I finally went out last night; first to a beach bar, then to a club. The ‘beach bar’ started popping up in Berlin the last five years or so. They just cart in a bunch of sand and then set up beach chairs, umbrellas, a little food/drink/bar shack, some palms, and a lot of paper lanterns somewhere along the River Spree. They are really cute and superchill. We met up with Torey’s sister’s friend Michael, who lives in Germany, and his Australian boyfriend Patrick and this girl whose name I can’t remember from Peru (how weird is that? How often do you meet people from Peru?) at the Helmut Newton Museum for Photography. After that I was fully intending on going back to Halbauer Weg, but Susie’s eyedrops and my hesitation to have to call a cab and talk in German at one in the morning and then probably have the driver not know where I am going really kicked in, and I tagged along.
We went to this place called Weekend that is only open Thursday nights I think. It is on top of one of the tallest buildings at Alexanderplatz, with a dance floor and bar on the lower floor and then a big terrace and bar on the roof. The dance floor was pretty small and thus very cramped, but there were some sweet lights, namely a huge grid above that flashed and pulsed and strobed, and then also a wall of lights in different colours that went off in patterns, etc. Nice and dark, though, so no one could see how gross anyone else looked at any given moment. I liked it when they turned them all off as it was really dark, and cooler. That many lights produce a lot of heat. Abby warned me that clubs in Berlin played nothing but electronic, and mygod was she right. Everyone seems really into it, too. I just don’t get how people can dance to computers yelling at them. Real songs let you dance so much better, but this stuff you just kind of twitch rhythmically to a beat that never really changes but sometimes the bass drops out and comes back in…for six hours.
I think the best thing about the club is that German guys will not approach you or hit on you or rub all up on you while dancing. They might come and try to dance with you, but they stay about two feet away. However, American guys have no such sense of personal space, and there were a lot of Americans there. I was saved by my masterful ignoring, weaving, and dancing with Michael, but Torey and Susie got caught, although neither seemed to mind. We stayed, alternating dancing and letting the sweat dry out on the terrace, until the sun rose over Berlin. Michael left us to walk home, and we walked to the U-Bahn, across an Alexanderplatz empty but for us and two other people. The fountain was off, and in the first place the three of us hung out together just last Sunday, in the early morning light, we finally felt like we lived in Berlin.
Little known to us, the “Exploring German Culture” class that the Berkeley students are also taking here is not something that just meets after our language classes (on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday). Instead of having Tuesdays free in addition to our three-day weekends, we have our Berkeley class on Tuesdays. This past Tuesday we went on a walking tour of Berlin led by Herr Euba and David, his assistant here (a Berkeley grad student living in Berlin and studying German-Turkish relations). It was superfun walking around Berlin in the rain with a group of twenty people who walk slower than molasses and do not seem capable of walking and talking at the same time. But at least it got us a little more familiar with some of the city, and ended up with some delicious pizza and a mini-tour of Kreuzberg, kind of.
On Wednesday, we took a boat tour on the River Spree, which was pretty fun, really, as we all got to sit down and be blatant tourists, and Susie got to take a nap. It was cool to see buildings from such a different perspective and be able to put names to places. The architecture in Berlin is maybe my favorite thing about the city so far, other than all the sweet outdoor seating. There are old buildings next to new, which is often cool in the city but out in sketchy Lankwitz is usually sad because a lot of things are old buildings that would be gorgeous if someone hadn’t put hideous popcorn stucco on in the seventies or something. And the buildings that are new in the city are delightfully dynamic—sure, maybe a little symbolism heavy for my taste, but who cares when it creates such awesome government offices. On Thursday, I met my class at Potsdamer Platz, where I thought we would be seeing a German film, or going to one of the museums, or at least taking (yet another) tour. Nope. Nuh-uh. We went to a mall. And took two hours walking around, answering questions about how much this thing cost and where this store is and what this store sold, something we could have done in a quarter of the time if we had done it all at once rather than having to meet up after each section of the assignment. Then we had a tour of the Reichstag, where we listened to some history of the building in the main chamber (with chairs of Reichstag blue, created as a politically neutral color, and is totally purple and not blue), Susie fell asleep again, and then we got to go up to the dome. It was hot in the dome and windy outside, and the dome isn’t really that cool once you’re inside it, so we went up and down and took way too many photos of us in the mirrors on the center spike thingy in the middle that reflects light into the chamber. After dinner at this place near Potsdamer Platz, we met up with Michael at the gallery, and then the night began.
