Fahrrad

The weather gave the first hint of a reprieve. Overcast, grey, yes. But warmer. Relatively. I was still bundled in my coat, an extra layer of clothing and gloves. But it was not so cold that I couldn’t walk to lunch.

I was just a block off Karl Marx Allee when I saw a bike wheel hanging above a shop door. There was a man standing outside smoking a cigarette, but I stopped to peer into the window anyway. Used bikes. And the prices looked tempting…

When I turned from the window, the man spoke to me in a fast German. I looked confused so he, of course, repeated what he said. In German.

I work here, he finally said in English.

I nodded and pushed into the shop.

He was happy to continue to speak to me in English, but I stopped him.

Ich muss Deutsch lernen.

And so we were off on a whirlwind of new terms aided by his patient repetition and the ubiquitous hand-gesturing. Brakes, tires, raise the saddle, lower the saddle, how do those lights work again and, finally,

Credit card?

The bike is just a bit small for me, but it was glorious to be in the saddle. Everyone cycles here. Okay, that may be a bit of a stretch but many more do here than in your average U.S. city. In Washington, I often look out of place because there aren’t many black women on bikes. Plenty of black men, but few sisters. (Angelyn, is it the hair?)

Besides, Irene, Jörn and Seán ride. This could make spending time easier.

Yeah, right. Of course, that presumes that I make my dates on time. Not only was I late in meeting Irene, but she had invited along her new office mates, Enno and Ingo.

You know Germans like to be on time.

Sigh.

Enno and Ingo are twins. Ingo formed the company and his twin joined a few years later. They’ve just relocated four of their six staff people to Berlin for… I don’t know why. But their new here and so am I and I was talking about having a second dinner party…

So we’re on: dinner party number two on Monday night. And this time with games! No Scrabble, unfortunately, but Jörn will bring Set, Irene will bring Around the World in 80 Days, and I…

Well, I’ll just have to go shopping now won’t I?

Nothing but blue…

I took a chance on John with nothing more than an exchange of emails to make him real. He was my first advisor: a random contact on Lonely Planet’s Thorn Tree forum when I first decided to escape to Germany.

Can anyone tell me…

I don’t even remember the question.

But he was here in Germany, an English speaker (albeit Australian), and willing to show me Leipzig if I wanted.

I wanted.

So I am standing in the train station. I’ve already dropped off my bags at the hotel, and put in some hours at the Internet café for FAMM. But I’m back at the appointed hour, just waiting and scanning faces for someone who might be looking for me.

I’m black in a white country, so a bit obvious. And he’s seen my photograph. Of him, all I have is a name. No photograph, no physical description, nothing except that he is looking for me.

Scanning, scanning…

He climbs the stair past me with his bike on his shoulder and almost passes me before he calls my name.

Young, buff and good-looking. Damn.

The rest was easy.

John is an extremely laid-back guy, just as you would expect from an Aussie. This was his second or third time in the country, but the most extended trip. He was able to land a short-term work contract in his field (engineering) through a German who had formerly worked with him in Australia. It’s been 6 months, mostly in Leipzig, and while there’s plenty that he’s seen as someone who has lived here, there’s a lot more from a specific tourist perspective.

And maybe it’s because he’s an engineer that he has everything mapped out for the entire weekend.

We started with a yummy dinner at an Indian restaurant not too far from the Hauptbahnhof (main train station). There’s construction at many points along the walk there and back, and he explains over dinner that it’s actually the project that he’s working on. With these huge digs, the train tracks will be routed underneath the city that trains arriving to the station from the north will not have to go round-and-about to approach from the south anymore. It’s a completely worthless project, and he says most city residents will give me an earful on it if I ask. No need, as I can see that with my own eyes.

John and I talk for hours that night, modestly consuming the first of many beers that he and I will share over the weekend, and plotting out the next day. He wanted to set out right after breakfast and we were both exhausted after hours of talking and looking over his city map. We pack it in for the evening, saying our goodbyes in the freezing cold near the hotel.

