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.

End of semester party. In my bedroom

For most of the semester, I'd shied away from the idea of having a party at my place for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I don't have a living room and the idea of having a party in my bedroom was kind of weird. Secondly, I didn't want to destroy the furniture in the flat and with it any of the goodwill that's been cultivated over the past five months with my housemates. But then the semester ended and the weather in Berlin was miserable, making celebratory picnics and beer garden outings rather fanciful. Every single time I attempt to set foot in a beer garden here, it rains. So I shoved considerations of modesty and practicality aside, got an enthusiastic go-ahead from my housemates and promptly organised an end-of-semester gathering in my Berlin flat, focal point my bedroom.

Throughout the last weeks of the semester, the prospect of drinking a few carefree beers at the end of all was all that kept me sane. That, and many, many flashcards. The constitutional law exam was worse than expected - hard to believe, but true. A two-page problem question, incredibly difficult vocab, mid-exam panic and mind block, the written equivalent of German verbal diarrhea hastily scribbled onto 10 lined pages with a 3 inch margin, and the gasping realisation three minutes after putting down my pen that I'd completely missed the point. Because in a law exam, a few mistranslated words can make all the difference. So much for a triumphant finish to a five year law degree. There's something a little degrading about relying on your foreign-ness to pass an exam that the locals here knock over in their first year of uni, but I'll certainly be playing and relying on the exchange-student card when it comes time for grading and, god forbid, re-sitting exams.

So the end of a tough semester and an entire law degree was fittingly marked with a couple of beverages on Friday night, with a very international group of friends. This was a gathering of many people in transit - exchange students getting ready to return home or preparing for a European summer of country-hopping. This is a bittersweet time of packing, frenetic partying and farewells for those of us that spent the last 5-10 months building a little life here, learning another language and doing our best to mesh with the locals and each other. If you think too much about the reality that you probably won't see a particular person again, or at least not for another few years, it's just too sad, so no one talks about it. It's far better to end on a high: drink, eat, laugh and part with a resolute "see you on Facebook", a platform which, for all its evils, makes the goodbyes of the exchange student a hell of a lot more bearable.

Salsa in the hallway

I can only speak for myself, but I enjoyed myself on Friday night. It didn't matter that people were getting cosy on the bed and hanging their jackets next to my bath towel. The room transformed into a subtly-lit, comfy living room and was no longer my personal space. The only problem was the red wine spilled on the white sofa, which no amount of salt and scrubbing could fix (Maike, if you're reading this, don't worry - I've fixed it with some well-placed products from Ikea). But aside from that, there was no trashing of furniture to speak of and we somehow made it through the whole evening of grooving to hip hop, 90s classics and Australian/German/French pop without a single noise complaint. And of course the best part of having a party at home was, when the last guests left shortly before sunrise, bed was only a few short steps away.

Ein gutes deutsches Fruehstueck

Bedroom prepared for brunch for six

Breakfast was meant to be a central concept to this blog, and on that front I've failed miserably. I had such high aspirations of waking energetically at least twice a week and bounding into the kitchen accompanied by my laptop to prepare a hearty breakfast, then using my left hand to spoon healthy clusters of muesli and yoghurt into my mouth while my right hand danced on the keys. A more accurate picture of the morning routine involves begrudgingly waking at 7, smearing a bit of olive paste onto some rye bread and almost choking as I eat and run to catch the Trambahn to arrive at uni by 8:15. Leisurely, well-balanced breakfasts are reserved for weekends only, and usually turn into brunches inevitably including pasta, tinned peaches and a cup of tea or if I happen to be at Daniel's, toast and four kinds of cheese.

A handful of times, I've had the pleasure of experiencing the hearty, traditional German breakfast and one of those times was last weekend. A visit from Daniel's family called for the full spread, and even a makeshift kitchen erected in Daniel's bedroom to accommodate everyone. Luckily, Daniel happens to rent a massive room which in Sydney would probably house at least 6 international students. It proved a sunny, pleasant location for Saturday breakfast.