On the S-Bahn home, there was a guy that boarded the train and then once he sat down began muttering madly to himself. And making weird coughing raspberry noises and well, I was not looking at him because I thought that might indicate that I wanted to talk to him. All we really caught was something about Michael Knight and Nightrider. And maybe something about babies. There are crazy bums in Berlin, but they are tricky. They look clean and normal and you rarely see them sleeping in parks, etc, but they get on the train like anyone else and either just sleep or go quietly crazy in their seat, or they start yelling at (to?) everyone on the train, then walk back and forth with a cup for money. Then there are the gypsies who walk around and ask, “Speak English?” and then hold up some little sign asking for money. I just say “Nein” or “Non” for them. Some guy in front of us in the taxi line at the Gare du Nord in Paris said “Oui” which is kind of amusing to me.
Torey and I finally found a “bio” market right next to the Haeckesher Markt stop. It was so nice to walk in and have choices for soymilk! And tofu! And all organic stuff! I had no idea how much of I hippie I was until I spent about 15 minutes staring at the granola. Well, not granola, they don’t really do that here, but muesli. I settled on an Amaranth Schoko-muesli with chocolate, almonds, hazelnuts, bits of date, apricot and apple, honey, and the usual grains. It is pretty fucking tasty. I didn’t really want to find anything here that I liked that much because I didn’t want to have to deal with missing it, but I am so bringing some of this home with me.
Tomorrow we are going on a Berlin Wall tour by bike—finally, some ‘rad Berlin for y’all. Also, today I noticed the brand of toilet paper my bathroom mate buys is named “Happy End.”
Friday, July 27, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Class and touring
I had my first day of actual class today. It was uneventful. My professor Andrea is really nice and most of the class seems good, too. Something we have noticed: people who take German are either taking it because they need to know it for something, because they already speak French, Italian, Spanish, Polish, and English, and might as well learn one more, or because they are weird. It seems as though the last is really noticeable around here; there are a lot of really socially awkward people. In my class there is a girl with a voice like Fran Drescher only worse, a girl with a serious attitude problem, and then, two of Berkeley’s very own.
There is Boring Story Girl. Boring Story Girl was also, very possibly, hungover this morning. She certainly didn’t look stoked to be there, but she also never came to class except days we had tests in German 1, so I am not really sure why she would choose to take an extra class over the summer. Her hair was at one point dyed yellowish or orangish and is now about halfway grown out, which just looks terrible. She was complaining that she couldn’t figure out how to work her German cell, which everyone is, but everyone else is just saying that because things are in different places, while I am pretty sure hers is actually beyond her. She could hardly add a phone number. Then there is the Creeper. This guy is THAT guy. He takes photos of absolutely everything. In Mitte, the center of Berlin, there are statues everywhere. Most of Berlin has statues everywhere, of people who did something once that might now be of dubious importance. He stops and takes a picture of every. Single. Statue. The act that gives him creeper status, though, is that he takes photos of people posing for photos for other people to take. Does that make sense? For example, three girls that are here are friends. Two of them were posing like they were doing the tango in front of Humboldt University (which is interesting in itself, but maybe it is an inside joke?), and the third was taking a photo of the them. Creeper was as well. Later that day we went to a bar on the river and he took the third and last chair at a table so one of them had to sit somewhere else. And then when they had someone take a photo of the three of them, he leaned into the frame. Maybe he has a crush on one of them, but I am voting for socially awkward with no awareness of where he is (not) wanted. He also wears his backpack on one shoulder, which I just can’t deal with. Then, not in my class but also notable, is the fifth year senior possibly bulimic alcoholic. We went to a pizzeria for a Berkeley group dinner after our walking tour of the city on Tuesday evening, he and Torey both ordered a prosecco to drink. As soon as his first had arrived, he ordered a second. Torey took a sip of hers, he downed it in one gulp. He had a teeny piece of his whole pizza, and I think half of that piece was just torn to little pieces on his plate. He kept going to the bathroom for long periods of time. And by the end of dinner, he had six glasses of prosecco. He is not only poorly informed—he said sixty percent of Berkeley is made up of Asian-American females—but he talks way too much when he is drunk. Luckily, Herr Euba’s assistant here got caught in conversation with him. He also insists that we have met before when I went to a party at his house, which is totally untrue. I don’t go to parties, and of those I have been to, I have never been to one on Channing and Piedmont. He later had at least two beers at the bar—Torey and I left about an hour before everyone else, so we lost our tally.
