Farewell

I'm struggling to sit down and put fingers to keyboard (since putting pen to paper is now virtually obsolete) because I'm so bloody restless and I suspect writing anything about Berlin impressions now is bound to sound a bit trite. Apologies for that. I can't guarantee that any of the following will be coherent. I'm at that excruciating stage of slooooowly placing one item after another into a monstrous black suitcase whose contents are mostly strewn across the floor, as they have been for the last week. I've made three piles of clothes: 'definitely taking back', 'unsure', and 'to be donated to charity so that fashion faux pas committed in Berlin will be buried in Berlin'. (For an example of the third category, see previous entry 'Shaking it at salsa' and the photo of my dancing shoes). Luckily for my luggage weight and hopefully the Red Cross, the third category is pretty big.

There have been several small farewell events, all of them lovely and low-key, all of them Last Times and accordingly laden with watery glances, heavy sighs, and clumsy words that spectacularly fail to convey that I'm actually going to miss you very, very much. To the point where it actually physically hurts a bit.

Unlike so many other life experiences, the goodbyes never get easier, no matter how many you say. Yes, it's a cliche but it's unfortunately true. In three years, I've done two exchanges at two different unis plus a language course and all of the goodbyes were horrible. As much as airports often mark the start of exciting adventures, I also partially despise them for the amount of tears shed during very public goodbyes I've had there (and I think I'll always have nightmares about Frankfurt am Main main train station). Those goodbyes are messy, messy affairs which are often a bit unreal, as if I'm watching this one incredibly morose, devastated-looking person holding onto this other incredibly sad person in some over-dramatic movie scene and I swing between despair and not quite being able to take the whole thing seriously. Crazy. Yet in the last three years, I've never figured out how to avoid them.

Aside from missing the people, I'll no doubt pine after Berlin itself. Berlin for me is graffiti, cobbled footpaths, flat shoes, mad cyclists, currywurst, quaint traffic lights, hipsters, art galleries in odd places, the wall, cheap rent, smoking inside, war history, funky cafes, the U bahn, Ersatzverkehr, beer at the Spree, boat trips, and one really hard uni course that unfortunately took time away from the fun stuff, but at least I met some very nice people. And I learnt a few things, I think. Like how to say, 'the constitutional complaint has prospects of success' in German. It may come in handy one day, you never know.

I'll be back to Berlin one day, I'm quite sure. Not soon, as there's the little matter of a job I've got to attend to in Australia, but eventually. At the very least to visit. Ich habe ein Stueck von Berlin fest ins Herz geschlossen und werde an die Stadt und alle meine sehr liebe Freunde hier haeufig denken. Macht's gut, Leute und viel Spass, bis demnaechst.

Bittersweet

Despite its title, this is not a food blog and I don't profess to have any particular skills in the way of food writing.

But I do enjoy food and at any rate, something that occupies so much of my time in Berlin at least warrants a mention.

It wasn't an easy transition to German cuisine. In fact, for the first two months, my reaction to most meals resembled those of an overweight 70 year old man with high cholesterol and heartburn. Whether it was all the full fat cappucinos, too much cake and beer or the regular doses of Schwarzbrot, my stomach was not at all impressed. I approached meal times with trepidation, fearful of my own digestive system, weight gain and the fact that if I ever tried to cook, I inevitably bought the wrong ingredients, thanks to a deficiency in translation skills. How do you say cumin in German? Self-raising flour? And what the hell is with quark, a thick white milk product that accompanies almost every meal?

I had to get past the fact that in this land, low fat products are virtually non-existent, pumpkins are an unknown delicacy and treated with suspicion by Germans and products like lentils, oyster sauce and cous cous are sold in the exotic foods section or specialty Asian supermarkets. No more sushi on every street corner - here, it's all about the sausages. On earlier visits to Germany, many's a time I returned folornly from the supermarket, having failed to locate any of the groceries I rely upon at home. Daniel told me several times I was being 'fuzzy', and it wasn't until 3 days later I realised he meant 'fussy', which led to a dramatic scene on a park bench where I cried because I couldnt find any eggplants at Lidl.

I'm pleased to say that since that time, much progress has been made not only in language skills but also my abilty to gulp down Pilsner, Jaegermeister and frothy cappucinos with the best of them, as tasty accompaniments to meat, potatoes and the staple thick creamy sauce drenching every dish. I've learnt to stipulate very scharf when I order a penne arrabbiata (Germans don't do spicy), sniff out some of the best Turkish, Japanese, Italian and Korean restaurants hidden throughout Berlin and savour my extra-rich slice of cheesecake with a side of whipped cream at least once a week. Hell, I've even learned to make a chocolate cherry cheesecake from scratch, and served it up to locals who declared it a success. This coming from the girl who lives off lean cuisines and Heinz tinned soup back home.

