Clarkey Bear to the temporary insufficient rescue!

The First Place We Could Find

(Where I lived after these things happened)

Disclaimer: All characters and events below are exaggerated for the purpose of (my) entertainment.

On Monday 25^th July Eva came home from work, threw her bag down violently on the floor and burst into tears and screamed ‘I have to leave this torturous place!’. As she pulled out large clumps of hair she sobbed ‘I’m loosing my mind! The stress is too much!’

Not wanting to reveal my secret alter-ego as the international Clarkey Bear of intrigue and mystery, I rushed into my bedroom, did that superman thing where I rip all my clothes off and am still wearing some sort of uniform which I imagine know to look something like this:

Then I opened a new tab at superhero speed (in Google Chrome, the search engine of superheroes) and found exactly what we needed. A short term let in Prenzlauerberg! It was available in a week and had two rooms, plus it would only cost us 250 euros each for the whole month. I would have rushed to tell Eva about it immediately, but remembering using my super intelligence that my disguise must not be foiled I changed back into regular person clothes. It took quite a long time actually. And I fell over.

Hufelandstraβe

Eva telephoned the number at the bottom of the advert and before you can say ‘Hi, my name is Eva and I’m calling about the advert you placed online’ (in German), and then write down the details and get a bus and a tram across the city, we were looking around the flat. It was an incredibly cute little flat which the current tenant had been living in for three years. The flat itself was nice enough, but the street is beautiful, wide, cobbled and lined with trees. Restaurants, cafes and second hand shops spilling quirky chairs and tables onto the pavement, tall square apartment blocks above them - similar enough to create a symmetry, but each adorned with a different pattern of balconies, flowers, carvings. Prenzlauerberg is the reason I fell in love with Berlin, and two years later it still looks pretty damn good. (Obviously my photos don't)

It's a street of Kings and less well known superheroes, and I'm sitting in it right now, writing this in a cafe.

The Second Place I Ever Lived in Berlin

In Berlin, you sublet your apartment out all the time to anyone who wants it. If you’re moving somewhere else, you sublet your apartment. If you’re going abroad to study for a few months, you sublet it. If you’re going on holiday for a few weeks, you sublet it. If you’re probably going to be out clubbing until 5 or 6am you give your keys to a stranger on the street so that they… okay, not quite that. Most short-term sublets seem to happen when someone is going abroad/to another part of the country to live for a short period of time – which is great because you’re guaranteed furniture, internet, maybe a TV and probably somewhere that looks pretty good too.

This was not most sublets. In this case the current tenant was ending her lease and moving somewhere new and taking all of her things from the apartment. ALL OF HER THINGS. Obviously this included the sink from the kitchen. Yes, yes, the sink from the kitchen.

Yes, quite. My bed was on the floor. There was a pleasant desk however which looked out onto a courtyard. I could sit there searching for jobs and listening to the beautiful piano music that echoed around the building - one tenant seemed to love playing the soundtrack from 'Amelie', and it made me feel as though I was in a foreign film about a struggling superhero trying to make it in Berlin.

One day, out of nowhere, the soundtrack changed to distressing screams. At first I thought a baby was crying, or that a couple was fighting, but they would last four or five hours at a time and came from only one, adult voice. I never did find out what happened to this wailing neighbour, but after four days she went quiet. I did, however, telephone the police and alert them to her apparent distress. I used excellent phrases such as 'There is a woman who has been screaming, seit, vielleicht, vier Tage'. Well I guess it beats using no German at all?

Still, I think Eva and I agreed that external crazy person for a couple of days beat internal crazy person for two months. And the furnishings just made us feel like struggling artists living in a squat. Albeit a squat we had to pay for.

It's a Wonderful Life

On Tuesday

I got up from my mattress on the floor of our squat-like apartment, dressed and got all of my things ready to go to work. My little holiday felt like it was over before it even started and suddenly I was awake again at 8.00am and waiting for a tram. The tram, however, didn’t arrive, and after twenty minutes watching more and more ambulances drive up the road to where I suppose it must have stopped, I walked to another tram station, knowing I’d be late for work.

On the train I encountered the second ticket inspector I ever saw in Berlin and had to pay the fine on the spot for riding without a ticket as I realised that, as well as some unvalidated tickets, I had left my keys at home.

I got to work and aside from the fact that I had to borrow someone else’s keys to lock up everything went relatively well. It was nice to see the children again, although the twins were at home. I was due to finish when the KiTa closed at 5.30 and I was waiting with two brothers whose mother always waits until the last moment to collect them. The woman who interviewed me finished a meeting in the next building and came over to me and explained ‘I don’t want you to be worried, but someone it coming in tomorrow to see if they want your job’.

As things you can say to someone go, that’s pretty worrying. Especially when they finally found a job in Berlin, moved a load more of their stuff over from England, agreed to let an apartment for the next three months and booked for various guests including their family to visit them.

I called my Mum and she reassured me it would all work out for the best. ‘Helen, in a few months when you have a much better job you’ll be glad this happened.’

On Wednesday

I was placed in the impossibly awkward situation of showing someone around and explaining to them where things go and which twin is which while wondering what on earth was going on. My colleague, who I work with everyday, was placed in the impossibly awkward situation of having to explain to me why I was being fired because my boss didn’t want to have that awkward conversation with me.

It turns out my boss had been telling everyone I work with, and the parents of the children, that I was qualified in child development or something along those lines, and had suddenly found out that I’d been lying to her. Maybe she’d always been looking at that copy of my CV and degree certificate I gave her from a really long distance and finally got close enough to read them.

At midday my colleague asked what I needed from my boss and I explained that if I was having my contract terminated I needed it in writing. I got the letter hand delivered about ten minutes later.

