Festival of Lights

For the past two weeks Berlin has been putting on its “Festival of Lights” (that’s what the Germans call it). They’ve been projecting the slogan “be Berlin” on the Brandenburg Gate. And really, what could be more Berlin than an English slogan?

Without a tripod it’s really hard to capture night photos, so I only got a few.











There was also an event inside the I.M. Pei-designed German History Museum of which I got a couple of photos.

Deutschland ist Schön

I recorded a new podcast yesterday about the honor system, public transportation, and speaking German. It's got some fun music clips too.

Terror Cell

I know that title is going to get my blog many visits by the lovely people in the Department of Homeland Security, but it fits, so I’m using it.

You see on Saturday night my friend Elizabeth and I went to this area called Neuköln that was described to us in all seriousness as a “terror cell”. That’s where I took a picture of this arsenal.



I suppose the apparent danger of the trip would have bothered me a lot more if I weren’t dazzled by the prospect of the lecker authentic Turkish food to be found in the nucleus of this terror cell.

Of course my tension was relieved by the genuinely reassuring name of the street on which we sought our restaurant:



We ended up eating at the most authentic looking restaurant we could find, an Egyptian place called Café Barbar Aga.



I didn’t take pictures of the rugs and hookah-smoking men inside because I didn’t want anyone to crash a plane into me. But I did manage to capture this imageless video from inside my coat of the evening’s live entertainment.



Is it just me or does he sound like he’s singing backwards?

It couldn’t have been a very orthodox place, though, because the big screen TV in the corner was playing American music videos.

Need I say how much I thoroughly enjoyed eating Egyptian food in Berlin under the glow of the Dixie Chicks?

Laptop Lock!

So, if you've seen the pictures of the FU Philological library, you know it's a pretty cool place to study.



Unfortunately, due to one of the many weird regulations that form the warp and woof of Berlin life, one can bring neither a coat nor a bag into the library.

Well, that's not true. One can bring a bag made of transparent plastic into the library. Evidently it's a bigger priority to make sure no one steals the precious books than it is to make sure the library is a quiet place for reflection and contemplation. Because cellophane is not quiet.

One of the many problems with this policy of treating every student like a potential book-thief and/or copyright violator is that when all the lockers are used up, one cannot go into the library, even if one just wants to grab a book or sit in one of the many available places to use one's laptop.

But what really bothers me is that, once inside the library, I cannot go anywhere without carrying my laptop in my arms.



As everyone knows, the more time something spends in your hands, the more likely you are to drop it. Unfortunately, as everyone who has ever left all his personal belongings in an unlocked bus station locker in Portland, Oregon knows, the more time something spends out of your hands, the more likely it is to be stolen.

But that is not a problem for me any longer, because this morning I got up and found in my mailbox a laptop lock!



No more carrying around my laptop while I go look for a book or refill my water bottle! Thanks, Dad! I was hoping adding a link to my Amazon Wish List would pay off!

Kaiser Wilhelm's Revenge

You may have noticed on my Twitter status that I've been obsessed with food for the last three days. That's because I've been ravenously hungry.

At first I thought that German Shepherd had turned me into a werewolf. But now I'm starting to think I gave myself food poisoning.

The thing is, my refrigerator is tiny. So when I took a pot of hot bockwurst stew off the stove and put it directly into the fridge, I think I spoiled my prosciutto. At least it tasted funny. Oh, and the hamburger meat I had in the fridge turned gray. I threw that out.

Anyway, without giving you a full medical report, I've been both exhausted and famished for three days. I'm getting better though.

Oh, and did I mention already that on Friday I met a couple more ex-pats and we had fun in Prenzlauer Berg? I've posted the pictures.

That's the first time I've been in one of the many ultra-hip parts of Berlin and it was cool. I hope it will suffice to indicate what a good time I had to say I didn't get home until 5 am.

bis gleich!

Package Station

I've spent a lot of time complaining about Berlin. Here's something cool.

It's called a Packstation.



I know it looks likes like a combination of a phone booth and an ATM, but it's really an automated package repository.