I will never, ever eat Fleischsalat (meat salad), Kaesewurst (sausage filled with runny cheese) or consider Berlin coffee on par with Campos but upon leaving I will certainly miss crusty fresh Broetchen, two-Euro felafel rolls and that delightful tradition of Kaffee and Kuchen on lazy weekends. A healthy diet by my usual standards it is not but between walking or cycling all over this sprawling city and scorning snacks between meals, Berliners seem to be keeping quite trim. For me, a few basic meals living like a poor student (bread and cheese) luckily seem to have largely counteracted the effects a raging cake habit, which developed through living with a local who has a penchant for anything covered in chocolate.

My departure draws near, my wallet is emptier by the day and the world of work beckons. Luckily back home I've got coffee, sushi and some new-found cooking skills to distract me from the separation from a little life built here. My return to Australia will be bittersweet, in every sense.

Home made choc cherry cheesecake

Kreuzberg

Election day in Berlin, and yet another protest march through the streets of Kreuzberg, my temporary suburb of residence and the (at least self-proclaimed) cultural capital of West Berlin. This time, dozens of mostly young people donned shiny black jackets and braved the chilly wind and persistent rain to protest against the gentrification of their suburb. Despite the weather, they were guaranteed an audience as voters milled around polling booths. Banners proclaimed "If we want to see change, it's up to us" and "Mieten stopp!", a plea for caps on rising rent prices.

There is a slight panic pervading this suburb. Gritty, edgy Kreuzberg, a hub for artists' studios, independent galleries, students and quirky coffee joints is fast becoming the suburb of choice for wealthy investment types. Residents are nervous as buildings are bought out from underneath them and rent increased, including Daniel and his housemates who have lived in central Kreuzberg for 2 years. A couple of months ago, a notice appeared in their mailbox that the building had been sold and they should expect a visit from the new landlord at any time. Weeks later, a thirty-something sleek blonde businesswoman was sitting at their kitchen table, calmly informing them that the rent was going up, and with their paltry student incomes, they realistically probably couldn't afford to stay cosy in their 3-bedroom flat long term.

Tenancy advisory boards are likely working overtime, as angry and confused tenants are desperate to find loopholes in new leases they've been asked to sign by new "super landlords" who are buying up Berlin's cheap flats in bulk. For the last 20 years since the city's re-unification, rental prices have stayed low, due to abundance in cheap housing from the communist era and a sluggish economy taking time to recover from communist East Germany's bankruptcy. For a capital city in a country of 80m, the population is small at under 4m and unemployment is high. Yet every Berliner you talk to is aware that the days of a rental paradise are over, as the city has recently been "discovered" by investors, banks, international companies and yuppies, pushing young families, hipsters and new immigrants to the outskirts.

The irony of this trend for Kreuzberg, as we sat around discussing the other night, is that the suburb's very charm and edginess derives from its unique cultural mix that will very likely be sacrificed once the poor are pushed out. Students and immigrants from lower socio-economic backgrounds will struggle to afford rents. And whether the Turkish eateries and cheap clothing stores, student galleries and poky (but probably not terribly profitable) little bars will still exist in new, hyper-trendy Kreuzberg is doubtful, as they're currently taking up prime real-estate. Another potential problem for the suburb's residents is "teeny-tourism", as I've mentioned in a previous blog entry (see: Tourists). To illustrate, across from Daniel's building, a combination gallery/hostel has just opened up and guess who was woken by a guitarist playing "Land of the Rising Sun" and screeching girls at 4am, Tuesday? Even residents who aren't getting pushed out by high rent prices aren't necessarily keen to live in a disco-esque environment 24/7.

Not so long ago, I had a dream of buying a little two-bedroom flat in Berlin, since once-upon-a-time Aussie salaries went a pretty long way in the Berlin property market. Sadly, that dream evaporated about the same time as the second new bar/furniture shop/American book store in a matter of months run by entreprenuerial Americans/Swedes sprung up on the Schoenleinstrasse. English is now to heard on the street as frequently as German and Turkish. I'm too late.

Although I admire the protestors' stamina and sympathise with their cause, after having witnessed the gentrification of a number of suburbs back home in Sydney (Newtown, Paddington, Surry Hills, anyone?) I'm doubtful that they're going to make much progress in getting the state to prevent rising rent prices. Wake up and smell the bulldozer fumes people, things are a-changing. Take what small victories you can and enjoy this unique cultural mix while it lasts because a whole different mix is coming your way very soon.