I don’t so much mind about the work itself. As much as I was enjoying it, it’s hardly as though it was my dream job. And it’s a long commute. And at least it gave me the chance to stay in Berlin a little longer and earn some euros for the first time in my life. But I feel really sad about leaving the children. When I picked up one of the twins to carry him into the other room he gave me a little kiss on the cheek and then looked in the other direction as though he was pretending it wasn’t him.

I went home and moved all of my things into the new apartment which I will move into on Sunday. Then I went back and slept in the empty apartment we were leaving and sort of felt like everything in Berlin was falling away from me all of a sudden.

I phoned my Mum and she enthused about my new apartment and how great it would finally be to have my own place.

On Thursday

I left work and went to Sophie’s with the rest of my belongings. I have a two week notice period to work out and I actually didn’t feel too bad at work. The mother of the twins mentioned to my colleague that she needed some help with childcare and took my number and I started to feel like things might work out for the best. If not with that, then with something else.

I travelled later in the evening to the new apartment to exchange money for keys, until I found that I didn’t have the means by which to get any money from the bank. I bought a top-up voucher for my phone and waited and waited until I could call my parents, but the credit never loaded. Eventually I turned up at the apartment without the money and with no way of contacting anyone to help me out. Thankfully the girl whose apartment I am subletting was really supportive and rescheduled to Saturday.

On Thursday night my throat was painful and I couldn’t sleep. Then…

On Friday

I woke up feeling awful again and again, at 2am, at 4am, at 6am. Eventually at 7.30, when the KiTa opened, I called and told them I wouldn’t be coming in. They told me I would need a doctors certificate to support that I was unwell. That's great, but I don’t have a doctor in Berlin and I haven’t finalised the details of my health insurance. I travelled for just under an hour to work, where they refused to let me in because they didn’t want to catch whatever I had. They explained where I could find a doctor nearby. I went to the doctor who told me I had a throat or maybe chest infection and that I would need a course of antibiotics. She signed me off work for the rest of Friday and Monday.

I tried later that evening to withdraw money and found that my card was denied. I couldn’t reach any of my money and I was so panicked that I wouldn’t be able to get to it for Saturday.

I called my Mum and she came up with a whole host of different ways I could withdraw money, people my Dad could transfer money to, and then spent some time on the phone to my bank where she obtained a number I could call for free from Berlin to discuss the issue.

This week

I really wish I had my own apartment to go back to this week and a bed to sleep in. I wish I still had a job, and I wish I had my own money. I wish I hadn't been stopped by a ticket inspector or caught the flu. But until those things sort themselves out I'm fortunate enough to have the best parents. I know when I feel like I want to give up on Berlin and on myself they’ll help me find the strength to keep on trying. And if Berlin gives up on me, they never will.

Berlin Doesn't Know How It Feels About You Yet

“Berlin loves you”. It’s written on all these posters and bags you see around markets and probably in some street art on a trendy and yet derelict building in Kreuzberg. It’s a common topic of conversation between me and my flatmate who believes Berlin hates her.

Berlin, to be honest, like most cities, is pretty non-committal with it’s affections. Sometimes it gives you a free drink in a bar because you won the drink raffle. Sometimes it times things perfectly so you have to wait 15 minutes at every interchange for the uBahn. It would probably be fairer to say: “Berlin probably likes you, but it’s not really sure where this is going long term and just wants to keep things casual for the time being”. But the truth doesn’t fit on a t-shirt. (I'm pretty tempted to put that on a t-shirt)

My first ever ‘home’ in Berlin

(and how I came to live there)

On my second night in Berlin the winds of awesome blew in my direction and introduced me to Eva who happened to be stopping by at my hostel. After meeting for our drunken night of karaoke she invited me to stay in her spare room for a week, a week turned into a month, and a month turned into ‘please don’t leave Helen, my other flatmate is a psychopath’.

For the first month it was the perfect arrival in Berlin situation. I had a small room in this three room flat which had a single bed, a small table, and of course a beautiful wall hanging:

My window opened on to a balcony where Eva and I would sit most evenings and eat or have a glass of wine. There was a pizza take away at one end of the road, a supermarket around the corner, and an ice cream shop a few doors down. It was a twenty five minute walk from the language course I was taking. It had a fully equiped kitchen where we baked many cakes. It was two minutes from the uBahn and ten minutes from a busy square with lots of bars and restaurants which hosted a market on Sundays. There were the best dürüm doners in Berlin which the friendly vendors allowed me to ruin with cheese. And after a month of living in the flat with Eva her flatmate Andrea came back from a trip back home to Guatemala to reveal to me that the flat came with a completely free of charge angry, crazy and irrational flatmate.

My only role in the increasingly tense and volatile relationship between Eva and her flatmate was sitting in my room turning up my music like a child listening to her parents screaming in the next room. To be fair it was only my estranged Guatemalan parent who would do the shouting while my Australian parent tried to remain calm and reasonable. But it’s like that saying: "You can’t argue with completely insane people, because they’ll bring you down to their level and beat you by screaming in your face ‘you used my towel! That is so disgusting Eva! That makes me want to vomit!’."

For the most part Andrea avoided us, and we avoided her, and aside from the occasional fight the situation was manageable, principally because Eva had agreed to move out at some point.

Then, while clearing out some junkmail from facebook, Eva discovered a beautiful message from Andrea’s boyfriend. Because this lovely young man clearly has some issues I have edited his message to make it a little more PG-13, but the message contained such delights as:

“Hey Eva you fat truck, don’t ever touch Andrea again! if you mess with her you will mess with me, and I will make you regret it when I come next time to Berlin!”

