Jets to Berlin

Welcome to Post The First, the first post in a series of posts to be posted forthwith. There are many places where I could have started this blog, but I figured my Berlin arrival as the most prudent. Which is not to say that the weeks prior to my arrival here havent had their share of dramatic peaks and valleys. And while the details of such events would provide some interesting existential blog-fodder, but those of you who know me well know all that crap already. In summation, after twelve rainy years in Seattle I had something of a pre-mid-life-crisis, and so, with the help of many incredible friends, I sold my house, put all my stuff in storage, and moved myself and my dog, Otter, to Austin, Texas.

That was the easy part.

Part two of my plan involves a three month working tour of Europe with Otter, which is where we find ourselves today.

After finishing up the last of my "Fest Fest" (GonerFest, Pain In The Big Neck, BudgetRock) I left San Francisco for Berlin, a city I've never been to. My biggest worry for the trip was how Otter would take it, as I had previously thought that she would have to ride in the cargo hold, assailed by airplane rats, cold, and bitter boredom. Instead, I found an underseat carrier (The Sherpa!) which insured our ten-plus hour flight would be spent together. Half a doggie sleeping pill later and she was out for the duration, with not so much as a bark to indicate her presence to my seatmates. Prior to jetting out, I had all sorts of documentaion prepared, stamped, and double-stamped by vets and government authorities to insure that Otter was rabies free and would not bring the European Union to a festering, diseased rubble with her eleven pounds of black terror. No one looked at any of it, which has completely blown my stereotypical notion of Germanys famous preoccupation with identification. Having to show no papers, her journey was completely uneventful and accident free.

Our United flight was on an aged 747, the kind with a pull-down screen for movies shown via digital projector. My last trip to Europe three years ago was a British Airways funfest, complete with seat-back entertainment and a variety of movies and tv shows to pass the time. Here, we had a programmed quadfecta of crap, featuring Evan Almighty, License To Wed, The Transformers and No Reservations. I popped a couple sleeping pills as soon as I buckled in, so my flight consisted of sleep punctuated by periodic moments of druggy awakeness filled with glimpses of Steve Carrell in a beard, robots fighting, Robin Williams doing Robin Willimas crap, and Katherine Zeta Jones in a resturaunt. These scenes combined might make for a pretty awesome flick, but I pity the poor souls who watched these turkeys individually. Congratulations United -you have the worst taste in the industry!

But lets get to Berlin, which admittedly at this point I have not seen much of. It is approaching winter here with darkend skies and a misty air, so I couldn't help but be reminded of Seattle, and subconciously searched for the Space Needle in the skyline. A slow taxi ride from Berlin-Tegel international revealed a juxtaposition of cold war decay and brilliant modernism, traditional germanic architecture coupled with faceless facades of apartment complexes from opposing decades. We drove past the graffiti strewn Wall, but it took me about a quarter-mile to realize what I was looking at. I'll need to add Checkpoint Charlie to the tourist list, when I eventually get around to compiling it.

Which brings about another interesting change from my last European trip, which was all whirlwind backpacking and train hopping, spending but a few nigts in a budget rat trap before speeding off to the next museum. This time, I'm being put up by a friend of a friend, the extremely gracious Lina Van de Mars, who is a TV celebrity here, and being more than accomodating to Otter and I in her amazing two room flat. So the pace is radically slower, and knowing a local makes it all feel less foreign. And since I already visited and wrote about Europe before, I can skip the headings entitled "What Strange Toilets You Have" and "What, No Elevator?" Suffice it to say that Lina's pad is on the fifth floor, there are no elevators, and it took me five minutes to figure out how to flush the toilet.

As soon as I arrived she took Otter and I on a walking tour of Friedrichshain, her neighborhood. Filled with bars, restaurants, a tattoo shop downstairs, the hood is a graffiti covered hip borough where one might never need to leave. My first meal here was Thai, and there are, incredibly, a number of Thai places here to choose from. Suspiciously, I found no Pad Thai on the menu, so I wonder if that is a strictly American invention. I met the guys in the tattoo shop, and one of them owns a tourist flat that they rent out - I might be able to rent it from him at a reduced rate for my extended stay. The almighty internet in the only issue, since I am still working and need that to keep me in bratwurst.

After a brief jet lag nap, Lina and her friend Simone came back from an errand and we drank gin made by a friend in small batches, potent stuff we mixed with a ginger liquor. Next was a trip to a pizza shop owned by a friend, which serves delicious, traditional Italian pies in the ultra thin crust style, dank Prosecco mixed with Compari (I already forgot the German name for this), and met a bunch of their friends including the bass player from Lina's band The Payback Five and an awesome tattoer/piercer from Zurich named Rock. And while my lack of German has certainly kept me out of a few conversations, I never felt left out although I do feel stupid for making people repeat their stories to me in English. I do love the sound of spoken German, and I hopefully I will have a rudimentary grasp of it before I leave. And so after many prosecco-comparis and a few tallll beers we made our way home to my lovely red couch where I slept the sleep that only jetlag and gin can provide.

Next: Pictures! (I promise)