site.
05 December 2006
B.S.
That's right. B.S. This country is full of B.S. I've just about had it.
1. Beethoven and Schumann. Last December, I was battling Bach and Schubert. Stupid German composers.
2. Boys Suck. Last December: Boyfriends Suck. Know what else sucks? The price of the Euro. When I first arrived, not even three months ago, 1 Euro = 1.25 Dollars. Now, 1 Euro = 1.33 Dollars.
3. Yesterday, somebody took the plastic bag covering my Bike Seat. Yep, a Bag Stealer. In a rainstorm. That's just mean.
4. Lest I forgot what country I'm in, I had a Gestapo agent as my visa interviewer yesterday morning at 7:30am. He made up all sorts of rules that none of the other Americans I know with visas had even heard of. Result? No visa. He wouldn't give me a visa. I didn't get a visa. They let all those Muslim terrorists into Germany, they let all those unsavory Turks invade Berlin, but they won't give me a student visa. Talk about BULLSHIT.
Seriously. All I want is my own apartment with a kitchen and a piano. And a visa. Is this really too much to ask? SERIOUSLY.
1. Beethoven and Schumann. Last December, I was battling Bach and Schubert. Stupid German composers.
2. Boys Suck. Last December: Boyfriends Suck. Know what else sucks? The price of the Euro. When I first arrived, not even three months ago, 1 Euro = 1.25 Dollars. Now, 1 Euro = 1.33 Dollars.
3. Yesterday, somebody took the plastic bag covering my Bike Seat. Yep, a Bag Stealer. In a rainstorm. That's just mean.
4. Lest I forgot what country I'm in, I had a Gestapo agent as my visa interviewer yesterday morning at 7:30am. He made up all sorts of rules that none of the other Americans I know with visas had even heard of. Result? No visa. He wouldn't give me a visa. I didn't get a visa. They let all those Muslim terrorists into Germany, they let all those unsavory Turks invade Berlin, but they won't give me a student visa. Talk about BULLSHIT.
Seriously. All I want is my own apartment with a kitchen and a piano. And a visa. Is this really too much to ask? SERIOUSLY.
30 November 2006
Coffee Chains, Bike Chains, Power Chains
Coffee to go isn't such a popular idea in Berlin. People like to be European. People are European. They like their hot drink in a mug. They like to sit down at a table, to chat, to drag on a cigarette and blow out swirling shapes. Latte macchiatos are grand affairs, served in large, clear glasses with dollops of foam that makes an American Starbucks barista look like the amateur she is. In the afternoon, expect a piece of kuchen alongside that espresso. Happy thought indeed.
This being said, let it be known that the coffee here--regular, black coffee--is terrible. Everywhere. Only the big chains serve decent black coffee. And I don't like big chains.
Another terrible thing? German drivers. Ghastly. Truly horrifying. As Jessie says, this is why German cars are so good. I have never seen such horrible driving - they have absolutely no idea what to do, where to turn the car, how far to pull forward or back out. Given the number of bicycle riders in Berlin, myself included, it's amazing there aren't more cycling fatalities on the roads. This, I suspect, is why cyclists ride on the sidewalks.
The practice situation has somewhat resolved itself this week because I didn't go to German class. Sadly, playing hooky isn't a permanent solution, and starting tomorrow, I must resume the student life. However, I do appreciate all the suggestions that my concerned readers put forward. It just so happens that my favorite is also the most practical - a chain saw. Easy to fold up and carry around in my pocket, of course.
A chain saw. Imagine the fear of those who dare disturb my practice! Imagine the power I will have over the piano!
You evil black monster, if I hear any wrong notes, I WILL HACK YOU TO BITS!!!!!!
It'll wish it had never left those innocent, by-gone days in the forest as a young sapling.
I WILL PUNISH YOU LIKE YOU PUNISH ME!!!!!!
*whirrrrrrzzzzzzKKKKHHHCKHCKHCKCHKHKHKHETHEKTH*
This being said, let it be known that the coffee here--regular, black coffee--is terrible. Everywhere. Only the big chains serve decent black coffee. And I don't like big chains.