Exhibition junkie

Well, what else are you going to do in this town, when you've got time to kill and money to burn? It's the last month of my Great German Adventure and, not a moment too soon, it dawned on me that there are enough art exhibitions, theatre productions, movies and concerts going on here to keep me careering round the city at break-neck speed for the next four weeks. Marks are out from uni, and now that I'm confidently able to say that my days of an interminable law degree are behind me, I'm in the mood for celebrating. Which for me tends to take the form of sleep, books, a wander through a park/gallery/shopping centre and a couple of festive vinos. Luckily for me, Berlin's got all those bases covered.

One of my first September excursions saw me at Sony Centre, where I got lazy with my German skills and watched a film in English, Woody Allen's 'Midnight in Paris'. Loooovely, funny, sweet film, and almost enough to banish the horrific memory of August's Sony Centre experience,  specifically 'Bad Teacher' - I'm still having nightmares about Diaz' and Timberlake's dry hump scene, but that's another story. The delights of 'Midnight in Paris' were followed up on Saturday night by a visit to the splendid outdoor cinema in Volkspark, Friedrichshain and 'Almanya', a laugh (and bawl your eyes)-out-loud German 'road movie' about a family of Turkish immigrants. Never having been to an outdoor cinema before, I'd equipped myself with a blanket, towel and bottle of beer just in case only to find warm temperatures, wooden benches, and a steady supply of red and white wine available at the candy bar to sip under the stars. Very civilised.

Are you still with me? I'll make the rest quick, or if not quick, hopefully entertaining. Another highlight of the last few days has included the Chicks on Speed exhibition opening, which, with its boozy, hipster-esque atmosphere and artsy chit-chat bore some resemblance to my first experience with Berlin exhibitions (see previous entry: Hanging with Hipsters). Upon arrival, I had the distinct urge to run home and grab a pair of over-sized, black framed glasses and an ill-fitting button-down shirt. Daniel was already rolling his eyes and discussing secret signals to leave before we'd even stepped inside but I was determined to go in, plus, we were supporting a friend of a friend who was the trainee exhibition curator.

Once inside, we wandered off course and ended up in a skateboarding exhibition. Someone had amassed a collection of various objects - skate shoes, boards - and filmed skaters at skate parks as a tribute to life as a skater. It kinda looked like my brother's wardrobe from days gone by. I was initially confused, wondering where the Chicks were, before realising that was a whole separate exhibition. Our detour did however cause us to stumble across the best artwork of the whole night - a restored Banksy piece, Every Picture Tells a Lie, adorning an inner wall of the Bethanien Kirche in Kreuzberg since 2003. A few more twists through the hallways and we finally found the Chicks Exhibition - six or seven rooms housing short films, high heels turned into guitars, and Chanel as never seen before - and  exploring society's obsession with fashion and the idolatry of the 'perfect' female body. I spent most of the evening with my head cocked to the side, attempting to make sense of the naked, colourful and sometimes grotesque images of females, wondering if I'd missed something. Aesthetically pleasing it was not and the shock factor quickly wore off. I found myself wishing I could sit down to chat with one of the chicks and ask HOW on earth these ideas i.e. crazy dancing, piles of naked bodies, and high heels in places no one should ever see high heels, were born. I prayed no one was actually going to ask my opinion on any of it (it's hard to be diplomatic in German, and the exhibition could not be conveniently described as "nett" or "schoen") , and that we could get outta there before someone overheard Daniel's exasperated comments that he'd had enough of menopausal women's naked butts for one night.

A little more conventional than Chicks on Speed, at least in terms of the setting, was the exhibition I attended solo today at the Berlin Guggenheim, Once Upon a Time. I was apprehensive about going, as the website seemed to suggest a visit might entail a lot of propaganda about one of Germany's leading banks (clearly, an overwhelmingly proud sponsor) but for 3 Euros, you can't really go wrong. I spent a pleasant hour watching videos about people's dreams told in a fairy tale style with minimal bank advertising and I won't bother going into any more details because if you're interested, the website's really got it covered.

Please note: following paragraph was amended subsequent to initial posting.

Personal favourite over the last few days is by far the DDR Museum, a compact museum dedicated to depicting life in the German Democratic Republic (GDR), during the days of communism and a divided Berlin. A persistent controversy dogs this museum - namely, that it was created by West Germans about East Germany and may fail to capture the brutalities of a dictatorial regime, in other words, the museum is too cute. You can wander through the museum at your leisure, sit in and even pretend to start up a Trabbi, plunge your hands into coffee beans consumed during the regime, poke around an East German lounge room and even be interviewed by the Stasi. I struggled to understand the controversy, finding that the interactive activities paying heed to the good and lamenting the bad in the regime made the info stick in the mind much better, but then, I'm just an "Ossie" of a very different kind.

