Art-de-art-art

Yesterday I braved the tornado of dead leaves blowing everywhere and went to a new museum, which has all sorts of arty things. My favourite part was seeing all the old photographs of Berlin, from the 1870s to now. There was also some art painted in Berlin while the Wall was up. The art from West Berlin was colourful and cheery, while the art from East Berlin was dark, grumpy and quite violent actually. Which lead me to conclude that capitalists have way more fun than communists.

I get sick of the whole What-is-art debate, but let me just say that if it has to be explained, that’s a bad thing. It’s like having to explain a joke. The joke may have originally been funny, but when it’s explained it loses a lot of substance. That’s how I feel about modern art, too – I don’t want some placard telling me how I’m supposed to feel when I see a giant telephone or six cans of beer. I either feel something or I don’t.

And it’s amazing some of the crap that makes it on display. A few months ago in Vienna I saw a giant canvas painted black which was meant to be, wow, really original. Another painter had thrown some paint over some bad drawings and was hailed as one of the greatest artists of his generation. Now, my artistic skills are about as developed as a two-year-old before his morning coffee…meaning they’re not so hot. But I know I could have done better!

Cost of museum admission: €5
Suggested contribution to PayPal for my artistic development: €100
Feeling of satisfaction at seeing my skills flourish: Priceless

Food, leaves and scary monsters

Yesterday I spent the day working on some articles I had to write. One of them was on expat food, so I made my way to a British shop and as highly professional “research” stocked up on lots of stuff. I’m not British (my great-great grandparents migrated to New Zealand in the 1800s, so no EU passport for me), but some of the food is good – for example, crisps that are not paprika-flavoured. Germans only seem to like that flavour, since that’s pretty much all you can buy.

The weather has become cold, dark and foggy most of the time, but here is a pic I took a few days ago of a cemetery-park just down the road from my flat. Isn’t it pretty?


I just scared myself shitless watching one of those videos online where a "monster" jumps out and scares you. Even though I expect it now, I still jump. The first time I saw one was early in the morning and there was a picture of a room and a caption said, "There is a ghost in this room, try and find it". So I stupidly peered at it for a few seconds, till it disappeared completely and a shrieking zombie poppped up. Here is one example.

Anyway, it's all very timely because Halloween is tomorrow. Apart from pumpkin carving, it's not such a big deal here but I will probably end up watching a horror movie or something. Any excuse... Happy Halloween! How many Americans will dress up as George W Bush this year, I wonder?

Being Beaker

This has nothing to do with Berlin, but I just wanted to say that despite my hectic life as a go-getting freelance journalist, I managed to fit in a Muppet Quiz and I am officially Beaker, my favourite character (it was pretty easy, I just had to click on "Don't hurt me" for each answer). I don't think Beaker and I have too much in common except that one of my party tricks is pulling a face just like his :(

You are Beaker.
You are very tense, stressed and paranoid. You hate
furthering the cause of science, as it tends to
get you blown up.

SPECIAL TALENTS:
Scientific assistant, Victim
LAST BOOK READ:
"1001 Meeps to a Bigger Vocabulary"

FAVORITE MOVIE:
"Run Silent, Run Meep"

QUOTE:
"Meep! Meep! Meep!"

NEVER LEAVES HOME WITHOUT:
Medical Coverage


What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Meet the Locals

There are always a few strange people in the ‘burbs. In Prenzlauer Berg I often pass some eccentrics who always wear the same clothes, just like the Simpsons. There’s Hedgehog Woman (if you’ve ever read the Beatrix Potter story Mrs Tiggy Winkle, you’d recognise elements of it in this woman’s face). It’s like Harry Potter waved his wizard and turned a hedgehog into a human being, but left elements of the hedgehog. She wears a checked blue dress. Her face is scrunched up, with a snouty nose, and she even makes little sniffy, grunty noises as she scuffles along.
A few streets away an Englishman with a very dignified accent wanders around bugging people and speaking to them in English, regardless of whether they understand him or not. "I say, kind sir, could you possibly spare 10 cents or so? That would be just lovely." I don’t know if he’s homeless or not, but he always wears a large joker’s hat and a velvet blue coat.
There are also a few famous faces. Rammstein all live around here and can be seen from time to time lounging in one of the many cafés.
One I actually encountered was Peaches, who comes from Canada but has lived here for four years or so. She’s a singer and travels round the world, but I bumped into her at my language school enrolling for level one German. That’s right, level one German, after living here for four years. It just goes to show how easily you can wrap yourself in an English-speaking society and never bother to learn the language of the country you live in. But it’s never too late to start, I guess.
Most of the people who live here have kids and they’re everywhere. They’re especially cute when the weather gets cold and they just look like a bundle of winter clothes with a tiny face peeking out. Apparently after the Wall fell all the students lived in this district and they are now young professionals (or unemployed) or still students (people seem to stay at university for about 10-20 years in Germany). Either way, it’s baby town. Something in the water?