Another terrible thing? German drivers. Ghastly. Truly horrifying. As Jessie says, this is why German cars are so good. I have never seen such horrible driving - they have absolutely no idea what to do, where to turn the car, how far to pull forward or back out. Given the number of bicycle riders in Berlin, myself included, it's amazing there aren't more cycling fatalities on the roads. This, I suspect, is why cyclists ride on the sidewalks.
The practice situation has somewhat resolved itself this week because I didn't go to German class. Sadly, playing hooky isn't a permanent solution, and starting tomorrow, I must resume the student life. However, I do appreciate all the suggestions that my concerned readers put forward. It just so happens that my favorite is also the most practical - a chain saw. Easy to fold up and carry around in my pocket, of course.
A chain saw. Imagine the fear of those who dare disturb my practice! Imagine the power I will have over the piano!
You evil black monster, if I hear any wrong notes, I WILL HACK YOU TO BITS!!!!!!
It'll wish it had never left those innocent, by-gone days in the forest as a young sapling.
I WILL PUNISH YOU LIKE YOU PUNISH ME!!!!!!
*whirrrrrrzzzzzzKKKKHHHCKHCKHCKCHKHKHKHETHEKTH*
25 November 2006
Madder, Then Hell
I am enraged.
First, background information.
I am a pianist.
Pianists, by and large, are anti-social creatures wanting nothing more than space, silence, and a piano.
I am a pianist with major audition coming up in February.
I am a pianist with possibly two lessons next weekend with my very demanding teacher who has been gone for a month.
I am a pianist playing the hardest, nastiest, most difficult, demanding, musically challenging, arm-aching piece of my life. Schumann Etudes Symphoniques. I'm also playing late Beethoven. This is no easy task.
I live in somebody else's house, I haven't got a piano, I get up at 5am to ride my bike in the cold German winter to a church with a Steinway downstairs and a little upright upstairs. I share the space and with two singers, two organists, a harpsichordist, several choirs, two wind bands, a daycare, and multiple services. Now that Christmas season has arrived, the number of services and various rehearsals of all kinds have multiplied.
Some days, somebody forgets to show up for practice time. Some days, I get lucky and stay extra hours. Those days, I don't eat, don't stop, don't rest my hands, and don't sleep because I know that the next day will throw some unexpected wrench into everything and I won't get to practice enough. Like today.
Yesterday, I did two hours in the morning before getting kicked out for a rehearsal. Then I did four hours in the afternoon. I asked the harpsichordist very sweetly that morning that if he was feeling generous later in the day and wanted to let me practice during his time to please let me know. It worked. I stayed almost three hours more. My hands have never ached so much in my life. I couldn't play another note. I literally could not move my fingers anymore. But I practiced the entire Schumann and the variation mvmt of Beethoven Op. 109. Really working that much music in one day is rare for me.
This morning, I woke up at 6am, talked to relatives half way across the world, and started practicing around 7:15 because I thought I had until 10, when the first singer is supposed to come. Nope. 8am sharp, the meanest, nastiest, rudest janitor in existence comes barging in, waving his arms at me and screaming in German to GET OUT BECAUSE HE HAS TO CLEAN.
Background: this foul, vile, evil, contemptible, horrible horrible squat Japanese man comes twice a week for two hours, Wednesday and Saturday mornings. He never has a set time. Last week he came at 10. He screams at everyone who dares to practice in there (except for one soprano - he lets her stay). WHY does HE get to call the shots? Why can't he clean WHILE we practice? I screamed back in German that I was NOT GOING TO LEAVE because I HAD TO PRACTICE. He screamed back, and since I had already used up my entire German vocabulary, I slammed the piano shut and stomped out, nearly crying with fury.
He is the first person in Germany that I truly hate. I battled a very strong desire to lock all the church doors and set it on fire while he was cleaning.
So from 8-10, I had the option of practicing on the upright. In some situations, this is ok. But I'm exhausted, my hands are exhausted, and I can't deal with an unresponsive action and naturally ugly sound. There's no point in pushing my hands on an instrument like this - too much work with too little result. So I practiced a little, lay on the wood floor because my back hurts, thought up dastardly punishments, bought some bread from a bakery, and went back to the Steinway at 10.
The singer didn't show. Aha, I thought, I can practice until 2pm now.
