first week

Well, It’s now been one week since I first arrived in Berlin. I have to say it’s been a huge culture shock. I think all those years in Boulder have left me somewhat ill-equipped for the rest of the world, but Berlin especially.


My flat and the area in which I live is best described as similar to Trainspottingbut in black-and-white, and without the banter. Located in the East end of Kreuzberg, I am surrounded by tall, filthy graffiti-sprayed, concrete megaliths, with the U-Bahn roaring underground for nocturnal consolation. By both day and night, for in this city I have lost all sense of time - Turkish society adds its curious blend of East and West to the proceedings. The girls, some wearing headscarves, some in high street garb, chat in the fluorescent light of Hawker stands, enjoying a tasty and cheap doner kebab. Businessmen and youth alike sit in dingy betting shops, alternating between wagers on basketball games and football matches. The westerners for their part are mostly deadbeats and junkies, drinking openly in the street, howling upon deadened ears.

I’ve noticed that the most Berlin-lookingpeople tend to be Americans, which may only say something about my particular understanding of what a Berliner should look like. It’s as if Americans or expats get themselves the twenties haircut, the tight-fitting black or grey jeans, the handmade leather shoes and the trendiest flannel shirt or blazer and cart themselves off to Berlin. The real Berliners simply aren’t that concerned with conforming to the hipster stereotype, although there’s plenty of them around.

I’m literally staggered by the nightlife. The bars don’t close. Legends abound of ‘Club 25’ – a nightclub that has been open for the past two weeks, straight. People sleep in the place and you can order food in. Darren, nicknamed ‘The Dazzler,’ the Irish guy whose room I am availing of, has gone 52 hrs straight in Club 25, but his friend has done 64 hours straight. I guess part of the reason people stay there so long is that it’s so difficult to get into – the criteria for admittance is somewhat esoteric, with neither modeling credentials nor a 2010 Ferrari, nor an upcoming record contract being a guarantee, so once you’re in, you won’t want to leave. On my thirtieth birthday, last Thrusday, I went to a charming Moulin-Rouge decorated bar with an American Girl I had met through my Greek room mate, Xorgos. Xorgos’ sole ambition for the past five months has been to release 30,000 helium balloons into Alexander Platz subway station. The place was lit by candles, had Persian-style rugs and cusions, and the barmaid, dressed in a red and white polka-dotted blouse, served whiskeys generous enough to make a camel drunk.

Everybody smokes in the bars. A law, passed a few years ago, banned smoking in bars, whereby the bar owners promptly refused to pay any attention and the law was quietly taken off the books. Everybody too, seems to be an artist, writer, musician or journalist - though whether professionally, aspirationally or something in between is anybody’s guess. On Friday night I went to a gallery exhibition opening in some sort of post-apocalyptic setting called ‘Tape Modern.’ Walking through a low-ceilinged corridor wallpapered with stark black and white images of cassette tapes , I took a left into a massive warehouse space holding pieces of contemporary art while savage techno and dry ice pumped into the atmosphere. In another section, a tree made of painted 1x6s spread its ‘leaves’ over a throng of ravers dancing closely together in packs. Upstairs I found myself dancing to some friendlier House music.

I’ve had no trouble meeting people. English is the ubiquitous language of a town where on any night one meets Chilean, Colombian, American, Australian,Irish, Romanian, Russian, Spanish, Pole, French, English, Turk and the odd German. The party is always going on and it’s just a matter of when you want to go back to it. On Saturday I went to a barbe-q marking the end of summer, held by the great Minch, a gentle giant from South Dublin, and enjoyed many fine Wurst and marinated chicken. After drinking in the park we went to a film premiere and mingled with the trendies. I made the rather unorthodox move of trying to watch some of the movie, and after ten minutes, I discovered the people were actually speaking English in a scenario where ‘Art’ is banned, and gangsters peddle knock-off Mona Lisas and Lalique vases, avoiding the Gestapo-like authorities. Much of the movie was filmed at double speed and most people rightly paid no attention to it, instead browsing the ebb and flow of dilletanti. Afterwards the inevitable techno was aired, the quality of which was off the hook. Detroit-influenced, lots of syncopatic side-beats, very industrial feel. I danced to my heart’s content with a Chilean tango dancer and further exploring found an adjacent building with louder, housier techno and a makeshift bar in the basement. I met a pretty Navy officer living in Hamburg dressed like Tom Cruise from Top Gear, who really looked like a fish out of water amongst the bohemians, something I didn’t think was possible.

It’s a goal of mine to move into a new apartment, as where I’m living is literally sucking the life out of me. This is no mean feat, as the demand for a place in hip-heaven Kreuzberg means that landlords have a choice of tenants, and since I don’t speak German (yet) and have no credit history or proof of employment, I’m at the bottom of the pile. Although it’s a little against what I had in mind, I may have to move in to a shared acommodation.

Work is not going well, the different time zones and distance being a barrier to communication, and I’ve had two articles rejected for improper content. It may get better in the long run, but I think I will look into English-teaching or Tour Guiding, which seems to be a staple amongst the Irish guys I’ve met. The fact that I cant resolve the connectivity issues between my computer and the network in the apartment means I find myself writing the articles in a crowded and smoky Internet café, which is a little dreadful, if not completely hellish.

I am still a little perpelexed over the decision to move here. While partying is fun, I don’t think for one minute it can justify alone the decision to leave Sam, Erin and all the bright hopes of an American dream in sunny Boulder. Being surrounded by so many genuinely creative people, in a city that lives and breathes art, makes me want to just concentrate on that. And a week ago, I finished my book, so it’s a potentially exciting time and place to be. Some of you will be receiving the first draft soon for critique. I plan to send out query letters to publishers this week.

Stay tuned!

b.