Metropolis

Last night I watched the German film Metropolis.

Aside from the fact that old silent movies are painfully slow, Metropolis was very cool. It was made for $US2 million, which in 1926 was a hell of a lot of money. It took over a year to film and has a cast of almost 40,000 people, including the main actress, who said being in it was horrible and then denied she was in it at all! With special effects in a pre-computer era and panoramic shots of a futuristic city (actually it’s set in 2000 and our buildings may not be so big, but director Fritz Lang sure got the gridlock right), it’s mighty impressive.

Apparently it was a huge flop in the late ‘20s, but it’s in IMDb’s top 100 movies of all time now and Lang also had the misfortune to capture the attention and admiration of Mr Hitler and Mr Goebbels, who were very powerful in the mid ‘30s and told Lang they wanted him to make movies for the Nazis. Sensibly, he went home, packed his bags and left the country that very same day – although it seems he left his wife behind.

Metropolis was showing in an old Berlin theatre last night, with a new music score and all. It’s about a big city that seems utopian and wonderful, but in reality is run underground by slave workers who unsurprisingly seem none too happy about the situation. At the beginning, a spoilt Daddy’s Boy stumbles upon this underground world and vows to change society. He of course falls in love with a pretty girl from the “other side” and then things are thwarted by an evil scientist with crazy hair and way, way too much eye makeup. The scientist builds a robot that will work for the minimum wage and like it, and everything builds up to a climax and a sappy ending which apparently the director hated.

Metropolis was very ahead of its time though, with massive floods, picture phones (albeit enormous ones) and futuristic skyscrapers. It also seems to predict tyrannical leaders, divided cities and reunification, which was all to come for Germany.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Which Ping Pong player are you?

A popular summer/autumn/spring activity (winter's too cold and icy) in Berlin is outdoor ping pong, and there are tables everywhere. Armed with two paddles and a ball, it’s free and easy to play. But it can be a testing time for friendships and a telling look at personalities. Some people hit the ball twice and wander off bored, others get wacky and try all sorts of bizarre manoeuvres, and some are the worst: the competitive ping pong players.
Now, I know ping pong has risen in status to become an international sport, but come on! That doesn’t mean you have to suck all the fun out of the game by being a John McEnroe.
“You CAN’T be serious! You gotta hit the ball on my side…no, it’s my serve! Nooooo!”
There is a queue of young kids waiting for the table, but we are at a crucial tie of 12-14 and Competitive Ping Pong Player will not relinquish his place. “That was in, right?” he asks a puzzled three-year-old who is eating her paddle.
Anyway, mostly ping pong is a fun game with a very peaceful “ping pong” sound accompaniment. And when you get to know the city, you can leave the queues for a table behind and discover the more secret places.
Example: Around the corner on Kastanienallee is a building which looks just like any other building. But when you walk through the door into the courtyard, you see it carries on into many more courtyards like some optical illusion-ish Escher painting, leading on ad finitum in front of you. Well, there are six of them, anyway. Walking through, you eventually come to a secret-ish park with a playing area for kids surrounded by rubble from the Prussian King Friedrich’s castle, which was blown up near Alexanderplatz decades ago. And next to that stands a smooth, empty ping pong table. Fancy a game?

Rammstein - unafraid of noise

I’ve mentioned Rammstein in an earlier post – they’re one of Germany’s more famous exports, an eccentric hard rock/very hard rock band, singing in German. Which is rare – there’s no on-air quota here for German music, sadly for local bands. But Rammstein have marketed themselves with gargantuan pomposity and simple but impressive-sounding lyrics (if you don’t speak German).
They made it big overseas in the late ´90s, thanks to a few soundtracks like David Lynch’s Lost Highway. Every now and then they put out a new album such as this year’s Reise Reise, which includes the songs Amerika, a sarcastic take on the USA’s global dominance and tendency to invade other countries, and Mein Teil, a comment on the German cannibal case that was in court earlier this year.
I saw them in concert twice in New Zealand and they were received positively, if with a little head-scratching. The indoor pyrotechnics, silver costumes, sunglasses and inflatable dinghy for crowdsurfing added to the bemusement.
Their lyrics are simple and can either be viewed as lame or genius. One of my teachers thought the latter - he used one song as an example, Du Hast Mich (You have me), which when you hear it can mean Du Hasst Mich (You Hate Me), until he sings “Du hast mich gefragt”, which means “You asked me”. Yup, pure genius. Perhaps my teacher was biased by the fact that he knew the bass player. Anyway, I was impressed by the words before I understood them and now I find them amusing. It’s good listening practice, though.
Example from an oldish song, Bestrafe Mich:
Bestrafe mich
bestrafe mich
du meinst ja
und ich denk nein
schließ mich ein in dein Gebet
bevor der Wind noch kälter weht
Means:
Punish me
punish me
you mean yes
and I think no
include me in your prayers
before the wind blows even colder
Rammstein are not afraid to tackle the awkward issues, whether they be sado-masochism, incest, America, cannibalism. What an export.
But mostly German prefer to import, and most of the songs on the radio come from the US. Others prefer World Music. Some theorists believe this stems from some kind of cultural cringe. Attempts this year to introduce a music quota (France has a 40% local content quota, for example) were shouted down by accusations that people wanted to hijack the airwaves and constrain Germany’s media freedoms. “We’ve had limitations on what we could and couldn’t play before, when Goebbels was Minister of Propaganda during the Nazi era,” some said. “Do we really want to have that again?”
So that doesn’t look like changing anytime soon. But it has to be said, when a country embraces David Hasselhof as a singing sensation, perhaps radio restrictions would be in the people’s best interests!

