Christopher Street Day Parade 2008

Where to begin to describe the last three days. I did so many things of such a diverse nature, that the weekend seems like a lifetime. Randomly:

Smoking - The Germans smoke. A lot. In my work, for example, on every floor of my building there is a smoking booth. This is a small kiosk with a uni-directional airflow to the outside - a complicated way of saying that if you're smoking inside it, all the smoke gets sucked out a small hole in the ceiling to the outside world. Or I should say, it's supposed to work that way. In point of fact, the smokers (unconsciously or otherwise) blow their tokes out into the hall. I can a room away smell that someone is on fire, several times a day. In Florida we banish smokers to external patios . . . even asking them to avoid opened doorways . . . but we don't have winters like Berliners . . . and they are apparently not willing to stand in the rain to get their fix.
Recently, embarrassed by an increasing similarity to American health statistics, the German's have begun an anti-childhood-obesity program, and banned smoking inside restaurants. The catch is that since the World cup, and now the Euro2008 Championship . . . Germany has discovered dining al fresco. Cafe tables are scattered about the Ku'damm, and diners are massed around a variety of fare - Smoking. This makes it very hard for a smoke-sensitive American to dine al fresco, without being in a cloud of nicotine. I get the last laugh however, as winter will come, and smokers will have no where to turn in cold weather. Expect to see a lot of stressed out chain-smoking Berliners this Christmas!

What can I tell you about Christopher Street Day Parade (the LGBT Pride Parade in Berlin). First of all, I was under the impression that Christopher Street was a person or a place in Berlin. I would be wrong. Christopher Street is where the Stonewall bar is in Greenwich Village, New York City. It famously is a place where the LGBT community fought back against Police Brutality in 1969 (I believe). This is credited with being the advent of the LGBT rights movement. In short, their Pride parade references contemporary American history . . . that most Americans are uneducated about.

The other amazing characteristic of the parade is that it is not just for the LGBT community. They in fact may be the minority again. Certainly, it's about 50-50. The reason is that non-LGBT Berliners turn out in droves to enjoy the parade, the silly costumes, the street festival and the music concert. The city is so integrated and tolerant, that in the very near future, there may be no need for a parade at all. The streets around the Siegelsaule (Victory Tower) were jammed, shoulder to shoulder, with all of Berlin. Down one alley was a biergarten and bratwurst content that could rival any Fussball fan-mile. It's amazing that this is happening in Berlin, where 70 years ago everyone that was different was arrested and sent to concentration camps: Jews, Romanische, Homosexuals, the Disabled, etc.

The other interesting factoid is the Berlin, for a majority of its history, was reknown for its tolerance. After the 30 years war, the Germans provided the Huegonauts sanctuary in Berlin, even allowing them to build a Cathedral in this otherwise protestant town. There are other examples, but Berlin has a long long history of being a cross-cultural crossroads. That fact is still overshadowed by the early 20th century.

The rest of my experience can be shared through the wonder of the Internet.

Brunch - On Sunday, I thought I'd go to a nice brunch. My guide recommended the Intercontinental Hotel pool deck overlooking the Teirgarten. Off I went to brunch in style. When I arrived, I asked in German, "Wieviel Costet das Brunch?" (How much is brunch?) Very polite and cosmopolitan, no? Well the MaitreD', a lady in this case, replied "Neun und Zwanzig", which I took to mean Nine Euros and 20 centimes. Off I went into eggs and bacon land. They had amazing scalloped potatos and a brilliant lemon mousse. Still I was trying to cut back, so I ate lightly and avoided the alcohol. I asked for the bill. It came. 29 Euros (Three times more than I'd planned and breakfast for close to $35 dollars. DOH!). As a result I have skipped several meals, and been eating at home more this week.

After Brunch, I went on the "Fat Tire Bike Tour" of Berlin. "Fat" modifies "tire" in this case, and does not describe me after a huge brunch - thank you very much! Anyway, this "Beach Cruiser Bike Tour" is wunderbar. After two weeks of hauling my patootie around in my sneakers, the sheer joy of sailing across the city on a fluffy new bicycle was magic.

Yes, Bicycle Bullys I've join your ranks on the dark side! If you ever want to see Berlin from street level, and there's good weather. You can do not better than the Fat Tire Bike Tours at the base of the FernsehenTur (TV Tower in Alexanderplatz). Tours are also available in London, Paris, and Barcelona.

