Well that was a
whirlwind of a weekend! I’m on my way home from Berlin right now after getting
in Thursday night. I’m exhausted, but I find myself in a train car with an
outlet, so I figure II might as well be efficient and get some blogging in
before I forget all of the fun little stories about this weekend.
Two weekends in
a row in Germany in vastly different areas and under quite different
circumstances provide me the opportunity to compare the two experiences in a
variety of ways. Berlin feels much more like a big cosmopolitan city and Munich
feels like a country town that time forgot about in some ways. Berlin is almost
completely new, built on top of the rubble left after the devastating bombings
of WWII. Of course, Munich was also razed in WWII, but whereas Munich could be
faithfully reconstructed and was, Berlin was not afforded such a luxury and
consequently has a very modern look to it. The need to reconstruct Berlin
coupled with the fact that much of Berlin remained under Communist rule for the
better part of 40 years means Berlin can have the feeling of a concrete jungle
at times. Munich, in contrast, has a small town feel with their beer halls and
cobble stone streets.
I am not saying
that I did not enjoy Berlin. I enjoyed it thoroughly and at times took an
almost personal satisfaction when my friends expressed their appreciation for
the city (more on that later), but I think my reaction is to the coldness that
urban life can have. Maybe I’m just “too nice” for a big city as my brother
suggested during my college search, or maybe it was because I was travelling
with friends, but I did not meet nearly as many people on this trip as I did
last weekend.
I did meet one
fellow, Anton, who was a really cool guy. We met last night while Corinne,
Allison and I were making our way to the club and waiting at the train station
for the S-Bahn. Anton didn’t make the best first impression on me because he
offered his small flask of Jagermeister to the girls instead of throwing it
out. To me, that’s a red flag, and thankfully the girls didn’t accept it. After
talking for a bit we found out that Anton was visiting Berlin for a few days
and had felt dejected after the bouncers at one of the clubs had arbitrarily
denied him entrance and wanted to go home. In the end, Anton joined us and off
we went to the Fritz club.
Back on point though, this weekend demonstrated just how differently traveling can be when you’re on your own versus in a group.
Scheduling is
vastly different. When you’re on your own, you are on your own schedule
completely and do what you want to
do, when you want to do it. In a
group, a group dynamic is developed out of necessity and the different roles
each player takes are actually quite interesting. Sometimes there are groups
where there is no clear leader, as was the case for much of the weekend, when a
significant amount of time is devoted simply to trying to determine the plan of
action. No one wants to assert their opinion afraid that they may offend the
others or desire something other than what the group wants. This is quite
inefficient and in many ways it is similar to a prisoners’ dilemma: agents have
a variety of options to chose from each with their own payoffs, but in this
case, as opposed to the classic example of prisoners detention by the police,
collusion is prevented not by the forceful separation of the agents but because
they simply do not want to share their thoughts for fear of offending others.
So what actually
happened this weekend? Well, it got off to a bit of a turbulent start. I was
able to get on an earlier train to Berlin because I am done with classes at
3:30 on Thursdays, so by 4:31 I was on the train and headed to Berlin. One of
the cars was malfunctioning though (not sure how), so by the time we arrived in
Berlin, we were 45 minutes behind schedule. This wasn’t so much a problem as
much as a minor inconvenience. I still arrived in Berlin nearly an hour before
Corinne’s flight was due to land so I could make my way to the hostel
leisurely. Here’s where the issues came in.
Corinne had
booked the hostel for me so I had never looked into it the way I should have. I
had told myself several times that I should look it up online, find a map,
directions from the train station, etc., but I never did. So, Thursday night I
found myself in the giant train station that is Berlin Hauptbahnhof, utterly
lost and with €2.30 in my pocket. I was afraid to withdraw money because my
account had been dangerously low when I left Prague. I went to the service
counter and asked a few questions, found out which stop I needed to go to and
bought a one-way metro ticket. When I got off the train though, I still had no
idea where the hostel was. I asked a gentlemen on the corner and he pointed me
toward the zoo (turns out this was not the right direction at all), but on the
way across the street, the plastic bag holding the champagne I had bought as a
gift for Corinne, and her friends, tore and the champagne bottle shattered on
the sidewalk. After reeling for a moment at the realization that my gift was
lost, a gust of wind swept through and blew my hat into the street and on
coming traffic. Luckily, the light had just turned green so the cars had not
yet started to move so I was able to chase it down and pick it up before a car
had the chance to run it over. When I found that the man on the corner had led
me in the wrong direction I was quite worried because I had no idea where I was
or what I was going to do. I ended up finding the hostel without any further
drama though – it was kitty corner from where the man had directed me to go,
that is to say, exactly where he himself had been when he gave me the
directions.