Rachel dubbed these Berkeley folk to avoid “the lamers.” I fully accept that I am lame in many ways as well, but please let me know if I am this horribly awkward in social situations.
On Monday we had placement interviews for our classes, which Herr Euba said would be “extensive” and so we were all nervous as fuck. It really wasn’t that bad, though my interviewers had no idea what I was talking about when I mentioned Alois Reigl and kunstwollen and got confused. Try explaining kunstwollen in a language you hardly even speak. Rachel and I found a “bio” (organic) café on campus and got biofrappes, which were coffee with sugar, milk, water, and ice—then whipped with one of those little frother things people use to foam milk. So good. We felt kind of Berkeley, specifically Nefeli, which is even nicer for Rachel as her boyfriend Eric works there. I would kill for a Nefeli greek yoghurt right now. Instead I think I am just going to eat some horribly mediocre German brownie mix (the box has its own little fold-up paper pan to cook them in!). I also bought the new Harry Potter, and after I talked to my Eric for about 6 minutes before I ran out of minutes and my phone cut off without warning, I was so upset I decided to just finish the book that night. I did, at three in the morning. I didn’t like it.
Today after class we went into town to get some lunch before taking a boat tour on the Spree. The tour was really cool, we got to see some things I definitely would not have otherwise, especially from such unique angles. Torey, Susie and I hit up KaDeWe afterwards. KaDeWe is Kaufhaus die Westens, a giant department store put up in West Berlin to show how awesome capitalism and trade can be. And amen. Herr Euba said it wouldn’t be impressive to us Californians, so used to malls, etc. but KaDeWe is amazing. It is gigantic. There is a whole floor dedicated to men, one to women, one to kids, one to housewares, one to purses and make-up, accessories and boutiques, etc. The BEST is the top floor—all food. This is what my mum was thinking the Fauchon’s would be in Paris. Just counter and counter and shelf and area after area of food, prepared and packaged, from everywhere in the world. We got dessert, of course. After, we went to a Vodafone, where I saw a guy who looked like a short Chris Chu, and bought 150 euro of minutes, which is 97.86 pounds, which is about five hours of talking time. I hate exchange rates. C’mon dollar, you can do it! Beat the pound!
Addendum: Ok, so that five hours is actually about one if I am calling the US. I need a better deal.
There is Boring Story Girl. Boring Story Girl was also, very possibly, hungover this morning. She certainly didn’t look stoked to be there, but she also never came to class except days we had tests in German 1, so I am not really sure why she would choose to take an extra class over the summer. Her hair was at one point dyed yellowish or orangish and is now about halfway grown out, which just looks terrible. She was complaining that she couldn’t figure out how to work her German cell, which everyone is, but everyone else is just saying that because things are in different places, while I am pretty sure hers is actually beyond her. She could hardly add a phone number. Then there is the Creeper. This guy is THAT guy. He takes photos of absolutely everything. In Mitte, the center of Berlin, there are statues everywhere. Most of Berlin has statues everywhere, of people who did something once that might now be of dubious importance. He stops and takes a picture of every. Single. Statue. The act that gives him creeper status, though, is that he takes photos of people posing for photos for other people to take. Does that make sense? For example, three girls that are here are friends. Two of them were posing like they were doing the tango in front of Humboldt University (which is interesting in itself, but maybe it is an inside joke?), and the third was taking a photo of the them. Creeper was as well. Later that day we went to a bar on the river and he took the third and last chair at a table so one of them had to sit somewhere else. And then when they had someone take a photo of the three of them, he leaned into the frame. Maybe he has a crush on one of them, but I am voting for socially awkward with no awareness of where he is (not) wanted. He also wears his backpack on one shoulder, which I just can’t deal with. Then, not in my class but also notable, is the fifth year senior possibly bulimic alcoholic. We went to a pizzeria for a Berkeley group dinner after our walking tour of the city on Tuesday evening, he and Torey both ordered a prosecco to drink. As soon as his first had arrived, he ordered a second. Torey took a sip of hers, he downed it in one gulp. He had a teeny piece of his whole pizza, and I think half of that piece was just torn to little pieces on his plate. He kept going to the bathroom for long periods of time. And by the end of dinner, he had six glasses of prosecco. He is not only poorly informed—he said sixty percent of Berkeley is made up of Asian-American females—but he talks way too much when he is drunk. Luckily, Herr Euba’s assistant here got caught in conversation with him. He also insists that we have met before when I went to a party at his house, which is totally untrue. I don’t go to parties, and of those I have been to, I have never been to one on Channing and Piedmont. He later had at least two beers at the bar—Torey and I left about an hour before everyone else, so we lost our tally.