Fussball Fever! (Like Boogie Fever with Half the Calories)

Well, it's Friday evening, and I only have time for a quick report. It's been a cloudy blustery day in Berlin, and the Germans are racing about with their RegelnSchirm (Umbrellas). So, nothing too structured . . . Stuff I saw this week in Berlin:

1. T-shirt: "Rare." (Urg? . . . When you think of bloody meat, think of me.)
2. T-shirt: "I'm Shy." (Well I'm Insolent, and you don't see me broadcasting it to the world! . . . oh, nevermind.)
3. Sign on the Office Cafeteria: "Casino" (Because it's a gamble to eat there?)
4. Sign on Jewelry-store: "Schmuck-farm" (Also means, bangle, gem, jewel, or decoration. So now when someone says, "What a Schmuck!" you can thank them. At any rate, explains where schmucks come from.)

Of course the big story of the week was the Turkey v. Deutschland Semi-final Soccer Game (Fussball to the Germans). As Berlin has a very large and vocal Turkish minority population, there was ample support for either side of the game. Thankfully, the game was held in Basel, Switzerland - so to watch it you had to be at home . . . or a bar/restaurant/Diamond Vision scoreboard at the Brandenburg gate.
Again, because I'm not a stakeholder and had to work the next day, I did not paint my face team colors, dress in funny clothes, or take to the streets in my tricked-out Scion. But I was the only one who didn't.
Wednesday night, I found myself back at Taverna Mikas having Greek food and sitting with a large crowd of Germans and Turks watching the game on the restaurant large screen TV. The game started with skillful and agressive playing by the Turkish team. They seemed younger, more angile, and in constant control of the ball. They also scored first. Just before half-time the Germans scored as well. They had to earn their goal, but did so cleverly, with a reflected kick into the goal.
Half-time came with its obligatory onslaught of advertisements and tabloid photography of nubile women and drunken guys in the stands. And then, just as the game resumed . . . and I had asked for my bill . . . the signal went out on the game. Everywhere. The entire neighborhood, for blocks and blocks went to their balconies and went ballistic. An entire nation, transfixed, had just been informed that they were S.O.L on the game (*THE* game). One could almost hear the bricks falling from the ZBD network executives. Within a couple of minutes, a radio announcer had been mixed in, to describe the game play by play in German.
I payed my bill and began the walk home. At some point the signal came back on, because I could hear the same thousand people leaping with surprise back in front of their TVs.
When Turkey would score, fireworks would go off. When Germany scored, there was singing and clapping.
All in all, it was a lifetime memory. In the end Germany beat Turkey 3 to 2. The celebration was peaceful, and they have won the opportunity to play Spain for the Euro 2008 title on Sunday.

Thursday evening, I went for a SchiffFahren (Berliner Riverboat Cruise) on the River Spree. Berlin, like Paris and Vienna, is a river-town, and a convenient majority of the noteworthy buildings, parks and monuments are organized along the river. The trip was made even more special, because it was LBGT Pride weekend in Berlin, and three ships of celebrants disembarked at the same time to broadcast Disco throughout Berlin, while 300 screaming queens with color coordinated Pom-poms went ballistic on their respective Fiesta-decks.
The Berliner's loved it, and my favoriet moment is when a bridge full of pedestrians joined our riverboat in the choreography to the Village People's Y.M.C.A. That's right. Bad disco knows no boundaries. A good time was had by all.
An interesting thing I noticed from the boat, is that along the riverbank in East Berlin where the wall and deathstrip used to be, there are now faux Beaches of imported sand and Miami-style lounge furniture. (Many jokes in poor taste present themselves here, but I'll skip it given the gravitas.) I wondered what happens during the winter however. Ice Skating?

After the Riverboat, I found myself surrounded by a thousand drunk German gays (more or less . . . gay that is . . . they were all definitely drunk, whatever their orientation . . .). As a Teatotaler, I headed for the S-bahn followed by a man in a kilt (Scottish) and two of his German Friends. The two friends were fussball fanatics, and kept repeatly shouting out of their promotional megaphone, "Finale, O-O-O-oh" to the the tune of "Volare'" roughly. The S-bahn came, and we einstieg-ed (boarded) the small trunk-like vessels of the S-bahn. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay, you get the picture. So did the other 25 people in the car. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". So without a word, we all began to play that game of -If we ignore them, they will stop. But they didn't. I started small talk with the Scottish man (did I mention he was wearing a kilt, and sitting with his legs crossed on the S-bahn?) . "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay. My gosh, would those two take a pill already! Fortunately it was a self-correcting problem, as one of the drunken man grabbed the megaphone and held it up (out of arms length of the other). As they giggled and struggled for the megaphone a gust of wind sucked that device right out of the train window. THlurp! The one shouted in German. "Hey! Now, it's gone forever!!! Damn" Then very very quietly next to them, I simply said, "Finale. O-o-o-oh." I started laughing so hard, I was crying. I couldn't have planned the phrase better if I'd had to make it up myself. Thus ends to sad fate of a German Megaphone. If the next time you see Jason Bourne running through a German train station in fear of his life . . . look in the background to see if there isn't a megaphone stuck in the rafters.

