Dunkelheit und Traurigkeit

I'll be back soon, for nearly a month of D & T, Berlin-style. After too many long, hot weeks in Madrid, I simply cannot wait to be back! In the meantime, this little gem thanks to the Lively German and Satire@SpiegelOnline.

Hier sprichter Dichter
Ihre Stadt (8)

Sie reden viel und fehlerhaft
dank deformierter Kehle.
Sie vegetiern im eignen Saft
und halten das für Seele.

Sie können nichts und wissen nichts
und sind zu dumm zum Siezen.
Sie hoffen nichts und missen nichts
und schimmeln in den Kiezen

und sind, dem Herrgott sei's geklagt,
zu blöd zum Brötchenholen.
Wer Hauptstadt der Versager sagt,
der meint Berlin (bei Polen).

Thomas Gsella

Simply Resistible

I've never been one to be particularly impressed with male beauty. There are a few exceptions, of course: Sergio Ramos being a particularly pertinent pick given Spain's accession to the World Cup final. For me, though, men are, well, masculine, and that's necessary and sufficient for this woman with a textbook case of penis envy. I've never gone for blonds at all, so immigrant women swooning over Germans have always had me shaking my head. But in the interests of helping out my fellow members of the fairer sex toughing it out in Sexless Berlin, I'll share a treasure trove that I just discovered. I'm crushed to see it actually came out short months before I moved to Berlin; it would have been invaluable to me as I commenced blogging the following year. It's from Spiegel's German Survival Guide and contains the following gems: Flirting with Fräuleins, Hunting for Herren and Hunky, Handsome, Wimpy and Weak.

Since I'm going on three years with this blog, I'm starting to think I've earned the right to Greatest Hits compilations. So I'll offer up my cornerstone post about German men here. I'll conclude with the series I wrote just before officially immigrating to Spain, during spring of 2009: Mr. Berlin, the even broader Mr. Europe and, with gratitude for The Director's scintillating insight, Mr. Germany.

All-Time Prize in the Category: Berlin Housing Ad

I just can't resist; I'm still on a listserve for Berlin expats and simply can't let this little jewel go by without comment. I can't recall having ever seen better, in nearly four years (can it be?!) tracking Berlin housing. And "only" 321 euros a month. Hell, I know people who live alone for that price in both Prenzlauerberg and Friedrichshain (albeit without utilities included). Then there's a deposit that's nearly three times the monthly rent -- I've never seen that sort of usury in my entire time in Berlin. But the very best of all, I think, is the opportunity to share a single bathroom with 6 housemates plus visitors plus daytime office workers. It sort of seems like, well, the Knast, oder? Note that the CL link seems to be incorrect; I found it here: http://berlin.de.craigslist.de/roo/1759231136.html
Highlighting below is mine.

Beautiful room in flatshare/WG available July or Aug 1st (longterm!)
Wed May 26, 2010 3:07 pm (PDT)

Beautiful unfurnished room available for rent July 1st or August 1st (or any date in between), in old factory building located in the most northern tip of Neukölln (known as Kreuzkölln). Steps away from Maybachufer, Turkish market, Ankerklause, Admiralsbrücke, Reuter Kiez, Kreuzberg 36 and U8 subway.

This is a long-term rental, so please do not respond if you are looking for temporary accommodation or a furnished apartment! We want to find someone who plans on staying in Berlin for the foreseeable future and making this their home.

The room is 26 square meters (approximately 280 sq ft) with 380 cm high ceilings (approximately 12 ft). One large window on one side of the room, and a round window looking out onto your own private hallway on the other side. See Craigslist ad for pics.

The apartment is shared by six others: three men and three women, ages 28-43, all freelance professionals, most working in media/creative fields. We are not party people, yuppies or hippies, and the aforementioned need not apply. The entire apartment is 330 square m. We share a large eat-in-kitchen/ living room (70 square m) and a rather small bathroom (toilet and shower). There is also an office space in the apartment, where several people work who do not live here. Aside from one Dutch/American, everyone who lives or works here is German.

Rent is 321 Euros a month, which includes heat, hot water, wireless internet, telephone, and cleaning of the communal areas once a week. Deposit is 850 Euros, refundable after move-out. Once a year the actual costs of central heating and water are calculated, and sometimes we have to pay an additional bill (dependent on pricing and usage).