Rachel dubbed these Berkeley folk to avoid “the lamers.” I fully accept that I am lame in many ways as well, but please let me know if I am this horribly awkward in social situations.
On Monday we had placement interviews for our classes, which Herr Euba said would be “extensive” and so we were all nervous as fuck. It really wasn’t that bad, though my interviewers had no idea what I was talking about when I mentioned Alois Reigl and kunstwollen and got confused. Try explaining kunstwollen in a language you hardly even speak. Rachel and I found a “bio” (organic) café on campus and got biofrappes, which were coffee with sugar, milk, water, and ice—then whipped with one of those little frother things people use to foam milk. So good. We felt kind of Berkeley, specifically Nefeli, which is even nicer for Rachel as her boyfriend Eric works there. I would kill for a Nefeli greek yoghurt right now. Instead I think I am just going to eat some horribly mediocre German brownie mix (the box has its own little fold-up paper pan to cook them in!). I also bought the new Harry Potter, and after I talked to my Eric for about 6 minutes before I ran out of minutes and my phone cut off without warning, I was so upset I decided to just finish the book that night. I did, at three in the morning. I didn’t like it.
Today after class we went into town to get some lunch before taking a boat tour on the Spree. The tour was really cool, we got to see some things I definitely would not have otherwise, especially from such unique angles. Torey, Susie and I hit up KaDeWe afterwards. KaDeWe is Kaufhaus die Westens, a giant department store put up in West Berlin to show how awesome capitalism and trade can be. And amen. Herr Euba said it wouldn’t be impressive to us Californians, so used to malls, etc. but KaDeWe is amazing. It is gigantic. There is a whole floor dedicated to men, one to women, one to kids, one to housewares, one to purses and make-up, accessories and boutiques, etc. The BEST is the top floor—all food. This is what my mum was thinking the Fauchon’s would be in Paris. Just counter and counter and shelf and area after area of food, prepared and packaged, from everywhere in the world. We got dessert, of course. After, we went to a Vodafone, where I saw a guy who looked like a short Chris Chu, and bought 150 euro of minutes, which is 97.86 pounds, which is about five hours of talking time. I hate exchange rates. C’mon dollar, you can do it! Beat the pound!
Addendum: Ok, so that five hours is actually about one if I am calling the US. I need a better deal.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Interwebs discovered
A giant bugbite appeared on my leg not so long ago. Scratching it through the pocket of my jeans proved difficult, and provided further motivation to buy new sheets, just in case that had anything to do with it. Also, I might have just killed a mosquito.
I headed downstairs at 12:50 this afternoon after a careful 20 minutes deciding which shoes would be best given various inclement weathers. I settled on the converse. The weather settled on not raining while I was outside. We all milled about in the lobby until Matthias, our FUBiS guide, led us like a troop of ADD baby ducks to the university building, which, much like our dorm, is in the middle of fucking nowhere, or as the Berlinerisch goes, j.w.d (janz weit draußen). I entered the building and drifted towards S-Z check-in to find Rachel Mandell, an aquaintance and friend of friends from Casa Zimbabwe. We were hellof stoked to see someone we actually knew. We sat around with another girl from Berkeley, Torey, and then Susie from Harvard and Stephanie from UPenn. We went to the horribly boring and doubly long orientation lecture—doubly long because everything was said in both English and German. We grabbed free food from the buffet, and then skipped out on the ending orientation lecture to go find internet and coffee.