Schmekt Gut - Berlin's Best Restaurants

The food in Berlin is wunderbar! It competes, in my mind, with California and New York for best culinary city in the world. Like San Francisco and New York City, Berlin is centrally located for access to the best wine, produce and culinary materials in Europe. Also like it's peer cities, Berlin is a multicultural crossroads supporting a wide variety of traditions.

This is a running list of the best restaurants I have visited in Berlin with a note on their locations, price and genre:

Contemporary Lounge-Restaurant

More - I had a Geroestete Champignon Salat that I will never forget at this Miami-esque contemporary lounge and restaurant. If you want to see and be seen in a trendy bar, frequented by the beautiful, manly and flamboyant. This is the place. The decor is the most sophisticated in the area. Motzstrasse 28, 10777 Berlin (Southwest of the Nollendorfplatz S-bahn Station)

Mavie - Another lounge-restaurant with outdoor seating in a fin de siecle style. Perhaps alluding to Paris, the cuisine is fundamentally German. I was impressed by their Goatcheese Salad and Goatcheese Risotto. Motzstrasse 28, 10777 Berlin (Southwest of the Nollendorfplatz S-bahn Station)

Spanish Tapas

Ruz - North East of the HackesheMakt Station (I guess in Mitte), there is an amazing restaurant district. The best of these small independent bistros is the Ruz Tapas Restaurant and Bar. They have authentic Sangria that will make your toes curl, and a wide variety of Spanish Tapas . . . that hasn't been Germanized, or Americanized. The flavors are authentically savory, and dark. Tortillas, and spinch. Wine-cooked mushrooms and broiled meats. There's something for everyone . . . and yet it's all true to its origins. Auguststrasse 63, 10117 Berlin - (030) 28 09 77 88

Italian

Tratoria A Muntagnola - A country trattoria that serves authentic southern italian cuisine in the heart of tree-lined Berlin. A beautiful setting . . . and the cleanest restaurant I've ever been in, barr none! This is casual italian dining executed to the highest standards. A great place for families and large parties. Fuggerstrasse Berlin (Two blocks south of Wittenbergplatz S-bahn Station).






Note: That when I ordered "Wasser Ohne Gas" (Uncarbonated Water), I was given a bottle of imported Italian Mineral Water that had river pebbles in the bottom. When I read the label, it was explained that the river pebbles were crystaline in nature, and were intended to impart positive energy into the waters. Exhibit A:






After drinking the water (never mind that there's positive energy silt in them there bottles), I wanted to take my pebbles home with me. I wasn't done with the positive energy, and I wasn't about to let them cast them away like magic beans or something. This was actual, documented (at least by the label) positive energy. When I woke up the next morning . . . Someone call Scully . . . we have an X-file:

Rapallo - Traditional Italian fare with no surprises. A reliable place for a pizza, with a casually fine wine list. They serve Montepulciano-Arroza by the caraffe. MMMMmmm. Kurfurstendamm 111, 10711 Berlin.

Greek

Taverna Makis - Located halfway down the Kurfurstendamm, Taverna Makis serves fresh greek ingredients in a relaxed setting. It is superlatively convenient to the entire Ku'damm tourist corridor, and the sweet flavors of tomaten, gurke, und feta offer a welcome alternative to generally heavy German cuisine. I love to sit at the sidewalk tables and write in my journal. A cast of characters never fails to wander by for inspiration. Kurfurstendamm 96 10711 Berlin. Phone: 323 40 27

Outdoor Cafe'

OpernPalais - On the opposite side of the old Berlin Opera from Bebelplatz, is a perfect green park with large Sycamore and Linden trees. Among the firetruck red geraniums, you can be served common cafe fare and ice cream sundaes that you'll never forget. The food is typical, but the setting is unparalleled. I expected Renoir to appear with a paintbrush at any moment. If you like sitting in the sunshine, eating sweets, and listening to live classical music. You will love a simple lunch here. Unter den Linden 5 d-10117 Berlin-Mitte.