A three course meal in one

The table was a perfect picture of German breakfast tradition. Cold cuts of salami and ham tend to feature heavily in a standard German breakfast, as well as fresh broetchen - soft little bread rolls with a crunchy crust. I've discovered these are a source of national pride and a perfectly good reason for Germans to venture out to the baker's on -10 degree mornings. Boiled eggs, not scrambled, fried or poached, accompany the fresh bread and meat. Quark, a stiff white sugarless yoghurt with a space-age name, provides an alternative to butter and the base for a thick jam sandwich. Sliced cheddar and brie were also on the table, as well as fresh tomato, mozzarella and basil which admittedly is more of an Italian antipasto than a German breakfast food but worked well with our selection. We also had fresh strawberries and black cherries and washed it all down with cups of hot strong black tea. Far away from the scrambled eggs and smooth cappuccinos of the Newtown cafes it may be, but still equally delicious and able to satisfy that Saturday morning brunch craving, leaving no room for another bite before dinner.

Tourists

Spending the better part of my stroll to uni ducking and dodging people's happy snaps, it's clear that in the last few weeks the city has transformed into a tourist playground. Double-decker buses heaving with tourists pull up regularly outside the uni; masses of wide-eyed people wander around with oversized maps; loud and often drunken accents accost the ears of train travellers. I am no Berliner, in fact, I have been here a grand total of 4 months, but even I am becoming tourist-weary.

Before arriving in Berlin, I'd heard stories of unfortunate young tourists who'd been turned away from trendy Berlin clubs for having a foreign accent, and I had been outraged. After all, these hordes do inject thousands of Euros into the local economy, how unfair that they experience such blatant discrimination, etc. But a few months in, and the attitude of some of the locals here is starting to rub off. I've found myself snarling at obnoxious, over-loud accents on public transport, pretending to not speak English or German when asked for the 3rd time in an hour for directions and clenching my fists at the lost looking fellow, forlornly gripping his map on the train steps, and refusing to budge to let a single person past.

Of course, not all tourists are tiresome - in fact it's probably only really a handful of particularly painful ones that are ruining it for the rest of us.  But that minority sure make their voices heard. For instance, there was the half a dozen twenty-somethings on the evening tram through Prenzlauer Berg, animatedly discussing in English how embarrassing it is when your mum says "shit", or heaven forbid uses the "f" or "c" words. Likely under the mistaken assumption that no one else on the crowded tram could understand English, they ensured I felt personally ashamed to be just another English-speaking foreigner here to "discover Berlin".

Then was the guy in Aldi last night who was so impressed by the low, low prices, his "Dude! These bottles of water are like, only 6 for one euro!!" carried across the entire store. Cringe. There are also the hundreds of bizarrely dressed, club mate-swigging hipsters who are to be found on every street corner in Kreuzberg, most of whom I'm convinced aren't even German, let alone from Berlin. These tourists aren't so much offensive as amusing, except when they leave the remnants of their picnics and cigarettes all through the local park and haul their 10 Euro bikes onto the S-bahn in peak hour.

"Teenie tourism" is pretty big in Berlin because everything's so cheap, a hangover from the days of soviet occupation and a sluggish local industry. You can buy a beer for 50 cents, find a hostel room in central Berlin for 10 Euros, shop at Aldi, buy a day transport pass for 6 Euros and of course, hang out in the many parks here for free. Apparently in summer the city is flooded with party-hardy teenagers and relatively poor students, meaning the city may be crowded but it's not necessarily making big dollars out of these guys. Kind of a shame for the locals who are struggling to push their briefcase onto the packed trains, avoid ridiculously long lines to grab a coffee and generally live day to day in Berlin. You get the feeling that this grungy, cool, astoundingly cheap capital city is going to move into the super touristy, super pricey category in the not-too-distant future.

Life at Law school

Main campus "tent mensa"

Squeezing in another update before the end of June to raise my sorrowful number of contributions for the month, I thought I'd share I few observations about uni life here. This entry is coming to you live from the university tent Mensa, that is, where the students on the main campus dine on schnitzel, quark, dumplings and unidentifiable vegetarian dishes for the low, low prices of 2-3 EUR. I have been known to partake in the odd Mensa lunch, lured in by low prices and the promise of vegetables, and on cooler days the place is almost bearable, when the temperature inside this makeshift building is below 25 degrees and the stench of fish and fat is minimised. Right now, since it's not lunchtime at all and there are only a handful of students hunched under the stark white lights here to study, near the floor to ceiling windows it's actually kind of pleasant.