Just before he climbs onto his bike, he warns me about the brothel just a little farther down the street and the neighboring rough bar. I resist the urge to walk by.

I’m well rested and fed on the hotel buffet when John arrives to take me off on our first stop. Saturday is for being indoors, he had explained the night before, and we had plenty on our list.

Our first stop is the tremendous Völkerschlachtdenkmal (yes, that is all one word). It was first built to commemorate the defeat of Napoleon but, er, was expanded in meaning under subsequent German governments, including the Nazis.

Despite the Rough Guide’s reference to it as “tasteless” and “unexciting,” John and I are both taken with its epic proportions, colossal statues and the beautiful view of Leipzig from the top. The latter is only accessible by a long climb along an increasingly narrow staircase, that I half-turn to navigate.

And at the very top, I lay back against the walls to enjoy the perfect blue sky and gulp the cold winter air. John spends his time getting perfect shots of the red-roofed homes below. Far below, families skate across the frozen man-made pond.

We make ourselves woozy with a brisk clip down the spiraling staircase to the main floor. We’re both not sure what the museum attendant says to us on the way out, but we find another staircase and climb into a hall with a informative display on the conception, development and political implications of such a monument. Thankfully, it’s in German, French and English.

It’s also refreshingly frank on the abuses of patriotism. I remark to John that no public museum in the U.S. would dare such comments now.

We’re just about to leave when the chamber fills with choral music. This was done for the benefit of a tour group, but everyone comes to a stand-still in awe. The room is acoustically perfect.

We are back out in the cold and I decide to ask.

How old are you anyway?

Guess, he replies.

Good lord.

He says it’s pretty typical that people are about 10 years off. He’s very mature for his age, well-read and well-traveled. I’m struck by my envy. Did I sleep through that same period when I should have been stretching my legs in a foreign land?

He’s eager to show me a favorite brewery and we are both pretty hungry. We gingerly make our way across the frozen pond, past the careening children in their loud, staccato German. We catch a tram and then hike along the streets.

The brewery is known for its Leipziger Gose, a local brew to which I gleefully add the optional shot of raspberry syrup. Mmm, and the BBQ ribs. Ok, ok, it’s not bratwurst and sauerkraut. But, damn…

Our next stop is Thomaskirche (kirche is “church”) for the afternoon service and choral performance. Bach, explains my guidebook, “served as its Kantor for the last 27 years of his life.”

That’s right, more classical music for Tammi.

We are both full from lunch. As it turns out, we both have a tendency to nap during performances of classical pieces. So we steal some time before the concert to have a drink. John surprises me with a trip to the nearby Auerbachs Keller, which Jörn had recommended to me. Says my guidebook, it is famous for being the critical scene in Goethe’s Faust.

If John and I had bothered to read that, we might have better appreciated the mural of the witch burning. As it was, we find it a little weird and focus instead on enjoying our drinks. John has a Russisches Heise Schokolade—rum in hot chocolate—that wasn’t on the menu.

I don’t have to beg too much to enjoy some of it.

Hm, maybe that’s what puts me to sleep at the concert?

John doesn’t nudge me awake as Seán did, presumably because he is nodding himself. I’m proud to say that I came fully awake just before the Lord’s Prayer. I’d never heard it in German before, but the rhythm of the delivery is about the same.

Funny thing that.

We run into one of John’s classmates from his last German language course and gab for a bit before heading back out. We take an unfortunate detour into a chain bakery to use the bathroom, and torture ourselves with some pretty god-awful pastry and equally gross Glühwein. Yeah, we consume it anyway. (John’s mom used to give the “starving children in Africa” guilt, and he’s not dissuaded by my comment that they’d hate the stuff too.)

And then it’s back into the night air.

We spend the rest of the evening simply wandering the streets of Leipzig. We bounce into a video store and argue the merits of our favorite and most hated movies. (He’s never seen Galaxy Quest before. I forgive him that. I confess my love for all things Banderas. He forgives me for that.) We take in a tasty meal at a nearby pan-Asian restaurant. We fall into a smoky bar for yet another drink. Too much. I’ve got the giggles.