Living in a (fake) Germany

Everyone is familiar with the reality TV show Big Brother, or as many Germans call it, "Big Bruzza". Well, that show will now be going one step further in Germany, with a Truman Show-like town being set up and all the characters being – allegedly – willing participants.
You can read the Guardian article here.
I could write an entire thesis on this whole concept, but suffice it to say that I find it just typical that first of all, George Orwell wrote a book (1984) about a nightmarish concept which shook many people to the core. However, TV producers saw money potential and made a show about it. And it worked. People loved the voyeurism of it. Next, a film was made (The Truman Show) showing how reality TV could go too far, making Truman an innocent victim of media moguls. But a German media company has also seen the financial potential in this idea and they’re probably right.
The show is planned to last decades, if not forever and ever and ever. A special town outside of Hamburg is being built and the producers say its participants will know it’s just a show. Well, maybe at first, but if they’re in it long enough won’t the boundaries of real life and entertainment become even more blurred? And will prospective children of unions on the show know that they’re the offspring of the show as much as of their own parents?
I find the idea schrecklich. But then, this is a country of often bizarre ideas - for example, the longest ever piece of music is being played here over a period of 639 years (the music itself is not very long, they’re just dragging it out).

Gnome Alone

A few streets away is an apartment opposite one of the best pizza places in Berlin. What makes it stand out, though, is that popping out of its East German facade are many, many gnomes. One could almost call them a Rainbow of Gnomes because you can see them from down the street. Who lives in this flat? A mad old lady who has sacrificed her precious balcony space to small plastic people? Here is a pic:

It always brightens up my day when I see them.
But this person is lucky to even have a balcony. Not everyone does. And no one in central Berlin has their own garden - well, very rarely. Most just stare out their windows to see someone across doing the same thing. That's why people are always heading to the parks so their kids can play in a sandpit, they can sit on a bench and relax or run around with their (big) dogs.
A friend of mine lived in a flat in Pankow where the coutryard was an enormous jungle in summer, teeming with rabbits and cats. Not far from her were boarded up GDR houses with overgrown gardens and odd statues covered in moss. A shame, these wasted spaces of greenery.

Got a Train to Catch

There’s no such thing as catching the train alone in Berlin. It’s like a short film with extras whose names you don’t know, but who regularly pop up during the journey.

The scene opens before I even reach the platform of Eberswalde Straße, a stop north on the U2 line. At the bottom of the stairs waits an expressionless Vietnamese man in a blue jacket and cap. He is a member of what’s known as the Cigarette Mafia, people who illegally sell cheap and poor quality cigarettes. The police know what’s going on so he stands empty-handed and simply waits. It reminds me of Waiting for Godot, but occasionally he is diverted by a customer, who he then leads to his car a short distance away and a transaction takes place. Why Vietnamese? Apparently the former East Germany shipped over a bunch of Vietnamese in the ‘70s to work cheaply in factories, and this is how it’s ended up. I have never bought his cigarettes.

Past the Cigarette Mafia are the punks with enormous German shepherds. “Do you maybe have a few cents?” they ask everyone scurrying by. No one does. Sometimes the punks sigh or swear in frustration.

At the top of the stairs are the ticket machines, and nearby a ticket scalper. Someone earlier in their day has tossed him their unwanted ticket(s) and now he’s selling them for a reduced price. It’s usually a day ticket and a good deal.

Unless it’s a Sunday or late at night, it’s never more than a few minutes’ wait on the platform for a train. The U2 line is a good one, passing through Zoo Station, where the tourists come and go again, Alexanderplatz, where the Death Star/TV tower is, and Potsdamer Platz, which was a central district, then bombed during the war, then turned into a No-Man’s Land while the Wall was up, then transformed into an internationally recognised site of modern architecture after it fell.