Humboldt Uni law school

I've been spending a hefty portion of time in the law library here lately, since exams start next week. STUVAC (study vacation) is a foreign concept - here the semester rolls right along, with final lectures taking place only days before exams. It's a tough system. None of this last minute cramming thing - it doesn't work if you've got 6 exams stuffed into two weeks and lectures in between, as some of my friends here do. On the upside, the law library here isn't bad, as far as libraries go. It's kind of old and a bit charming and has a couple of cool, perilously dangerous spiral staircases which at least provide a point of interest. If you are courageous enough to venture up to the second floor, you are rewarded with gaping, screen-less windows, fresh breezes blowing in off Bebelplatz and a bird's eye view of the other law students in all their frenzied quirkiness scampering around with piles of books below.

The Grimm Bibliothek

The security is relatively relaxed at the law library (perhaps based on the assumption that law students are less likely to steal books...hmmm), compared to the fortress of the Grimm Bibliothek, Humboldt Uni's answer to Fisher Library. Grimm Bibliothek lives up to its name - heaven forbid you should attempt to take in a bag, a water bottle or even a laptop case; you can bet you'll be stopped at the entrance by one of TWO security guards posted there at all times. One has to wonder about the extent of the book stealing that must have occurred to warrant employing two security guards. I've encountered a similar level of strictness in the law faculty's computer pool when I made the mistake of carrying in a water bottle - never a problem back home, as we'd probably die if we weren't allowed to drink water while studying. On the upside, the 100 free pages of printing per month is a nice bonus, and probably good for the environment as we all attempt to squish as many pages as possible onto one sheet of paper.

Classes here are starkly different to back home. The inevitable adjustment period lasted most of the semester in my case, and I think I'm still bewildered by the differences. Here, I was mandated by my study program to take at least one seminar and these are rather intimidating for someone used to class sizes of 40+ at Usyd. An intimate group of no more than 15 sits around and has interactive discussions (yes, mostly in German), everyone has to do a presentation (yes, including me) and then the merits and weaknesses of your presentation are closely examined by the teacher and fellow students. I think I'm still reeling from my Spamming Law presentation experience on Tuesday.

Main building of Humbolt Uni

I'm taking a weird combination of subjects: Computer and criminal law, Jewish Law, German constitutional law, Intellectual Property; and Law and the Media, with a few hours of Italian per week thrown in for good measure. The Jewish law seminar, taught in English by a really cool New York Jewish rabbi, is the shining beacon in my demanding week of mostly German subjects and a walk in the park compared to the 10 hours of week of constitutional law that is part of my compulsory program. I'm finally recovering from the whiplash that occurred in my first few weeks here, the confusion of new systems, passwords, assessment procedures, enrollment procedures etc, just in time to write a couple of exams in German and push my intellectual boundaries. I'll let you know how it goes.

Law party

Lining up for the law party

Grooving in the classrooms at law party

Finally, worth a mention is also the transformation of the law school that occurred last Friday night for this semester's Law Party. A party in the law school? In the classrooms? Yep, you bet. Unbelievably, even arriving as early as 10:15pm (doors opened at 10pm), we lined up for an hour and a half to get in. Never have I witnessed such enthusiasm and desperation to get into a law school. The crush was amazing and frightening; at one point I found my 160cm frame suspended among 6 sturdy males surging towards the door and I had remember to breathe. Once inside, the party itself was everything that was promised - three dance floors pulsing with hundreds of students dancing to electro, rock and jazz - and the drinks were cheap. After a few hours, the place was trashed - broken glass, grotty toilets, mud everywhere - yet somehow by Monday morning, decorum had returned to the law school and the foyer resumed its usual function of quasi-gallery with an Egyptian deserts photo exhibition. All traces of Friday night's wild party were gone.

