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.