The good:
- happening neighborhood, convenient location, close to shopping, public transport, nightlife
- beautiful historical building, very Berlin
- great details, wood floors, lots of storage space
- dishwasher and washing machine
- access to rooftop
- smoking permitted

The bad:
- no gas (like many Berlin apartments), which means we have a crappy old electric "hot plate" stove
- no bathtub; bathroom is shared by seven people (more when there are guests)
- no pets allowed
- third floor, which (due to high ceilings) means lots of stairs to climb
- smoking permitted

If interested, please send an email to woning007 [at] gmail [dot] com including an email address and phone number where you can be reached, some info about yourself (who you are, where you're from, what you do, etc), and why you are interested in living here.

The Only Town in Germany

I've been asking ex-pats in Berlin about what it is, exactly, that's special about this town. It's difficult to put a finger on it exactly, but Berlin has a funny way of wending its way into the hearts of those of us who don't belong anywhere, exactly. When I moved to Berlin, I will admit to something approaching outright prejudice against German culture and language. My move was completely expedient: I absolutely had to get the hell out of the U.S. and between professional contacts and funding opportunities, it pretty much had to be Germany. I hardly thought twice about Cologne (the other possibility); there was really only Berlin. When I arrived, my German vocabulary consisted of exactly six words: bitte, danke, Pfefferminztee and Mineralwasser mit gas, which was all I'd managed to learn in a 10-day visit in 2003. OK, make it ten words, as I'm sure I knew Mein Kampf, Blitzkrieg and Luftwaffe as well. They weren't going to be of much use to me, of course, particularly as I doubt I even knew what they meant other than Bad Things Germans Did. It wasn't until two years later that The Lively German pointed out to me Kampf is struggle; I'd simply never bothered to ask myself what it might mean. German was "that Nazi language" to me, and my clearly formulated intent my first year was to give the impression of a nice but linguistically-challenged woman who simply could not manage to learn it. This may be possibly the only example in my entire life when I've qualified as sufficiently incurious to border on bigoted.

So, that's how I ended up in Berlin, but after that first year, why did I stay on? The choice between more part-time work in Berlin or going back to Bush's U.S. was pretty clear. It was only a half-year later that I took off for Spain, convinced that I was through with Berlin. But I kept having to going back to Germany for visa matters, then was hired for another part-time gig, and somewhere in that time I realized I actually could speak some rudimentary German (how did that happen?) and also that Berlin was slowly seducing me. At that point the stage was set; all it took was a German as tenacious as he is whacked to break through to the side of me that is always there, voracious, insatiable, ready to gobble up knowledge. I am as discomfited by looking back at my petty close mindedness as I am amused by the fact that in the last four months I've progressed from little better than beginner to a solid intermediate level in German.

Back to Berlin, then. I shared this last sublet in Prenzlauerberg with the most perfectly uncomplicated Swiss guy one could imagine (he had all of one moving part). He's the reason I know that Berlin's charm only works with freaks and misfits. I asked him several times when he'd be back. He was always completely uninterested: "oh no, there are far too many other cities to see in this lifetime." I can't disagree with him about so many other cities, of course, but it was interesting to see Berlin was completely lost on him. And this despite the last four weeks of as close-to-perfect weather as can be.

As for me, Berlin was up to its usual tricks. In the last week she tossed out, of all things(!), another German man with energy and initiative. That means there are TWO in Deutschland; Mein Gott, what on earth am I supposed to make of that?!? I returned to Madrid yesterday with that old familiar what-the-hell-am-I-doing-moving-yet-again feeling. Have I gone from sexless Berlin to sexless Madrid?! It's 10°C (18°F) colder in Madrid than Berlin as I write, and I have not ventured out of my new sublet today. Berlin -- so hard to love, but so hard to leave -- ich vermisse Dich.

Mr. Germany

There is some possibility I was not in my right (or full) mind while composing the Mr. Europe post, as I was feverish with a flu at the time. And I most certainly cannot be held responsible for performing it in person, with various flourishes and embellishments, several hours later, at the Lively German's birthday dinner. Really, how could I possibly resist, as the sole woman there with five men, four of them German? Reports of it are apparently making their way throughout Berlin, as last night The Director was able to repeat some of it word-for-word (or at least the most important word: WANK). I do always encourage active audience participation, which in that case led me to a critically important discovery. One of my victims (I mean, audience) described his approach to seduction as "posing". Well, my friends, I was beside myself with joy at this hugely revealing remark, which has increased my understanding of the German male roughly infinitely (from zero to 0.001).

