“Do you have a light?” Tuesday 12^th June, 2012

Sometimes it is the unexpected moments, which shine the brightest in our memories. Times where, through some mysterious set of circumstances you end up somewhere, doing something you never could have planned. Whether you label it fate, coincidence, or something else entirely, when you take the time to reflect, you realise how life essentially comes down to a series of small decisions. Like a game of ‘connect the dots’ on an incomprehensibly large scale, we draw our life lines as we go. Along the way our lines intersect with the lines of others and sometimes, something amazing happens. This was one of those times.

It was early on a Tuesday evening and my mood was flat. I had accomplished little during the day and managed to watch several hours of the day disappear into oblivion as I vacantly clicked around on the Internet. It was time to get out of the house and clear my head. I had arranged to meet an Israeli friend Yoav, at Goerlitzer Park for a little chill time and after Wiebke arrived home, we hopped on our bikes and rode the 20min journey in the evening sun.

With the wind in our hair, our bikes rattled over the cobblestone streets as we pulled up just short of the park. As we walked towards the entrance, I was approached by a guy and minutes later I was being lead on an unexpected ‘free walking tour’ of the back streets of Kreuzberg by my new Palestinian mate Ali. We spoke in broken German and walked cautiously together as the sun shone through the trees blanketing the street, like some kind of urban rainforest. I smiled and nodded the best I could, struggling my way to understand him through his thick accent and indecipherable slang before we eventually parted ways. Doesn’t score highly on my list of recommended tours, but speak to me in person and I can tell you more. After meeting up with W and Y and a quick visit to the Späti for some beers, we were soon chilling in the park enjoying the final rays of the day.

I have already written a description of this park in a previous blog, which you can read here if you would like more background. This time we planted ourselves on the extensive grassy area, looking up at the concrete faux amphitheatre rather than sitting upon it. As always, the park was full of characters. From the fat girl inappropriately straddling her man, to the double denim black guy in a cowboy hat, ‘Goerly’ was offering its usual assortment of visual entertainment for the avid people watcher.

Completing the cast of characters for today’s visit were the musos, who played nearby, as the skilful chops of the guitarist, were drowned out by the enthusiastic singing of a woman dressed in an earthy green shirt. Soon enough she ventured our way and asked for a light.

Yoav picked it immediately. With hardly a sentence uttered, he picked she was Israeli and they then launched into a conversation filled with “uchk’s” and “achk’s” which I could only assume is Hebrew. The more I heard the music drifting over from the guitar the more I wanted to get involved, but as an MC, I felt as if I may be imposing on what seemed like a ‘folk’ jam. So it was with some trepidation I suggested we relocate to sit with them so I could jam. The trepidation didn’t last however. Before long I was beatboxing and then rhyming and soon enough, having a really fucking great time. The circle expanded as more people arrived and it hit home that some of the people here were a little, well, unhinged. Our new green shirted friend continued singing and despite having a reasonable voice, the look in her eyes and the content of her lyrics made me a little uncomfortable. It may have been the “I want to fuccccckkk youuuuu” she yelled out repeatedly as she stared at me, or it could’ve been the partially crazed look in her eyes as she sucked back half a joint in one breath, but something about her creeped me out. I felt as if I was almost too straight laced for this circle but in the brief moments when the music actually stopped and I chatted with the guitarist, I realised that he was not only a really amazing guitarist, but also a really cool guy. We jammed and freestyled for hours as people came and went. As the sun disappeared completely and a light drizzle begun, the crossroads presented themselves.

Having already had a great time, I was pretty much ready to call it a day, until the guitarist mentioned that him and some others, namely a saxaphonist, trumpet player and clarinettist were planning to go and busk on a bridge nearby and I should join them. This was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I bid Yoav and Wiebke farewell went to bring my bike back to the circle and when I returned, was happy to learn that the crazy ones had left. I walked with the guys and soon discovered that they absolutely lived music. They were all obsessed with music, it oozed through their skin. Their passion was unparalleled and felt as if that was all they could ever do. It was that strong. I felt humbled to be playing amongst such talent.