45 minutes later, the local teenage wind band came in.
"Wann sind Sie fertig?"
"Um eins."
Great.
So here I am, sitting in a room that I rent but isn't really mine, waiting until 1pm so I can go practice for an hour. Then the harpsichordist comes from 2-5. Then maybe I can practice more. But usually the church organist comes in for two hours. And there've been an increasing amount of choir rehearsals on Saturday evenings.
You know, I really bust my ass to do everything I can. Even in an ideal situation (Glenn Gould's lakeside Canadian house, for example), it's never enough. In this situation, it REALLY isn't enough. The inconsistency of it all is exhausting - I practice too much, I don't practice enough, I can't practice, I have to practice frantically, I ride my bike back and forth waiting for some time, I can't leave the church for fear I'll come back and somebody will have taken over....
The saving grace is the quality of the Steinway (very good) and the fact that when nobody kicks me out, I really am left alone.
But come February, if I don't pass the audition because of a despicable, nefarious cleaning man, there will be hell to pay.
First, background information.
I am a pianist.
Pianists, by and large, are anti-social creatures wanting nothing more than space, silence, and a piano.
I am a pianist with major audition coming up in February.
I am a pianist with possibly two lessons next weekend with my very demanding teacher who has been gone for a month.
I am a pianist playing the hardest, nastiest, most difficult, demanding, musically challenging, arm-aching piece of my life. Schumann Etudes Symphoniques. I'm also playing late Beethoven. This is no easy task.
I live in somebody else's house, I haven't got a piano, I get up at 5am to ride my bike in the cold German winter to a church with a Steinway downstairs and a little upright upstairs. I share the space and with two singers, two organists, a harpsichordist, several choirs, two wind bands, a daycare, and multiple services. Now that Christmas season has arrived, the number of services and various rehearsals of all kinds have multiplied.
Some days, somebody forgets to show up for practice time. Some days, I get lucky and stay extra hours. Those days, I don't eat, don't stop, don't rest my hands, and don't sleep because I know that the next day will throw some unexpected wrench into everything and I won't get to practice enough. Like today.
Yesterday, I did two hours in the morning before getting kicked out for a rehearsal. Then I did four hours in the afternoon. I asked the harpsichordist very sweetly that morning that if he was feeling generous later in the day and wanted to let me practice during his time to please let me know. It worked. I stayed almost three hours more. My hands have never ached so much in my life. I couldn't play another note. I literally could not move my fingers anymore. But I practiced the entire Schumann and the variation mvmt of Beethoven Op. 109. Really working that much music in one day is rare for me.
This morning, I woke up at 6am, talked to relatives half way across the world, and started practicing around 7:15 because I thought I had until 10, when the first singer is supposed to come. Nope. 8am sharp, the meanest, nastiest, rudest janitor in existence comes barging in, waving his arms at me and screaming in German to GET OUT BECAUSE HE HAS TO CLEAN.
Background: this foul, vile, evil, contemptible, horrible horrible squat Japanese man comes twice a week for two hours, Wednesday and Saturday mornings. He never has a set time. Last week he came at 10. He screams at everyone who dares to practice in there (except for one soprano - he lets her stay). WHY does HE get to call the shots? Why can't he clean WHILE we practice? I screamed back in German that I was NOT GOING TO LEAVE because I HAD TO PRACTICE. He screamed back, and since I had already used up my entire German vocabulary, I slammed the piano shut and stomped out, nearly crying with fury.
He is the first person in Germany that I truly hate. I battled a very strong desire to lock all the church doors and set it on fire while he was cleaning.
So from 8-10, I had the option of practicing on the upright. In some situations, this is ok. But I'm exhausted, my hands are exhausted, and I can't deal with an unresponsive action and naturally ugly sound. There's no point in pushing my hands on an instrument like this - too much work with too little result. So I practiced a little, lay on the wood floor because my back hurts, thought up dastardly punishments, bought some bread from a bakery, and went back to the Steinway at 10.
The singer didn't show. Aha, I thought, I can practice until 2pm now.
45 minutes later, the local teenage wind band came in.
"Wann sind Sie fertig?"
"Um eins."
Great.