And the classic:

“one thing you can think about till I’m back in Berlin...how will you ever get a boyfriend? your fat, your pretty dirty and you have no inner values.”

Naturally Eva did start to worry about finding a boyfriend. After all she was now 25 years old and still unwed! And how kind of this gentleman to point out her flaw so that she might set about improving herself. And then she suddenly, instantly recalled that it was not in fact the 1900s!

Now I can see where this guy was coming from. Obviously Eva had overstepped the line by attempting to reason with his girlfriend and it only seems fair to call her the worst thing he could imagine… which is apparently fat. Especially appropriate given that Eva and Andrea used to share clothes being, er, the same size. And it’s only logical he should ask her to worry about her future romantic prospects given that the wrong sort of men do tend to hit on her. In fact, just one wrong sort of man. And that would be him, six months previously.

I mean, sarcasm aside, I do not understand who these people are or where they come from. Everyone loves a little light-hearted misogyny, but come on? Eva decided enough was enough and that it was time to pack up all our troubles and the seven outfits I brought to Berlin, and move to the first place we could find...

To be continued J

Jobservations

Every day has been pretty much the same. I start up my computer (actually I probably wake it up from sleep mode after leaving it on all night, because I like to murder the environment one penguin at a time). I open the internet (when I go away it’s not there right?) and I visit a few different websites. These are websites where people advertise jobs for idiots who moved to Germany without speaking German. Now it seems there are quite a few of these idiots, and I’ve been surprised to find that a lot of people are in the same boat as me here in Berlin. You know, the boat with a giant hole in the bottom of unemployment and poor language skills. The jobs are few and far between, especially those relevant to any experience I have, and the applicants are many.

Many years from now the history books will recount how before 2005 you could basically walk out of the front door clothed and get a job. That was probably all it took I reckon, the ability to dress yourself. Before I finished my degree or had any real work experience the attractive and well-paid temporary assignments would fight over me. They wanted a little summer fling with me even though they knew it would never last. Five years later and back in the same place only poorly-paid simple jobs that you had to catch a bus to get to wanted me, and even they were relatively non-commital. I’m going to say it, and I don’t want to shock or alarm anyone into austerity, but I think there might be some sort of recession…

It’s the same in Germany, especially Berlin. So it’s an especially intelligent and well-informed decision to move here at this time.

Then there were those brilliant days when a job appeared on one of these internet pages and the job description would read: Seeking one Helen. Must have the skills of a Helen and be qualified as Helen is to do things Helen would be awesome at doing.

And I would look at it for a while and I think, 'you know what? I am a Helen! I could be awesome at that job!'

I start writing my application explaining how awesome I would be imagining myself in their awesome offices with my awesome swivel chair and my awesome clicky pen with their brand logo on. I start imagining the awesome ideas I’ll come up with and the awesome insight I’ll have into the projects they're working on. I think about the awesome analysis I’ll perform on, er, things that need to be analysed, like awesome spreadsheets. I think about the awesome meetings I’ll attend and the awesome suggestions I’ll make and then I right click the word ‘awesome’ and ‘find synonyms’.

And then when I've fallen a little bit in love with the idea of doing whatever job I'm applying for I send off the application and promptly… wait. And wait. And then wait a bit more. And eventually I hear nothing and assume they’ve made the terrible decision of not wanting to hire me and thus improve their lives forever by working with me. Or occasionally they invite me to interview.

Now interviews are great when you moved to Berlin with six outfits because you have absolutely no idea what to wear. They tend to be scheduled on the hottest days of the year too in order that I can arrive and immediately clarify my competency at sweating all over an office. Interviews are scary enough as it is. At my first interview here in Berlin the first question was ‘so, what would you bring to this role and our company and how in return would we help you develop professionally, on an average day?’ That was nice and petrifying. It’s even better when all the while you know your entire future hinges on success. Your right to remain in the country you love. The possibility to continue seeing the people you just made friends with. The plans you spent the last year making and putting into effect…

Of course, I didn’t write about this before because it’s… well… it’s a bit depressing isn’t it? Here sits the heroine of this story who I know you’ve been rooting for from the outset (if only to keep her out of your country) and it’s looking pretty bleak all things considered.

Well – unexpected plot twist! I have a job.

Starting next Monday I will be working in a… wait for it… Kindergarten. With little babies. Naturally. While I’m not really sure how this happened as it’s pretty much the last thing I saw myself doing, I’m very much looking forward to it, and of course, to chronicling my adventures here. While teaching them to speak perfect English like what I do, it would be pretty awesome if they learnt to laugh like me.

In which Helen goes to the cinema

Last weekend I suddenly had the slightly scary thought that I might have to head to the cinema alone to see the new Harry Potter film just like a paedophile might. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any qualms about going to the cinema alone – it’s not really a social activity to be honest. I don't usually invite my friends over and suggest we sit in the dark and not interact for a couple of hours. But when there’s a film like this you want to share in the excitement with people who understand.

There is a (generally) wonderful website called Toy Town Germany. I mentioned this to you in my F-you post briefly, but you probably stopped paying attention. Basically it’s a website run by ex-pats living in Germany giving a whole host of advice about moving here, links to English speaking jobs and a forum where people can arrange to socialise, ask questions about their experiences, and get irrationally angry at people they have never met. I debated making a post on their Berlin forum asking whether anyone wanted to go and watch the film, but decided that since it was late I should wait until the next day… and then I forgot about it.

Pensieve Sequence (or ‘flashback’)

I met Jason through the 'new to Berlin' section of the forum, and we went for a coffee. Afterwards he convinced me we should head to the weekly Toy Town meet-up which is held each Thursday and invites anyone and everyone to come and meet... well, each other.