Wine (not beer!) and Reggae

A wine bar where you can drink all night and pay whatever you like at the end. That'll never work, right? I was skeptical, assuming that the inherently stingy students who would surely patronise such a place would nudge twinges of conscience aside and top up their glasses with a week's worth of liquor, perhaps dropping a fiver in at the end. Yet the Weinerei of last Thursday night was visibly doing a roaring trade, banishing the doubts I had as to its viability - I suspect the free-flowing, and not particularly expensive, wine was in fact fortifying customers with a profitable generosity (myself included).

I'd previously heard whispers that Weinforum at Rosenthaler Platz was a great venue and eventually managed to generate enough enthusiam from a dozen fellow students to descend on the place mid last week. Organising events can be a bit hit-and-miss in a city you don't know, with people reluctant to venture outside of their suburb (granted, also a challenge in Sydney) - take my birthday for instance, where pounding rain and plummeting temperatures had us chaotically dashing to find a warmer alternative to a beer garden at the last minute. Somehow this time it all worked out, and we had good company from around the globe to complement the wine and share in the comfy sofas, merry mood and red wine-stained teeth.

Basically the concept of the Weinerei is that you pay 2 euros upon arrival for an empty glass and then help yourself to a buffet of a dozen red and white wines (not a beer in sight), and some simple food offerings (pasta, bread and salad) if that takes your fancy. Throughout the night, you can return to the buffet as many times as you want and then at the end of the evening, throw some cash into a giant green fish bowl to represent what you consumed. It was all very relaxed and (mostly) civilised - there was one mad dash to the buffet around 11 when the last bottles of the night were put out but we made it through the crush for a last drink. At the end, I contributed around 2.20 euros a glass, and the glasses are tiny, so I felt like that was pretty fair. It did tend to get a little hazy at the end though, and it's very likely that the warmth of the bar,  the shrewd-looking owner perched by the exit and, of course, the wine deepen the pockets of many guests.

Two nights later and rounding off another successful week of fun and cultural immersion in Berlin was some reggae dancing on Saturday night. Berlin is generally considered to be the city of electro beats, something I generally try to avoid in favour of music you can groove, grind and sing along to. Reggae fit that description and so Daniel, Daniel's housemate Katrin and I headed to Yaam, a club next to East Side Gallery at 11:45pm on Saturday, to take advantage of the promo "Ladies free before midnight". Delighted to avoid the 10 euro entry fee, we barrelled on through the doors into a space that bizarrely kind of resembled a school playground. Strains of reggae came from a warehouse building in one direction, but this establishment also housed a couple of random stalls selling trinkets and food, kids' play equipment and...a beach, complete with an abundance of sand and beach volleyball. Cool.

We bobbed along to the music for hours, drinking Club Mate for energy and heading out regularly for air and a chat. Daniel 's uncanny ability to generally relate to and befriend Kenyans and a range of blokes from other African nations became apparent - there was quite literally a string of guys strolling past to clap Daniel on the shoulder, comment appreciatively on his dance moves and remind him to take care of his woman. Later that night, we even minded the store for one guy originally from Kenya while he went to have a boogie with his lady. He returned pretty quickly, which was very fortunate as we didn't manage to sell a thing and it was 3am and all very surreal.

We decided to call it a night when the sky's edges started to lighten and the energy drinks started to wear off. One of the beautiful things about summer in Berlin is that there are only about 6 hours of real darkness - the sun sets at around 10pm and it starts getting light before 4am. So we were home early by Berlin standards (11am is a respectable night out here) but pushing my stamina threshold in any case. I felt more satisfied after a night out than I had for a long time and enjoyed the sore knees and pure weariness that comes after a solid night's dancing.

Karneval

National pride? 1 pack Tim Tams = 6 Euros.

Yet another street-blockading, beer-swigging, booty-shaking festival on Berlin's cultural calendar, only a little over a month after the epic First of May celebrations, I hadn't afforded a thought to attending Karneval before a cold Mohito lured me there on Friday afternoon. Thanks to the initiative of my Italian friend Marcello, who suggested we move our Italian-English tandem session outdoors and enjoy the sights, at 5:30pm I was both pleasantly tipsy and impressed by rows and rows of Karneval stalls, and music performances, stretching through the leafy park in Kreuzberg.