So here I am, sitting in a room that I rent but isn't really mine, waiting until 1pm so I can go practice for an hour. Then the harpsichordist comes from 2-5. Then maybe I can practice more. But usually the church organist comes in for two hours. And there've been an increasing amount of choir rehearsals on Saturday evenings.
You know, I really bust my ass to do everything I can. Even in an ideal situation (Glenn Gould's lakeside Canadian house, for example), it's never enough. In this situation, it REALLY isn't enough. The inconsistency of it all is exhausting - I practice too much, I don't practice enough, I can't practice, I have to practice frantically, I ride my bike back and forth waiting for some time, I can't leave the church for fear I'll come back and somebody will have taken over....
The saving grace is the quality of the Steinway (very good) and the fact that when nobody kicks me out, I really am left alone.
But come February, if I don't pass the audition because of a despicable, nefarious cleaning man, there will be hell to pay.
14 November 2006
An Interview
(Variations on a Theme by G.G.)
a.n.: This is quite a surprise.
A.N.: Indeed?
a.n.: The irony of our both being Americans, English-speakers, yet my first interview with such a personage--such an American, English-speaking personage, that is--takes place in Berlin.
A.N.: If you were hoping for an interview in German, I'm afraid the result would be very short.
a.n.: And we mustn't disappoint the public.
A.N.: You flatter me.
a.n.: Is there anything you'd like to begin with, general impressions of Berlin, life abroad, adjusting to a new culture, new language, new climate?
A.N.: No.
a.n.: No? Shall I begin my questions instead?
A.N.: It rains a lot here.
a.n.: The excitement of a waterlogged existence! Now, tell me--
A.N.: I would like to discuss something, actually, that has been bothering me for quite some time--the abundance of empty holes lying about the sidewalks and streets.
a.n.: Would you care to describe the nature of these...holes?
A.N.: I would. Every 10 feet, especially in East Berlin, is a little dirt hole on the side of the sidewalk, unattended, unused. A person may meet several of them on the way to a cafe--I daresay they are most agreeable despite their plight. Twice a block, another phenomenon appears--mounds of dirt and rock. Somebody, perhaps from that very meticulous German government we keep hearing about, dug holes in the ground, poured the dirt and rocks into a pile a few yards down the road, got bored, and decided to quite half-way through.
a.n.: Have you any possible explanation for such behavior?
A.N.: It is a mystery. I have heard no plausible answers. Perhaps the Communists dug the holes, but the Soviet Union collapsed before they could fill them back up.
a.n.: How do you find that meticulous German government, Ms. N?
A.N.: Surprisingly lax.
a.n.: Any other adjectives to give our readers a clearer picture? You have a reputation, you know, for adjectives.
A.N.: Weedy.
a.n.: The government?
A.N.: No, the streets. Sometimes I suspect they end up in my salad.
a.n.: The streets?
A.N.: No, the weeds.
a.n.: Ms. N, I've been waiting for many months to ask you this next question, and I beg that you carefully consider your answer, for what I'd like to say is of a matter so delicate, so multifaceted and complex, that--
A.N.: That reminds me! Today I was mulling--mulling, mulled, mulled wine, that sounds nice in the winter--today I was mulling the idea of American feminism. American feminism is a beast that since let loose, has consumed all the hapless females of the stars and stripes and has made them forbidding, and hostile to the uglier sex. It's a ghastly turn of events. Even the anti-feminist female approaches anti-feminism in a feminist way. There are no prisoners, none; every woman, weak and mild, strong and independent, has tattooed on her forehead, albeit invisibly, "Don't date me. I'm an American woman."
a.n.: You are much too hard on your own sex, and, if I dare say so, quite mistaken.
A.N.: Perhaps you are correct in generalizing my generalization, so know that I mainly draw on my own observations and experiences.
a.n.: How do you mean?
A.N.: For example, going on dates gives me the creeps.
a.n.: That's not very promising, is it?
A.N.: Telling this to an American male--really, any male--is a wonderful satisfaction. They deserve it. Long live estrogen!
a.n.: Do you mean to tell me that a life devoid of these beings would be a triumph of will? Perhaps somewhere, deep in your murky, stone-cold heart, you see the human race, males and females alike, in a fairer, more hopeful light?