When I
approached the concierge I realized once again how foolish I had been not too
coordinate more with Corinne about the reservation. There was a reservation for
Goldberg, but they had not yet checked in. The concierge said that I could go
and wait up in the room instead of in the lobby, but I hesitated when he said
that the reservation was for six nights (I had planned to stay in Berlin for
three nights, and Corinne and I had not discussed what her plans were, but I
had no reason to believe they were different from my own). It is probably 11:30
at this point and I realized my most foolish oversight of the entire
preparation process: I had not taken Corinne’s phone number so I could not call
her to confirm I was in the right place. I elected to wait in the lobby of the
hostel and do some homework in the mean time. I waited and watched as the door
swung open time and again, admitting guest after guest into the lobby.
Minutes before
the clock struck one in the morning, the door swung open once again and this
time Corinne, Rich and Allison walked in luggage in tow. It was a huge relief
to see them as it confirmed that I had indeed gone to the right hostel and
because I had grown very tired and was looking forward to sleep.
Before I could
sleep however, we had to take care of the reservation so that I did not pay for
three nights for which I would not be in Berlin. Though the concierge was
initially hesitant because of the nature of the reservation, in the end he
obliged me and gave me the same discount Corinne’s father had been able to
negotiate for us but for three nights only. Corinne generously covered the bill
for me because I did not have the cash and they wanted to charge me an
additional €5 to use a credit card (I would pay her back the next day after I
had withdrawn money). By the time we settled won in our room, I was introduced
to Allison and Rich and we brushed our teeth it was nearly three in the
morning.
We woke up the
next morning at ten, had a nice breakfast and then took the free tour of Berlin
with the same company that had offered the tours in Budapest and Munich. This
time my tour guide’s name was Sam, a spry little Brit, bubbling with energy who
had studied the history of the Third Reich (I believe) before becoming a tour
guide to remain in Berlin. The tour started at the Brandenburg Gates and ended
on Museum Island and lasted nearly four hours.
Throughout the
tour I kept recalling my last visit to Berlin four and a half years ago with my
German class, and actually, I thought about my high school German class quite a
bit this weekend. While walking around Berlin I kept thinking back to my junior
year spring break in high school when I had gone to Hamburg and Berlin with my
German class on an exchange program. I remembered Parizan Platz underneath the
Brandenburg Gates on which the Goddess Victory eternally looks, a not so subtle
allusion to Germany’s victory over France only a few years after Napoleon had
walked triumphal through the gates to conquer the city, and I remembered the
museum in the corner of the square in which my entire German class had fallen
asleep with a twinge of regret and sympathy for my teacher who had always tried
to provide us with the best education; I remember the Memorial to the Murdered
Jews of Europe, one of my favorite memorials, with columns that grow unevenly
in height until they tower over you when you’re in the center of the square,
and where I had taken one of my favorite photos I have ever taken; I remembered
the memorial to the Nazi book burnings, the subterranean shelve space with
enough space to house the thousands of volumes burned; and of course I
remembered the Reichstag building, its beautiful glass dome, the way the dome
juxtaposes the sturdy and imposing building underneath, and again a photo I
took of my friend Frank in the shadows of a column at the Reichstag. I was
quite pleased with the amount of information I retained from my previous visit
to Germany and from German class. Many of the facts that Sam provided in her
tour, I already knew and could recall with only the slightest prompt. Still the
tour was beneficial and I appreciated the opportunity to see the city from
another’s perspective and I learned new (or relearned forgotten) information,
like the plaque by the memorial for the burned books which said, “that which
starts with the burning of books ends with the burning of men” written by a
German Jew in the 18th century about the Spanish Inquisition, but
which could be aptly applied to the Holocaust and the Nazi regime in Germany in
the build up to WWII.
While Corinne
and Allison are conversational in Spanish and Rich is nearly fluent, none of
them spoke any German. I would not say I’m conversational in German, not even
close, but by some stroke of luck, I have retained just enough German that I
can express my most elementary thoughts in a number of situations. When we went
out to eat, I was able to order almost entirely in German. When we were lost, I
could ask for directions, and after asking for the directions to be repeated
two or three times, understand where we needed to go. I was even able to help
Corinne when she needed to go to the doctor on Saturday.