We got some beer and made our way to Oberbaumbruecke, a cool old bridge between Friedrichshain and Kreuzberg, where we set up the gear and started to play to the passers by as I gazed out over the Spree with the Fernseherturm in the background. I rapped, beatboxed and played a small drum as the other guys absolutely tore it up on their instruments. We began to gather quite a reasonable crowd and the feeling of seeing all these random people stop their journey across the bridge to chill and listen to the music, was quite amazing. Some danced, others nodded their heads and others stayed for nearly the entire time we played. We had no songs, no discussion, no direction. It was purely improvised, spontaneous music, created right then and there, on a bridge in Berlin with 5 people who barely knew each other. It was music for the moment and, in that moment nothing else mattered, for me anyway.  It was a different matter for the Polizei who came to put a stop to the proceedings 2.5hrs into our jam.

How a series of chance instances lead me to my first busking experience with a bunch of randoms I will probably never meet again, is truly special. I cherished my 2.50 Euro earnings and enjoyed every last drop of the beers I bought with them. As I said farewell to my new friends, a guy pulled up on his bike with deep techno blaring from a large speaker he was pulling in a trailer behind his bike. The party wasn’t ending, it was just getting started, and when the Polizei stop that, they will just move it somewhere else. As I rode away from the music and pondered on the proceedings, I couldn’t help but think how much I love Berlin.

Several weeks ago now I visited a club in Alexanderplatz, called Weekend. It was a very… interesting… experience. To initiate the Berlin virgins amongst you, Alexanderplatz is probably the closest Berlin has to a ‘centre’. Whilst not actually lying in the centre of the city, it is home to a central train station, a big open plaza surrounded by shops and a futuristic looking sky needle called the Fernseherturm or TV Tower. It is the highest building in Berlin and not only does it serve the function of booming out the TV signal across the city, but also functions as a beacon in the sky for those of us who find themselves lost in the streets after pursuing their flawed desire to explore the city. Think of it as a friend who holds their hand up in a crowd whilst you try to find them, a friend called Alex; only, this friends arm is 368m long and beams out TV signals.

Alexanderplatz is usually fairly heavily populated with tourists, snapping pictures of the TV tower before making their way down Unter den Linden to the Brandenburg Tor, Checkpoint Charlie, the Reichstag and a number of Berlin’s other ‘sites’ however on this evening it is fairly quiet. We have just come from a street festival called “Karneval der Kulturen” or “Carnival of Cultures” celebrating the diversity of cultures in Berlin. It is a three day festival beginning on Friday night and finishing up on Sunday evening after the street parade comes to its conclusion. After this, Wiebke and myself head off to Alexanderplatz to meet Carmen and James at a club called Weekend.

Weekend lies in a building neighbouring Alexanderplatz and has a range of rooms split between various levels of a 20+ storey building, complete with a terrace on the roof. Our friends have been there since late afternoon and we arrive around 11pm only to be told we must wait as the party has ended and a new party begins in 30mins. The bouncer informs us that the new party is a gay party.

OK, no big deal to me really. I have never been to a gay party but I have no problem with gay people and hey, it will be a new experience right? We wait at the front of the line as it grows behind us, slowly populating with well manicured men in tight fitting shirts and one 6”4 man dressed as a lady in a cat suit who cuts to the front of the line. Had I known cat suit got you VIP treatment I would’ve dressed accordingly. Before long we pass through the glass doors, hop into the lift and make our way up to the rooftop and are greeted by the sounds of deep groove tech house and an amazing view of Alexanderplatz.

We meet Carmen & James and enjoy the vibe as the dregs of the previous party dance, chill and drink together, riding out the last hours of the weekend. So far so good. Sooner or later we go and check out the music in the other rooms. After leaving the terrace and heading downstairs, I was confronted with the obvious reality; this party was really gay. The dance floor was packed and as we secured our spot close to the front I came to realize the wigged-man in the cat suit was in fact the DJ and based on the response from the crowd, appeared to be tearing it up. Despite their enthusiasm, the music was certainly not to my taste and my body could simply not muster up the energy to continue dancing to the cheesy vocal house. It was time to get a drink.

We all went to the bar and bought a drink. I leaned against a wall whilst having a deep discussion with Carmen over spirituality and the essence of life. Appropriate club discussions for sure. Mid sentence a guy walked from behind and bumped into my shoulder, spilling a little from his drink. He stood in front of me in his tight white shirt, looked me up and down, raised his eyebrows and with the bitchiest of pouts, casually poured his drink on my shirt before disappearing into the crowd. I stood there, shocked for about 30secs trying to process what had just happened, before I realized he had just been an absolute motherfucker, for no reason, and it was too late to do anything. Fuming, I bemoaned my fate, but took some solace in the fact he drank only a vodka lime soda, so my shirt was probably now cleaner than before.