Legally enjoying cold beer on the street

Gorilla float at parade

The festival's name is Karneval der Kulturen and takes place each year in Berlin over Pfingsten (Pentecost). According to that reliable source of all (my) knowledge, Wikipedia, this is a religious celebration "commemorating the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples of Christ after the Resurrection." In practical terms, in Berlin this means a long weekend and an opportunity to spend 3-4 days celebrating cultural diversity, happily coinciding with beautiful weather.

Spot of shisha at parade

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Jaded after a few tough weeks at uni and some annoying heath issues, for me Karneval couldn't have happened at a better time. It served as a spectacular reminder that studying and living in Berlin can be a vibrant and inspiring experience, and doesn't have to be all about learning the German constitution.* To mark the occasion, I even personally hacked off my hair with scissors borrowed from my housemate, in frustration and defiance of beckoning uni work. I felt lighter and more satisfied than I'd felt all week. There is very little that can top the delight of strolling around the stalls with friends, savouring a three-course meal from across three continents off paper plates, drinking beer on the streets, dancing without inhibition to whatever stirring beat you stumble across and all of this in perfect late-spring weather. All this was, without a doubt, great for the soul.

Spunky performer commands the crowd

The parade this afternoon (Sunday) was an unanticipated highlight. One of the wonderful things about being a sceptic, having low expectations and generally being reluctant to attend things that are going to involve a lot of people/get extremely messy, is that those few deviations from the routine can be so, so unexpectedly good. Hundreds of people twirled, shook, bounced, gyrated, jiggled and skipped for hours and hours through the streets and despite my measly 161cm, I could see all of it. There wasn't a milk-crate in sight.

*For those confused as to why I would subject myself to no fewer than 10 hours per week of German constitutional law, it's part of the deal-io made between Humboldt and Usyd law faculties that I do either that, criminal law or civil law. For lack of a better expression of my motivation, it seemed like the lesser of the, uh, evils, since it is mainly about studying human rights. But interesting or not, it's as hard as you'd probably expect for a non-native speaker to even understand the subject, let alone write exams. I'll keep you posted on how this one pans out.

Things I miss

There is plenty to love about this city, and Germany in general, but it is undeniably lacking in a few material aspects. Since it is a Saturday night (obviously not breakfast time but please don't hold it against me), and I am home alone studying, I feel I am entitled to be nostalgic, and share a few of those wistful moments. And also a few appreciative observations about Deutschland because on the whole it is a pretty cool place and one should always count her blessings.

• You Tube. It doesn't work. You cannot watch the official music videos from most artists, due to some licensing issue which I probably should understand because I'm a law student but don't.
• Coffee. According to my very unofficial but highly conclusive research, Australia has the best coffee.in. the.world. By comparison, it costs almost nothing and you can go crazy with your milk choices - skim, soy, full-fat. Germans aren't terribly into low fat products, although I have to give credit for the BIO versions of everything in the supermarkets and most eateries.
• Sushi and other foods. Sure, you can get sushi here but it's pricey. I've found myself yearning for a fresh tuna roll with sesame seeds many a time. Other noteworthy groceries I've pined for include low-fat crunchy peanut butter, Weetbix and buck choy.
• Stuff in English, especially uni classes. It takes me around four times longer to read a page of a German textbook compared to a page of English, which is a major drag. Plus, doing stuff like going to a hairdresser or doctor or buying an electrical appliance require hours of prior mental preparation and a dictionary or a willing translator.
• Credit cards. You can pay with them everywhere in Australia and stroll around cash free. Here, even the major supermarket chains don't always accept them and send you across the street to search for an ATM.