The first one we attended was held in Prenzlauer Berg (P-berg), which is the most gentrified district of Berlin, full of coffee shops and amazing restaurants. I get the impression that it used to be the social hub – the delinquent child who was staying out late and experimenting with music and drugs, but now it seems to have decided to grow up, get married and raise a lot of young families. However, it’s pretty important to note that Berlin is a little like Neverland, not because Michael Jackson abused a child here (although he did hang his baby off the balcony by the Brandenburg Gate), but because nobody really grows up. A Berliner’s version of settling down is just working a little bit harder in between playing in a band, or constructing an art project, or raising a child who has a babysitter once a week so you can still attend an alternative night club. So I guess you can never write off a Berliner, and you can’t write off P-berg. 

This social was held in a charming little café/bar with owners who happily served drinks until the sun came up the next morning, and I met a lot of interesting* people including many Americans and, as is mandatory when talking to Americans, discussed a lot of conspiracy theories.

Almost two months on and I have returned several times to this weekly event, always held in a different area of Berlin, and in the process I have slowly picked up a excellent supporting cast for my Berlin adventure. (I get to be the main character because this is my blog.)

There is Jason, an American man, who is obviously gay because he’s friends with me, and it doesn’t matter where I go or how much I move to Europe, some things never change. He has a pretty awesome sense of humour and takes amazing photographs, which is useful, because I don't - here is his Berlin Gallery. Look at it. Look at it now! Oh wait, read the rest of this first since you're enjoying it so much.

 

There is Nicole who I spoke to for a couple of hours before realising she was in fact a German masquerading as an ex-pat. She has the convincing disguise of an Irish accent, and she likes hanging out with English speaking people because she lived for five years in Cork and apparently didn’t get enough of it. She is especially useful for clarifying German words and phrases for us, and then laughing when we get German horrendously wrong. (Note to self: take some pictures with Nicole in!)

And there is Jess who I accosted as she was attempting to leave. I couldn’t really remember why, or what we’d talked about, but I knew I’d persuaded her to meet me at Mauerpark the following Sunday. We went, she found the market hilarious, the karaoke entertaining and the company absolutely terrific so the rest is history. Very recent history. She is in Berlin for three months writing a thesis on cultural regeneration, which means she has to hang out in art galleries and trendy bars, and she should definitely stay forever! 

So on Tuesday our little crew (including Sophie and Eva) gathered to join Toy Town people in their regulars drinking session on a Tuesday on Wiener Strasse. We had been there for some time when Nicole turned to Jason and I and asked ‘so, are we going to arrange and to see the new Harry Potter film?’. I was very excited by this. hear reports that I yelled ‘I love you!’ loud enough to shut everyone else in the bar up, which sounds pretty plausible. Jason and Nicole are officially awesome enough to have read the Harry Potter books, so we made plans to go and see the final film.

We saw the film in the only cinema in Berlin which is showing the original version because Germans like to dub films. I’m not a fan of dubbing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Germans should all learn English so that they can get better jobs and communicate internationally (although they probably should), but why on earth would you want to watch a film which is has been dubbed? I couldn’t even stream all those episodes of Heroes where the sound went out of sync because it drove me insane that their mouths were moving at a different time to the sounds I could hear. And I can’t imagine a version of Amelie where Audrey Tautou isn’t delivering the lines!


When actors deliver a performance a huge part of that is how they speak, the way Emma Watson has the same intonation for every line, the way Ralph Fiennes does weird voice like he's a dying 60-year old. Acting is probably 80% vocal. Understanding people is the same in fact. Think about it this way: you wouldn't want to have a nice chat with my beautiful face without hearing my beautiful voice too now would you?

(Harry Potter und die Heiligtümer des Todes)

Also, you know how in a lot of movies it can get pretty intense? This movie was in 3D actually, so I was right there, in the moment, flying around Hogwarts, zooming in on different fight sequences in the battle scene, starting to get a bit misty-eyed when Fred and George have a little joke about everything being fine. Voldemort has just made some sort of public announcement (he has some pretty crazy electronics wired directly to people’s minds, it’s almost like magic) and then as you start to wonder what Harry will do next…

The film cuts out, the lights come up and everyone starts getting up. Has there been some sort of power shortage? Is it all some money spinner by Warner Brothers in preparation for making a Part 3? No. In their infinite wisdom Germans apparently decided what you really need in the middle of a film is a short break. You know, to stretch your legs, buy more popcorn and forget what’s going on in the movie. Of course, it's not all bad, because it did provide the people next to me an excellent opportunity to arrive late twice, squeezing past me while the film was running twice.

Anyway, you'll be pleased to know that it all pretty much works out and the film ends with a certain finality that the following sentence fails to provide for this blog entry. Spoiler for the future, in 19 years time no one looks any older than they do now - so I'm looking forward to that.

Meet my friends, Sophie and Eva

Sophie

So, there’s this girl (woman? Old woman?) I know from back in the Londontown called Sophie and, well, in all honesty I think she’s stalking me. I mean, we know each other pretty well, but unlike my other friends she has followed me all the way to Berlin*.

She has kept her FLAJ situation pretty tidy, which it actually turns out is not the norm for ex-pats out here. Most people I know are looking for jobs or working somewhere they hate to tide them over, and most people moved here quite whimsically too. However, Sophie has a proper job here which she got before moving over, a flat of her very own in the most amazing location in the heart of Kreuzberg which only took two days of searching to find, a much better grasp of the German language (she is three levels above me in German class) and also this amazing friend called Helen to entertain her here.