A.N.: Well, I admit...there's a certain elevator scene in Grey's Anatomy that....
a.n.: All right, I've had quite enough of this.
A.N.: If you don't care to discuss the merits of prime-time television, I perfectly understand--
a.n.: I've spent days--DAYS--preparing notes for this interview, probing questions, shocking counter-answers, witty starters, poignant closers, and all we've talked about is soil and elevators!
A.N.: As the French say...(pause)...I've quite forgotten what the French say.
a.n.: You may have forgotten the French, but I remember my German quite well: Verpiss dich!
a.n.: This is quite a surprise.
A.N.: Indeed?
a.n.: The irony of our both being Americans, English-speakers, yet my first interview with such a personage--such an American, English-speaking personage, that is--takes place in Berlin.
A.N.: If you were hoping for an interview in German, I'm afraid the result would be very short.
a.n.: And we mustn't disappoint the public.
A.N.: You flatter me.
a.n.: Is there anything you'd like to begin with, general impressions of Berlin, life abroad, adjusting to a new culture, new language, new climate?
A.N.: No.
a.n.: No? Shall I begin my questions instead?
A.N.: It rains a lot here.
a.n.: The excitement of a waterlogged existence! Now, tell me--
A.N.: I would like to discuss something, actually, that has been bothering me for quite some time--the abundance of empty holes lying about the sidewalks and streets.
a.n.: Would you care to describe the nature of these...holes?
A.N.: I would. Every 10 feet, especially in East Berlin, is a little dirt hole on the side of the sidewalk, unattended, unused. A person may meet several of them on the way to a cafe--I daresay they are most agreeable despite their plight. Twice a block, another phenomenon appears--mounds of dirt and rock. Somebody, perhaps from that very meticulous German government we keep hearing about, dug holes in the ground, poured the dirt and rocks into a pile a few yards down the road, got bored, and decided to quite half-way through.
a.n.: Have you any possible explanation for such behavior?
A.N.: It is a mystery. I have heard no plausible answers. Perhaps the Communists dug the holes, but the Soviet Union collapsed before they could fill them back up.
a.n.: How do you find that meticulous German government, Ms. N?
A.N.: Surprisingly lax.
a.n.: Any other adjectives to give our readers a clearer picture? You have a reputation, you know, for adjectives.
A.N.: Weedy.
a.n.: The government?
A.N.: No, the streets. Sometimes I suspect they end up in my salad.
a.n.: The streets?
A.N.: No, the weeds.
a.n.: Ms. N, I've been waiting for many months to ask you this next question, and I beg that you carefully consider your answer, for what I'd like to say is of a matter so delicate, so multifaceted and complex, that--
A.N.: That reminds me! Today I was mulling--mulling, mulled, mulled wine, that sounds nice in the winter--today I was mulling the idea of American feminism. American feminism is a beast that since let loose, has consumed all the hapless females of the stars and stripes and has made them forbidding, and hostile to the uglier sex. It's a ghastly turn of events. Even the anti-feminist female approaches anti-feminism in a feminist way. There are no prisoners, none; every woman, weak and mild, strong and independent, has tattooed on her forehead, albeit invisibly, "Don't date me. I'm an American woman."
a.n.: You are much too hard on your own sex, and, if I dare say so, quite mistaken.
A.N.: Perhaps you are correct in generalizing my generalization, so know that I mainly draw on my own observations and experiences.
a.n.: How do you mean?
A.N.: For example, going on dates gives me the creeps.
a.n.: That's not very promising, is it?
A.N.: Telling this to an American male--really, any male--is a wonderful satisfaction. They deserve it. Long live estrogen!
a.n.: Do you mean to tell me that a life devoid of these beings would be a triumph of will? Perhaps somewhere, deep in your murky, stone-cold heart, you see the human race, males and females alike, in a fairer, more hopeful light?
A.N.: Well, I admit...there's a certain elevator scene in Grey's Anatomy that....
a.n.: All right, I've had quite enough of this.
A.N.: If you don't care to discuss the merits of prime-time television, I perfectly understand--
a.n.: I've spent days--DAYS--preparing notes for this interview, probing questions, shocking counter-answers, witty starters, poignant closers, and all we've talked about is soil and elevators!