Things I do rather enjoy:

• Lower rent prices. I pay less than half the rent here than in Sydney for a beautiful room that is more than twice as big. Other bonuses are that the flat has no cockroaches (they are almost non-existent here), it is insulated and because tenants here actually have rights, mostly you don't have to worry that the landlord is going to sell the place from underneath you or put up the rent every year just because they can.
• My student transport ticket. I did resent forking out 150 euros at the start of semester for the ticket, but I have to admit, being able to step onto any local trains and trams without thinking twice is pretty damn convenient. And it's totally true what people say about German trains - they really are (almost) always on time.
• Turkish food. What take-away Thai is to Newtown, Turkish cuisine is to Kreuzberg. Having tasted the freshest falafel, the softest bread, the tastiest gozleme, and those sirrupy, buttery sweets on a regular basis, I am sold.
• Beer and other beverages. The beer here does not disappoint. There is something to suit almost all tastes, it is cheap and you can drink it on the street, on the train or in a hospital. Also, the relatively low taxes on alcohol in Germany mean that I can buy bottles of decent Australian (Cassella's) wine here for less than what I pay IN AUSTRALIA.
• Being able to get to other countries fast. Obviously a major plus point for European cities, from Berlin you can spontaneously drop into to Poland or Denmark and return flights between Berlin and Milan cost as little as 30 Euros. And yes, I am taking advantage - trip to Croatia, Italy and the UK in August already booked.

Birthday times

Across from East Side Gallery

Celebrating a birthday in Berlin clearly has its perks. First, there's the German tradition of "reinfeiern" which basically means commencing the festivities the night before the birthday. In true German style, this should be done with plenty of beer. Only at midnight (that is, the first moment of the actual birthday), is anyone allowed to wish you a happy birthday - a moment too early can mean a year of bad luck.

My birthday was wonderfully reingefeiert with the arrival of Ria, my long-lost Welsh friend who safely arrived on Thursday evening via low-cost carrier Easy Jet to celebrate. Reminiscent of our semester spent abroad in Italy, we dined on home-cooked Barilla pasta and sauce before heading downstairs to the nearest pub (of which there are three on my block alone).

Fun in NeuKoeln

Over-excitement made it impossible to sleep soundly, and with that excuse, I skipped Friday morning classes in favour of a leisurely brunch at a favourite haunt "An einem Sonntag im August". I then begrudingly dragged myself to a lecture while Daniel accompanied Ria on a whirlwind tour of some of Berlin's essential sights - Parlament House, Brandenberg Gate, Memorial to the Jews and the Berlin Cathedral. Fortified with a fabulous "natural" energy drink I've discovered here, Club Mate, we returned home for delicious birthday cake with my housemates and then headed out to a house party in Neukoeln where we sipped red wine and crumped until the wee hours of the morning.

Ria at the Berlin Wall

Determined to squeeze in essential Berlin experiences for Ria, after far too little sleep on Saturday we visited the East Side Gallery. This is an impressive 1.3 km stretch of the remainder of the Berlin wall which has been colourfully adorned with murals by around 100 artists from all over the world. A currywurst, the well-known Berlin delicacy consisting of a sausage with tomato sauce and curry powder, at one of Berlin's two famous Currywurst Buden completed an afternoon of sightseeing.

The moment we mopped up the last drops of curry-tomato sauce with our hot chips is approximately when the weather turned nasty and my dream of celebrating my birthday in an outdoor beer garden was dashed. The temperature dropped, the clouds heaved, and within minutes the mild spring weather regressed to chilly winter gales and pounding rain. Frantically, I searched for an alternative location for the planned gathering, which after half an hour of slight panic fortunately presented itself in the form of a very nice Italian restaurant just over the street.

Claudia, Ting-Yan, Lena and Me

The interior was warm, the waitress friendly, the cocktails sweet and the company superb. The bad weather deterred a few but the mood was not to be spoiled - the restaurant owned presented me, the Geburtstagskind, with a complimentary rose and Bailey's on ice and I enjoyed renditions of Happy Birthday in no less than 5 languages (English, German, Spanish, Italian and Mandarin). Some of us then made our way to Wohnzimmer, a cosy bar in Prenzlauer Berg, where the miscellaneous retro couches and softly lit corners conjure fond memories of a certain Madame Fling Flong's in Newtown. A couple of beers ended a lovely, and in the end quite spontaneous, birthday celebration.