The train comes. “Get on please” announces the voice….then “Stay back please” as the doors shut again. We’re off. More often than not there’ll be a ticket inspector who jumps up like the FBI to surprise the passengers. Inspector is Kontrolleur in German and so in English everyone ends up saying “a controller was on the train,” or “I got controlled”.

So the controller’s job is to nab anyone without a ticket. I love this honour system, it’s far more entertaining than the automated barriers of London’s Underground. In order to catch us by surprise, the controller wears a disguise and gets on and off at random stops. He or she can be wearing a suit, or jeans and sneakers, or a floral dress (the females) or be spiky-haired like a punk. Sometimes they carry a drink and seem to be chatting carelessly with friends, only to jump up when the train starts moving.

There is always someone without a ticket, who gets unceremoniously carted off at the next station and has to pay a €40 fine. It’s usually easy to spot a ticketless person because they stand near the door and observe everyone suspiciously. I have friends who never buy a ticket and usually get away with it, and have done it myself sometimes, but it’s not worth the stress.

Once the controller has disappeared, there is usually a busker who jumps on and plays some crap for little money. Or a homeless man selling the magazine whose profits help the homeless. People usually dish out for him.

Finally, on each train line is an eccentric character who everyone knows and loves. On one line is a man who wears a yellow raincoat and white abbatoir boots and sings. On the U2 line is another man who honestly believes that he works for the train company, stands by the door and announces all destinations before the automated machine gets a chance, and he knows them just as well, even down to the temporary transport that day because a line is down. Eg: “Next stop Alexanderplatz, change here for the S5, the S6 and the S8, and for the U8, for the trams and regional lines.” He recites it perfectly and with absolute pride. Nobody except for the newbies raises an eyebrow. And so the U2 rumbles on under the streets of Berlin.

Painting and police

I’ve got a flash new camera and yesterday I wandered round Prenzlauerberg taking what look to be very good photos, far more thanks to the camera than my skills as a photographer. Anyway, it was a rare sunny and warm-ish day, after a mini-typhoon in the morning that scattered dead leaves everywhere (and a few old ladies). So Berlin was looking very fetching. Here’s a picture of Berlin in autumn, in Helmholzplatz late afternoon.

This weekend I plan on taking many more, depending on the weather.
I made a stop on the way at a café/art workshop place called sisters, where you choose some crockery and then paint it yourself, they bake it and you pick it up a few days later. It had been about 50 years since I sat down and painted, which is a shame because painting is so relaxing and fun. It didn’t even matter that my cup, which was supposed to show Berlin in all four seasons, ended up looking like some five-year-old on LSD had attacked it with painbrushes.
When we got home there was an incident outside where two men were fighting on the street. One looked really scruffy and was trying to get away and I think he might have stolen something. He was shouting something over and over, but it wasn’t German. Anyway, soon there was a crowd of people and someone called the police, who of course showed up (five of them) very efficiently and hurled the poor guy off to the station.
I dread the police here, partly because of their military-style uniform (although that’s changing, according to this article) and their generally brutish manner. There are many possible stories I could tell, but here’s just one: I was at the now-defunct Love Parade in Tiergarten in 2000, sitting in the summer sun and rolling something not totally legal (vagueness in case family reading), when I looked up to see 10 policemen striding in my direction, not looking at all happy. Mouth agape and heart hammering, all I could do was stare at them, but luckily they passed by and headed to the man at a stall behind me, who was probably selling balloons without a permit or something.
Today was my last day learning German at my languge school, because my level was the highest they teach. So the next few weeks I'll be at home studying for my exam...

Bureaucracy for Dummies

The Japanese woman in my class, Yoko, got out of bed at 5am a few days ago, in a temperature of perhaps -3 Celsius, to go and queue at the Ausländersamt (Foreign Office) and apply for a visa. Armed with many, many papers and a strong desire to stay here with her German boyfriend, she succeeded after waiting patiently (she's one of the most patient people I've ever met) for many hours. She can now stay here for two years and study, but only work if she's at university. I don't think she really needs to work though because her husband died in Japan and she receives a widower's pension. Like I said, she's very calm and gentle and serene, but she's also been studying Kendo for 20 years, a martial art where you essentially beat people with a stick. It just goes to show, I think, that everyone has an aggressive side.
Anyway, getting a visa, especially a work visa, can be very tricky in Germany and there are many surly public service workers, Catch-22s and laborious paperwork to encounter along the way. This year I'm lucky because I'm under 30 and was entitled to a Working Holiday Visa for a year, and all I had to do was send a few documents away to the German Consulate in NZ before I came. It only took a few days, unlike when I applied for the same visa for living in England in 2001 and had to ring them repeatedly between 12-2pm, only to be told I was "12th in the priority queue" and then by the time I was first it was 1:59pm and too late. Apparently people are charged for that call too now. Faschists!
In 2000, when I first lived in Germany, there was no such visa for here and I tried, I really did, to set myself up honestly. But advice from all around told me to just forget it, that it was too hard. I even tried calling the Ausländersamt, but they spoke no English! So although I registered with the police, which everyone is meant to do, I had no visa. I was what Germans call a "Schwarzarbeiter". If only I was Catholic and could confess this sin...well, this will have to do.