Last night The Director and his brother provided me the opportunity for a short reprise of the Mr. Europe performance and I was able to gather that The Director believes wanking happens not before but after the outing in which the typical German male interacts with, well, no one at all. [Posing, don't you know.] The Director's sample scenario, as far as I was able to make out, is this: German man spots desirable barista; does nothing (oops, I mean, poses). German man returns following night and poses to beat the band in a corner of the bar. German man returns a third night and observes object of desire depart with another man. German man returns home to punish her (I am very clear on this exact phrase, delivered with a giggled insistence that this "punishment" will involve hands places chastely ABOVE the covers). Honestly, I'm shaking my head: will I ever understand These German Men?!?

No matter, at this point we were extremely well lubricated, having been at an Arsenal screening of a particularly incomprehensible film from Thai artist/director Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Every time I've been there this year, they've had wine flowing freely after the screenings (they are really doing something right when it comes to grantsmanship). We decided to shut that party down, and were in the process of finishing off various partially poured bottles of wine when it occurred to the brothers to ride the glass elevators up and down the Filmhaus' seven floors. I went along to test whether drunkenness trumps vertigo (it does) but decided I'd be more comfortable riding on a bar stool on which I proceeded to plant myself within the elevator as I continued sipping wine. In my mind this was great performance art, but, sadly, at that point, we were rather indulgently shown the way out. Bicycling back very late to Prenzlauerberg via Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom back-lit in blue from the Radisson's agressive neon lights, I had another Berlin moment. I told The Director's brother, "Sometimes I just love this place". Na ja, it must have been the alcohol doing the talking.

Mr. Berlin

Found on Craigslist (the bolding is mine). It is so perfect that, for once, I have absolutely nothing more to add.

the dilemma - 35 (Berlin)
Reply to: pers-1045711947@craigslist.org
Date: 2009-02-22, 8:57PM CET

oh well, i have absolutely no experience picking up girls for one night stands or affairs and normally i am not looking for it.
i tend to be unfriendly with people that i don't know so this makes things more complicated.
right now i feel that i should not and don't want to have a serious relationship until i sorted out some unhappiness within myself.
on the other hand i feel i am getting grumpier and grumpier every month that i am not sharing physical intimacy.
i am german 35, tall (1.90m), slim (75kg), smoke too much, drink too much, i guess i am intelligent, occasional misanthrope.
i can be funny but often i dont want to.
i like slim girls, 25-40, young at heart.

i am looking for somebody who feels to be in the same situation,
i will not pay, nor marry you, nor do anything else for except for meeting you, so don't bother me with any of these offers and don't even try.

i am not looking for porn style fucking nor exploring any kind of sexual weirdness, fetish, sm or whatever, just some slow and peaceful sex, respecting everything the other doesnt want.

Historical Reconstructionism

The Neue Museum on Museuminsel is on the verge of re-opening for the first time since its pounding during WWII. I went by there on Friday to check out this weekend's open-door preview, but the long line of people waiting an estimated hour in cold drizzle was enough to send me on my way. Its website lists the opening date as October 16, 2009, but clearly another artwork shuffle will take place in the next few weeks. Nefertiti, with whom I just checked in a couple of weeks ago, will be moving to the Neue Museum's Egypt rooms and that part of the museum will open in April, if my reading of the very difficult German on Berlin's Staatliche Museen website is correct. After all, they can hardly afford to keep Nefi out of circulation for very long. She gets around, though, that babe. She was in Charlottenburg in the summer of 2003, the one and only time I visited Berlin before moving here three years later, by which time she'd moved again, to the Alte Museum.

Working the long line of waiting people was a group called the Gesellschaft Historisches Berlin, handing out slick pamphlets with color photos and asking passers-by to complete a small survey as to whether the museum should have been rebuilt instead of "conserved as a ruin". I have railed before at historical revisionism in the context of the destruction of the Palast der Republik and I'll say again: Berlin was leveled in the war and virtually anything you see in the center of town that looks over 70 years old is NOT. The Director kindly gave me this photo he took just days ago of the empty lot where the Palast once stood. The graffiti reads DIE DDR HAT'S NIE GEGEBEN (THE DDR HAS NEVER EXISTED).