And then…

…it’s Sunday. And the morning is exquisitely lazy. Sunday, as he had already explained, is for the outdoors. Good thing, as nothing is open when we set out. Nothing but blue sky and our breath in the cold air.

We walk southwest to the park, with its broad promenade of trees and the frozen river. John is laughing at a small boy on the ice. He gets up, walks and bit and falls. Over and over again. A happy child, certainly, but we’re both stunned at how fearless people are on the ice. We stay on the dirt path.

We break from the river to climb an icy hill with a nice view of the city. It’s a favorite spot of his, he says, because of a party he came to, just off the side of the top there. The students had set up a bar, brought in a DJ and had made a dance floor of the green grass.

Nice.

Not too far from the hill, we catch a tram as south as it will take us and get off to walk to Cospundensee. I imagine that my time at the lake will be as vivid of memory as his party under the stars.

It is absolutely stunning. Cospudensee was a former coal pit that, once finished, was filled with water.

The lake is completely frozen over, and, as in the other places, families are out skating across its surface. Yes, it’s beautiful. Still, we are cold, in need of a toilet and ravenous! We put aside our gawking and make for the seaside restaurant, Seeterrasse.

We manage to score a small table just near the glass. We enjoy a view of skaters on the ice, a woman busily dishing up Bratwurst and Glühwein from a large outdoor grill, and, shortly enough, the setting sun.

The food is simply superb. He has thick chunks of beef wrapped in bacon. Mine is slices of pork in a rosemary-infused cream sauce. When John says that he makes a dish that is much like mine, I think quickly about asking him to marry me.

LOL.

The day is over much too quickly. We are briskly walking back from the lake to get back to the Hauptbahnhof—and my luggage tucked in a locker—for the 6 o’clock train. Nope.

But no worries, as John pulls me to the station’s bookstore. Still, we’re exhausted, and leaning on each other to not fall over. We finally give in to sitting down, and propping up our feet. We talk of sleeping, of how nice it will be to crawl into our beds.

We’re so busy talking that when I finally ask the time, we’re both shocked to find it’s 10 minutes to the next train’s arrival. We dash for my bags and get to the tracks…only to find the train is five minutes delayed.

If it were warm, that would be a blessing. But we’re shivering on the platform. It’s freezing cold. He won’t leave me, and although I suggest he get home and get some sleep, I’m glad to share the last minutes of his company.

And then it’s a kiss on the left cheek and then the right. Goodbye. Don’t forget to write.

I’m in the press of people eager to get to their seats, but I find one just inside the door. I unpack, sit down and look out the window. John’s still there and smiles.

He doesn’t leave the platform until the train is in motion.

I’m asleep within seconds.

The Mix Tape

I recall an article that I read some time ago that talked about the joy and intimacy of the mix tape. And you may remember, “High Fidelity” touched on this as well. In the movie version, John Cusack is struggling with his primary relationship when he meets another woman that he’s attracted to. Considering the central role of music in his life with his partner, there’s no doubt that his plan to make her a mix tape—this loving act of pulling together his favorite tracks from a variety of artists—once completed will be an act of infidelity.

And, goddamn it, I just “get” the double entendre of the title.

Sigh.

In any case, there’s no denying that I consider the mix tape significant. I am fond of saying that it would certainly be nice if people came with user manuals. (“For Irene’s take on childrearing in Germany, please turn to page 19…”) Well, the mix tape *is* some form of user manual for me. It’s my favorite gift to give and receive. Not only an opportunity for sharing myself, but also my attempts—some better than others—to understand the receiver’s moods, interests and whatnot.

LOL, or to establish a certain mood.

I recall the occasion when my friend Jeff was just having an awful time at work. For him, I put together “Jeff’s Feel Good Music Mix” with all these techno-dance tracks by the Chemical Brothers, a group that had been relatively recently introduced to me by my friend, Malcolm.

Get, give, get, give.