If you're not home to pick up your package, Deutsche Post (which, as far as I can tell, is run by DHL) will put a lovely envelope in your mailbox.



When you have the time, day or night, you may take this envelope to the local grocery store, which is where I found the above package station.

Scan the enclosed bar code at the window.



Then, use your finger to sign the touch screen. Pay no attention to the bad English instructions that tell you to "subscribe with your finger".



"Subscribe" is a transliteration of the German word unterschreiben, which means "sign".

Then one of these little gray windows will open...



...and boom! there's your package.



What's so great about the package station is that you don't have to worry about anyone "going postal" on you, and the thing is never closed. Efficient and convenient. Pay attention, America.

A Milestone

Today I started to feel like I live in Berlin. Like I’m supposed to be here. Maybe some of the Berliner sense of entitlement has rubbed off on me, but I finally feel like I have the right to be here.

Maybe it’s because I do. Today I finally got my Aufenthaltserlaubnis, my residence permit. I can't show you the whole thing because it has my passport number on it and stuff. But here's the "biometric" pass photo.



Because of my own miscalculations and because I forgot my map, I was ten minutes late for my appointment at the permit office, so I was scared they would send me away again or make me wait until the end of the day or something.

Stymied. I’ve been looking for that word ever since I got here! I’ve been stymied every time I want to accomplish some simple task. But slowly everything is being destymiefied. I wonder what the German word for stymie is. And destymiefied.

But first here’s a thing. I don’t know what is up with closed doors in Berlin. I never know when I’m supposed to knock and when I’m supposed to barge right in.

So I got to the waiting room today at the permit office and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. There was one of these old familiar things:



And there was this closed door:



I asked the people in the waiting room where one obtained a number. They gestured to the door. So I just barged in. I’ve done that before and been kicked out. But this time I was right. Oh, that reminds me of another thing.

Berliners know what you’re supposed to be doing at all times. And if you do it wrong, they’ll tell you.

When I got on the bus without showing my ticket, the bus driver said “Uh, do you have a ticket?” “Yeah, here” I said. “Well if you have a ticket then you need to show it to me!” he said in a not entirely compassionate tone.

When a young man got on the train before the people had gotten off, an old lady told him “You should let us get off first!”

And today, when a girl in the permit office waiting room failed to go to the correct room after her number was called, a middle-aged woman came out and excoriated her.

My attitude toward the public rebuke is ambivalent. On the one hand, it’s rude to berate someone in mixed company. Also, it’s a little bit spiteful to tell people what they *should have* done after they’ve already failed to do it.

But at the same time, if you don’t mind the embarrassment, it’s really nice to have someone tell you how things are supposed to be done. It’s very direct, and then you won’t make the same mistake later. That kind of directness with strangers reminds me of New York.

Anyway, it only took about 40 minutes to get my residence permit. And now I’m legal! It feels really good. It raised my spirits.



And then, on the train ride back from the permit office, I had one of my favorite Berlin experiences so far.

I don’t know if I’ve told you that guys walk around drinking from bottles of beer here. I’ve never seen a woman doing it. Usually, it’s a group of guys, and, go figure, they’re often loud and obnoxious.

Today at about 12:30 in the afternoon I saw five guys with open bottles hanging out on the U-Bahn. I wanted so much to take a picture, but I didn’t have the courage to just be like, “So, you guys like to drink beer, huh? Mind if I take a photo of that?”

Then the subway stopped and a group of twenty kids got on. They surrounded the five cool guys who were drinking beer. The guys lost about 96% of their coolness as soon as the kids swarmed them.

Without hesitating, I grabbed my camera. The guys were distracted. Everyone would think I was taking a picture of the cute kids. Here’s the result.



Echt Berlin!

Accordion Player

Fremde in der Nacht

I'm sorry I didn't get the key change.

Bier!

The Small Stuff

I was so proud of myself today. Why? Because I bought a sandwich!



It reminded me of the scene in The Princess Bride when Fezzik says to Westley (who's been mostly dead all day), "You just shook your head -- that doesn't make you happy?"

Still, I hope I've made it clear by now that in a foreign country, everything you do for the first time is daunting. That is, as the Germans say, aller Anfang ist schwer.