She arrived last Sunday and since then we have eaten most of Berlin, and some of Hamburg together. This is less good for my dwindling bank balance and growing waistline, but has been much fun nonetheless.

Sophie is especially awesome at:

·        playing stupid games (my favourite of late is coming up with a word and then singing all of the songs with that word in)

·        gossiping (especially about menfolk)

·        meeting people

·        drinking Prosecco from a can

·        eating exceptionally healthy foodstuffs (and giving me all of the non-healthy ones)

·        being indecisive about restaurant a bar choices

·        travelling all over the world

·        making me practice German

·        having hilarious conversations

·        wearing awesome skirts from markets

She is marginally older than I am and really enjoys it when I speak about this. Oh and also she is sehr schön:

Eva

There is also a girl I know here in Berlintown called Eva. She is extraordinarily friendly and kind and has extended her kindnesses to allow me to sleep in her spare room which has aided my whole apartment dilemma no end.

She comes from that strange like-Britain-but-far-less-good place called Australia and is in Berlin after finishing University. She is doing an internship ('Praktikum') here in Berlin, or as I like to call it, Berlinternshipping. This is an excellent scheme in Germany where companies hire graduates for real jobs but pay them a salary more appropriate for a pretend job. Everyone seems to be expected to suffer through this phase of employment before finding a more suitable job. Eva earns an amazing 80 cents per hour.

While she is here she is also writing a book. I understand this to be some primitive form of a blog, typically involving more paper**, and I cannot wait to it read upon its completion. She is also studying German, which she has picked up in impressive time given that she started learning in November and is certainly good enough to get by and express herself with German speaking friends. (She is five classes above me)

I have discovered Eva is awesome at:

• speaking German
• karaoking
• suggesting awesome weekend trips to Hamburg
• ordering pizza
• knowing things about the Beatles
• meeting people
• cooking excellent meals
• buying funky second-hand clothing (a must in Berlin)
• getting up early in the morning (and sleeping at times more customary for a normal person)
• writing mean songs on the ukulele (but only about mean people who totally deserve it)
• putting up with me blowing my nose as though it’s a trumpet

This is a picture from our trip to Hamburg in which Eva was so excited about the Beatles she became all of them at once:

So now you know these people you have friends in Berlin too. Unless they don’t like you. But that's pretty unlikely, as they like me J

Hello with the pudding

You’ve never been to Berlin? Seriously? Well, you should come, I heard this blogger you like lives there. But in the meantime let me tell you some of the things I have experienced so you can imagine not only that you are here, but more importantly that you are in my mind. And be honest with yourselves, that’s the dream really isn’t it?

U-bahn

In Berlin, you can get around using the U-bahn (ooh-baan). This is like the Tube, only with no barriers, and very few people checking to see if you have tickets. To translate this into London terms, it’s the 29 bus. A guy in my German class from Malta was talking to me about London and he actually asked “oh, but what is up with the barriers they have on the underground?! It’s like your government doesn’t trust you to buy tickets!”… … …

It's also worth noting that you are not only allowed to drink beer on the U-bahn, you are expected to. If you don't like beer you can buy Prosecco in cans.

Jeden Sontag

Every Sunday, just like in England, bells ring all around the city from various locations. In England this means you should get up and go to church (I think, I used to sleep through it). In Berlin this means you should get up and go to Mauerpark. Sure, if you are of a religious persuasion you could go to church too, but then you might not get exactly what you want from Mauerpark.

Mauerpark is a big open-air market which sells everything in the world. As an example, here are some things you could buy in Mauerpark:

• A dress.
• A bike.
• A cuddly toy.
• A ring that turns your finger green.
• A electronic turkey carving knife.
• An ill-fitting hat.
• A massive table-top lighter in the shape of a duck
• A large wooden chest completely covered in fake hair (F-yeah, chest hair!)
• An entire box full of half-ruined black and white photographs of people you have never met.
• And of course, because you’ll forever be wanting otherwise, a pair of sunglasses with a used teabag hanging from one side.

Right next to the market, around 2pm, you can settle down at the little half-ampthitheatre set into the edge of a slope and watch karaoke. You could also perform in the karaoke if previous karaoke endeavours haven’t taught you it would be a bad idea. But you would probably be singing to around 500 people give or take. So it’s not for the timid.

Grafitti

Is everywhere. In most places it's like having things decorated for free, and for the most part it's very inspirational and creative.

Dins

A friend of mine asked me how long I thought it would take to eat at all the restaurants in Berlin. And we concluded that even if you set a certain reasonably high standard for all the meals you consumed, it would easily take four or five years to work your way round. I have been for, among others, awesome multicoloured Chinese dumplings, €3 per plate and share it all Vietnamese and eat it on a bridge and then dream of it all week Pizza. There is also a lot of ice cream, everywhere. You’re never more than 500m from ice cream... perhaps. Or maybe I’m never more than 500m from ice cream? Which means you’re never more than 1km from me?!

Milk

There is only one common size of milk. You can buy 1 litre of milk or 1 litre of milk.

Festival

There is always a festival, celebration or otherwise random artistic sort of party happening in Berlin. Sometimes it’s some live music happening on the fake beach on the River Spree. Sometimes it’s a parade which is finishing as you arrive, so you sit on the street and listen to some bucket drummers.

Sometimes it’s kicking off in the basement of an old brewery where a group of artists have created a space to question our notion of art. What is art? Is it a luxury or a human right? Who decides when it’s good and where do the people who make bad art find the time and money anyhow?