Trofeo at the Meilenwerk - The cafe in the Berlin antique car garage/museum is excellent. I had never had Trofeo (a more refined cottage cheese with an Edamer flavor) before. But I'm sold. The roasted Trofeo salat and the Croque Monsieur were perfect. Wiebestrasse 36-37 10553 Berlin. Tel. 030 20613030

Alberts - Situated on an elevated landing overlooking the Spree river in northwest central Berlin, Alberts offers a quick, fresh lunch with a view. I had the Putengeschnitzeltes (Roasted Turkey Stew with vegetables in a Mushroom gravey). Address: Alt Moabit 59-61, 10555 Berlin. Phone 030-36726707.

Steak House

Although not fancy, pretentious, or reknown, I have been consistently impressed with the "Block House." I can heartily endorse the franchise on the Ku'damm at Adenauerplatz. If you're hankering for something meaty, slightly salty, and cooked to perfection . . . you can do no better than this restaurant. The salads are made fresh, they personally draft their beer, and feature red wines from Argentina and France. Substantial food at a reasonable price, how you need it, when you need it!

Hotel Restaurants

Hotel SpreeBogen has such a flexible facility, that it can be all things to all diners. They offer breakfast, lunch and dinner to their guests, but can easily transition their brick wharfhouse into a buffet line for conventioneers. In any case the food is thoughtful, sophisticated, fresh and delicious. I heartily endorse their restaurant and hotel.

Baked Goods

ErdbeerenKuchen - Strawberry Gelatin Cake at the Croissanterie and Baeckeri at Sickingenstrasse 6 (around the corner from the Buesselstrasse S-bahn Station).

What Makes My Socks So Stiff?

It's not what you think . . . dirty minds.
In most German wohnungs (apartments) there is a teeny tiny washing machine machine in the bathroom.
German washing machines are located in the bathroom, because in centuries-old buildings there probably hasn't been indoor plumbing until the 20th century. By routing water and sewer lines to one room, indoor water usage could be centrally and economically managed. This in turn, is how the term "Water Closet" came to fruition. Europeans regard water closets as "wet rooms" as opposed to the more specific "bath room", "toilet", or "wash room."
Upon being confronted with my teeny tiny washing machine (a front-load washer that fits neatly under the counter . . . like a college refrigerator), I compared it to the air-craft-carrier-ready washer in my laundry room at home (a top-load Kenmore large enough to wash several dogs at once and not get their ears wet - don't ask me how I know this) . . . (and P.S. don't try this at home kids, unless you want the folks from PETA to raid your booty - don't ask me how I know this either. But I digress . . .). I was skeptical, as I often find in some things, size does matter.
As I'm sure you know, front-load washers require less water (because they do not fill up like aquariums) and less electricity (because they use the force of gravity to agitate the laundry. (Here, I'm trying to think of a joke that starts out: How do you know your laundry is agitated? - - but I got nothin'. But I digress . . .) Admirable enough . . . but it seemed that I would have to wash every item by itself over the course of two weeks. My colleagues (the guinea pigs who crashed tested the corporate apartment before me) assured me, that if I gently place my separates in the teeny tiny itsy bitsy washer, and add the teeny tiny itsy bitsy laundry detergent . . . everything would sort itself out.
This I did. First, colors in. 40 minutes later I have a pile of wet clothes knitted into a macrame plant hanger. And wait, there's more. There's no teeny tiny itsy bitsy dryer. What the hey?!
I notice that in the living room, there is a large wire rack resembling a TV antenae. It is in fact a laundry rack. Living in Florida (under its superlative humidity), nothing like this laundry rack would ever work. In fact, the clothes - though saturated - might in fact get wetter under the right circumstances. But Berlin is dry. It's summertime and the Fernsehen is blowing across the wheatfields of Brandenbourg . . . so I decorated the laundry tree in the living room with my holiday undies, shirts and socks. I sang my national laundry day holiday songs and threw a Yule sock on the laundry fire (no, not really. For more information, see "Sarcasm.") I put the whites in the teeny tiny itsy bitsy washer and went to bed.
In the morning, when I awoke I went to check on the laundry. Sure enough the colored clothes were dry enough to move and replace with the white laundry. The issue: the clothese were stiff. I leaned them up against the wall like old waffles. If I'd washed some pants, I could have made a little laundry person to go to breakfast with!
I guess there are worse things in life than stiff laundry . . . and I beg the user community to restrain themselves when adding the obligatory comments on "stiffness." This site is rated PG!! . . .
The end result of my analysis, is that I will be a billionaire the day I introduce ice-cubes to Italy, lukewarm water to the people of the United Kingdom, and clothes dryers to Germany.
On the downside, I would simultaneously expose the Germans to Snuggles the Dryer Bear. It is my sworn enemy, and I cannot abide it until it has been subjected to a serious prolonged regimen of speach therapy!!!!
That would surely put a Bounce in my step!!