Dies und Das

When you speak another language, your personality can change; you become more direct, you use different tones, it's like acting in a role.
Or when you don't know the words, your word use just becomes more economical. This doesn't always work. My boyfriend went to pick up a package and wanted to say, "I was expecting a package." But he didn't know the word for "expecting", so simply said "I was a package". Strangely enough, the woman understood.
On completely another subject, perhaps joining Orkut, the online channel, wasn't such a brilliant idea. Today I received an email four times from some nutter in India who wants to meet me. Will he pay for my plane ticket? "U r looking beutifull," he espoused. All very well and good, but also very creepy. But thus is the internet.
And on yet another topic, a friend of mine is having a baby. Not in Germany, but if she was there would be financial support from the government, a "stork wagen" to pick her up when she went into labour, and a name book from which she would be expected to select her child's new name. If it wasn't in the book, she'd have to leave to country to name her baby. I don't think I'd like to have a baby here, not that I have a choice in the matter. A bilingual kid would be great, but I'd want him/her to have the beach nearby and not live through long, cold winters every year. And of course Marmite for breakfast.

Saying Auf Wiedersehen...with detergent

There is really no word for goodbye in German. Auf Wiedersehen means literally, "until the again-see". But despite this optimism, there are some times when you know you're probably seeing someone for the last time. And today I said goodbye to two people - one was my teacher Marc, who was one of the best German teachers I've had, and Su-Ah, the Korean girl in my class.
To farewell Marc we dismissed the usual chocolate and flowers and bought him cleaning liquid. While this may seem strange...okay, it is, but many times he'd told us that when he's angry or restless or sad he'll often occupy himself by cleaning his flat. We hoped to be able to leave his present in the staff room, but the staff thought it was so hilarious that we were giving him cleaning liquid that we had to take in upstairs and present it to him in person with everyone watching. Embarrassing - yes. But I think he was touched anyway.
Su-ah has too much work to do and so isn't coming back this week. In a few weeks' time she is also heading back to Korea. Not for good - it's just she doesn't have a visa for Germany so gets around it by coming and going every few months. It sounds tiring but she loves Berlin and Korea less so, so for her it's worth it.
PS I am so excited. After just yesterday moaning that Muse, one of my favourite bands, never plays in Europe anymore )they even made a trip to NZ in September, a concert which I of course missed), they are now doing a show in December in Earl's Court, London. So exciting! Pre-sales start tomorrow and so I have a good chance of getting tickets. No way am I missing it. No, I won't be blogging live from the concert but it will definitely get a mention.

Too scared to rent another DVD

A few posts ago I entralled everyone with an enlightening description of joining a Berlin video library. Now I have to come back to the subject and say that actually returning the DVD I borrowed was also something new for me. For while in New Zealand the most expected is that you'll shove the borrowed DVD/video through a slot and walk off, hopefully not much later than a day after its due date, here in Germany it has become clear that you must deliver it in person, punctually of course, and then wait meekly as the video store geek inspects it sternly and thoroughly. Luckily I passed this unexpected test, but was chastised for not replacing the DVD in its plastic pouch facing the right way round (both sides looked the same to me). Anyway, much as I shy away from stereotypes, it seemed typically German to me. I wonder if library members are also treated like naughty schoolkids.
On a more positive note, I have discovered a cafe down the road that sells hot apple strudel with vanilla sauce and chocolate icecream. YUM!