We watched some women dressed as prostitutes perform live improv in a street window. We went into a room where paper mache torsos with lights inside where held up like puppets by giant cogs, and where you could press buttons to make them move, and then, just behind them, was a live band. We went to the old brewery and there, in the basement, was a wall on which you could use your shadow to direct the downward flow of imaginary water. We sat in a make-shift bar which reminded us of a 1920s speak-easy and drank beer while watching a 30-minute German and Italian version of Madame Butterfly.

Parklife

Like inner peace and nirvana and all of that, Berliners are always trying to achieve that ultimate state of being in the park. They take barbeques, cook meat, eat cakes (sometimes that Helen has baked), and they never forget to drink beer. They sit, they chat, they watch the rest of Berlin sitting there too. When the time for being in the park has ended, they dream about it all day until they can again return there.

Pudding

Germans love pudding. And I mean, what Americans call pudding. Plastic pots filled with flavoured cream. All over the supermarket. Walls of it. Love it.

Letter to potential flatmates

Dear <<Person with advert for flatshare>>,

Hi! I just read your advert for a flatshare in <<insert district of Berlin>>. I love <<that district of Berlin>>! I apologise for writing to you in English when clearly we are speaking about a flat in the capital of Germany, but what can you do? I don’t even speak German! But I am learning very slowly.

I suppose I should write a little bit about myself. I find this hard because I don’t know what to say or as it happens, how to say it! Reading broken English translations of adverts in German confuses me and stops English speaking to me being natural – you know? I have with many other English people discussed this and it seems often to be a problem – yes!?

So, about me. Well I am pretty clean. I like to clean things sporadically rather than to a specific schedule. I am, however, pretty untidy. I like to give a flat that wonderful lived in feel with papers on the table, clothes strewn over furniture, bags on the floor of every room and make up on the couch. In fact, speaking of make-up, I love make up. I like to apply it in every room, and will probably relocate household mirrors to facilitate this. I often find I stain the sofa/bed/worksurface with make up and, depending on the quality of the product, it can be difficult to remove!

I like to eat cereal. I like to eat it as soon as I wake up and then also, constantly throughout the day. Any cereal is good and I will of course provide this for the flat. If there is any available when you are in the kitchen you may help yourself, but this is unlikely as I will probably have eaten it all. This also means I always buy milk.

In terms of clothing I mainly wear one dressing gown. It is pink with little hearts on and if I forget to wear undearwear I cannot guarantee that I won’t flash you.

I like the social aspect of a flatshare as I can be pretty talkative. When you get in and want to chill out and watch TV I will be there to ask you inane questions about your day and will take no social cue from your one-word answers.

On an average day I like to wake up around midday, potentially later, somewhat irrelevant of whether I have a job which starts earlier than this. When I am not working I tend to position myself somewhere in the living room, maybe in front of the television, in the dressing gown, with the cereal, and then ignore the television and watch something on my laptop. You might think I could do this in my own room, but if I did, how would I annoy you with inane questions as soon as you walk in through the door?

I like to bake cakes and cookies. They taste good when they are finished. However, the specific recipe I follow includes steps such as:

·        lightly dust the living room floor with a layer of flour

·        whisk violently until tables and workstations are coated in cake mixture.

So! If you like the sound of all this you should get in touch! My German number is <<number>> and I am available all of the time to come and look around your flat, laugh awkwardly throughout the whole appointment in the hope that this will somehow endear you to me and respond to your questions in broken English as though I’m patronising you!

See you soon!!

Helen

Ich bin allergisch gegen Polen

Two bad things that can happen when you move to a new country:

One: Your laptop cable can break. Now, perhaps you have a more appropriate brand of laptop, and you might be able to find a charger. But I don’t. I have a Dell which works with no ‘universal’ chargers. So I became isolated from the world. From my friends. From job applications and adverts for flatshares. I fell into a dark pit of despair and all I could do to combat my inevitable demise was drink and meet people and explore Berlin!

Which is awesome.

Eventually my father (happy father's day!) posted me a replacement charger. I remembered I really needed to write a blog entry because it’s somewhat overdue, but instead I put that off and continued with the awesomeness. What can I do? It’s in my blood now. Along with the alcohol.

Two: Pollens. There are many pollens in Berlin and none of them are particularly fond of me. Or maybe that’s unfair. They have, perhaps, made the greatest effort of all things in Berlin to involve themselves in my life. They fly into my nostrils and into my eyes with their friendship assault and I repeatedly reject them. Poor pollens.

These things might be, er, sort of issues. But without a doubt the thing I’m finding hardest in Berlin is that everyone here insists on speaking to each other in some funny language which I don’t completely understand. Sure, some of it sounds similar to how normal people talk, but for the most part it’s pretty incomprehensible. I don’t know where they get it from, must be some sort of continental thing.

Essentially it makes it difficult to do daily tasks like purchase food at the supermarket, order food in a restaurant, or buy ice cream at an ice cream parlour. Conscious of not wanting to be one of those offensive English speakers who talks loudly and slowly or just points at things they want and mumbles I seem to have concluded the best policy is never to speak to anyone.

This policy tends to result in me wandering through the streets until there is something I need so much (food, antihistamines, a laptop charger, ice cream) that I’m forced to communicate.

In my limited defence I am currently attending a German class for three hours a day, and this ‘German’ is becoming a little more tangible in my mind as a language. The problem is inside the classroom we’re only asked to say the things which we’ve been taught how to say, and in the real world the requirements are somewhat more far-reaching.

When I was 17 my then boyfriend and I were waiting impatiently in MacDonalds late at night. It was taking that ‘this is not really fast food’ amount of time that’s completely unacceptable because you’re never in MacDonalds for the quality. A man walked in, sauntered over the counter and asked ‘what’s ready?’ The boyfriend turned to me and said ‘that man is my hero’.