A.N.: As the French say...(pause)...I've quite forgotten what the French say.
a.n.: You may have forgotten the French, but I remember my German quite well: Verpiss dich!
12 November 2006
Observations from a rainy Saturday afternoon
Behind the locked door, a sitting room, cold and musty with tired decor that has passed into silence with its era, an antique writing desk that died with its owner. Another locked door, this time shielding two twin beds side-by-side, closets of unworn clothing, an old table lamp, stacks of boxes, memories of children grown up and gone. A third locked door, in the bowels, old leathern easy chairs cowering behind dusky cobwebs and ancient desks, a prehistoric computer crouching in a far corner, piles of boots, knickknacks from a decade when Communist fears penetrated these walls and darkened the sky, wall-hangings, photographs, albums, a faint odor of gas and ghosts left behind. A fourth locked door, an attic, partitioned into unequal quarters, open rafters and creaky floorboards, two massive oak wardrobes stuffed with mothballs and old-fashioned dresses, comatose suits, things long forgotten.
Half of the house is dormant, pushed away, closed up, a perpetual state of dream, almost dead. But not quite. With a slip of the key, at a turn of the doorknob, the silent beast stirs, caressing the senses with icy drafts, sad, forbidden, lost, pleading for remembrance, or for peace. Someday, upon the passing of the last living remnant in this memory, the torment of these empty rooms will finally slip away.
In many ways, my whole life is ahead of me, assuming of course that I survive long enough to have a whole life. But with every day, things, memories, items of the past find their way behind my own locked door, abstract though it may be. At the end of my day, what will I have locked up, tried to forget? There's something to be said for destroying the past instead of holding on. No keys. I hope I'd have the courage to air out the musty rooms, get rid of their contents, move on, simulaneously acknowledging what was and letting it all go. Only after this can one embrace what is alive, what is real, what is.
Half of the house is dormant, pushed away, closed up, a perpetual state of dream, almost dead. But not quite. With a slip of the key, at a turn of the doorknob, the silent beast stirs, caressing the senses with icy drafts, sad, forbidden, lost, pleading for remembrance, or for peace. Someday, upon the passing of the last living remnant in this memory, the torment of these empty rooms will finally slip away.
In many ways, my whole life is ahead of me, assuming of course that I survive long enough to have a whole life. But with every day, things, memories, items of the past find their way behind my own locked door, abstract though it may be. At the end of my day, what will I have locked up, tried to forget? There's something to be said for destroying the past instead of holding on. No keys. I hope I'd have the courage to air out the musty rooms, get rid of their contents, move on, simulaneously acknowledging what was and letting it all go. Only after this can one embrace what is alive, what is real, what is.
26 October 2006
Moment with Mitya
Scrap the piles of dirt idea. I'm having a moment.
Setting:
The mango-colored Philharmonie, a warm, large yet intimate hall filled with the most gloriously clear acoustic perfection, layered sound swirling over my head and leafing back the pages to a time when the world wasn't so big and I was the pianist in Shostakovich's 1st Symphony instead of the ash-haired German I saw tonight. That piece, written when Shostakovich was just 19-years-old, is not only my favorite orchestral piece but also one of the great masterpieces of the 20th century - the Scherzo alone with its juxtaposed themes and menacing cymbals makes my skin crawl with electricity and fear. The horror and grief and raging inner fire of a sickly young man oppressed by the Soviets, living his life under that dark shadow of constant terror, a world of the grotesque: this is the 1st Symphony.
I first encountered this piece in my high school days while playing the piano part with the university orchestra. The strange and brilliant conductor read off a green mini-score, accused the basses of sounding like B-52 bombers, and once asked me in the middle of rehearsal if, after a particularly speedy chromatic scale on my part, I was perhaps on methamphetamines? I'd already played the Shostakovich 2nd Piano Concerto and had read his biography, so these rehearsals and subsequent concert only strenthened my bond with Shostakovich. Each piece you play becomes part of you (or you become part of it). Most of the time, exhaustion takes its toll and renders many pieces unlistenable. But an orchestral piece, especially when rehearsals are few, is like the smallest glimpse of something far grander than you could imagine.