So when I decided to buy lunch today, I almost gave up.

You see, you can't just *buy lunch* at the FU cafeteria. Money is useless--they don't take it.

What they do take is the "Mensa Card".



First you buy the card. Then you fill it with money. Then you get your food. Then you pay for your food with the card. But of course, all four of these things have to happen in a different place.

I guess I'm finally getting a little bit of perspective. I decided lunch was not going to defeat me today.

My brilliant strategy was to walk around, watching what people were doing. It worked like a charm.

And the best part of the story is, I got lunch for only 1,70 Euro.

Halloween at KaDeWe

I went to Ku'damm again on Saturday--it's really too crowded for my taste.

But I was happy to see a Halloween display in the window of KaDeWe, a big luxury department store. I will post the rest of the pictures are in my Picasa Web album called "Berlin Day 26".

And if I Sound Strange, Don’t Get Alarmed

Let me see. What’s the best but least alarming way to begin this post? Let’s try:

Mom, thanks for packing me band-aids. I wish they had been a little bigger?

or how about:

Dad, I’m starting to understand why you dislike dogs so much?

or maybe:

Since I live in Germany, you might be a little confused if I were to tell you I had been mauled by a German Shepherd. Make no mistake: this thing had a tail and not a hooked stick.

This one certainly won’t work:

Does anyone know the number for 911 in Berlin?

OK, but really, I’m fine. I’m not even completely sure it was a bite. So I probably don’t have rabies.

Here’s the thing.

I was jogging along the Berliner Mauerweg, or the Berlin-Wall-Way, which is just south of my apartment and really is where the Berlin Wall ran, separating the Southern part of West Berlin from Russian-controlled Brandenburg. It’s kind of a cool place to jog.

It’s funny, I never imagined I’d be a member of the select group of people who have been attacked by a German Shepherd while running towards the Berlin Wall.



There are very few joggers in this part of the city, mostly because everyone here is old. Seriously, I’m not trying to brag, but, jogging, I have passed several people riding bikes. Going the same direction as I was.

Being Berlin, there are, however, a lot of dogs. Berliners love their dogs. They take them on the U-Bahn. They take them into stores. They take them to parties. They take them into restaurants.

So when I saw a man and a woman with two big dogs coming towards me on the path, I didn’t think much of it.

Then the big black dog started to veer towards me in a a way that unsettled me, instinctively. But it was the German Shepherd that turned out to be the real problem.

As I attempted to jog past this ferocious pack, it jumped me.

I suddenly felt a great weight on my left side and a sharp pain in my left hip.

The woman, who ought to be put to sleep, swooped in and pulled the dog off me, shouting something like “Sei nicht Wahnsinnig!”, which means, “Don’t be insane!” I assume she was talking to the dog. But, and here’s a fun fact, evidently German Shepherds, even German German Shepherds, don’t speak German!

I stopped, but I didn’t take out my headphones. I pulled up my shorts to examine the spot where I felt like I had been stabbed.

To my surprise, there was no gaping wound where my leg used to be, no gush of blood. It just looked like a scratch.

Then I looked at the woman.

“Ist etwas passiert?”, she asked, “Did anything happen?”

The people who say there’s no such thing as a dumb question never met this lady. Or some of my students. But that’s another thing.

So what does a person do? I couldn’t vent my spleen, not because I don’t know those German words (they were some of the most fun to learn), but because, as it is every day, I couldn’t process what she was saying and formulate a response fast enough. I’m *still* trying to formulate a proper German response to that, the dumbest of all possible questions. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I thought she spoke English. Almost certainly in a way I would later regret.

Instead I tried as hard as I could to murder her, her dogs, and her whole family with my eyes. Thank God there’s a difference between malice and violence, or I’d be molding in a German prison right now. Thank God I don’t have the power Drew Barrymore had in Firestarter. Thank God my face is attached to my body and can’t go leaping on people and tearing their throats out willy-nilly.

Then, when my visual assassination attempt failed, I turned around and continued on my way. My leg continued to hurt until I got home. By then, it was bleeding and bruised and I could see a distinct bite-shape. But what was I going to do? I don’t even know the number for the police—and what would they do anyway? Is there a leash law in Berlin? If so, I would say fewer than 50% of the people follow it.