A Night at Cafe Republik

Last night we met some students from Richard's class, from Spain and Mexico. So a strange mix of Spanish, English and German was spoken (maybe not so strange in multi-kulti Berlin). Marcella is a photographer and was very excited to hear about Wannsee as a place to photograph nature. Juan and Elena were about to fly back to Spain and were not so happy about it, but they'd run out of money. Elena spoke fluent German because she'd studied in Bavaria but Juan was Richard's level.
The place where we met is just across the road from our flat on Pappelallee; in fact we can look out the window into the orange glow and see how busy it is (usually packed after 11pm). From the street you wouldn't know it was there - you have to go into the courtyard and up some flimsy stairs. The bar is huge, it takes up one whole floor and oddly has nothing above it - maybe it's a building that was bombed, because we have a view right over it which is unusual for a second floor flat, most have at least four levels.
Inside is completely retro - old brown sofas, round orange coffee tables, those big round lights on the walls and the odd disco ball. Very nice cocktails too, but I hadn't been back for a bit due to some nasty red wine with lemon and ice in it (stoned barman, long story).
All sorts head to Cafe Rebublik for a chat. The music is also very cool...they even play Che Fu occasionally. Whenever we have visitors we take them there because it's our "local". It shut down a few months ago, without expanation, then opened again as if nothing had happened. That's pretty normal here. Bars come and go, especially the best ones, the illegal ones that often consist of nothing more than a few couches and some alcohol.
If Cafe Rupublik is full sometimes we get lazy and go to the cocktail bar downstairs. Cocktail bars are very common here and everyone loves a caiparinha. This bar is unusual because it's a sand bar, meaning that even in the middle of winter, when it's minus-something degrees outside, you can enter this bizarre tropical oasis and feel the sand under your feet, bask in the pinky-orange light, fondle a nearby fake palm tree and sip rainbow coloured drinks. Tacky, yes, fun, sometimes.
PS Found out the other day that most Germans have never even seen the Sound of Music, a film that I seem to have an unhealthy fascination with, maybe because it's just so unbelievably saccarine. But I guess it makes sense - Germans are the baddies in the film, trying to make Captain Von Trapp join the Nazis, and so Germans watching the film might not end up feeling that same warm glow/bout of nausea that other people get when "Eidelweiß" is sung.

Theatre and DVDs

Last night Ricarda and I went to Kreuzberg to watch some improv theatre, which isn't so big in Germany. Ricarda had a bit of a cold from what she thought was because of going outside a few days earlier with wet hair. That's one lesson I learnt quickly in Germany - it just turns to ice in cold weather and feels horrible.
Anyway, it turned out some Americans were in town and the show was in English. Ricarda was disapoointed because she'd wanted to show me some German theatresports, but it didn't really matter. Although lots of people didn't know it would be in English and some Germans had trouble understanding, eg what's a trailer park? What does "I call it like I see it" mean? The first half was pretty funny, where we all got to write the script, but the second half fell a bit flat. It was like they ran out of ideas, and the dancing at the end was just bizarre. But it was still good to go out to Kreuzberg, which has good nightlife.
It's pretty impossible to avoid English in central Berlin. With more and more foreigners flocking here, it's a default language and considered by young Germans to be pretty cool. I've already written about the odd mish-mash of English verbs forced into German, but if you listen to people talk, it can be like: "German German German English word German German..." Sometimes it turns out I am trying to use a German word where an English one would do, like yesterday I said DVD-spieler when DVD player is better.
Yesterday I joined Negativland, a really cool video store just across from Helmholzplatz. It's an opportunity for me to watch movies in German that I wouldn't normally get to, eg old silent movies and films made in the GDR. Yesterday I rented Berlin - Synphonie of a City, which was made in 1929 and just shows a typical day in the life of Berlin. A really cool time capsule, just to see where people went and what they wore. But it gave me a funny feeling too, because although the late '20s were a good time in Germany it didn't last. It was a decade after the First World War, and then a few years after the crippling inflation where a newspaper would cost something ridiculous like 100,000Marks and money itself becamd worthless, just blowing around the streets. But 1929 was only four years before Hitler came into power, so he would have been rising in fame down south when the film was made. It made me wonder when I looked at the people - how many would become Nazis? How many would be sent to camps or fight in the war? How many would live in West or East Berlin 30 years later? So the film's time capsule quality seemed even more fragile. Apparently there is a 2002 version of the film which would also be good to see.

Sharkbait

I watched a film called Open Water last night. It was barely an hour long, but pretty intense. It's documentary-style and is based on a true story of a couple who were left behind on a diving trip to Australia's Great Barrier Reef in 1998. Their bodies were never found, just some of their diving gear. It took the diving company over two days to figure out they were missing and even so the owner was found not guilty of manslaughter. It's just horrible. Whether they died from dehydration, or drowning, or being eaten by sharks, they're all horrible deaths. I went on a trip to Great Barrier Reef and had a blast, but I might think twice about it now. It's not the only time such a case has happened, either.
I guess part of the reason the story makes such an impression is that it is about everyone's fear of abandonment, so it's not too hard to put yourself in their poisition and imagine what it must feel like. Anyway, I've never felt so grateful not to be in the sea!