I could spend another paragraph describing for you my pick of this week's venues for wine, or Turkish food, or marvelling about the fact that after 6 months in Berlin I've finally found a place where you can get a very acceptable slice of cake and coffee (thanks Maike) but I can sense your attention span waning. So I will leave you now with assurances of at least another entry or two before my return, if that's the kinda thing you're into, and if not, ah well, I'm writing this for me as well as for you, so they will be featured right here anyway.

Afrikamarkt

Back in Berlin after three weeks spent abroad, as well as a weekend in Hanover, a city whose claims to fame include a royal family, world renowned shooting festivals, a very nice botanical garden and the fact that Hochdeutsch, i.e. the official, standard, dialect-free form of German, is spoken there. This sprawling city of 500,000 also happens to be the hometown of Daniel, which rather serendipitously fulfills the advice of my year 12 German teacher: hook up with the Hannoveraner (Hanover locals) if you want to speak high quality German. Ah Mr Roach, if only you could see me now. Hanging out and even speaking in German with a real, live German family in Hanover - shopping at the supermarket, drinking beer and being all concerned about punctuality just like a local.

Educational trucks: Refugees and the Water Truck

This weekend, I even assisted at the Afrikamarkt, a three day fair run by Daniel's dad, set in a picturesque landscaped park on the city's outskirts. Dozens of stalls with African vendors selling their wares, the constant beat of drums and a veritable feast of African delicacies on offer are the hallmarks of the Afrikamarkt, now in its 9th consecutive year. Traditionally, the Afrikamarkt is an important event on the Hempel family calendar, with all the kids pitching in to help with the stalls and general oversight of market. This year, the task at hand was the manning of two enormous trucks providing information to kids on the plight of refugees seeking to enter Germany and the perils of irresponsible water consumption. Upon entering each truck, the visitor was given an audio guide and then spent 20 or so minutes wandering through the various interactive stations, hopefully learning something about refugees and/or water in the process. The refugee truck, which actually simulates the experience of asylum seekers fleeing their country of origin, being kept in detention and having their claims processed complete with the granting of a passport at the end, was by far the most popular.

Kids loved the audio guides

Story time

The trucks turned out to be a massive hit with a handful of kids, who spent the better part of the weekend repeatedly running in circles through the trucks, which kind of reminded me of the excitement induced by the Happy Harold van in primary school (remember that friendly giraffe puppet who travelled around teaching kids about intestines, kidneys, exercise and healthy eating?) We sweltered in the sun for two days patiently waiting for brave passers-by to inquire about what the hell was inside the imposing trucks but we were bolstered by a steady supply of ice-cream, crepes and cocktails. There was even a bit of cow foot and an entire dried fish to taste, but I preferred to stick to the cous cous and rice.

Vendor demonstrates how his "devil sticks" work

A highlight of the whole weekend was the adorably cute kids toddling, or in most cases, sprinting around while their parents ran stalls, danced and drummed. Some even helped out with running the trucks, giving the rest of us a chance to go and curl up in a cool spot and fend off the effects of heat stroke. A diet of Fanta and Nutella crepes kept the kids peaking while the adults crawled listlessly out of the sun.

Hanging out at the Water Truck

The mood picked up as the sun fell lower in the sky, and I had ample time to wander through the stalls and view the dancing, story telling and poetry readings. By sundown, I was exhausted and happy to forego the party in favour of watching tv at home. On Sunday evening, we raced along the Autobahn at 150km/h to arrive back in Berlin at midnight and for me, back to lazy days spent reading and cooking and generally kicking back enjoying my last days in this super cool city.

beyond Berlin with budget airlines

Tomorrow I leave for Croatia followed by Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH), Italy and Wales. Today, I squish three weeks' worth of clothes, toiletries and assorted cables (mobile, Ipod, camera, etc) into a bag of dimensions 55 x 20 x 40 cm and carefully perch with it on the scales at regular intervals. Each time, I've swapped one scarf for a slightly smaller scarf or taken out the loose change from my handbag and hope that this will somehow drastically make a difference to my luggage weight. Low-cost carriers Easy Jet and RyanAir permit no more than 10kg per passenger and I, determined to avoid the 25 Euro fee for checked in baggage, am stubbornly pulling out all the stops to adhere to the luggage limit. I've filled teeny-weeny bottles with shampoo and face-wash, ripped pages out of my diary to avoid taking the whole book and will be wearing at least 3 layers of clothes and costume-jewellery onto the plane to thwart the restrictions. 

