Gasolina? In Berlin? In Kreuzberg? Jah.

(aug 2005, Hug Point, Oregon, USA)
So folks, apparently reggaeton has made it to Berlin. Tonight at around 12 I meandered over to a party in a party den in Gorlitzer Park. I didn't really know what to expect, but a few of my roommates were there and man, did I feel the hankering to go out on a Friday night. I'd already had an Allgauer Brauhaus Bueble Bier and was feeling a little tired for the evening. But no, I must push on. I'm an explorer in a foreign land, what could a party hut in the middle of petting zoo in the middle of a run down park in the middle of Kreuzberg possibly be like? Turns out it was pretty decent. A fundraiser for a squat hausprojekt around here, beers were 2 € and I was in a giving mood. Hanna and Katherine had both warned me already that House music was the RocknRoll of Europe and that if I planned on having any fun while over here I'd better start getting down.
Therein lies the problem. I walked in and was pretty excited to be in a crowd and just hanging at a party. For the first 15 minutes or so it was nothing but House. Then all of the sudden the first chords to Abba's Gimme,Gimme,Gimme came on and blam - it was Madonna time. Next followed a pretty dull lull of house before long that Indian song that Jay-Z had rapped over a few years ago came on - a good sign. But alas...more house followed. Eventually the DJ moved into Salsa-land, which most of the Berliners seemed confused about...not I, thanks to Melvin Jimenez's Ex-Co course at Oberlin. Or at least I wasn't totally clueless. But then came a surprise. Reggaeton was alive and well in Berlin, and it was time to hear 'CULO' loud and clear. Yes, Daddy Yankee and the Gasolina crew came on briefly. That was the last big highlight of the evening as it was followed by some pretty tepid German rock (apparently some anthems to cooperative living in Hausprojekts, and so on). Another highlight: my roommate Pierre (a French graphic designer for lefty causes) and I ended up talking music and will soon be sharing i-Pods. Pierre's girlfriend Janna, (also my roommate and from Liepzig and a teacher at Babylonia, my cooperative German language school) and Patrick were also there. Patrick doesn't speak any English, so there's always an interesting tension when we hang out because frankly, I can't communicate beyond the first few sentences and because of that have trouble even going through those basic lines with him. But anyway, we all danced and eventually left as the Violent Femmes Add It Up and then Green Day's When I Come Around came on. A bizarre 'dance' party indeed. I'm not sure how exactly I'll fare in the Deutsch party scene, but as long as I've got decent roommates, who're willing to tell me about a party and hold my hand here and there I should be alright.


(mar 2007, Paris, France, Europe)

Paris. Oh. My. God.

4:36 AM.
I awoke on the top bunk and frantically checked my cell phone. "4:36." Next was my iPod. It screamed 4:36 as well. Now this wouldn't normally be a problem but frankly, Katherine and I had a plane to catch at 7:45 at Orly Sud. We'd been in Paris for 3 days or so and it seemed like mishaps were pretty par for the course. Now I jumped off the bunk to wake her and run downstairs. See, the problem wasn't that it was 4:36 and we have 3 hours to get to the airport far south of Paris. The real difficulty lay in the daylight savings switch that had happened the night before. So really it was 5:36 and we had to book it from 'Le Village,' our hostel in Montmartre, to the Metropolitain for a long trip. We'd briefly considered renting a cab (45 Euros ($60)at least) or taking the train to the airport the night before.
But, since we'd already booked the hostel for our this final night we decided getting some rest was for the best and we bedded down. Sadly we both have fairly dated phones that don't automatically update for daylight savings. And therein lies the rub.
So, my knee feeling sort of out of place we ran downstairs. We ran down Rue de la Chappelle (or something) and made it to the 2 line. At Gar du Nord we had to buy our 8 Euro ticket on the Orly bus. But alas! We didn't have that in coinage, nor did we have this bullshit Eurocheck card you need. Credit? No such luck. I ran to a few police and told them the story and without much hesitation just told us to get on the train.
Needless to say Katherine and I are now back in Berlin and it really felt like I was coming home. Compared to Paris its so amenable and comfortable here. Plus its far cheaper.