As nothing is open Sunday, we decided to hit up Alexanderplatz, which would seem to have a higher traffic and thus more open things. Rachel said her friend had said to look for a Dunkin’ Donuts as they tended to have internet, but we asked at information and the name of the place was just “Easy internet café.” After a trek across most of Berlin, we arose from the U-Bahn to find streetpunks and their dogs. It felt like home. We were pointed to an internet café, only to find it…above a Dunkin’ Donuts. I have never been so happy to see a donut store in my life. It rained while we were all safely replying to email, checking facebook and myspace, and ummm, reading important news, or something. Rachel and I were totally down with grabbing a donut and shit coffee just for kitsch value, but ended up getting an okay crepe and coffee from some weird little stand instead.
I need more food, I ran out really fast. Torey and I are going to look up a natural foods store at uni tomorrow. And go to a department store. And I need a Vodafone, hopefully one closer than the one I saw at Alexanderplatz today (which was, of course, closed).
Before I go to bed, here is are some phrases in “Berlinerisch” and their English equivalents. The selection of phrases in this magazine really makes me wonder…
Ick bin janz baff! = I am completely surprised!
Ick bin in der Bredullje = I am in a tight spot.
Ick mach dir gleich Beene = Move your butt!
Imma ran an de Ramme! = Down the hatch!
Er hat sich eenen anjedudelt = He’s slightly toasted
Wat haste wieda ausjefressen? = What the hell have you done?
Den hamse injeseeft = You framed him!
Ick liebe dir = I love you
Da kiekste, wa? = You didn’t expect that, did you?
I headed downstairs at 12:50 this afternoon after a careful 20 minutes deciding which shoes would be best given various inclement weathers. I settled on the converse. The weather settled on not raining while I was outside. We all milled about in the lobby until Matthias, our FUBiS guide, led us like a troop of ADD baby ducks to the university building, which, much like our dorm, is in the middle of fucking nowhere, or as the Berlinerisch goes, j.w.d (janz weit draußen). I entered the building and drifted towards S-Z check-in to find Rachel Mandell, an aquaintance and friend of friends from Casa Zimbabwe. We were hellof stoked to see someone we actually knew. We sat around with another girl from Berkeley, Torey, and then Susie from Harvard and Stephanie from UPenn. We went to the horribly boring and doubly long orientation lecture—doubly long because everything was said in both English and German. We grabbed free food from the buffet, and then skipped out on the ending orientation lecture to go find internet and coffee.
As nothing is open Sunday, we decided to hit up Alexanderplatz, which would seem to have a higher traffic and thus more open things. Rachel said her friend had said to look for a Dunkin’ Donuts as they tended to have internet, but we asked at information and the name of the place was just “Easy internet café.” After a trek across most of Berlin, we arose from the U-Bahn to find streetpunks and their dogs. It felt like home. We were pointed to an internet café, only to find it…above a Dunkin’ Donuts. I have never been so happy to see a donut store in my life. It rained while we were all safely replying to email, checking facebook and myspace, and ummm, reading important news, or something. Rachel and I were totally down with grabbing a donut and shit coffee just for kitsch value, but ended up getting an okay crepe and coffee from some weird little stand instead.
I need more food, I ran out really fast. Torey and I are going to look up a natural foods store at uni tomorrow. And go to a department store. And I need a Vodafone, hopefully one closer than the one I saw at Alexanderplatz today (which was, of course, closed).
Before I go to bed, here is are some phrases in “Berlinerisch” and their English equivalents. The selection of phrases in this magazine really makes me wonder…
Ick bin janz baff! = I am completely surprised!
Ick bin in der Bredullje = I am in a tight spot.
Ick mach dir gleich Beene = Move your butt!
Imma ran an de Ramme! = Down the hatch!
Er hat sich eenen anjedudelt = He’s slightly toasted
Wat haste wieda ausjefressen? = What the hell have you done?
Den hamse injeseeft = You framed him!
Ick liebe dir = I love you
Da kiekste, wa? = You didn’t expect that, did you?
Sonntag
I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm, only I didn’t think it was mine because it was too quiet. It stopped. I opened one eye and swatted at the chair until I grabbed the clock so I could bring it within a foot of my face in order to read the time. Eight oh one in the morning. Also, it was raining. It still is. Not sprinkling or drizzling. Heavy, steady rain. There was a huge roll of thunder and clap of lightning about an hour ago. Just rain. I was waking up early today so I could explore, maybe find a coffeeshop to call home for the next month, but with the warning that most stores are closed Sunday from the handout we were given, and the rain, I don’t really want to wander around. I am fine being inside and looking out.