Mein erstes Wochenende

The angels in my life could not let my comments of Friday evening go. As a result I spent the weekend enlightening myself, and wishing I’d never thought so much of my warped humor.

On Saturday morning, I slept late. Following my bliss, I set out to slowly explore Potsdammer Platz through Unter Den Linden to the Museum Island (where Central Berlin's most historic structures reside). I felt sure I could find interesting subject matter for photography.

I came upon the new Euopean Holocaust Memorial north of Potsdammerplatz. It is a vast shadowy acreage of grey stone boxes . . . suggesting coffins, a maze, clausterphobia, stepping stones, and great numbers of abstracted figures. A visitor's center is hidden at the far Eastern edge of this sea of stone. Inside, the world comes to terms with this aspect of European history. Though these events are brutal and outrageous . . . I cannot disassociate myself from them. Current political dynamics in the United States resemble the Nazi plan for a final solution. I could no more stop George Bush from invading Iraq, as any number of Germans could stop Hitler. The total effect is to be educated and sobered by the cruelty amongst ourselves, and to apply oneself to improving the world consistently, relentlessly, lovingly . . .

Through the Brandenburg Gate, I traversed Unter Den Linden. There was a book fair in the Bebelplatz, but all the views were obstructed by restoration scaffolding festooned with vast advertisements. In a park beside the Opera House I sat in the OperaPalais restaurant and had a marvelous lunch of Spaghetti Bolognese, and an Ice Cream Sundae for dessert. For part of my lunch a busking violinist played classical pieces under a leafy Linden Tree. The setting, decorated with fire engine red geraniums and cool bright green grass, was a happy contrast to the morning’s survey of European history.

I walked into the Berliner Dom and photographed the rotunda. Finally, I hopped over to the HackesherMarkt and Bahned my way to Nollendorfplatz, for Berlin’s LGBT Stadtfest.

Despite the language barrier, the proliferation of beer and bratwurst . . . an LGBT fest is an LGBT fest. I was reassured by the colorful consistency, the confident tolerance, and the respectable coordination of this large and diverse urban community. I noted that everyone attended the Stadtfest, not just the LBGT community. Next to the mosh pit and the DJ turntables were stay at home Mom's with their strollers and fussy babies. Two little boys even tried to join an African drumming troupe in the course of their musical performance. Berliners (considered rude by their German peers) were kind and welcoming to me, especially given my rudimentary German language skills. I've reassured the other Germans that Berliners are not cold and rude.

Sunday, I went to church in the memorial Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedaechtniskirche at 10am. Although I didn’t understand what was said, I could follow the structure of the service, via my Protestant background. Eventually I took communion with the congregation . . . and was surprised to see that German’s use White Wine for mass. Not very bloody, but I guess Jesus did not designate white or red (skipping this set of obvious sommelier jokes).

After church, in my continuing effort to lose weight, I walked from the Halensee Station to Nollendorfplatz (about 1/3 the width of the city). I spent another afternoon people watching in the pleasant summer streets of Berlin, and feeling very much at home in a city where I don’t know a soul. I returned home early to sort out the laundry situation . . . and went to bed sleeping in a Thunderstorm (just like home).

Time for some Touching!

I've noticed over the last two days, that drivers are very courteous on Berlin's roads. They are glad to pause and allow me to cross the strasse, etc. They are speedy, but strategically careful.

Bikers on the other hand are not. Twice in two days, I have inadvertently been walking on the sidewalk bikepath and been very nearly accosted by cyclists:

Incident 1 - Ask not for whom the horn blows . . . - The first time, a rider pedaled directly up behind me like the Hamburglar and then honked a very loud menacing horn loudly, inches from my petrified corpse! This was apparently easier, then say . . . I don't know . . . making a wide swath around me!?!?

Incident 2 - Full Contact - The second time, the rider swerved around me, resuming the bike path millimeters from me at full speed (without a word), deliberately leaning in so that he violently brushed my shoulder.

Analysis: The first case, was my fault, I was not aware that riders were encouraged to take to the sidewalks instead of the road. The second time, I had stepped aside to let a gaggle of school children pass (walking hand in hand), so that they would not have to break their safety daisy-chain. This rider was just being pesky (from the Latin Biggus Assius). Why I oughta!

Now that I'm aware, I may have to use my ACME grappling hook on the next smart-alecky biker. I'm beginning to think that they're on two wheels, because they were deemed unfit for four!!!