As I sit outside Burger King in Merringdamm at 1am realising I haven’t eaten since midday, I turn the phrase over and over in my head in practice, before walking in, shuffling over to the counter, pointing at the nearest picture and mumbling ‘das?’ to which the response is a sigh and a ‘eat in or take away?’

Oh well. I’ll learn.

F' you!

(F is for friends)

Wednesday: The Circus hostel, which we will henceforth refer to as the nice hostel, is located in the centre of Berlin and operates a walking tour every Wednesday around Kreuzberg, where I would like to live. I decided to take the tour and ended up chatting to a few people.

Later that same day I popped downstairs in the nice hostel for a drink before bed (it was not even alcoholic in nature) and got talking to some people while sat around in the foyer. A few more girls came in and joined in the conversation. One of these girls is Eva, who it turns out is not staying in the hostel. She lives in Berlin. In fact she moved to Berlin with no friends, no German, nowhere to live and no job!

Other people do it too!!!

To make her that ounce more crazy, she had never been here before. I still can’t even believe that part. She ordered me to take her number, add her on facebook, and come to a pub quiz with her next week. (I heart pub quiz).

I also met some of the people from the walking tour who invited me to the bar for a drink and we ended up having one of those awesome nights where you drink, discuss politics and then dance like idiots. All in all Wednesday night was awesome. Especially as I’d just popped downstairs for a diet coke.

Friday: Eva text and invited me out for a drink I Neukölln. We met at 7 and went to a bar, and then for pizza. We found another bar and… well…

I have something to confess. It’s one of these things that I probably shouldn’t talk about on the internet where so many people could read about it, but I decided on an oath of honesty when I began this blog. So far I haven’t really had call to talk about anything of this nature…

The other night I went out to a bar, had a few drinks, and, well, to cut to the chase, I sang karaoke.

Like with most people, it all started innocently. Eva wanted to sing a song and so to begin with I was just watching from the sidelines, occassionally cheering and filming the performance with her videophone (she is awesome at karaoke). I, being well aware that I am less good, stayed off stage. Eventually she convinced me to sing a song, and promised me she’d join me on stage when it was my turn. First I was just singing ‘Valerie’ with Eva, but beer flowed and by around midnight I was on stage alone… singing ‘Umberlla’… with a fake Barbadian accent?? (not cool Helen, not cool). I was so awesome that a man gave me a rose mid performance. I’ll ignore the fact that after I was done he came to get it back because it turned out he had stolen it and was in trouble.

Monday: I joined a forum here in Berlin for ex-pats who get confused by Germans and want to rant about it online. Alright, it’s a bit better than that, but apparently people get pretty heated in online debate eh?

Well, I started emailing this guy Jason who had also posted on the ‘newbie’ thread. He’d had some issues with a friend in Berlin who turned out not to be much of a friend at all and was looking to meet people for coffee. Awesome. I like coffee. (Everywhere in Berlin serves latte machiatos. I am in heaven). Eventually, as for two people who have no friends, we seem to be awful busy, we met in Prenzlauer Berg. We went to the cafe-del-Pugador for coffee and wandered into Mitte later for some beers by the river. Between sneezes, as we’re both disagreeing somewhat with Berlin’s pollen, we had a nice chat about Berlin, secret celebrity abortions he found out about in LA and whether or not James Franco can do comedy (he can).

So I guess, for a first week, my first objective isn’t going too badly. Not too badly at all. 

All about my FLAJ

Alright! Calm down! It’s only been a couple of days. There’s no need for all the emails and text messages asking where the next blog post is! I just moved to a new city. I’m very busy, you know, getting lost and, er, sleeping. (Haha, since I ironically wrote this people have commented on facebook)

Seriously though, I think it’s about time I spoke to you about my FLAJ problem. While I’m sure those of you who know me well are intimately aquainted with it, I thought I should document it for posterity. So when I’m in the throes of senile dementia I can look back on all this and think things like ‘wow, this kid needs to improve her grammar’.

So what’s this FLAJ problem? That’s what you’re wondering. That’s pretty much the first thing you ask everyone, I’m sure.

Well, FLAJ is my acronym. Despite being voted ‘Best Memory: Malvern 2011’ I lack the talent of remembering lists. And, well, ‘problems I am bringing to Berlin’ is quite some list. So I created an acronym to help me deal with it.

F is for friends

I have no friends. I mean, I have you guys, obviously, but none of you live here, you idiots. So because all of my friends rudely opted not to live in the same country as me (except Sophie, but I’ll save that for another post), I am a loner. I mean, obviously, it has it’s upsides. Some things are better with just one person… such as monologues.

Objective one: find people. Meet people. Get coffee with people.

L is for Language

Me: ‘I’m moving to Germany’

Anyone else: ‘So, you speak German, yeah?’

Things which have so far confused me: adverts, street signs, grafitti, packaging, men on the u-bahn platform giving me directions, women in the bank giving me directions, the Germans in my hostel room having a long chat…

Things which have so far confused Germans: me.

Objective two: learn more German.

A is for Apartment

Right now I am looking for somewhere to live. A shared flat in Kreuzberg ideally. I’d prefer to live with people who speak English so that I am not living in a permanent state of confusion, but we’ll see what happens to be honest.

Objective Three: find a flatshare.

J is for JOB

No. Not that kind of job (seriously, someone just offered me one in exchange for a cigarette… actually that should be ‘wanted me to offer him one’). But you know, an actual means of earning money, which doesn't involve sexual activity. That, for me, would be the piece of the puzzle that makes this whole thing make sense.

Anyone else: ‘so! You have a job there! That makes sense’.