Banana and yoghurt for breakfast. I need coffee. I realized I didn’t buy any cereal yesterday and that is really bumming me out. I should have bought vodka and grapefruit. Because being lonely and drunk is like, the best idea ever.
Still no internet. I can’t look anything up. I cannot search for good coffee in Lankwitz. I cannot look up the calling code for the US so I can call or text y’all. Happy Birthday, Alex. I would have sent you a message yesterday but for the aforementioned reason.
Clouds are moving. Maybe it will clear up. Did I mention the rain is loud? It is falling on the millions of leaves outside my window. I thought it was tiny little houses next door to the dorm, with people really intent on gardening and then maybe barbequing, but I think they are little community gardens from the sign I walked past going to the market. They are pretty. And they have lots of plants for rain to fall on. Everything is so green, I am used to the golden California summer. I don’t know if heat or rain is worse. Yesterday it was so hot when I got into Tegel, and now it is raining. I asked the cabdriver if it was going to rain and I thought he said in three days but maybe he said for three days. I really hope not. It’s hardly great weather to discover my surroundings. I still have an hour and a half to kill before going to that orientation meeting. I am hellof bored. I should study. I should make a list of helpful terms.
Banana and yoghurt for breakfast. I need coffee. I realized I didn’t buy any cereal yesterday and that is really bumming me out. I should have bought vodka and grapefruit. Because being lonely and drunk is like, the best idea ever.
Still no internet. I can’t look anything up. I cannot search for good coffee in Lankwitz. I cannot look up the calling code for the US so I can call or text y’all. Happy Birthday, Alex. I would have sent you a message yesterday but for the aforementioned reason.
Clouds are moving. Maybe it will clear up. Did I mention the rain is loud? It is falling on the millions of leaves outside my window. I thought it was tiny little houses next door to the dorm, with people really intent on gardening and then maybe barbequing, but I think they are little community gardens from the sign I walked past going to the market. They are pretty. And they have lots of plants for rain to fall on. Everything is so green, I am used to the golden California summer. I don’t know if heat or rain is worse. Yesterday it was so hot when I got into Tegel, and now it is raining. I asked the cabdriver if it was going to rain and I thought he said in three days but maybe he said for three days. I really hope not. It’s hardly great weather to discover my surroundings. I still have an hour and a half to kill before going to that orientation meeting. I am hellof bored. I should study. I should make a list of helpful terms.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Berlin
You know how the back cover of Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy reads, in big, comforting letters: DON’T PANIC? I need that right now. I have just finished unpacking in my room in Berlin, bells just started ringing somewhere and it is 4:49 pm so unless they ring for ten minutes before the hour something is wrong somewhere, I assume, and they are just droning on and on and I am hungry because the half a cheese sandwich and popcorn on my flights from Paris to Munich and Munich to Berlin were not enough to ward off hunger and I guess I will go to the market soon but omigod I don’t really speak any German and it is starting to sink in. It began to sink in when I couldn’t even carry on a miniature conversation with the six-year old sitting next to me on the last flight. And I just feel like such an ass speaking English. I can say danke, bitte, wasser, kase, milch, brot, I am, I come from, it is hot today, and…that’s about it. And my bed sheets are jersey, the bottom sheet bright orange and the duvet and pillow cover yellow with some horrible pattern and you all know that orange and yellow are not my colors. The pillow ceased to exist as a pillow years ago, so now not only do I need food, I need a new pillow, and new sheets because I can’t deal with these for a month, and clothes hangers, and to learn German. And meet people other than the girl I share a bathroom with who is going home on Wednesday, which means I will have my own bathroom, which I just realized. To top all this panic off, the guy who sets us internet is not here until Monday. I want to check my email. I want to write email. I want to change my location to Berlin on my profiles. I want to find where a Vodafone is so I can add minutes and a text plan to my phone. I want coffee. Normally I would check all this out before venturing into the great foreign-speaking unknown, but I can’t, which is, of course, not helping. Why didn’t I do a month in France? I can actually get by in France. Or just, you know, a few weeks. So I can be home in Berkeley with Sydney, and be there to see Eric when he gets back from Peru, and relax and maybe read The Arcades Project, like I have been meaning to do. Also, I have a sinking feeling that I am not only in the boonies of Berlin, but also maybe the ghetto. I am a pessimist. Don’t be surprised if by the end of the week I have completely revised my opinion. But by the end of the week, I will also have new sheets and internet. Ach danke Gott, the bells stopped.