Hm. I have no idea whether Jeff liked it. But putting it together certainly made *me* feel better. Great tracks…

Anyway, Jörn and I were hanging out the other night listening to (don’t laugh) ABBA, The Cardigans (thanks, Julian!), Nina Simone, and Cassandra Wilson. Jörn doesn’t have a Cassandra Wilson CD, so…

And while we are on mix tapes, Mike, I really love the ones you made for me. Thank you.

As to Cassandra, I’ll include a clip to a track of hers later. (No, it’s not the full song, you music industry brown-nosers.) The clip is too perfect for a lot of reasons.)

WWMD?

I was on my usual hunt for a free Wi-Fi signal and decided to work across the street at the cafe. (What *is* the name of that place?) Anyway, their wireless was down, so I worked offline. Not too bad, as I was jamming to my own music with my headsets on. Anthing to keep me from slitting my wrists over this exceeedingly tedious report for our Combined Federal Campaign application. We’ll skip the chat about that, and focus instead on today’s blog topic:

WWMD?: What Michael Jackson has to say to you about how you should live your life.

LOL. Okay, he’s a freak. But let’s give credit where it’s due with classic Michael music.

WWMD? He’d say, live your life

OFF THE WALL

When the world is on your shoulder
Gotta straighten up your act and boogie down
If you can’t hang with the feeling
Then there ain’t no room for you this part of town
’cause we’re the party people night and day
Livin’ crazy that’s the only way

So tonight gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf
And just enjoy yourself
Groove, let the madness in the music get to you
Life ain’t so bad at all
If you live it off the wall
Life ain’t so bad at all (live life off the wall)
Live your life off the wall (live it off the wall)

You can shout out all you want to
’cause there ain’t no sin in folks all getting loud
If you take the chance and do it
Then there ain’t no one who’s gonna put you down
’cause we’re the party people night and day
Livin’ crazy that’s the only way

So tonight gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf
And just enjoy yourself
C’mon and groove, and let the madness in the music get to you
Life ain’t so bad at all
If you live it off the wall
Life ain’t so bad at all (live life off the wall)
Live your life off the wall (live it off the wall)

Do what you want to do
There ain’t no rules it’s up to you (ain’t no rules it’s all up to you)
It’s time to come alive
And party on right through the night (all right)

Gotta hide your inhibitions
Gotta let that fool loose deep inside your soul
Want to see an exhibition
Better do it now before you get to old
’cause we’re the party people night and day
Livin’ crazy that’s the only way

So tonight gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf and just enjoy yourself
C’mon and groove (yeah) let the madness in the music get to you
Life ain’t so bad at all if you live it off the wall
Life ain’t so bad at all (live life off the wall)
Live your life off the wall (live it off the wall)

[Repeat while singing aloud and dancing in your German living room…or wherever you are.]

Yeah, I have some back-blogging to do about the flight to Frankfurt, seeing Thomas and Daniela, the Film Museum tour (thanks, Herr Martin!), the wannabe pickpocket at the open air market, and even last night’s James Blunt concert with Irene. Free tickets rock!

Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it!

Because I told Jörn I would.

It’s 4 a.m. here and a dream ripped me from my sleep. I’m crashing again on Seán’s couch after another evening’s movie marathon. This time, Atanarjuat, or Fast Runner, and, to lighten things considerably, Men in Black. I hadn’t seen Atanarjuat since its stunning debut. I won’t summarize—that’s what links are for—but I highly recommend it. Um, Seán might not, but he was watching with a filmmaker’s eye. As to MIB, well, I can quote much of the script. ’Nuff said there.

I am on my way to Frankfurt for the weekend to spend time with Thomas and Daniela. Besides looking forward to seeing them, I’m eager to be a bit of a tourist.

Huh?

Well as I was saying to Jörn in an email, most travel breaks are so short that one feels compelled to just rush about. The thinking goes “I may never see this place again, so I must cram in as much as possible.” So it’s back-to-back museums, the restaurants of the guide books, canned tours on packed buses, and evening’s spent “recovering” from the day’s activities.

Frankly, it’s a passionate love affair. Heady and over much too soon.