A snack on board

But the fun was not yet over. On the fourth morning of my never-ending birthday, Ria and I dragged our tired and alcohol-infused bodies down to the wharf to embark on a cruise of the River Spree and Berlin's canals. After a slight mix-up with the trains and hastily requesting directions from some locals, we boarded the ferry with dozens of other tired-looking students for the four hour tour of Berlin. Although the temperature dropped below 15 degrees, Ria and I determinedly perched ourselves atop the vessel for an advantageous view of Kreuzberg, Charlottenberg, the city centre and everything in between. Fortunately, drifting along rivers looking a beautiful scenery requires very little exertion. A well-timed espresso kept us perky.

Super cool in Kreuzberg

That evening, we headed to Kreuzberg for a taste of cool, grungy with a Turkish flavour. Sprawled on the grass in the park as dusk, we had a distinct hipster moment as we listened to musicians spontaneously play guitars and watched the girls next to us get stoned. The moment was shattered when we promptly pulled out our cameras to record the coolness of it all, and our cover was blown.

Way too much amazing Egyptian food

The evening culminated in a lavish Egyptian feast at an amazingly good restaurant we stumbled upon across from the park. We ordered more food than we could eat for less than 10 euros each and sank into the plush sofas patting our bellies as the evening wore on. Exhausted after three days with very little sleep, Sunday night was rather tranquil leading up to Ria's early departure on Monday. Dizzingly tired and still tasting last night's babaganoush, we embraced in the departure lounge, and I had to accept that my birthday, spectacular as it was, was over for another year.

When all that's left is Hawaiian Hula Dance

It's been said before (see previous entry, Shaking it at Salsa), Humboldt University has an impressive range of sports on offer for students but a major defect exists in their ruthless booking system. Within three minutes of bookings opening, I'd missed out on a coveted place in both Streetdance and Hip Hop. Other, savvier students were obviously sitting tensely around computers with their fingers poised far more strategically than mine when it came time to sign up. I refused to accept the prospect of a sloth-like summer merely moving from one currywurst outlet to the next beer garden, and in a fit of desperation, found myself parting with 13 Euros for an 8 week Hawaiian Hula Dance course.

Last Thursday, I trotted along to the first session, sheepishly disregarding instructions to wear a skirt, bring a towel, a drink bottle and a padlock for the lockers. I should have known I'd be the only one in jeans, which are so incredibly unsuitable for Hawaiian hula dancing I think the teacher's irritation actually turned to pity on the spot when she witnessed my awkward hip wiggle in tight blue denim.

The class was unlike any dance class I'd experienced, which is saying something considering I've spent a significant part of my youth in jazz and tap dancing classes and have recently started salsa lessons. The teacher, a round, bubbly woman in an enormous blue Hawaiian print skirt and transparent white blouse, announced at the beginning of the class that she would be correcting our posture with her hands, and to speak up if we had a problem with being touched. This was completely fine, and made for some bordering-on-hilarious moments of hip grabbing to correct wayward thrusting. What was a little harder to bear was the insistence on taking it s...l....o....w - we were permitted to laboriously master one move only per song (largely Elvis Presley and other tracks of that era featuring the ukelele). There were many, many tracks of hip swinging and gentle hand waves with the occasional "aloha" or "sun" or "island" movement to inject elements of a story into our dance, movements which I've decided fortunately do have some potential to be adapted for general club move-busting.

Surprisingly challenging was the hand cramping situation we had to contend with after about 20 minutes of gluing our thumbs to our forefingers. Visible thumbs are the height of ugliness in hula dance and must be hidden during hand waving at all costs. Unfortunately, years of computer use have left my hands permanently in a claw-like deformed state and serious pain ensued from attempts to move them fluidly. I had to let them drop to avoid a seizure.

After an hour and a half of Elvis, hip wiggling, cramped hands and a disappointing lack of sweat, I had to wonder whether the belly chuckles provided the class (largely by personal efforts to slow hips down to an acceptable pace) will be enough to keep me going for 7 more weeks. For me hula dance is a bit like reading two pages of a book in an hour, with ukeleles. Kind of relaxing but also unnaturally slow and a bit painful. I'm attempting to reserve judgment until further classes and until I've procured a bona fide skirt which I'm hoping will make all the difference.