A more positive observance: for the second night I have sat outdoors at a streetside cafe for dinner, while the Euro 2008 Football (Soccer) Tournament is played. Crowds of Europeans (all nationalities) gather before large flat-screen restaurant TVs and enthusiastically watch the game during dinner al fresco. There is nothing like watching the collective joy and dismay as goals are attempted, lost and won over the course of an evening. The roar of a stadium crowd pouring out a hundred small speakers across a neighborhood, and the reflection of tiny players scampering across an other-worldly green pitch are unique sensations.

Because I’m jet-lagged and not a stakeholder in the outcome of these games . . . I rise, pay my bill, and wander home on empty streets. As I pass open Kneipes (Pub), homes, restaurants and shoppes . . . a nation is transfixed by the outcome of their game (Germany vs. Portugal in this case). Talk about a unified Germany!!

Last night I went shopping at the Plus grocery store. What a hoot. There are a number of German brands attempting to cash in on the international cache’ of the English language. My favorite examples:

Touching Toilet Paper – The only thing you don’t want to do to Toilet Paper.

Serving Paper Towels – Hey, this steak taste like paper towels!

My Fellow Dog Food – Lend me your ears . . . I bet.

Balisto Yogurt - When you really need an I.C.B.M.

Corny-Free Granola Bars - I bet you wish this BLOG was Corny-free.

Clusters Cereal - Don't spill this in bed, or you-know-what . . .

Silence! The Queen of Table Waters - (I love this!) The next time I'm sitting at a restaurant table next to a screaming Baby, I'm going to order some and send it to their table . . . and have the waiter add "The Queen of Orlando invites you to revel in the Queen of Table Waters."

Funniest Name of a Store:
Ay, Imbiss! An imbiss is a snack bar. And the person who works there is the "imbiss-ile." Next time you see one yell, Ay, Imbiss-ile!

Weirdest Name of a Store:
On the Ku'damm there's a Croissant Shop called: CROBAG
Would you eat out of a Crobag, I ask you?!

You can't say you weren't warned:
All over Berlin there's an Egyption gas station chain called "Agip." "A gip" indeed.

The Mysteries and Wonders of a German Breakroom

Last year, when I was in Germany there was a toaster in the Breakroom that boldly announced, “FingerWeg!! Das ist meine!”, or in German “Hands off. This is mine.” Because I’m used to the expression “Hands off” it's not so funny to my ear. Telling someone to keep their “Fingers away” is tantamount in my mind to keeping “your filthy paws off my silky drawers!” That one would find such a sign in a formal corporate office is even funnier.

This year however, the Toaster is gone. Someone, obviously not German, absconded with the toaster using their pesky delinquent fingers.

Common in a German breakroom is a hot water tap that dispenses immediately, hot boiling water. I found this out the hard way. I tried to hold a glass and wash it while pouring scalding water over it. Doh! To the krankhaus (hospital) I nearly went, yes, very cranky.

The other amazing machine is a jet dispenser that converts common Berlin tap water, into either “light” or “classic” sparkling water. It’s like having the Perrier spring (and a jet) here on the 5th floor of a manufacturing plant! Who wouldn't want to shoot pure mountain spring water through their favorite jet engine, I ask you?

Arbeits Machts Frei?!

Yesterday, a colleague in the office brought in a bushel of cherries (kirchen) plucked from the tree in his yard. This would be the German version of our Floridian private citrus harvests in December. The staff rallied around the conference room table, ate cherries and talked, while spitting pits into their hands and dropping them in a collective bowl. At first I was self-conscious to be expectorating cherry pits with people I hardly know . . . but I got over it, and the cherries were delicious.

I have been able to easily get to work every morning by 8:00am. It boggled my mind at first. How is this possible? Having one's own car does not in fact expedite commuting, it turns out. I don't have to get gas, drive 20 minutes, or park. Apparently the time I spend walking to and from the S-bahn is less time than it takes to drive. I have also noted that the Sun rises earlier, and sets later here . . . meaning that biologically I'm more awake. Oh, yeah . . . and then there's the fact that I'm jet lagged into the next universe (John Lennon says hello).

While waiting for my bag to be delivered, I noticed an ominous red button outside my apartment door. It was situated, as an American doorbell. But I had a doorbell, labeled doorbell in the door. This button had no label, was large and bright and begged to be pressed. What would happen though? I could set off a fire alarm, or turn on a distant heater, garbage disposal, or unknown German appliance. Discretion being the better part of valor, I restrained myself and asked colleagues at work what they thought this button was . . . the Bat Cave? They knew immediately it was the ceiling light for the landing.