I’ve tasted Berlin in small bites. A new neighborhood here, a new café there… And in good company.

On Tuesday evening, Jörn introduced me to the stunningly beautiful Tadschikische Teestube (“Tajik tearoom”) in Mitte. We met outside in the snow and dark and recovered from the cold with hot mugs of fruit- and anise-flavored tea in a room of wooden rafters, low tables, piled rugs and pillows. We missed the chance to sprawl on the floor (shoes off, bitte), so shared a quiet table and two choices from their Russian and Eastern European menu. We switched dishes at mid point. Mmm, warm lox with a horseradish dip.

Jörn’s been to the U.S.: two years in Boulder, Colorado and, lol, some months in our own Greenbelt. His comment on the blog (how did he get this out of me?) is that it’s been interesting reading of his home city through my foreign eyes. I would say the same of his take on the U.S.: from strip malls to the death penalty.

That whole religious conservatism thing we’ve got going on right now? Scary.

Oh, and Eric, he warned me away from Scooter…

Okay, I need to get back to sleep.

Süsse Träume, bitte!

I *said* I can’t explain it!

It was a federal holiday at home, for which I got one sweetly nonsensical “Happy Martin Luther King Day” message, a forward of the New York Times article on the family breakdown behind the mismanagement of the King Center in Atlanta, and a chapter in my current book group book on the looting and riots that burned down Washington, D.C. in 1968 after the news of King’s assassination.

Hm.

I spent the day indoors doing absolutely nothing.

In the evening though, I got showered and dressed and got ready for dinner out. This time, it was at the invitation of Malcolm’s buddy, Mark, and his wife Jutta. Mark is from Wisconsin, but he and Jutta had a favorite Ethiopian restaurant in Berlin that they were going to introduce me too. I bundled up for the below freezing temperatures and headed out.

I got on the phone with Seán when I returned near midnight, and I tried to explain to him why I felt like crying. No, no, everything went well. In fact, it was splendid. Mark, Jutta and I enjoyed a fantastic meal, in a great restaurant (ohmygod, Angelyn, not only black folks, but Ethiopians!), and such a very entertaining conversation that I spent much of it laughing.

Gosh, when it’s that perfect, it’s like a powerful orgasm: it just begs for a good cry.

No, I can’t explain it.

I never did get those french fries…

Sunday grocery store hours are a relatively recent phenomenon here, and the target of much protest from the trade unions. When I was speaking of it to Irene, she said that they couched the protests in “family values” language: “mom needs to be home, not working at the store.”

Some messages resonate the whole world over.

Because the previous day’s Kaiser run didn’t yield walnuts, I decided I would take my chances again around Ostbanhof station.

Galleria Kaufhof, behind the station, was closed up tight. But there was a small open-air antique market (“Antikmarkt”) in full swing. There were books, toys, furniture, and jewelry. The usual…but in German, and with German and Russian food vendors. What a wonder that my head doesn’t explode from all the new input.

On a side note, the word for jewelry is “schmuck.” That’s gonna keep me giggling for a while.

Below the train platforms in Ostbanhof, it was bustling with people and smelled just heavenly. I saw someone walk by with a donut…Dunkin Donuts at Ostbanhf! I was salivating, but decided on a fruit salad from a small fruit and vegetable stand instead.

Tell me where in the U.S. you can find a simple, fresh fruit and vegetable stand in the middle of a mall? What about a full bakery?

I didn’t have much time to linger, as I was meeting Marianne just a bit later. So I swooped into the grocery store there, asked a staff person for the walnuts (and actually didn’t sound like an idiot), and was back out with my prize in under 10 minutes.

I wanted to be on time to meet Marianne. But you all know that I am a chronically late type. For me to arrive on time, I actually have to plan to arrive early. That means, to actually get some place by 3, I need to shoot for 2:30. If gives me time to get lost, wander in and around other stores and just goof off.

That’s pretty much how it went too. I walked from Friedrichstraße station to Unter den Linden and, finding a nearby tourist shop open, wasted time looking at the typical pins, totes, shirts, hats and magnets that stuff the shells. All made in China, of course.