Lets see...other Paris highlights...
*eating bread and cheese like it was going out of style.
*Forcing Katherine to let me fill her bookbag with all sorts of cheeses to bring back to Germany.
*Katherine's new bootleg North Face bookbag from Thailand smelling like really stanky feet. Stanky feet belonging to several people.
*Walking along the Seine at night. The whole city is just lit up and golden.
*The Pompidou Modern Art Museum http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centre_Georges_Pompidou
*6 AM train to the airport and a speed freak clubber that looked sooo skeezy starts dancing to house music on his friends boombox. 4 girls on the train promptly exit. I remain envious of his hand-swirling-the-head-dance moves. Sensational.
*10 PM the night before. 15 year old French kid freestyling over a Chronic 2001 beat on the Subway. Sensational.
*Having a guy from Ghana (Patrick) stop me to make a friendship bracelet on my finger while smoothtalking me. I told him from the start I wasn't giving him anything, yet he still was pissed after he tied the bracelet on me. He then unknotted it awkwardly.
*Laughing basically nonstop with Katherine.
*Having the worst chapped lips of my life!
*Dealing with Berlin's S-Bahn early on a Sunday morning when we just wanted to get home!
*Getting home.

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I've just uploaded a bunch of photos to my flickr account
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Also, I just came across this rather interesting recipe for cat (please don't try):

Roast Cat as You Wish to Eat It

Source [Libre del Coch, R. Carroll-Mann (trans.)]:
123. Roast Cat as You Wish to Eat It. You will take a cat that is fat, and decapitate it. And after it is dead, cut off the head and throw it away because it is not for eating, for they say that eating the brains will cause him who eats them to lose his senses and judgment. Then flay it very cleanly, and open it and clean it well, and then wrap it in a cloth of clean linen. And bury it beneath the ground where it must be for a day and a night; and then take it out of there and set it to roast on a spit. And roast it over the fire. And when beginning to roast it, grease it with good garlic and oil. And when you finish greasing it, whip it well with a green twig , and this must be done before it is well-roasted, greasing it and whipping it. And when it is roasted, cut it as if it were a rabbit or a kid and put it on a big plate; and take garlic and oil blended with good broth in such a manner that it is well-thinned. And cast it over the cat. And you may eat of it because it is very good food.

Pay what you like?

Imagine a cold, unfinished apartment in Berlin with three people - two Swedes, one American - staring at a digital recreation of a fireplace on a monitor, fake wood crackling on the speakers.