One strange aspect of my apartment is that it is decorated with a menagerie of faux animals. There’s a Schnauzer/Scottish Terrier dog, a carp fish, a frog, and a goose. It’s a curious aesthetic, that has the same effect of a velvet Jesus painting. Wherever you go in the apartment, there’s a pair of eyes watching you.

Last night the duck, the dog, and the frog had a binger and then got into it with the fish. It was not pretty, is all I can tell you. I have to bail them out after work.

Live from the Western Front

Convinced that advanced planning is the most integral part of a project, I admit to freaking out in an attempt to address every possible scenario I might face during seven weeks in Europe. I packed and re-packed my suitcase four times. By Monday morning however, I finally reassured myself that my research was done. I was prepared to relax and enjoy my adventure.

Mom dropped me and my "mother of all suitcases" off at the airport curb. I checked in and boarded my plane uneventfully. The flight was ever so slightly bumpy from Orlando to Dulles, but nothing to write home about (I do it here out of sheer gratuitous drama). As we descended into Washington, the skies were dark. We were 500 feet from touchdown, when the pilot aborted the landing and flew 25 minutes south to Richmond, Virginia.

As we flew away, I wasn't too alarmed. We were safe, and the situation was being communicated . . . but what didn't I know? I began to recall the events of September 11th, and considered that I had been landing at an airport in the nation's capital. I had relatives in Richmond if it came to that, but what exactly were things coming to? (Cue dramatic music: dun-dun-duuuuunnh?)

After about an hour in Richmond, it was explained that a wind shear had been detected while we were landing and all scheduled flights to Dulles between 3pm and 5pm had been diverted to other cities or asked not to take off from their origins. The storm was the same system that had flattened towns with Tornados and flooded most of Iowa the previous weekend.

In the plane, we watched Horton Hears a Who, ate granola bars and drank water. It was do-able, and the United Staff were troopers. By 6:30 we were taking off from Richmond. Our savvy pilot, first to reach Richmond, filed a flight-plan as soon as he arrived, so he was the first to depart. I got to Dulles about 7:05 and found that my flight to Munich left on time at 5:28pm.

The airport was a riot of people hording the customer service queue. All wanted to be the first to re-book their seats to their final destinations. I wandered in a stupor about where to begin, and the spirits lead me into the "United Red Carpet Club", a business-traveler's lounge. There I found agents helping dramatically fewer people to rebook their tickets. I had to wait about 30 minutes for assistance, but it was certainly less than the round the block lines in the main hall.

A clever agent named Carlos told me I would probably have to stay overnight and fly to Germany the next day . . . but wait! Then he discovered he could get me on the last business class seat to Frankfurt . . . and glory of glories . . . there were ample seats to Berlin on a consecutive flight. But what about my bags, I asked Mr. Carlos C.? (Note notation of employee name and promise) He made some noises, typed some figures . . . and assured me the bag would be forwarded to the plane in time.

You see where this is going don't you.

So, lickety-split I was off for Frankfurt with a thousand disgruntled passengers. I made it safely to Berlin . . . badly jet-lagged . . . in a sweat-stained shirt and crusty underwear and socks . . . standing at the end of a conveyor belt, waiting for my friend "Baggy" to bring that "hug of home" back into my life. One by one all the other disgruntled passengers picked up their bags and disappeared, until I was there with four other people blinking and listening to the crickets in the arrival hall. To add insult to injury, when the last bag had been sent up, a small sign, written in English, followed. "End of Bags."

There was no mistaking it. Baggy was AWOL. I raised my rotten potato into the sunset colored silhouette and vowed. "As God as my witness, I will never pack my toiletries again!!"

My modest exposure to German enabled me to find people who would rather speak in English to me, than have me pant and cackle out my pigeon German: "Me no bag. Lufthansa take Baggy. Make Bye-bye. Where Baggy?! Baggy Black with zippy thing. When Baggy Come." You get the idea . . . And that was all in English. They had to ask me to come out of the fetal position and stand up. They assured me (like Carlos) that Baggy would come tomorrow. I resigned myself to the circumstance.

Excellent directions conducted me quickly to my corporate apartment in lower Charlottensburg.

The apartment is nicer than I originally thought, and larger . . . with high ceilings and large windows. Many fears were laid to rest . . . but that was all that could be laid to rest. Though exhausted, I could not lay down. I had a mission. I had to find an ATM that took the American Express corporate card. I had to get clean underwear and a shirt for work the next day, and I had to eat. I had gone most of Tuesday with only an airplane fruit-bowl and a croissant in my stomach.