Being unaccustomed to the gay scene, I wasn’t sure if this was normal practice here. Was I over-reacting? Is this some normal protocol whereby if you bump into someone and spill your drink you must then pour the rest on them? In some sort of “foolish of me to spill my beverage, I cannot allow myself to drink the rest, but you look thirsty, here keep it on your shirt and drink it later”. I was incensed, but perhaps lucky I didn’t have the immediate reaction to throw fists as being the straight man starting fights in a gay club is probably not a good look. I was now feeling very pissed off and needed to take a little walk to cool my head, so found a quieter area of the club and gazed out the window, taking in the calming lights of the city a few hours before dawn. Slowly relaxing, I then gazed off to my right and what should I see but one man seated leaning against the window, head back and mouth open in throes of pleasure as another mean knelt in front of him undertaking something I am grateful the dark light made impossible to see clearly. Not what I was hoping to encounter.

After heading back to my friends, moving to another room and hearing yet another cheesy vocal house track, I had made my decision that perhaps it was now time to leave. I said my goodbyes, rode the man packed elevator to the ground floor and walked out into the brisk Berlin morning. So in closing, I must say, ‘thank you for having me gay party’, it was certainly an experience but I believe I will stick to the straight parties, where I know the rules of engagement and the music sucks less.

Berlin is a city full of characters, a city full of stories and after a few puffs of a joint, these stories reveal themselves to me. As I walk, I begin to notice the smaller details. People’s faces begin to reveal an identity, emerging from the anonymity so common in a big city.

I sit with two friends in Gorlitzer Park in Kreuzberg, Berlin. A long rectangular park with a crude concrete faux amphitheatre semi-circling a giant sandpit.  Sitting on a concrete tier, we drink beer, smoke a joint and muse over the future of the music industry. I look around and see people doing the same; hanging out, drinking beers, cooking BBQs and smoking weed, all the while young children play enthusiastically, having the time of their lives in this concrete playground.

As I watch them play, it occurs to me just how much fun they are having. As the sun sets behind the escalated concrete seating and the steeple of a nearby church peeks its way over the horizon, it is easy to see why. As a child, this place must feel like a mystical castle. They run through the sand and climb up the colourful graffiti covered walls, to the sounds of musicians noodling away on their instruments and the smells of weed and fresh meat on the BBQ. You would never find a place like this in most other cities in the world. Here is this intersection of demographics all co-existing in a perfect if not somewhat unusual harmony. So what if people smoke weed, so what if they drink beer? If they are peaceful and happy then what is the problem for families to be enjoying the vibe as well?

One of the things I love most about Berlin is the attitude of the government and Polizei letting the people live their live without unnecessary interference. Certainly a far cry from the nanny state of Australia where liability claims and ridiculous laws have put a stop to most organic types of fun.

As the kids run around and chase each other playfully, a small boy trips and falls hard on the concrete. After the obligatory “what is this feeling?…….PAIN!!” delay, he starts crying and clutching his knee in pain. His friends express concern and I await a protective mother to swoop in and coddle her little boy but she never appears. Instead, the little trooper rises to his feet and hobbles along, holding his knee through the new rip in his jeans. He makes his way back towards Mum & Dad and after a reassuring pat on the head from his muscular Father, he is back playing two minutes later with a smile on his face. I muse on the unexpected beauty of this moment before being snapped to reality by a model plane striking me square in the temple. Leaving the handheld runway of a child and landing on my head, the plane lies lifeless on the ground, its passengers ruing the delay and awaiting the forthcoming take off. I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation as I hand the plane back to the kid and chuckle to myself.

Soon later I bid my friends goodbye and walk towards the U Bahn station to make my way home. The sun shines its final rays of the day as I walk along the street feeling a little bit stoned, navigating my way through the Friday evening foot traffic. As I walk, I suddenly feel a mighty bump from behind on my left shoulder, before I can turn around to give them a what for, a smiling black man on a unicycle apologises in an unusually high voice for his physique. With his matching red and white outfit and helmet, I cannot hold in my laughter as he pedals up the street, weaving between the pedestrians. As I share a moment of laughter with another passing pedestrian, I smile to myself and think that in some strange way, this seems to perfectly capture the essence of life. Doing what you want to do, other people’s opinions be damned. So, thankyou man riding the unicycle, you have brought enjoyment to the world and given me a memory which will always bring a smile to my face.

