If You Can Learn to Do It

I still don't feel like I'm far away - and nothing feels very foreign. The greatest difference is order. Americans are really stanky, it's charming, but I try not to belie the fact. I hush my voice when others are near. I feel rude not having any skill with speaking German beside phrases ending in 'Dickeschlampe.' Everyone here waits for the light to cross the street, even if no cars are coming. I immediately cross, and they stand waiting, judging. At that moment I really felt like the game was up.

No matter where I go I always mark the difference in breakfast. I am sloven. I took my fill of sliced meats and yogurt, while listening to some Bavarian construction workers. That was 7am.

We had to wait until 10am for the Stasi museum to open, so we took a walk along what remains of the wall. A nice brisk fall walk, with romantic guard tower landmarks. Places you really could imagine weddings taking place. We spent some time in the graveyards that were split by the wall. Here are our two favorite epitaphs:

'Too early for me, but probably Gods will."
"Rest silently!"

Following the wall down Gartenstrasse we walked around Nordbahnhof Park and found this nestled within the volleyball courts:

No mention of what it was on any sign or map. I circled the park looking for a way to climb into one of the suspended bugs.
At the official Wall memorial we we shocked to notice that there is scant mention of what side of the wall your on, all signs mention 'border guards' in general terms, and nothing mentioning politics (even in the film we watched later).

10am struck and we went to the Stasi museum and Checkpoint Charlie. Sadly the Stasi museum was under renovation and we couldn't see their permenant collection. When a good man is denied the experience of jars containing human stink, he needs to drown his dissapointment in forcing a man with a fear of heights into a balloon.

It's more of a grimmace.

But I am pleased to have got him up, and then mock him by leaning over the edges and running laps. It costs 25 dollars to go to the top of the Empire State Building, but it costs 19 Euros to go up in a balloon in the open air of Berlin and shake your paterfamilias to the point of retching. The preference is clear.

Here is Dad insisting we brag about how much he loves Ben and Jerrys.

We never miss an opportunity to hear teenagers scream and chase each other down an ominous holocaust memorial. Truly the war is over. There is a point in any travel recollection where you fib, where you were close to doing something or the tickets were too expensive so you just said you did it. Well, we went to the Reichstag. However we really did hang out with an Indian chief at Bradenburg Gate. If this were two truths and a lie I would tell you the truth about my Krohns flaring up in Alexanderplatz.

It is a startling walk from the financial district to the arts area. I read an article that women tend to communicate about details of their day, and men rather talk about something else (I couldn't pay attention because Dan was yapping about some Thundercats t-shirt he got on sale). The point is that we use different means to communicate that we care about someone (to the point that we wish to comfort them, or allow them to comfort us). Allow me to comfort you dear reader.

On with my caring banality we found Tacheles. Which I loved. It's an abandoned building turned into an arts studio inside:

Dad in his element.

And out:

It really was Bard art on a larger scale; extremely bad and extremely good were both represented. The metalworks and makeshift bars outside were among the best. I needed to pick up a postcard that emphasized we were in Berlin.

Dear readers one of you will receive this in the mail! You can easily rule yourself out if I don’t have your current address or those you live with for some reason object to female Reverse-Sphinx stimulating their spongy-tissues with national monuments, or drinking.

Evidently I had a good time.

We went to four more galleries along Oranienstrasse, watching a man spank a human skeleton inside of an Alexander technique theater. I was graced by a dramatic prose version of 'Why Vagina?'

In Berlin, what is the difference between these two alleys?

15 feet.

At this point we're just looking for where everyone one is. Father has heard that 21% of Berliners feel they have some sort of mysterious disease, perhaps the plague has come early. We walked the glamour and fashion part of town, the stripmall streets, and found nothing more populated. We had a nice dinner of German/Turkish/Chinese fusion with a dessert at Miami Crepes; the Venetian which is a crepe with nutella. Very good.

We rushed off to see a screening about a East Berliner couture photographer. Speaking of fashion, German Google has far more image search results for William Shatner than they do William Shatner und Ms. Congeniality. Probably because the German title is "Vanity Draws a Gun." Also, I have seen David Bowie and Tilda Swinton everywhere, perhaps Berliners know that she is just one of his horcruxes.

This is why I don't read the blogs of others, they're too long. Dear reader, you can ignore me all you like.

I like Berlin, but fuck it. Hamburg day after tomorrow for a bit and then a ferry to London. I have to say that not having any skill in speaking German makes me feel ashamed. Subconsciously I know I should speak a foreign language so I slip into Spanish. Speaking it well though. I’m very interested to see Spain, Portugal, and the UK. Tomorrow we plan on going to some trashy euroclubs and flea markets.