Meine Damen und Herren, I know you love dogs. Everyone does! What kind of a Scrooge could hate dogs? Inconceivable! Just because the little ones are annoying, the big ones are dangerous, and the whole bunch of them are filthy, that doesn’t mean that each and every one of them isn’t a precious gift. After all, their incessant demands make you feel needed! Their constant urge violently to repel harmless strangers makes you feel safe! And most importantly, their tiny brains make it impossible for them to judge you for your flaws, which are undoubtedly few!

The difference between dogs and guns is that guns don’t decide on their own to wound passersby.

No matter what one thinks of dogs, it’s obvious that what happened to me was the owner’s fault. I just hope I see her around someday so I can practice my face-fu on her again.

Anyway, that was Friday, and I guess it's pretty safe to say now that I don't have rabies, and I won't need any medical attention. And I went jogging again on Sunday, just to show the dangerous world who's boss. But I must say I'm a lot more skittish now.

Amendment

I'm not totally back to normal though. Yesterday I walked into the women's restroom. A 'D' on the door just doesn't communicate to me!

Aller Anfang ist Schwer

It’s a German phrase that means every beginning is difficult.

I’ve been here for three weeks now. I finally got to working on my dissertation. And I finally got back to feeling a little bit like myself.

Depending on how you feel about my normal personality, you might not think that’s a good thing. But I missed me.

I don’t actually know whether it was my hitting the three week mark or the fact that I got paid a day earlier, but Tuesday was the day I first started to feel slightly normal again.


The dopey grin means I GOT PAID!

It happened on the bus on the way to the FU. I was standing, because I like to surf the bus, which is what you do when you try to keep your balance without holding on to anything. It’s a game my dad taught me when we used to ride the subway to school.

It was the first time in three weeks that I’ve had any spare mental capacity. Ever since I got here I’ve been like a kid on one of those little merry-go-rounds at the playground, the kind you spin by hand. I’ve been just clinging to the bar, hoping not to get flung off into the dirt or worse, turn white and throw up.

For the first time in three weeks, I was inside my own head, which, as a philosopher, is where I prefer to do my exploring. Set me down by the fire in my winter dressing gown with a ball of wax and I am happy to boldly investigate the most unfamiliar regions of the universe. I would rather be an astronomer than an astronaut. I want to see the stars, but through a telescope, not a spaceship.

But anyway, I’m here, now, I made it. And it’s nice to be here. Whenever I talk to someone, I try to learn from them. I mean, unless they seem like an idiot, like the Hausmeister (apartment manager) does. As a non-native-speaker I’m a novice in a land of experts, which is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, everyone knows about a million things that I don’t, from the rules about tipping a barber to the word for shoelace (the latter I’ve now learned, the former I’m still clueless about). On the other hand, I don’t need to consult a reference book to find these things out—there are two million walking reference works all around me.

Another German expression I learned is “Punktlichkeit ist ein Form von…”, which means ‘punctuality is a form of…”. Well, I almost learned it. I couldn’t figure out what the last word was. Godliness? Courtesy? Respect? I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m sure it perfectly sums up the Berliner attitude toward punctuality, which is zealous.

More Bier!

I will have something to say about the beers I've tried...eventually. Until then, feast your eyes!

Peter Fox, "Alles Neu"

I really like this song! You don't even have to understand German to like it.

Jimi Blue - Key To The City

"All my people from the roof to the floor now..."

It's amusing to hear this German Kid singing and "rapping" in English slang.

Deutsches Wort des Tages

Der Schnürsenkel = shoelace

I'm pretty sure Schnürsenkel is related to the German word Schnur, which you will all remember is mentioned in the first half Kierkegaard's "Either/Or" in which the author says his life is just like the word, which means both a piece of string and a daughter-in-law. The only difference, he says, between his life and the word Schnur, is that it should also have the third and fourth meanings of a camel and a dust brush.

I learned this word because my Schnürsenkel broke and, five pairs later, I finally have a pair of the right length.