You know? No. You don’t know. You never moved somewhere where didn’t know anyone, couldn’t speak the language, didn’t have anywhere to live and didn’t have a job.

Objective four: find a job


As a long-ago-ex slowly asked questions about every aspect of my move, I slowly answered and explained ‘I’m not taking any solutions with me to Berlin, only problems’. And he, knowing me well, responded ‘Ah, like the rest of your life then!’

But I would rather think of it as an American (who didn’t know my name, par for the course with travellers, and called me by my place of origin) put it:

‘You’ve got some balls London. You’ve got some balls.’

How to move to Berlin

Lesson: About packing

Firstly, it’s imperative that you do this all the night before. The best method is to have three or four bags available and have no firm decisions about which one it would be best to take. It’s definitely more efficient if, to make the decision, you put all of your things into each one in turn, see how they look, and then tip them all out onto the floor.

Also, make sure that you find the most useful things, things you are likely to want and need upon your arrival, and bury them in the hardest place to find. Make sure that reaching them will involve unpacking everything else you own, and after deciding on the most hidden place promptly forget where it is amidst your things. This will come in useful later.

Lesson: About flying

I think I’m very good at flying. I know where to book my seats so that I sit next to empty ones. I know how to pack sensibly so that the things I need (for a make-over) are easy to reach. I know what to take to entertain myself so that I feel like I’m in my own little mid-air spa, so that I can arrive at my destination impossibly refreshed.

But this is for a holiday. This is not for emigration. For emigration it is important, first of all, to book the cheapest flight imaginable. If you live close to an airport, make sure the flight does not go from that airport, and instead ensure that your parents will have to drive for hours in the middle of the night to drop you off. The night part is important, because this will mean that not only is the time an inconvenience to anyone involved, but you will be at your most tired when you arrive in Berlin.

To cheat the baggage restrictions on your budget airline you must wear as many clothes as possible. I would recommend a vest top, a t-shirt, a cardigan, a jumper, a coat, a pair of leggings and a pair of jeans (but feel free to improvise based on your personal style). This will mean you have to pack fewer things and will also ensure while rushing to your gate you will be able to efficiently build up an initial layer of sweat. This is an important part of arriving at your destination at you most sweaty. On the tightly packed plane you will be able to disturb complete strangers as you uncomfortably manoeuvre to remove and then replace each of these layers. If these strangers speak German it will help you to develop a bizarre case of English Tourette's where you cannot stop saying ‘sorry’ even though you know perfectly well how to say it in German.

Lesson: About The Way

If you have travelled with me, and are Susie, you will already be aware that it’s pretty critical that you make no notes and consult no maps about the location of your hostel. A vague memory or general district will suffice.

The one way in which I am very much like a man (yes, one), is that I always know where I’m going. Even when I don’t. To emulate this, walk with complete confidence to all locations, look perplexed, and then continue to walk. If you are using a map and arrive in the wrong location then the map you have is wrong. If you board a train and it takes you west when you meant to go east then something has gone wrong with the train. You must never ask for directions. If you ask for directions, they have won. (I don’t know who "they" are… maybe the Germans?)

If you see a train, you should board it without trying to ascertain where it is going. Probability consents there is a fifty per cent chance it will take you where you would like to go. Therefore, assuming there are enough connections on your journey, the laws of probability ensure that you will arrive at your destination (they don’t). Helpfully, in Berlin, if your train is going in the wrong direction and you get off, and switch to the opposite platform as any Londoner might, you will be able to watch as the train you left turns around and takes its passengers in the right direction, and your new train takes you further from your destination.

Once you have left the train, at a guesspoint, as you don’t actually know where the hostel is, make sure you walk aimlessly, with conviction. After thirty or so minutes concede that you need some sort of help and consult the completely illegible maps on your amazon kindle. If it is a warm, beautiful day, this whole process will help infinitely with your sweat objective.

Lesson: About the hostel

The Hostel is not as my mother would imagine it, which according to her description is ‘full of homeless people’ (nope, just me). When you arrive a man will explain to you at length that he is always here to help and advise you about Berlin, that there are various walking tours and parties happening in the coming days that you would be welcome to attend. He will tell you where to buy food and drink and what you will get for breakfast (which is included). He will answer any questions you have and explain the mechanics of the funky touch-screen technology which will give you recommendations for where to go and what to see, when. He will do this all while attempting not to be distracted by your profuse sweating. But be proud that the first person to formally welcome you to the city is also the person most aware of this peak in your sweating career.

When he finishes his speech and informs you that you are unable to check in to the room (shower) and have to instead deposit your belongings in a locker in the cellar, you will come to appreciate your packing diligence as you empty all of your worldly possessions across the floor. Just remember to wait until you have repacked them, and, if you can, have left the cellar altogether, to remember any additional items you might need.

Finally, chose a trendy location (it’s pretty easy in Berlin) to set up your Dell laptop, which makes you look extraordinarily chic. Spend approximately twenty minutes trying to figure out how to connect to the internet, and eventually enlist the help of someone who can do it with the utmost ease to ensure you feel as incompetent as possible.

…

All sarcasm aside, I am in Berlin. I am trying to pinpoint any one of the many emotions I feel, but I can’t. Needless to say they are all awesome. Even at my most tired, and most sweaty (it has mainly subsided now), they are awesome. I am actually here and this is actually happening. This must be how people feel when they win Oscars or get elected president and stuff. Hmmm, this must be how people feel when they achieve something?

I know what you’re saying. ‘Helen, you’ve not yet achieved anything, you don’t have a job, you don’t speak German, you don’t have anywhere to live and you don’t know anyone.’

And to you I say ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m in Berlin.’