Mom, yes, you will get your bell and spoon. Good grief.

I wasn’t late, but Marianne was already there with a table. The reason for our meeting was that opening a bank account here requires, er, registering with the police with proof of tenancy.

Who knew?

It was very cold out, so my interest in doing any more walking around was loooooow.

Still, I left Marianne and headed over to Kreuzberg again to take a look at the second school I was considering: Akkusativ. I knew they would be closed, but I wanted to get a look at that part of the neighborhood and their building.

Besides, having fought off my donut craving, I was struggling with a new obsession for fries. Particularly, thick wedges with the skins still on and served piping hot.

Considering that I’d misplaced the address, it was a wonder that I found Akkusativ. But there it was on Mehringdamm, a long boulevard of (unfortunately closed) shops and quiet food counters.

At below 0 Celsius, the cold was really getting to me. I found a food place on the way back to the station. Yeah, they had fries, but I chose the “spinatteller” instead: a chill but flavorful spinach dish topped with caramelized onions and served with a cabbage side salad. Pretty tasty. Worth returning for.

I got home with an hour to spare. I made the side salad on my own. It was really simple really: cooked green beans from a jar, mixed with cooked beet from another and tossed with a chopped apple, olive oil and Apfel-essig.

That was the easiest part of the evening!

Irene and Seán arrived on schedule and I quickly put them to work. I had already tackled the chopped garlic and onions, but there was tofu to crumble, mushrooms to dice, walnuts to crush and peppers to core. We laughed our way through much of it (the two of them seem particularly tickled by the ultra-precise recipe)—and thank goodness for that, because the recipe didn’t quite work.

I was supposed to buy a white rice, but the brown rice I purchased as a more hearty substitute was a serious mistake. We had the rest of the tofu stuffing ready by 7:30, but finally gave up on the rice at 8. (I kid you not, when we finally got everything to the table at 9, the darn thing still hadn’t fluffed.)

Seán liked it anyway because it was chewy and super salty. Weird guy!

The rice really wasn’t important to the dish. The nut-tofu-mushroom combination was delicious, and the simple tomato and garlic sauce was outstanding. With the colorful salad and Irene’s yummy apple-chocolate crumb cake…FAB!

Honestly, I don’t know where the time went. They didn’t leave until after midnight, making for a 6-hour dinner party. Sure, we took our time cooking. But the rest? Okay, we talked everything from dogs in Berlin (they’re allowed EVERYWHERE here) to ghost hauntings in Scotland. But 6 hours?

I fell asleep, exhausted, within minutes of their leaving.

Keeping my eyes open.

It was Saturday morning, and I woke on Seán’s couch a bit cramped but well rested.

Seán is a night person and—much like you, Jules—can’t really deal with the kind of energy I put out in the morning. No worries, as I pulled out my laptop and kept myself amused reading FAMM proposals and wandering around his living room looking at all of his books and toys. (Seán collects these bizarre looking bearded dolls called Sandmann, an icon of a classic German cartoon that continues today.)

At around 11 o’clock, Seán was upright, showered and dressed for the day. We went back to Sankt Oberholz for breakfast. To his annoyance and my pleasure there were kids stumbling, falling and crawling all over the floors there. So very different from its hip evening vibe!

No time to linger, as I needed to get some shopping in. But what? I had invited both Seán and Irene over to dinner on Sunday night without a clue of what I would make. And they are both vegetarians, which ruled out any quick “meat and a potato” answer. Worse, I needed something that would compliment Irene’s efforts as she had announced that she was bringing a homemade chocolate cake. (Meg, I’ll let you know whether you have competition for my gastronomic affections then.)

After quickly logging on at St. O, I found a stuffed pepper recipe from Allrecipes.com. Paired with a beet and bean salad…mmm, could be yummy. There was a nearby health food store, so we went there for the tofu. The place reminded me of a much smaller version of the Yes on Columbia Road. Light on the veggies, heavy on the naturopathic remedies. I needed to go elsewhere.