It may sound alien to us Americans, but the phenomenon of 'pay what you will' restaurants is kind of widespread in Berlin. I met a knew Swedish friend, Lotta, at one of these earlier in the evening. Well actually we met at this incredibly old Zionkirch in Prenzlauer Berg. Sort of north northwest of Kreuzberg. Lotta had been to these places before, but I wasn't quite prepared.
A projection splashed on one wall of the restaurant and the owner/host/commandant pointed us toward a table. We sat there for awhile until he mentioned that we might want some wine. He explained that you pay one euro for an empty glass and then have as much wine as you like. Pointing to a pretty wide selection sitting on the bar, free for the taking, he reminded us that we should pay as we saw fit for the food as well. Pouring some pretty fine vino we sat at our overly wobbly table and checked out a handwritten menu with no prices.
Conversation was pretty good. Lotta is 26, from Gothenburg (in so. Sweden) and wants to be an industrial designer. Her mother was involved in the Green Party and not long ago after her father and grandfather's brother died, her small remaining family (mother,brother,her) owned 4 summer cottages all around Sweden.
We spoke and checked out the scene and slowly noticed that the projection on the wall was not a still image at all, but a video of the stove in the kitchen. You could see broth smoking and every so often a cook would add a pan with some onions or pasta. It was probably the coolest thing I've ever seen in a restaurant. I'm sure it must exist somewhere else as well. At least it should.
Our food was great and we had a glass or two more. And then things got interesting. Or embarassing. But I'm not sure who was on which end....While making a point, Lotta managed to knock over her reasonably well filled glass of wine directly in my direction. I'm not sure I even noticed what happened at first. Too shocked to really move, and fearing that moving would somehow just spread the wine around a little more, I let Lotta try to deal with it. She grabbed a bunch of napkins and ran back to the table. It was obvious how embarassed and sorry she was. I was sorry for her - really. I would've really hated to do that to someone. But through all my embarassment for her came this one realization: 'This wine drenched pair of pants is the only pair I have in Berlin right now (my other pair, from the gap ripped a huge hole in the crotch 2 days ago...f the gap), and this 'niederhoffer' T-shirt with wine dots on it is probably one of my all-time favorites (plus its one of only three in existence).'
In a flurry of napkins, stains and a waiter who thought Lotta hadn't paid enough, we left shortly thereafter - Lotta wobbling on her old bike and urging me to sit on the back. That way we'd get to her place faster to deal with the stains. Too scared off further disaster (not only of falling but of the 40€ fine it carried), I denied the offer and we meandered up Kastanien Strasse to her place which is basically located at Eberswalder Strasse. There the plan was to do something about my clothes. Jonas and Jonna, her flatmates were home and Jonas lent me a very tight T-shirt and some oversize dressy pants. Luckily I wasn't stuck wearing the EIGHTBALL athletic pants that were also offered. While the computer animated fire crackled on Jonas' computer, we hung for a while and I got the story of these other two Swedes. Jonas answers calls from Scandinavia as a phone tech support for a laser printer company and Jonna makes waffles at a waffle shop. Meanwhile, Lotta was trying to figure out the clothes situation. By the time I stumbled back onto the U-bahn I had some recommendations about Paris from Jonna, some oddly sized cloths from Jonas and my wet hoody in a bag from Lotta.
Tomorrow I'll go back to see if my dearly beloved clothes are finally dry (no dryers here, only clothes hangers). Katherine and I leave for Paris tomorrow and I'm going to buy a digital camera at the base of Alexanderplatz beforehand. Then finally there'll be a photo document of this insanity!

Oh, and I have to buy some pants. F the Gap.

On Turkish Markets, 'handys', 'WGs' and haus projekt hip hop

My a lot has happened. There are markets here that you just happen upon. Huge markets. At first it seemed small enough. I barely noticed it walking along the canal. Was it the Spree? Methinks not. But I had to see for myself. And then you enter this thronging throbbing slow moving everyone touching snake. Any kind of produce you could want. Beautiful shiny fabrics used for head scarves and dresses. Things frying with spinach and cheese (I had one: kais mit spinat). I was almost sold a bicycle as well. White hard cheeses that all seem very salty and very foreign and very mysterious next to buttloads of olives and oddly shaped breads. I wish I had some photos of it all. I eventually made my way out with some sweet oranges, tomatoes, apples and 3 avocadoes (3/1Euro). I found my way home and still Katherine hadn't arrived.
Katherine was to arrive that afternoon, back from Chicago but she took a little longer than expected. She's here now though. Everything is fine.
The day before the Turkish excursion (which had really just started as a long winding aimless walk - the kind I really like), I managed to go check out a WG in the neighborhood. A WG (vay-gay) is a Wohngemeinschaft {thanks jean}, or living community. They vary in nature from the super communal - holding dinners regularly, open showers, sharing food to a somewhat less entwined community. That seems to be what I checked out. Its this 5 or 6 story building in Kreuzberg that was squatted back in the '80s when tons of these 100-year old buildings were empty because no one wanted to live in the neighborhood. It was West Berlin but so close to the wall that it was on the outskirts of the city basically. You can see the area here: 23 Sorauer Strasse: Meine neu haus? The wall was just over the river Spree there.
So anyway, long story short I'll be living in a 340 sq foot room thats painted all white (including the woods floors). There are around 6 other people in the building including a mother of a 1.5 y.o. baby. Everyone's in their 30s and is a student of some sort. Since school here is basically free and employment is basically nonexistent, the former is a good option and many people are pursuing a few subjects. So I'll be in that house for 2 months (when my sublettee returns) and then who knows? Is that even a word? I have no idea. If it is, its probably not spelled like that.
Kreuzberg is a vibrant place to be and I'm happy to be here. Being the area that Mary and I crashed in a while ago, its the one I know best in Berlin yet its also kind of offputting sometimes to be in all these same places. But its about making them new again I suppose. Already I feel like I know the city much better and things make some sense. Plus I love the graffiti:


Coming soon: my 'handy' adventure and voyage to 'subversif': haus projekt hiphop, fussball tables and the smokiest basement ever.

Going to the Bathroom

First impressions...

Arrival and Sushi

I made it into Berlin today at around 1210 and it was beautiful and sunny and fairly warm. Pretty exciting. This is Anna - Katherine's pierced-lipped girlfriend. I'm staying in the guest room at her apartment now in X-berg (Kreuzberg). There's a little baby kitty named Sushi who's sleeping next to me now and Anna's housemates seem cool so far.
Tomorrow morning I head off to Babylonia language school to test my German skills. I'll also be getting a phone and maybe some Euros. Those come in handy I hear. Long distance calling is pretty cheap. You find a 5 digit prefix on a website and it acts like a phone card for wherever you want to call. Then on that months bill all the different prefixes get separated out - so everyone knows what they owe.
I fell asleep basically upon arrival. I fear jet lag has got me in its vice-grip (its now 2:30 AM and I'm wide awake).

Lufthansa treated me right though. I magically got 2 seats all to myself! And although I didn't sleep, it was a pretty decent trip. The cinematic oceanic experience was quite lame - Rocky Balboa followed by Marie Antoinette. Although I ended up staying awake and watching both films I had the nagging sensation that I somehow still wasted my life. Surprisingly though, Rocky was the more interesting movie. Sly's plastic surgery enhanced face and pitiless rehashing of a movie series now 6 films deep held my attention for much longer than Sophia Coppola's beautifully shot yet beautifully boring one.

Don't give me shit for that. You try flying 9.5 hours after 3 Warsteiners, 1 whiskey/sprite and 1 cognac. Go ahead.
I shot some footage on the plane. Once I get set up for video action I'll post a little something something.
I'll let you know how my 'handy' (cellphone) excursion goes. Oh and I get to buy a bike!

BYAAH!

I'm at the airport - about to disappear into the clouds. SHIT! theknowledgist drove me hear and it was the perfect day to leave Portland. Bright grey, light rain, not a mountain in sight.

It's sort of been a blurry few weeks since the layoff but seeing all my friends and having a few nice Portland days scattered through let me know what I was leaving. Not sure I really understood that until I asked somebody what time it was and they weren't quite sure what I was saying! And this is at the airport.

But what's done is done. I'm here. I'll be there. I hear the flight's 9 hours. Short layover in Frankfurt and then I'm back in Berlin. For nigh on 135 days. Them's a lot of days. I hope some interesting things happen. Otherwise this could be a boring ass blog for the next little while. And that simply wouldn't be acceptable. Or prudent. I'll be in Paris by next wednesday (to visit my old Fusion buddy) and hopefully in an apartment within a few weeks. I'm staying with my good friends until then - so this isn't just a leap into the deutsch. Speaking of good friends thanks to everyone who came out this weekend to say goodbye. To those who couldn't...fuck y'all!

No - just kidding. See you in August. Wish me a good flight.

We board pretty shortly here and I hear we get free newspapers - score.

Well once again, so long Portland. So long Seattle. So long Buffalo. And as theknowledgist tagged in my address book last night at Beulah Land: so long 'US of Fucking A. BYAAH!'