I think the
doctor is a particularly good example because our hostel tried to direct us
toward an English-speaking district of Berlin in the hopes that the doctors
would be able to understand Corinne. Corinne had not wanted to go to the
doctor, fearing that it would take up the entire day, but I think she would
agree, it was good that I insisted we go. The hospital was really far away,
well outside of the city center, and actually beyond the borders of our map. I
had gotten directions from the concierge, but they proved to be largely useless
because we were told to go to the Platz am der Wilden Eber (the Place of the
Wild Pigs) and no one knew where that was.
The neighborhood
around the hospital’s train stop was very pretty and so while we wandered about
looking for the hospital, we looked around and took in the sights. I found a
couple out walking with their baby in a stroller and asked them if they knew
where the clinic that we were looking for was located. They said they did and
that we could follow them and that they would deliver us to the hospital. It
was a very sweet offer and one that I did not refuse. We walked behind them for
nearly a mile when all of a sudden they disappeared into a drive way and by the
time we got to the drive way ourselves all we saw were the coat tails of the
father as he walked into his house.
A little
confused, I did not give up and when I saw a man walking his dog down the other
side of the sidewalk, I asked him if he knew where the clinic was while Allison
and Corinne petted his dog. He said it was right around the corner and so off
we went, but not before the girls learned to say dog in German (Hund).
The clinic
reminded me more of an insane asylum than a clinic. I thought of the clinic as
a combination of the ski resort in the Shining and the asylum in which Dustin
Hoffman lives in Rainman. It was a beautiful, large, and elaborate building.
The front lawn was more of a courtyard with gravel paths, white benches, flower
gardens and lined with pines trees. A stone staircase led up to the front door
made of heavy wood. Inside, the hospital combined the necessities of a hospital
(a clean sanitary environment) with comforts of a home (comfortable upholstered
chairs, oil paintings, and a grand wooden staircase).
As nice as the
clinic appeared, it did not have a doctor on call that could help Corinne and
so we were directed to another hospital. Corinne took down the directions and
off we went. After determining where we needed to go by talking to a very
friendly lady at a bus station (after getting lost once again) we finally made
our way to a real hospital. The experience though long (most of which was
transit time) was relatively painless in that nothing really drastic occurred
and Corinne was prescribed medicine, which have helped significantly.
With the doctor
out of the way, we had a late lunch / early dinner at a nice restaurant / bar
still outside of town. I only had a French Onion soup, the first bowl I’ve had
since New York two summers ago, so while I sipped on my soup, I was able to
relive that lovely dinner in Manhattan with friends in my mind and smile.
After dinner we
went to the Reichstag since it was still early to see the dome. It was a really
fun day, even if it was due to unfortunate circumstances. We got to see a part
of Berlin that we would never have seen and eat in a restaurant we would never
have found had it not been for the fact that Corinne needed a doctor.
The Reichstag
was also really cool. I hadn’t been there in over four years and while I had
very strong memories of it, e.g. taking the photo of Frank or sitting in the
blue chairs of parliament, I had gone during midday and now we I would see it
when the sun had set and darkness had arrived in full force. I did not remember
how bad the lines were and I think that is because we had had an organized and
schedule visit whereas this time we were not so prepared. It took us nearly an
hour to get into the building and at least another half of an hour to pass
through security and reach the dome itself. Though the line wasn’t desirable, I
still thought it was worth the visit. I took a few photos of the dome and some
surrounding buildings with my wide lens and a long exposure by using my camera
bag as a tripod and I think they actually turned out quite well.
To round out the
night, we grabbed a quick second dinner (for me a Döner Kebab) and ate in the
hostel lobby before readying ourselves for the clubs.
Aside from my
brief visit to a club in Krakow in which I did not have the chance to dance, I
have not been to a club since September at least. It was good to get back into
the swing of things, though I will readily admit that it has taken a toll on my
functioning today. I am just exhausted getting only four hours of sleep last
night before having to wake up and check out of the hostel.
Before we met
Anton, we had tried to go to another club in a really cool, if sketchy, area of
town: it was less than well lit, with graffiti covering nearly every wall and
bottles of alcohol littering the ground. Still, it was a popular area for
nightclubs and I believe there are at least three in the area. We tried to go
into one with a Russian and three Germans, but when we got to the door, the
bouncer asked to see Corinne’s passport. Getting carded is rare in Europe, but
even more rare is a 21+ club, which is exactly what this one was.
Unfortunately, Corinne is not 21 yet, and so she was not allowed to enter the
club. Luckily for me, I did not enter first otherwise I would have been out the
cover fee and quite a sourpuss. After getting rejected, we decided that we
should go to the Fritz club, a large club a really cool building that we had
seen earlier and heard good things about.