I just got back from the market now, and if Penny as the name of the market didn’t give me reason for pause, shouldn’t you be worried now? I think it was a discount market. I mean, the bread is pretty good, as is the butter, soymilk does not exist in Europe as far as I can tell, and there was yoghurt, so I am happy, but they also had hardware of the tool and computer varieties. I paid with a 100€ bill and the checkout man (Herr Fischer, going by his nametag), was like “Oh man, a hundred euros blah blah blah” (in german) and I just stood there kind of embarrassed to be paying for my groceries. At least no one can tell I am American.
If it wasn’t for that ugly duvet cover, etc, my room would look very minimalist and nice-ish. Minimalist as a matter of one suitcase, one month rather than determined scheme, but nice-ish nonetheless. I have four polaroids on the wall above my desk, I put my clothes and shoes on the bookshelf in my room, which reminds me of the Andreas Gursky series of “Prada” store shoots. There was a paper lantern in the center of the room, and roman blinds on the windows, so it was a nice base until I made the stupid bed. I am going to have to sleep with an eyemask on though, otherwise I will be waking with the dawn and who the hell wants that?
Next fun adventure: Can I find the Silberlaube by 2:00pm tomorrow for the orientation meeting, given that I cannot find where I am on a map? Or nevermind, because we are going to be escorted there and they gave us directions in the welcome packet? I think the latter.
I just got back from the market now, and if Penny as the name of the market didn’t give me reason for pause, shouldn’t you be worried now? I think it was a discount market. I mean, the bread is pretty good, as is the butter, soymilk does not exist in Europe as far as I can tell, and there was yoghurt, so I am happy, but they also had hardware of the tool and computer varieties. I paid with a 100€ bill and the checkout man (Herr Fischer, going by his nametag), was like “Oh man, a hundred euros blah blah blah” (in german) and I just stood there kind of embarrassed to be paying for my groceries. At least no one can tell I am American.
If it wasn’t for that ugly duvet cover, etc, my room would look very minimalist and nice-ish. Minimalist as a matter of one suitcase, one month rather than determined scheme, but nice-ish nonetheless. I have four polaroids on the wall above my desk, I put my clothes and shoes on the bookshelf in my room, which reminds me of the Andreas Gursky series of “Prada” store shoots. There was a paper lantern in the center of the room, and roman blinds on the windows, so it was a nice base until I made the stupid bed. I am going to have to sleep with an eyemask on though, otherwise I will be waking with the dawn and who the hell wants that?
Next fun adventure: Can I find the Silberlaube by 2:00pm tomorrow for the orientation meeting, given that I cannot find where I am on a map? Or nevermind, because we are going to be escorted there and they gave us directions in the welcome packet? I think the latter.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Londres et Paris
I love London. It’s not a matter of English being spoken there, or the cabs, or the fact that there I can cross the street without fear of being run over because my mum taught me look right look left look right again, or that I saw people bike couriers there and it reminded me of San Francisco, but just…it is so calm. Even when it is busy, it is a calm busy. It isn’t constantly running to get ahead to nowhere. I am always waiting until I get to go back there—at least this time I have a date! The eighteenth of August, I will be in London until the early afternoon of the nineteenth, when I fly back to the states. I plan on Tate Moderning it up, and getting a high tea if at all possible, because I might as well. I told my mum I was going to sit in the bar at the museum alone all night and she freaked out. I will only do that if someone will come chill with me. Let me know if you are down, or in town. The latter might be a necessity for the possibility of the former.
We took the Chunnel train to Paris after a day and a bit of adjusting to the time change. I wasn’t so into Paris while I was there, but looking back on it, I loved it. I think maybe I just need to go back there on my own or with friends to explore a bit more. Our apartment had the misfortune of being a beautiful space decorated by people with poor taste. We had not only a naked lady on the mirror in the hall, but also one painted on the tile in one of the bathrooms. The floors were original for the building (so, about one hundred years old) and were not in great condition, which made walking very…loud. So imagine my surprise and delight when I hopped from hall rug to a Macchu Picchu rug! What are the chances? That room was so mine. Also, it was carpeted. The little balconies off the bedrooms had red geraniums and other plants in pots. It was lovely, and there were curtains that blocked light so I could sleep in. In the three and a bit days I was there, we went to museums and drank a lot of coffee and I learned I hadn’t forgotten nearly as much French as I had thought.