The itinerary has been meticulously designed, with all hostel accommodation and almost all transport pre-booked. I'm not much of a spontaneous traveller, in fact, this trip I am verging on the positively anal: researching for hours online; slowly and deliberately selecting items to pack; committing a dozen or so Croatian phrases to memory. In Croatia, I'll meet up with a friend from uni, Amelia and we'll travel together for 8 days through Dubrovik, Mostar and Sarajevo (BiH) where we'll meet up with another uni friend Vanja for a couple of days, before finishing up in Split (Croatia). From Split, I'll fly to Italy to spend a week with Daniel in Milan, Perugia and (of course) Verona and then for the final leg of the journey, I fly to Wales to spend a week with Ria, a friend from our days in Verona. My maths skills will be put to the test as I attempt to stretch my last Euros out over the next few weeks, as well as Croatian Kuna, Convertible Marks in BiH and British pounds. A return to Berlin courtesy of EasyJet is scheduled for 29 August. So for the next few weeks, updates will (hopefully) be made from a variety of locations but then again, if I decide to opt out and just enjoy the sunshine, then I'm sure you won't hold it against me.

parents visit

Berlin may be a dream for 'teenie tourists' and twenty-somethings but how does it rate in the eyes of the older generation of tourists? Until my parents arrived last week, it hadn't occurred to me that those on the latter side of 50 and more accustomed to chic hotels, crisp wines and leisurely strolls through cobbled historical centres might not find sprawling, graffiti-adorned, beer-soaked Berlin as endearing as I do. Mum and Dad arrived wide-eyed and enthusiastic and departed one week later still good humoured but exhausted, with (I think it's fair to say) recollections of 'adventures' rather than a refined, relaxing European experience.

Graffiti adorns the city's monuments

In planning the week's activities, I found myself stumped on more than one occasion. The charming, dimly-lit French cafe with the best coffee in Kreuzberg? Hard wooden seats, an uneven staircase, aloof waiter and limited menu hardly render it attractive for the over 50 set. The impressively green expanse of old Tempelhof airport grounds, a glorious oasis in the centre of Berlin? No longer so stunning when you have to walk 20 minutes to get there with a bad knee. An impromptu picnic by the river at the dusk? Not so charming if you happen to be disturbed by open canoodling or the odd whiff of marijuana wafting across from fellow picnickers. You get the idea.

Dad contemplates a Berliner Weisse

Never before had I been so acutely aware of Berlin's attractions and its defects, and how easily the two are inverted, depending on your perspective. Graffiti embellishing walls is artistic and lively or an affront to the eye, the maze of trams and trains servicing the city are simultaneously very convenient and extremely confusing, the lack of a real summer and persistent rainfall is frustrating for some but an advantage for those who dislike the heat. Before mum and dad arrived, everyone assured me that everyone in Berlin speaks English - it's not true. Which is completely fair enough, just a little surprising. It turns out being able to speak the language here is a bigger bonus than I realised, and probably makes for more smiles and better service from shop assistants and restaurant staff than I'd appreciated.

Good hearty German cuisine

Enjoyable family experiences included a river cruise, a wander around Gendarmenplatz with some beautiful historic buildings, a visit to the Gedaechtniskirche (Memorial Church) and some hearty meals at assorted restaurants and cafes across Berlin. Things that weren't such a raging success included having to walk up and down about a million stairs at train stations every day, a riverside picnic which was a little hard on the knees, and watching an awkward movie ('Bad Teacher') at Sony Centre, Potsdamer Platz - one of two movies being shown in English and crass to the point of cringeworthy (read: do not ever watch with your parents).

Bell tower in Scezcin. Mum and Dad stayed on the ground.

We also ventured outside of Berlin, both to Sczecin (Poland - just over the German border) and also Leipzig (Germany), with varying degrees of success. Sczecin was a little hard to navigate and we had to resort to sign language to communicate but at least it had nice castle and taxis were cheap. Leipzig was the all-round winner - a compact city of 500 000 an hour out of Berlin, mum and dad loved everything from the air-conditioned train ride to the well-preserved, historic city centre. Much more manageable than bustling Berlin, Leipzig was the holiday that we all needed and restored my parents' faith in a welcoming, picturesque, hearty Germany.

Mum and Dad at Gendarmenplatz

After swapping stories with a couple of German friends, it transpires that I'm not the only one at a loss when it comes to entertaining parents in Berlin. Electro clubs and low-budget hipster cafes don't tend to be major attractions for the older generation. Just a little reminder that this rather bohemian student lifestyle has a use-by date.