It’s mid afternoon and I sit on a grassy hill in Mauerpark, in the East of Berlin. A thick humidity fills the air as the sun struggles to poke its way through the blanket of grey. Despite the grey, it is still unmistakeably a Spring day. As the temperature pushes the mid 20’s people fill the cities abundance of parks. Some cook BBQs, some laze about and sleep, some play sports or music, but most chill out with friends and have a few drinks. That is exactly what I am doing.

A short stroll through the park reveals many of the characters one may find in this city. First, the musicians. Situated right by the entrance on a busy concrete path is a trio comprised of bass, guitar and a vocalist who also provides percussion by hitting the box he sits upon with his hands. They play a relaxed blend of blues, folk and rock, which despite sounding great fails to captivate anyone’s attention in a huge way. It feels less of a show and more background music for the many people who have come to enjoy the park this afternoon. With their obligatory open guitar case beckoning for tips or purchases of their CD, I wonder just how much they may make on a day like this.

From where I sit on the grassy knoll, off to my right is a crudely made concrete amphitheatre, rising perhaps 10-15m high. In the time we have been sitting here, people have packed the concrete ‘seating’ and begun enjoying the show. I am told that usually on Sundays they have Karaoke with a band however today they are not playing. Instead, we are treated to the usual ‘street performer’ types who instead of playing background music to contribute to the ambience, play a definite ‘show’ with a clear start and a finish. You know the types, those who say “Ladies and Gentleman” a lot and beckon for applause.

 The muffled and distorted sounds coming from the amphitheatre belong to a white, dreadlocked Rasta wannabe wearing a green and yellow tracksuit. As he began his performance more people joined the audience and it became too difficult to see exactly what he was doing but what I could see was what we called in school a “Yo-Ho Diablo”. You know, that Yo Yo type thing with two sticks and a bit of string? Yeh, that was his gimmick. It must be said, he was pretty good, sending it high into the sky and catching it in one smooth movement, most likely doing some tricks between his legs or doing a 360 or something but in essence, just playing with a toy. It made me wonder about these street performer types, they must have huge balls, or no shame, or both. I also got the feeling that the people in the crowd were hanging round in hope of something better. They had got themselves a great seat in the amphitheatre and damned if they were letting some two bit Yo Ho Diablo guy cause them to move. And in time, it seemed like he won them over. People cheered, applauded and gave him the appreciation he craved. I stood up and noticed he had removed his tracksuit and dreads to reveal a red mid riff top, red hot pants and matching red kneepads (of course he had kneepads). One can never be too careful when playing with Yo Yos, or too colour co-ordinated for that matter.

As his show came to a close the next show begun and over the next hour or so I heard many cheers, gasps and applause for this performance. I couldn’t see anything through the people so couldn’t tell you what he actually did, but as his performance ended I was filled with curiosity. After a rousing applause, the majority of the people left the amphitheatre, walking via his open box taking donations for the performance. I mean seriously, a lot of people appeared to be giving him some cash. I wondered just how much one could earn from a performance like that? 50euro? 100 euro? More? Not bad for an hours work. It certainly beats the conversion rate of musicians playing the background. Everyone needs to make a buck, preferably doing something you love. Something I am learning from.

Another character you fill find trying to make a buck is the customary bottle collector. For those not familiar, a bit of backgroun: Well known for its recycling system, Berlin operates on a Pfand system whereby the purchase of every bottle or can includes a deposit ranging from 8-25c, which you receive when you return the bottles to be recycled. When drinking at home, most people will return their bottles and pick-up a small credit with which they can buy perhaps another drink, however with such large amounts of beers and other drinks being consumed in public parks, the perfect opportunity presents itself for those willing to collect empty bottles and cans and make some money.

Not glamorous work, or incredibly profitable, but it does provide a ready-made opportunity for those without work to earn themselves a bit of money (and not have to beg). The more people drink, the more opportunity for these people and in the process the parks remain free of empty bottles. A unique and efficient system and undoubtedly one that is certain to introduce you to some characters. Namely the shirtless elderly gentleman from yesterday hobbling around the hill collecting bottles whilst also offering to give water in exchange for empty bottles. Perhaps a noble pursuit providing an incentive, but from a shirtless (and later pantless) man with nipples resembling those of a lactating cow, not such an appealing offer.  Something I will not soon forget, no matter how much I try.