I headed down the Kufurstendam to find the ATM in my crusty underwear and sweaty shirt at 5pm. I felt like a dirty sock. But the rest of the story is uneventful. I did find the ATM, a shirt, underwear, and a bowl of asparagus soup. Yes, they were abandoned there on the Ku-dam by some hoboes. Just kidding. (This will kill my boss . . . a bowl of soup and a bottle of water cost me 9 Euros!!! About 12 dollars USD). I stumbled home and fell into bed at 9pm. I was asleep before you could say "Coma."

Of course about midnight I was wide awake. Hmm. I'm hungry. My mind's racing. It wants to wake up and do something. I indulged. I explored the dark apartment. Thank Goodness a colleague had left a measly half-roll of toilet paper, or I would have been *&^% out of luck. I found T-bags and sugar. I made some hot tea. I found pasta and Vegetable broth powder. I literally made a Lipton's cup o' soup from scratch in a mug.

Back to sleep I went. It felt great to shower and dress in clean clothes the next morning. On the way to the office, the airport called to say they could deliver Baggy . . . but I didn't want to “not show” at work for the second day in a row. I arranged to have the bag brought between 5 and 8pm that evening.

Thanks to my family and colleagues for their support. It got me through all of these minor obstacles. I hope the re-telling made you laugh. Now though, I must get to work.

Great Diving At the Little Cayman

May 15-21, 2008 I accompanied my world adventuring gal-pal Sonya on a SCUBA diving expedition off of Little Cayman in the British West Indies. (For Pictures, scroll to the Slideshow at the bottom of this page.)

I did some of the best diving of my life in Bloody Bay (northwest shore of Little Cayman) in 20 to 110 feet of water. The rugged coral shelf of the northern side of the island holds just enough sand and soft coral to support a rich ecosystem, and so little silt as to provide the greatest underwater visibility I have ever enjoyed (easily 100 feet). I highly recommend both Grand Cayman and Little Cayman. Fun facts to help the traveler:


Best of Grand Cayman

- Full of Beans (Passadora Place, Georgetown) Contemporary Miami Fusion. Does everything well and at the optimal price point. Coffee. Baked goods. Fresh lunches. Soup. This is the place to relax, talk, enjoy the art, music and laid back mid-century modern decor.
- Ristorante Pappagallo (West Bay) Italian/Caribbean fusion. Fine dining in a mangrove setting replete with tropical birds and a thatch roof. A wonderful alternative to the generic beach hotel restaurant.
- BED - (7 mile Beach) Grand Cayman's version may prevent patrons from reclining, per other franchises . . . but the food and wine is so good, you won't miss it.
- Regazzi (Georgetown) Tuscan Italian Grill. Regazzi would seem to have the best wine list and appetizers on Grand Cayman. The variety of flavors and their beautiful presentation make this restaurant a must-visit. Try the melon and proscuitto appetizer and flatbread pizza.
- Casanova (Georgetown by the port) Traditional Italian. Comfort food away from home.
- Courtyard Marriott Breakfast Buffet (7 mile Beach). The best place to eat your own weight in food.
Activities:
- Moby Dick's boat trip to Stingray City cannot be missed. I don't care how many aquariums you've seen and how jaded you are . . . when you hand feed 100 stingrays begging like puppies, it will change your perspective on the world. Go in fair weather for the best pictures and experience.
- Photo from Hell. The ultimate in Caribbean kitsch. Makes a good souvenir and a funny story.
- Shore diving from "Sunset", "Eden Rock", "East End." There's no need for an elaborate SCUBA expedition, there's plenty to see directly off the "iron shore." Outfitters are situated at both locations for convenient entrance and egress. The most important advice: end a dive 22 hours before approaching a plane.

Best of Little Cayman
- Pirate's Point Beach Resort handily beats all other hotels on the island for the best and most creative cuisine on Little Cayman.
- Little Cayman Beach Resort has a great buffet three times a day. The food is good, sometimes better than others, but the prices shock and awe. You are very likely to spend as much on food as lodging at this resort. For the convenience of professional state of the art diving boats and an A+ crew, I must recommend them despite the expense.

Let there be BLOG . . .

I'm going to be in Berlin, Germany for most of the summer. So I thought I would finally establish a travel blog for my peeps.

The photograph at right was taken in March of 2007, when Germany started it's term as capital of the European Union (EU): A turret of the Berliner Dom is contrasted against the TV tower in the Alexanderplatz. The image seems to perfectly contrast the old and the new, the east and the west, the religious and technological . . . and shows how this dialectical city is cohering into a unique world capital for the 21st century.

Stay tuned for in-depth current info on my latest observations on European travel.