Tonight, I relieved it all, my own experiences with the piece 5 years ago--the notes, the rehearsals, the people, the witty lines, the orchestral score I was forced to read off since the piano part was long missing--, my life then and the friends I had (many now lost in the shadows of time and space, which, let's be honest, isn't such a bad thing), Shostakovich's life and the circumstances surrounding his composition of this piece, and a thousand other things, all related and unrelated, evoked by the weeping cello or crashing drum, leaving me with impressions of things real and unreal, feelings I've nearly forgotten, and an overwhelming desire to send out postcards to a few people who share my symphony.
There are some people in life who will give you, freely, one of the two greatest gifts to be had: friendship and music. Friendship can turns sour. Music is a constant.
What struck me most tonight was how connected I felt to the symphony, as if it were mine, for me, alternatively whispering and shouting things for my ears alone. It's in my pocket, like a gem, and I can take it out and marvel at its genius and beauty, turning it over in my hand to notice its glints of opalescent light, its angular cut, its heaviness. Nobody can take it away. And everyone can share it. This is the gift. Five years ago, my conductor gave this symphony to me, and I put it in my pocket. I'm going to write him a postcard.
Setting:
The mango-colored Philharmonie, a warm, large yet intimate hall filled with the most gloriously clear acoustic perfection, layered sound swirling over my head and leafing back the pages to a time when the world wasn't so big and I was the pianist in Shostakovich's 1st Symphony instead of the ash-haired German I saw tonight. That piece, written when Shostakovich was just 19-years-old, is not only my favorite orchestral piece but also one of the great masterpieces of the 20th century - the Scherzo alone with its juxtaposed themes and menacing cymbals makes my skin crawl with electricity and fear. The horror and grief and raging inner fire of a sickly young man oppressed by the Soviets, living his life under that dark shadow of constant terror, a world of the grotesque: this is the 1st Symphony.
I first encountered this piece in my high school days while playing the piano part with the university orchestra. The strange and brilliant conductor read off a green mini-score, accused the basses of sounding like B-52 bombers, and once asked me in the middle of rehearsal if, after a particularly speedy chromatic scale on my part, I was perhaps on methamphetamines? I'd already played the Shostakovich 2nd Piano Concerto and had read his biography, so these rehearsals and subsequent concert only strenthened my bond with Shostakovich. Each piece you play becomes part of you (or you become part of it). Most of the time, exhaustion takes its toll and renders many pieces unlistenable. But an orchestral piece, especially when rehearsals are few, is like the smallest glimpse of something far grander than you could imagine.
Tonight, I relieved it all, my own experiences with the piece 5 years ago--the notes, the rehearsals, the people, the witty lines, the orchestral score I was forced to read off since the piano part was long missing--, my life then and the friends I had (many now lost in the shadows of time and space, which, let's be honest, isn't such a bad thing), Shostakovich's life and the circumstances surrounding his composition of this piece, and a thousand other things, all related and unrelated, evoked by the weeping cello or crashing drum, leaving me with impressions of things real and unreal, feelings I've nearly forgotten, and an overwhelming desire to send out postcards to a few people who share my symphony.
There are some people in life who will give you, freely, one of the two greatest gifts to be had: friendship and music. Friendship can turns sour. Music is a constant.
What struck me most tonight was how connected I felt to the symphony, as if it were mine, for me, alternatively whispering and shouting things for my ears alone. It's in my pocket, like a gem, and I can take it out and marvel at its genius and beauty, turning it over in my hand to notice its glints of opalescent light, its angular cut, its heaviness. Nobody can take it away. And everyone can share it. This is the gift. Five years ago, my conductor gave this symphony to me, and I put it in my pocket. I'm going to write him a postcard.
09 October 2006
The wrong corner (of Berlin)
Here I sit in Prenzlauer Berg, typing on a German computer with the letters in all the wrong places, comtemplating how I should be on the other side of Berlin practicing Schumann and instead I am, well, not. Living in another country can be exhausting at times, and there just isn't enough Zeit to get it all done and have a good time besides.
I finally registered with the police, so now I'm legal. Today, somebody remarked to me, "It's good to know that I need not have any more qualms about talking to an undocumented foreigner."