Berlin thus far has proved to be the city I always believed it could be. Since coming in December and experiencing 30 odd days of grey and cold, feeling mostly like a tourist, I have since begun to feel somewhat at home in this city. I am getting my bearings, improving my grasp on the language and in general enjoying the lifestyle it offers. As perhaps a complete antithesis to the rest of Germany, Berlin represents a relaxed and liberal attitude to life whilst still maintaining some inherently German characteristics. It is a unique and interesting city, one of which I am only just beginning to discover.

Til next time.

Adrian

My new wheels. Bad Ass.

After a grand total of 36+ hours travel I finally arrived in Berlin. Despite the epic journey, jet lag has almost been defeated through a combination of beer, food, power naps and general awesomeness.

When I arrived on Wednesday, the weather teased me with a glimpse of sun, shining an unfamiliar light on this city I have only ever seen cloaked in grey. It looked beautiful, warm and inviting. Unfortunately it didn’t last and the clouds have since returned. No matter, it will soon be gone, mark my words. When the sun begins shining, I am certain I will fall in love with this city. There are so many restaurants, cafes and bars which demand exploring.

I am also now one step closer to being a Berliner, being the official owner of a bad ass bike to ride around town. It got its first use last night as I rode to get pizza with Wiebke on the back.

I begin my German course next Monday and after checking out the campus today, am very excited for what is to come. It looks like a proper school and soon enough I will be speaking Deutsch (at least enough to get by).

I will also soon begin my Cafe Stories series and write about what I see, but for now consider this an introduction, a means of setting the scene for what is to come.

Life begins.

- Adikkal

46 Days from now I will be in Berlin.

I will finally shake the crippling shackles of an uninspiring job in an industry I care little about and spread my wings in a foreign land.

I feel on the verge of something special. There are obvious reasons that have brought me to where I am, but it is the other more subtle opportunities which continue to capture my imagination. One of my favourite quotes is “The Purpose of Life is a Life of Purpose” and it is that purpose I am to fulfill.

As I land and get settled, I plan on beginning my blog again. This time however, I will avoid the usual self indulgence and reignite my passion for writing. Too often have I concerned myself with my own goings on, my own emotions, my own development and my own problems - this self obsession with self expression leads to self depression.

People and places all have back stories that reveal themselves to you if only you observe. Often we are too indulged in our own affairs to even see it. It took one evening alone in a cafe in Berlin last December to awaken this idea within me. This is what inspired me to write again, so it’s only fitting I share what I wrote.

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Tuesday 13th December, 2011

Outside it is wet, cold and for lack of a better term, miserable. Inside, the flicker of candle light dances over cheap wooden furniture as a friendly Turkish bar maid busily takes care of a small handful of customers who find refuge from the weather in this quaint Cafe bar in Kreuzberg, Berlin. I am one of those customers.

The smooth sounds of jazz plays in the background. As the double bass lazily waltzes through a rendition “Jingle Bells” , it strikes me how much the music binds us all into this cosy atmosphere. Ahead of me, several tables across sits a young woman with dark brown hair. She periodically gazes out the window, one hand to her chin as the other elegantly twirls a pen around her slender fingers. As she gazes, inspiration strikes and pen meets page in a flurry of activity before once again coming to a halt. Such is the creative process.

She sips the remainder of her cappuccino, puts the end of her pen to her lower lip and stares at the page in concentration. Waiting for that moment to strike. Waiting for the doors of creativity to once again unlock and allow the ideas to flow. Her creative endeavours continue, as do mine.In fact, it was her who inspired me to put down my book and put pen to page; to go from reader to creator. My anonymous German muse.

Behind my muse sits another woman. She is in her late 20’s to early 30’s with round cheeks, big eyes and in my line of sight, appears to be engaging in a spirited conversation with no-one. I chuckle to myself as I contemplate momentarily if perhaps she has misplaced her sanity, but then think better of it and realise her companion is hidden by a pillar in front of me. Shame, it would’ve made a better story if he weren’t there. The conversation evolves from spirited to serious and she looks on pensively, thoroughly engaged.

My attention is drawn back to my brunette muse who has since paid her bill. She carefully packs up her things, slides into her black coat and grey beanie and walks past me into the cold wet afternoon, never to be seen again. Never to know how she inspired me.

As she leaves I am reminded of the beauty found in the simpler moments in life.

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This is to be the first in what I hope to be many similar encounters as I frequent many cafes and parks in Berlin, writing about what I see.

Bis Dann..

Adrian