An old-time American Berliner who's since moved on used to say that the only thing people care about here is either Nazis/Jews or East/West. There's a great deal of truth to that, in my experience. But standing in the middle of downtown Berlin, one would think that the only thing worth memorializing is the former, and even such examples are precious few. I'm particularly fond of the Anhalter Bahnhof and Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche (preserved unapologetically as ruins). The Bundestag is a brillant compromise between preserved remains and modern reinvention. Although scarce, such examples do at least exist. But the destruction of the Palast makes me fear for Alexanderplatz, with its wacky space-age clocks and workers-of-the-world murals and Plattenbau and the Marx-Engels statue that kids love to clamber over. The true heart of the city, Alex is, rightly so, constantly morphing. But they'll never take its crazy brave-new-world touches away from us, will they? They couldn't, could they?

Staying Out

I'm living in Graefekiez again, just one block from where I was in the fall of 2007 when I started this blog. This time I'm on Schönleinstraße, directly across from the classic Berliner dive-bar Bei Schlawinchen (#34), with its Tuesday-night 1.50-euro cocktails. Tonight I've had to do that most terrible of things: go to a bar all alone to drink. In the whole world, Berlin has to be my top choice for a solitary woman in a bar, as she can go for years without anyone talking to her. Is there any better place in the world to be alone than here, I wonder? I'm thinking about extending my stay in Berlin through the spring; after two years on my own, perhaps I've grown accustomed, to some degree, to the solitude. And solitude is just not something that one can pull off, with any panache, as a woman in Madrid. Berlin, somehow, just fits.

The event that elicited this particular flurry of neuroticism, was Revolutionary Road, a film for which I had few hopes, but which consequently proved to be a bit of an unexpected surprise. It was directed by Sam Mendes, who gave us the astonishing American Beauty. The dialogue was overblown in more than one scene and DiCapprio couldn't refrain from overacting, but Kate Winslet was really spot-on. So, as always, isn't it best to have low expectations? I've certainly found Berlin vs. Madrid to be a perfect example. I expected little to nothing from Berlin when coming here, but perhaps a bit too much from Madrid, which was to be my perfect escape, and now, will you just look at that, Berlin is where I'm wanting to be. It's crept under my skin, damn it, and not even the cold and grey can deter me.

Now that Obama's been in for a week, all of us voluntary political exiles are asking ourselves (or if we aren't, our friends are doing it for us): should we go back? Revolutionary Road captured, with a great 1950s twist, the exact smothered feeling the U.S. gives me, and why I should not and hopefully will continue to manage to not go back. Although I celebrated the inauguration last Tuesday night, it was really to mark the end of Bush [of course I'm not immune to the thrill of having the first African-American president]. The festivities in Berlin were dull and slightly alienating (I simply cannot bear true-believer American expats) and even party-hopping didn't end up feeling satisfactory, but no matter, the important thing was W is out. I remember so well the end of Bush I, and the scant hope that we had for Clinton, which was borne out all too well. I have little more for Obama; I'm afraid the cynicism runs just about deep as it can -- there seems to be no other option these days for a thinking American in this world. But low expectations, as I've already said, are the best. Go ahead, Obama, surprise us cynical expats; we'll be more than happy to eat our words.

They Who Giveth and Taketh Away

Four weeks ago I was notified that I'd be required back in Berlin for another contract gig in the fall, but just today, after a grueling interview trip to the U.S., I was told by Berlin that, no thank you, they'd found someone to cover the work for free. Nothing throws me into a funk more than people capable of reneging on promises. At my advanced age I still seem to harbor the idea that people will be straightforward and honest with each other, but obviously this is just foolishness on my part. At any rate, perhaps this will cure me of the completely unexpected, even disconcerting, nostalgia I'd been feeling for Berlin in the weeks since I'd moved away.