Clearly I have moved up in life.
I finally registered with the police, so now I'm legal. Today, somebody remarked to me, "It's good to know that I need not have any more qualms about talking to an undocumented foreigner."
Clearly I have moved up in life.
25 September 2006
The punch line
It's a famous story in Germany.
When JFK travelled to a then-divided Berlin, he gave a speech which made history for more than one reason. I haven't got the details at the moment, but he ended declaring his solidarity with the Berliners by saying "Ich bin ein Berliner," which, in Berlin, means "I am a Berliner." However, in the rest of Germany, it means "I am a jelly donut." Berliners are jelly donuts. Germans talk about the mix-up to this day. They love JFK for it and now in Berlin there is a big school named after him.
When JFK travelled to a then-divided Berlin, he gave a speech which made history for more than one reason. I haven't got the details at the moment, but he ended declaring his solidarity with the Berliners by saying "Ich bin ein Berliner," which, in Berlin, means "I am a Berliner." However, in the rest of Germany, it means "I am a jelly donut." Berliners are jelly donuts. Germans talk about the mix-up to this day. They love JFK for it and now in Berlin there is a big school named after him.
The joke's on you, JFK.
Things nobody tells you about moving to Berlin:
1. Cashiers want exact change. Yesterday I got harangued in German by some upstart blondie who wanted exactly 1,39 euros instead of the 1,50 I gave him. “Nine cents! Nine cents!” he shouted repeatedly (in German, of course). Forget it, Fritz. He handed back my change of 11 cents, throwing in a look of exasperation for free.
2. Your chances of getting mowed down by a bicycle rise exponentially the further you stray from home.
3. Everyone obeys the crosswalk signal. Just when you think you’re safe to cross on a red, some little German car comes careening out of a side street you never saw. Shiny metal flashes before your eyes, and your feet refuse to leave the sidewalk ever again.
4. The tap water is disgusting.
5. And bottled water will break your bank account. Though significantly cheaper than in the States, bottled water is necessary for anyone who prefers to keep his gag reflex in check. Apparently you get money back if you recycle, but I haven’t figured that part out yet.
6. Where, oh where, have the ATMs gone?
7. Clean, efficient, and odor-free, the U-bahn and S-bahn put the New York subway system to shame. Except for the hours of operation – all trains shut down at midnight during the week.
8. The homeless people speak German. I’m not quite sure why I found this shocking, but to see a homeless person selling newspapers on the subway in German is a bit weird.
9. The coffee. Where are all the big cups of steaming caffeine so abundant in New York? Not here, I tell you, not here.
Also. My new cell phone is in German. I have no idea how it works.
Ich bin ein Berliner?
Yes, I occasionally feel like a jelly donut.
1. Cashiers want exact change. Yesterday I got harangued in German by some upstart blondie who wanted exactly 1,39 euros instead of the 1,50 I gave him. “Nine cents! Nine cents!” he shouted repeatedly (in German, of course). Forget it, Fritz. He handed back my change of 11 cents, throwing in a look of exasperation for free.
2. Your chances of getting mowed down by a bicycle rise exponentially the further you stray from home.
3. Everyone obeys the crosswalk signal. Just when you think you’re safe to cross on a red, some little German car comes careening out of a side street you never saw. Shiny metal flashes before your eyes, and your feet refuse to leave the sidewalk ever again.
4. The tap water is disgusting.
5. And bottled water will break your bank account. Though significantly cheaper than in the States, bottled water is necessary for anyone who prefers to keep his gag reflex in check. Apparently you get money back if you recycle, but I haven’t figured that part out yet.
6. Where, oh where, have the ATMs gone?
7. Clean, efficient, and odor-free, the U-bahn and S-bahn put the New York subway system to shame. Except for the hours of operation – all trains shut down at midnight during the week.
8. The homeless people speak German. I’m not quite sure why I found this shocking, but to see a homeless person selling newspapers on the subway in German is a bit weird.
9. The coffee. Where are all the big cups of steaming caffeine so abundant in New York? Not here, I tell you, not here.
Also. My new cell phone is in German. I have no idea how it works.
Ich bin ein Berliner?
Yes, I occasionally feel like a jelly donut.
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