New Photo Albums

Liebe Freunde, I've published some new themed albums in Picasa. They include "Berlin Food" and one called "It's Not What You Think"


Also, I posted pictures taken during the German Unification Festival under "Berlin Day 18".

"Your First German Haircut?"

I got a haircut! And you know I needed one.



Of course it cost a ridiculous amount of money because I couldn't find a regular old barber.

This place looked too fancy.


This place looked too 80's.


This place promised "100% SEXY HAIR"


This place just looked like it was for old ladies.


I didn't really want to shop for hair, I just wanted some cut.


And I'm pretty sure I don't want Haarverlängerung, hair extensions.


In the end I went with the 100% Sexy Hair. Of course I had to make an appointment and come back two days later to get it.

I didn't know I would be getting 100% Sexy Hair from such intelligent stylists.


The guy who cut my hair was nice and we had a pleasant conversation about nothing. It turns out he lived in the Houston area for a year when he was in high school. He didn't really speak any English though.

Of course we talked about Obama, or "Der Schwarzer", (the Black One?) as some people here call him. I guess that's not supposed to be offensive... Berliners seem to think it's so amusing that we might elect a black president. I guess they don't give us that much credit.

Before


After, with some complementary blow-drying and styling


I haven't had gel in my hair since I was 12. Unfortunately, I don't own a blow dryer, so I can't recreate this 100% Sexy Hair. I'm going to try for 86%.

German TV and PDA

I just posted a brief new podcast. You can listen to it by clicking on "Luke's Podcast" link on the right.

Forget about it, Jake. It's Berlin.

Day 16 (Mittwoch; 1.10.08)

Look, you know how much I hate to complain.

And how much I love bureaucracy.

And how little I care about money.

And how patient I am.

But really, BERLIN? Really?

I didn’t get paid today because I didn’t go to the chief cashier’s office by 13:00 to get my check. I had no idea I was supposed to.

And I can’t go tomorrow because, like most offices in Berlin, this one is only open for half a day, three days a week. Seriously. Berlin, as far as I can tell, has a 12 hour work week. But those twelve hours are scattered across the calendar like a sneeze across the back of your neck, so no matter when you want to do something during the business week, there’s a 75% chance the office is closed. And of course absolutely everything is closed on Sunday. Not because anyone’s religious. It’s just because it’s Berlin, Jake.

Anyway, I can’t go the next day either, because even though Friday is one of the three days per week they’re open, Friday is a Unification Day, which is a bank holiday, so no one will be there. Hooray, unification!

So now I have to wait another five days to get paid. Because I was an hour late. At 2:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

On the bright side, I met six new people (two from IU), we all spoke English to each other, and one of them ended up sleeping on my floor, on my yoga mat, using my blanket.



Oh, and I went back to the Frisko Getränkemarkt and bought seven new beers.

New Photos

Liebe Freunde, I've posted some new albums.

The picture below for the post "Do the D.A.N.C.E." was taken at the Holocaust Memorial in Potsdamer Platz. There are more in the album for Day 13.

Sausage Fest

If you want to call me, evidently you should dial 011 49 176 5230 8237. That worked for Rachel, whose voice I was overjoyed to hear.

Or you could send me text messages, which I also receive for free and are probably a lot cheaper for you.

For those of you who want to send me letters, DVDs or other lightweight distractions, my address is:

Celsiusstrasse 8
Apartment 81
12207 Berlin

Also, does anyone out there have any good recipes? I'm getting sick of stir-frying meat with onions, mushrooms, and tomatoes (although that's pretty lecker). Preferably things you can make with a few cheap ingredients using no more than a pan and three pots. I've got a stove and an oven, but no microwave, toaster, blender, or, you know, industrial mixer.

Oh yeah, and preferably things made with sausages, since that's the local specialty.

Knut is Tot

No, no, Knut is not really Tot (dead). But his handler is. And in Berlin this is a very big deal.



That photo was taken at the Berlin Zoo. Don't know who Knut is? Well, he's a polar bear. You know, the big white things that eat children who climb over the fence at the zoo but when they're little they're insufferably cute.