We parted at Rosenthaler Platz and I figured I’d go home first to shower. But, joy of joys, I finally realized that the Kaisers near the S-Bahn was a full grocery store.

I wandered around in there for much more than an hour, partly out of interest but mostly because I didn’t have a clue as to the German names for some special items. Apple cider vinegar? “Apfel-essig.” Tomato paste? “Tomatenmarken.” The latter I got off a young, English-speaking blond I accosted in the aisle when I was also looking for walnuts. “Wahlnussen.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon just lazying about really. Seán had bought tickets to a must-see event that he was taking me to. “Don’t ask, just dress up.”

I can do that!

It was a pleasant surprise. Brit, Sir Simon Rattle, conducts the Berliner Philharmoniker, and they were being joined by Czech mezzo-soprano, Magdalena Kožená, for a performance of Gustav Mahler’s “Symphonie Number 4 in G-Dur.” It was preceded by the performance of a contemporary piece by Hanspeter Kyburz, “Noesis.”

Um, did I mention that I fall asleep to classical music?

Poor Seán. He certainly deserved company that better appreciated orchestral music. He had to prod me a couple of times when I nodded off and was just on the edge of snoring. Oh dear!

When I was speaking to Marianne about it this morning, she said that music is however you personally experience it. Well, in that case, here’s my summary of the pieces:

The Kyburz piece sounded like the soundtrack from “Jaws” and other 70s movies of its kind It was creepy, suspenseful, sexy, bone-chilling, playful and thrilling. I could alternately imagine a lone boat on a dark body of water and a blond ingénue running down halls that never ended. (You know she’ll live, but she’ll go through hell first.)

Watch Jaws again, people, if you want to get what I mean.

I liked the piece. Seán? Not so much.

And speaking of creepy movies, the Mahler piece. No, no, it sounded nothing like the first composition. In fact, it was much more of what I expect from the symphony: beautiful, delicate, haunting.

So was Ms. Kožena. But her delivery also unfortunately reminded me of the movements of the blond robot villain in Fritz Lang’s silent film “Metropolis.”

Eek.

Regardless of my thoughts on the matter, I must note that her singing and the entire performance by the orchestra was VERY well received by the sold-out audience. I thought Seán would break his wrists with all the clapping, and he wasn’t alone. Five times, the conductor left the stage (with or without the soprano) and was called back by the thunderous applause.

I don’t know if it’s a quirk of Germany or of classical music appreciators, but all of the applause was delivered while sitting. No standing ovation, despite the intensity.

Um, on a completely different note, I’ll end on another quirk.

In the bathroom, there’s a woman who dashes between the stalls wiping the seats after each use. You tip her on the way out.

Whoa.

The world is kinder than you believe.

Wednesday promised to be busy. Besides the FAMM work, I had set up three dates, connections with people that I had met through the Internet via my network connections or the ever-helpful Craigslist.

The first was lunch with Irene. Some time back, she had rented her place to Tobias, a friend of Karin’s, when he was headed to Berlin and she was headed to New York. Funny enough, they had actually never met. She had been extremely generous in her assistance to me even while I was still in the U.S.: placing a housing ad for me in the paper, running interference between potential German housemates, and offering to actually go and take a look at places on my behalf. She lives just north of my neighborhood in Prenzlauer Berg, where she also works as a graphic and web site developer.

On the map, it looked like a reasonable walk to P-Berg, and I’ve really tried to make it a point to get out and take in the fresh air, despite the cold. I allowed myself plenty of time and set off.

It took about 90 minutes to make the walk. Um, I threw in a thrift store stop along the way (Seán invited me out to a dress-up gala happening Saturday and I have nothing to wear), and a stop at a CVS equivalent (hey, you try gesturing the word to “hair rollers”).

Um, I need them, okay?

After first walking into the wrong office (and badly asking for directions to the right one), I made it to Irene’s work place.