My first afternoon there, we went into the wineshop downstairs to get some wine (duh) and pate, etc., for dinner. We were talking to Claude, the man who runs the shop, when three of his forty-something friends boisterously entered, a little drunk at five in the afternoon. They were talking in French, then switched to English after Claude told them we were Japanese, and one of them suggested that my clothes would look better on the floor and my paper be better off in his pockets. After discovering we were Californians, it was suggested that I surf Paris with him all night. At some point in all this, he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and ran down Rue Etienne Marcel about half a block before bringing me back and dumping me to the ground. Comments on the festivities were made, and he realized I was there with my parents. But embarrassment? Of course not! I believe I broke his heart when I told him I had no phone number, and was leaving Saturday for Berlin. Quel tragedie!’
If you are in Paris, go see Claude at the wineshop at 5 Rue Etienne Marcel. He is a nice guy, and he has two daughters living in California. And go to the brasserie and café next door, and get a café crème. They are delicious, and they come with a little truffle on the saucer.
Also, talk to the cabdrivers in French, if you know French. They are so happy to help you out, talk about Arnold Schwarzenegger, and pollution—and it really helps you feel better about being a designated translator when you end up where you were supposed to go. If all else fails, je ne sais pas ou tu ne parles pas anglais.
We took the Chunnel train to Paris after a day and a bit of adjusting to the time change. I wasn’t so into Paris while I was there, but looking back on it, I loved it. I think maybe I just need to go back there on my own or with friends to explore a bit more. Our apartment had the misfortune of being a beautiful space decorated by people with poor taste. We had not only a naked lady on the mirror in the hall, but also one painted on the tile in one of the bathrooms. The floors were original for the building (so, about one hundred years old) and were not in great condition, which made walking very…loud. So imagine my surprise and delight when I hopped from hall rug to a Macchu Picchu rug! What are the chances? That room was so mine. Also, it was carpeted. The little balconies off the bedrooms had red geraniums and other plants in pots. It was lovely, and there were curtains that blocked light so I could sleep in. In the three and a bit days I was there, we went to museums and drank a lot of coffee and I learned I hadn’t forgotten nearly as much French as I had thought.
My first afternoon there, we went into the wineshop downstairs to get some wine (duh) and pate, etc., for dinner. We were talking to Claude, the man who runs the shop, when three of his forty-something friends boisterously entered, a little drunk at five in the afternoon. They were talking in French, then switched to English after Claude told them we were Japanese, and one of them suggested that my clothes would look better on the floor and my paper be better off in his pockets. After discovering we were Californians, it was suggested that I surf Paris with him all night. At some point in all this, he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and ran down Rue Etienne Marcel about half a block before bringing me back and dumping me to the ground. Comments on the festivities were made, and he realized I was there with my parents. But embarrassment? Of course not! I believe I broke his heart when I told him I had no phone number, and was leaving Saturday for Berlin. Quel tragedie!’
If you are in Paris, go see Claude at the wineshop at 5 Rue Etienne Marcel. He is a nice guy, and he has two daughters living in California. And go to the brasserie and café next door, and get a café crème. They are delicious, and they come with a little truffle on the saucer.
Also, talk to the cabdrivers in French, if you know French. They are so happy to help you out, talk about Arnold Schwarzenegger, and pollution—and it really helps you feel better about being a designated translator when you end up where you were supposed to go. If all else fails, je ne sais pas ou tu ne parles pas anglais.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
D24.C65 1982
Title The great international disaster book / James Cornell
Author Cornell, James, 1944-
Edition 3rd ed
Place/Publisher New York : Scribner,
Date c1982
Description viii, 472 p. : ill. ; 22 cm
Notes Includes index
Bibliography: p. 449-459
Subject Headings Disasters.
Location(s):
Doe Refe D24.C65 1982
Non-circulating.
Loan period: non-circulating
Author Cornell, James, 1944-
Edition 3rd ed
Place/Publisher New York : Scribner,
Date c1982
Description viii, 472 p. : ill. ; 22 cm
Notes Includes index
Bibliography: p. 449-459
Subject Headings Disasters.
Location(s):
Doe Refe D24.C65 1982
Non-circulating.
Loan period: non-circulating
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