Wannsee

Went on a class trip today to Wannsee in south-west Berlin. It's really like another country compared to Prenzlauerberg - huge houses and gardens straddling an enormous lake. Today the wide streets were silent and covered by dead leaves which everyone jumped through and threw around. Idyllic. We took a boat across the lake, in the fresh autumnal morning, gliding past Pfaueninsel (Peacock Island) and the building where the famous "Wannsee conference" was held (deciding upon the Final Solution for Jews). The area formed part of the border between West Berlin and the rest of the DDR. Nearby is a bridge called Glieniker Brücke where spies famously met during the Cold War. Across from the bridge is a castle and a church which spanned No-Man's Land during the Cold War . The church was really in the middle of nowhere and looked after by a dour man who a teacher said had been there for years and always with the same expression. "He's rotting here, and I always go there hoping to see someone else, but no, it's always him," he said sadly. It reminded me a bit of the Eleanor Rigby song.
Not far away was a tree which is apparently two thousand years old, sitting serenely surrounded by broken-off branches. It sat on a little hill and was apparently planted over a burial ground. A small stroll away was a huge apple tree and we helped ourselves to plenty of fresh, crunchy, delicious apples.
It was cool. I'd been to Wannsee before but not so far into the forest. We ended up walking for ages. Now it's evening and I'm tired, back in dirty, loud, concrety Prenzlauerberg which I wouldn't give up for the world. But it's nice to have a nearby alternative when the grey gets me down.

Ancient lesbian sex

Last night there was another Hartz IV demonstration, this time down our street. Luckily only a few hundred people though, maybe because it was cold and dark. Damn, it's cold already. 8 degrees C right now outside, at 1:30pm, with an added wind chill factor. Brrr. Dead leaves everywhere, but pretty orange colours. German's the only language I know with a special word for dead leaves - "Das Laub". I should go out later and take some pics.
Class was a bit weird this morning. We listened to a dialogue between a pretend Leni Riefenstahl (notorious German director) and Marlene Dietrich (notorious German actress who emigrated to the USA before WW2). They were played by two old women and it was such bad taste - okay, some of the info they took from real interviews, but at the end the two women end up (on the CD) getting it on!! Two very old women! Hearing it was almost worse than seeing it... And I am SURE I heard one of them say, "It should be narrow after all these years." But maybe she was referring to their friendship...either way, it's undone years of therapy.
Another package arrived from NZ, this time thermals. So we are well-prepared for winter and for a looking-as-unsexy-as-possible competition.

Nice/Nizza

I just read the Christopher Reeve is dead. Very sad. He was really inspirational - after his horse accident in 1995 which left him paralysed and almost dead, he never gave up and always stayed positive. Before he died he was even beginning to have more sensation in parts of his body, and he starred in and directed a few films. I'll always remember him saying once on Oprah, "I feel like the luckiest man in the world", because he survived the accident and could see his kids grow up. An incredible human being.
We just returned from a long weekend in Nice. Known as "Nizza" in German, which doesn't sound quite as pleasant. One of those cheap EasyJet flights. The first day we just wandered round, looked at the beach, walked up and down the promenade, drank coffee and chocolate and ate crepes. I practised my lame school French, but whenever something spontaneous happened, German slipped out.
On the second day we took a whirlwind tour around Eze, a Medieval village, a perfume factory, Monaco, St Paul and Cannes. It was all the bit fast but otherwise we wouldn't have seen these plces so I'm glad we did it. The people on the trip (it was an 8-seater car) were interesting. Our French and English-speaking guide was fed up and laughing at them quite openly by the end. One woman asked him to speak English when he was, just because he was saying names of French places. Most of them just discussed America and terrorism (having the same coversation three times!) and clearly had little interest in learning what they were seeing. One woman kept asking, "Are we in Nice now?" When the guide pointed to the road where Princess Grace died in 1982, an American guy piped up, "Oh, is that Princess Diane?" A Turkish woman kept saying "the Garibaldi family" and wanted to know who was skydiving in the distance- the driver told her it was Prince Ranier and I think she believed him. Anyway, we were sitting upfront and heard the most interesting information - about the guide's three-day stint looking after a Spanish billionaire and his insane behaviour with drugs, celebrities, yachts and so forth.
Monaco was unbelievable - so much bling bling. Apparently there is one policeman for every 4o people, so therefore no crime. And it was so clean, especially compared to Berlin where there is dog crap everywhere. We saw the Saudi king's yacht with helicopter on top, and we drove over the Monaco Grand Prix starting line. Part of Monaco has also been built over the sea because of space limitations. We drove up to the Grimaldi palace and saw the changing of the guard over other tourists' heads, then went to the cathedral to see Princess Grace's tomb. It was errily dark and quiet - luckily we missed a bus load of about 70 tourists who followed us.
Cannes was nothing really special - I'm sure it's mad during the film festival, but in October it was just a pretty, and ritzy, seaside town. Lots of people swimming and sunbathing on golden sand. We saw the ugly building where they screen films during a festival and had a cursory look at all the star's handprints. and pawprints (Pink Panther).
Back in Berlin now and it is always good to be back, but damn it's cold already! Minus one this morning when I got up.