I’ll see her on Sunday and convince her to allow me a photo for my blog but here’s a description: tall, model-thin, blonde and good-looking. I think I must have looked like her midday shadow…

We found a very yummy Indian restaurant and gabbed long enough about her experience with the U.S., politics and

That I was pretty late for lunch #2 with Lutz. Worse, I had sent him to a restaurant in my neighborhood that, unbeknownst to me, was only open at night. Unbelievably, he was still waiting for me…albeit at another café.

I connected with Lutz via Berlin-CL. He’d traveled to the U.S. for work contracts, and had lived for a bit in southern California. He wanted to find someone with whom he could keep up his English.

The man has the patience of God.

Lutz’s English is advanced, so my ultra-basic German made me wonder what the appeal could be. It turns out that he had done this before with a young American woman who was planning a whirlwind tour of Europe. Babbling words in German without a clue to what they mean? Lutz is your man.

The patience of…

I had a LOT of work to catch up on, so we made plans for Friday and I headed across the street to my pad read proposals and reply to emails.

And then there was actually meeting up with Seán, another CL-er, a former Scot, and a resource extraordinaire. From him, I learned about the monthly tram-bus-subway pass (I’ll save a fortune), area DSL providers (really, it’s a fiasco), and – if you read y previous blog – where to find a decent grocery store.

He came by to pick me up for dinner and…

…he brought flowers.

Really, life is good.

But now my apartment smells of pork…

Learning German is a high priority for me, but finding the right school wasn’t as easy to nail down from afar as I thought it’d be. Just as well. Now that I am here, my map and sense of timing is much better. Can I get there on foot? What U- or S-Bahn station is it on?

The two schools that were at the top of my list are both located in Kreuzberg, a close neighborhood whose outermost borders are easy enough to actually walk to. Still, the schools are quite far from each other.

The one of strongest interest was Babylonia, which Chris’ friend, Fanta, had recommended to me because of was “cheap, radical and, however disorganized, worth it.” It’s location was not the best. The sign for the school pointed into a quiet and frankly creepy courtyard. In my internal monologue, I voted it “Most Likely Place to Get Jumped.”

A young Asian man walked by at that point and, seeing my confusion and apprehension, stopped to offer assistance…in perfect English.

“You looking for Babylonia?”

He hadn’t been in there himself, but he knew it was at the very back of the courtyard. Go on in.

It didn’t get any less creepy. At the end of the courtyard, you turn a couple of corners to reach the glass door of a dark brick building. I climbed the quiet stairs for a couple of floors before seeing another sign for the school. Relieved at least to find it, I walked on in.

…and was enveloped in a cloud of smoke.

Is there a non-smoking sanctuary anywhere in this city?

I wanted to leave immediately, but I was spotted by the attendant, Kelly. She spoke English, and talked with me about the costs, available schedule and the rest. There was actually a class meeting – the very one that I wanted to enroll in, although the students had already met a couple of times.

I sat down in the lounge and watched the class through the glass. What I saw of the teacher’s style, I really liked. And the students seemed approachable – a youngish mix of black and brown folks with dreadlocks, piercings and tattoos. I was waffling until they took their mid-class break.

Most of them, including the teacher, reached for their cigarettes and poured right into the small lounge I was in to smoke.

Sigh.

I needed to do some FAMM work and to find a Wi-Fi zone for another Skype conference call. The other location I had read about was pretty close to Babylonia, a sandwich and coffee shop called Café Morena.

To Sara, I emailed, “I think I found the Berlin version of Busboys…”

The conference call was cancelled, but I stayed there for hours, having coffee and reading through the stack of proposals I brought with me from Washington.

It was pretty dark when I left, but I figured that I had some time to get to the grocery store that Seán had told me about at Ostbanhof station. Grocery stores of the kind we have in the U.S. are *not* the norm in Berlin, and I was tired of the deli sliced meat and cheese that I’d been snacking on. I wanted to cook, not put together another sandwich.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a head of broccoli before!

There are two full markets in the basement of Ostbanhof and I shopped at both. Mmmm, schinkenspeck! And a beautiful yellow bell pepper, fresh peas, a bag of brussel sprouts…

Heaven.