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.