US and them

It's been a US-centred week, really, with the debate, then the post-debate commentary (basically people saying what a dick Bush is), and now it's been announced that all Kiwis have to get biometric passports, that is, a passport with a microchip in it, if they want to travel to the US. Yes, because you know what a terror threat us NZers can be. It's all that number 8 fencing wire and sheep wool, that we combine to create a MacGyver-like nuclear weapon. And clearly the photographing and finger-printing isn't enough. Well, fuck that, I wasn't going to the US anyway.
Am heading to France for a long weekend tomorrow. An opportunity to revive my long-dormant School French. A bientot.

Royale wi' Cheese....

Last night I went to the Mudd Club, an underground (literally - like many Berlin clubs, it's in a cellar) club in Mitte. Take a right at the tacky American Happy Days-style diner at the corner and you're there. It's a tiny club and last night The Tarantinos were playing. They're a group from London who cover songs from, you guessed it, Quentin Tarantino movies. (QT has a blog too, but I'm guessing his gets more traffic). It took a while for everyone to warm up, but after a few drinks no one shied away from twisting to Jack Rabbit Slims - or was it Chuck Berry - or Little Green Bag. They didn't foget the well-worn but loved dialogue, either ("If yoou fucking pigs moooove - Aahm gonna execute every muthuh-fuckin' last one-a-ya!") Ah, the memories. It's already about 10 years since Pulp Fiction came out and I had to try three times to get into a cinema to see it...it was R18 and I was 17 but looked about 15, with no fake ID yet to speak of (that came a bit later).
The sax player knew a bit of corny German and didn't shirk from trying it out on the crowd, to encouraging applause. "Ich habe einen kleinen Schwanz - what does that mean?" Well, as long as he knows the basics.

Taking a stroll..with 50,000 people

Today was sunny and remarkably warm, so we went for a walk through Gendarmenmarkt, Berlin's famous French quarter with its concert house, two domes and many lanterns. And, finally and for the first time ever, I went inside the Berliner Dom in Hackescher Markt, whcich I've been meaning to do for years (along with the Reichstag, so I'm ticking a few things of my long To Do list). There just happened to be an orchestra warming up for a concert tonight, which added to the mood of the place - sun streaming in, stained-glass windows, huge ornate paintings and designs. Richard didn't like it so much - apparently religious places bring back the years of boredom and inner torment of a Catholic upbringing. Can't relate myself.
Our wander home was interrupted by police vans and 50,000 protestors. Well, that happens. The protests at the moment are about Hatz IV, Germany's attempt to curb rising unemployment (25% in some, mainly eastern parts) by cutting back benefits. Honestly, some people get up to 60% of their former salary in benefits. Although strong, I think Hartz IV is a must for Germany if it wants to get back on its feet. But many people obviously don't feel the same way, judging from the frequent protests. Mostly people from the former East, it must be said. Well, everyone in the GDR was supported and had some kind of job. And you can't just expect two former countries to reunite just like that without any problems. But then these days I don't think people should expect free handouts forever. Something has to change.
And as I type it's clouded over and is pouring with rain. Typical Berlin autumn...although the orange trees around the Berliner Dom did look very becoming.

Won't somebody please think of the pumpkins?

We were discussing Halloween last night and Ricarda learnt the English word pumpkin. She already knew the word because of course she knew Smashing Pumpkins, she just hadn't known what it meant. "Kürbis schlagen??" she asked with disbelief. Which made me wonder how many other bands Germans know without any idea of what the name means. Who could explain Screaming Trees, or Mother Love Bone?
And it turns out Xmas is a huge deal in Germany - heaps of rituals, baking, lights, preparation. Although they do need something to look forward to during the long, cold, dark winter. I don't think I'll be very homesick then because I associate Xmas with summer, beach, salads etc. Santa wearing sunnies. And I hope it snows! Am considering a trip to Norway to see the Northern Lights.
So, the presidential debate. It was at 3am my time so I missed it, but by all accounts Kerry did the best and there were no real surprises. And can Bush ever stop mixing up Osama and Saddam? It's like in his mind they're the same person...
I filled my post-lunch hour by writing a pretend letter to Stern magazine about how pets in the EU now require passports to travel. Photos optional. Lucky them. Why can't our photos be optional? Although they need a microchip or tatoo mark. Well, judging by the fact NZers now need to give fingerprints and have their photo taken when they enter the US, we're not far behind ourselves.
Quite enjoying The Stills at the moment.