Knut was an Internet phenom for a while. And I'm guessing he's the reason they can charge twelve Euros to get into the Berlin Zoo.



He's so famous, that in Ku'damm the anti-meat brigade (aka advocates of the french-fries-and-candy diet) is trying to exploit him for a cause he most certainly wouldn't support.

Do the D.A.N.C.E.

Day 15 (Dienstag, 30.Sept.08)

Speaking a language, for real, in public, is like dancing with a partner.

If you don’t know the steps and you aren’t familiar with the rhythms, you can’t do anything except make awkward, tentative gestures.

If you only know the steps, that is, let’s say for the sake of this metaphor, the vocabulary, then you can never connect with what your partner is doing. You hesitate for too long, or just when you get going you (or your partner) suddenly change directions or halt altogether. You’re always trying to decipher your partner’s movements. Frustrated, your partner either looks for someone else to dance with or thinks you are a hopelessly incompetent person in general and tries to teach you how to walk.

Even when you know the steps and the music, each partner has idiosyncrasies. Each moves a little differently, responds a little differently, and has different expectations of you.

To relate this to language, it seems likely that every person in the world has a different vocabulary. Supposing the average vocabulary consists of 50,000 words, the chances are slim that any two people would know exactly the same 50,000 words. And even if they did, even with, for example, identical twins raised together, it seems likely that any two people would recognize different connotations for some words and would understand different nuances of many words. Since each person’s experience of a language probably differs from everyone else’s, everyone has a slightly different knowledge of the language.

Then, of course, there are the cultural aspects of language that everyone has a different experience of. I mean regionalisms, catch phrases, jargon, inside jokes, lines from songs, movies, books, plays, and poetry, all the different institutional cadences, from the dry, stuffy legalese of fine print to the punchy, clipped sensationalism of the headlines.

And on top of all this, there is a degree of improvisation necessary for partner dancing that is also necessary for linguistic interactions. That’s one reason it’s so frustrating to talk to an answering machine or a customer service-bot. I’m put in mind of the funny scene in Woody Allen’s Manhattan Murder Mystery, in which a group of friends tries to use tape-recorded lines culled from an actress’s fake audition to hold a real phone conversation with her boyfriend. It worked, but it didn’t go smoothly.

One final similarity is that learning to speak a language, like learning to dance, is hard.

****

I’ve been in Berlin for two weeks now. Two weeks is evidently not long enough to become fluent in a language. I don’t know what I expected, but I realize for certain now that it’s good that I’m going to be here for a while.

Now, I’m no language expert, but fluency seems to have at least the following two essential components: 1) spontaneity and 2) adaptability. Contrary to popular belief, size doesn’t matter so much, at least, not the size of one’s vocabulary. There are Berliners who are fluent in German—it’s the only language they know and they’ve spoken it all their lives—but they don’t have very large vocabularies, mostly because they don’t read and they don’t consult a dictionary very frequently.

Knowledge of grammar is also not essential. Many Berliners I’ve met don’t seem to know much about German grammar. They would rarely, if ever, use the conditional or the preterite, for instance, and they couldn’t tell you what the genitive case is, although they may use it correctly.

What I mean by spontaneity is that one is able to speak the language without thinking about the language. Using the language has to become second nature. And by adaptability I mean that one is almost always able to find a way, insofar as it can reasonably be expected, to respond appropriately to linguistic prompts, and to issue appropriate linguistic prompts to others. To use the dancing metaphor, one has to know both how to lead and how to follow.

Literacy is not the same as fluency. And the difference doesn’t just have to do with the medium—print versus speech. Literacy is not like dancing.

Part of literacy is reading ability, which is purely passive. Having the ability to read is like being able to appreciate dancing. You do need a special set of skills to recognize good dancing, but it’s different from the set of skills you need to dance. The other part of literacy is writing, which is purely active. Having the ability to write is like being able to choreograph a dance.

For native speakers, fluency precedes literacy. For me as a second-language speaker, literacy precedes fluency. That’s one reason the stakes feel so high to me. I can appreciate beautiful dancing and I can even choreograph it. But now I have to dance…and I know excruciatingly well just how bad I am.