So, to get it out of my system, I'll allow myself to miss Berlin's broad avenues and huge plazas surrounded by that schizophrenic mix of dramatic Prussian architecture and plattenbau (that crappy East-German modular housing stacked for 20 stories high). I'll remember how I'd stumble upon little parts of the River Spree or its many canals as I meandered through the city, crossing and re-crossing on my bike the paving blocks that mark the strange zig-zagging course of the former Wall. I'll contemplate the weird fragmented history of the city and how it has affected the physical geography: the many different neighborhoods with their distinct characters. I'll pine for the fabulous emphasis on culture and the arts (where else in the world is it easiest for artists to get visas and health insurance?!?). And I'll long for the late nightlife any day of the week, sidewalks overflowing with fruits and veggies and cheap but tasty immigrant take-out available on practically every block.

Yes, I'm amazed that I miss it, but whenever I do, here's what I do until the feeling passes. I remind myself that for a place with such non-interactive people, at least the weather is so bad (!!)

On to my new Wonderful Life

Rolling with this new wave of energy, I will briefly comment that the day before yesterday I had three, count them, THREE, unsolicited exchanges with men within 24 hours, as I was just making my way about town. This never happens in Berlin; there must be some sort of glow about me, some sort of happy little rainbow over my head. [For you long-time Berlin residents, I will qualify this by saying two were foreigners and one was a Ukrainian nationalized as a young child, thus not at all inconsistent with my continued contention about German men]. I will say that this absolutely proves my point about men in general -- disaster is guaranteed up to and until a woman truly reaches the point of not giving a good goddamn. Then all is golden. And grrrllls, I am finally back at that point again. So now all I need to do is sit back and amuse myself by watching the proceedings. In the meantime, enough of unsexy Berlin; I'm making my plans to escape. India was a potent reminder of my need for sun and sensuality. My only problem is, I cannot possibly decide which Spanish city to pick, so I'm asking you to help me with this nifty little poll.

Porn Tapes Prohibited in Germany!

I'm being a bit overly dramatic, it's true, but this is what I learned yesterday at the Second Berlin Porn Film Festival, attending a very interesting panel discussion of female porn directors. Given that no one can prove on-line that she is over 18, no one can buy porn tapes over the Internet, by German law. This includes imports.

Now, the session moderator, to be precise (he being German and precision being a national obsession here), did indicate two exceptions: 1) one can purchase as the owner of a company (as one must be at least 18 to set up a business), or 2) there seems to be a porn reseller with a system of verifying one's age in person -- apparently someone shows up to card you. Wouldn't that be fun?
> Ring, ring (doorbell).
> Scantily dressed brunette opens door to reveal studly delivery man.
> "Umm, ma'am, could you just prove your age before I release this dirty movie to you?"
> "Well, sailor, what are you suggesting, show-and-tell?"
Hmmm, I'm starting to see some plot potential here, what do you say? Should I pitch it to one of the women on closing night tonight?

Needless to say, the women filmmakers felt this severely impacts their sales in this great country, as most women are not inclined to go to some seedy sex shop populated by even seedier men to purchase their porn. There's one right on the corner of my local U-Bahn stop, the outside painted entirely in red with nifty white silhouettes of naked women (á la silvery trucker mud-flaps in the U.S.). Nice.

To be fair, I've been to Beate Uhse shops, both the huge famous one at Zoologischer Garten (West Berlin) and at an airport in South Germany. They are clean, well-lighted places to buy porn. But Good Vibes they are not, although now I'm wondering if I should actually launch an investigation and see what happens if I ask for female-friendly or female-directed movies. Stayed tuned...

I've Figured It Out

OK, all you grrrls who bought into the Berlin "poor but sexy" myth, let me clarify. Like most else in the world, was this myth, do we suppose, authored by MEN or women? Hmmm. So this is how it works (for those of us unlucky enough to "like" men, if one can ever truly be said to do so). German men are about as lively as a bunch of celery. But no matter, I told myself, I knew in the beginning I wasn't here for the German men, I came for the immigrants. WRONG.

What do you suppose happens in a country where the men are as appealing as wilted lettuce?? The women jump over any specimen that shows the least bit of non-German life. An immigrant man in the last stages of cardiac arrest dragging himself across the pavement in the direction of the Charité hospital would likely be accosted by more than one German women desperate to have his last glance rest on her. And now, where does that leave us immigrant women? Totally screwed. My dears, my plan to try Spain next is in the offing. Just wanted to share the knowledge. Berlin: definitely NOT sexy.