On the way to
Fritz, Anton bought a kebab because he was hungry but when we got to the club, he
still had most of his kebab to eat so I waited with him while the girls went on
ahead (this one wasn’t 21+ and so they had no trouble entering). It turned out
to work out to my benefit though because the girls weren’t actually that difficult to find in the club (I
had forgotten my cell in the room so I had to hunt them down) and Anton offered
me the last bit of his kebab, which I accepted with only slight hesitation (you
didn’t think I would deny free food did you?). Fritz is three clubs in one
(electro/house, R&B/hip-hop, and rock) and after I found the girls we made
our way to the R&B/hip-hop room for some dancing. The first five or six
songs they played were fantastic and I had a great time dancing and singing
along, even after Anton had gone to the bathroom and the girls went to buy a
drink and I was in the middle of the floor by myself. After a while though, the
soundtrack changed decidedly in the direction of house music and though still
fun to dance to, since I don’t know the house all that well, I had to think a
bit more about the music which mitigated the amount of fun I was having. My
energy levels also dissipated after an hour or two on the dance floor and I had
to call it a night around 3:30.
Anton left with
me and we got to talk a bit on the train about all sorts of things. He asked if
I was planning on visiting Sweden, where he’s from, and I said I was hesitant
because of the incredibly high price levels. He responded that if I did want to
visit, he could probably set me up with free lodgings with one of his friends
anywhere in the country, a really generous offer, but not all together strange
in my experience of younger Europeans. He did also agree with me that prices
were quite high in Sweden and that’s one reason he loves to travel to other
places (like when he went to New York, it was cheap for him – unfair). He told me how he buys bottles of alcohol
in foreign countries because prices for liquor in Sweden are astronomical and
no one but the exceptionally rich can afford to buy drinks at a bar or club. I
took this to mean that liquor stores were also expensive, but just on a
comparable level with the rest of the country, though it turns out that there
is exactly one company allowed to
sell alcohol in the country of Sweden and some of the liquor laws in the
country are crazy. Aside from the foreign concept of a monopoly in an industry
without high entry costs like utilities, the company is also not allowed to
sell liquor in quantities larger than 1 liter (and it may be smaller, I can’t
quite remember) and 80-90% of the price of alcohol is tax. The rational for the
tax, according to Anton, is that alcohol sales are supposed to pay for all of
the bills from government programs like prisons (he named a few other examples
which I cannot remember at the moment). I just don’t understand how Swedes
stand for that large of a sin tax on alcohol. I asked if there was a large home
brewing culture in Sweden (as there is in the Czech republic where alcohol is
relatively cheap) and to my surprise there is not.
Anton and I
parted ways outside of my hostel and I had just showered and brushed my teeth
for bed when Rich came back to the room at 5 and we both promptly went to bed.
I woke up at
9:30 this morning (I’m still not sure how I got out of bed), checked out of my
room by 10, had breakfast and returned to the room (using Rich’s key) to
continue packing up and get ready for a quick photo expedition back to the
shady club district from the night before, before my 12:36 train. Well, I made
it to the club area, took some photos, though I’m not sure if I actually like
any of them, and then made my way back to the hostel to pick up my other bag
around 11:15. I had left myself just
enough time to make my train. I get my bags, say goodbye to everyone (who are
still sleeping soundly) and head toward the train station. It was halfway
between my first and second stop that I realized I had forgotten my hat in the
room. My awesome German hat which I am buying pins to put on for the rest of my
trip and which I’ve been assured I will dispose of by the time I finish my
senior year (we’ll see). I was not pleased. I had to get off, turn around and
make my way back to the hostel to pick it up because I didn’t want to have to
make Corinne ship the hat to me in Prague and risk damaging it. I get the hat
and make it to the main train station at 12:41, just minutes after the train to
Prague left. It wasn’t the end of the world, another train would leave at 2:36
and so I waited, ate a small lunch I had packed for the train and did some
homework. Really, the only issue is that the train station is not heated (or at
least not where I was) because there are large holes in the walls where the
heat escapes (like where the trains enter the building) so it got quite chilly.
Now, I’ve
written for nearly five hours and will be pulling into Praha Hlvani Nadrazi
shortly. Praha: the closest thing I have to a home at the moment. It’s kind of
crazy that that is only the case for the next month and a half before I become
a transient for a few weeks and then return to America. Where has the time
gone? How many more weekend adventures will I have? Will I be able to figure
out how to be more efficient with my time in Prague so that I can see more of
the city? I would hate to feel like I have squandered an opportunity come
December. I guess all I can do is be conscious of what I need to do and then
execute.
Until next time…
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