Berlinglish

When a good German boy goes to the motherland, he is expected to speak the mother tongue. So, here in Berlin for the past week, I have had a similar experience to that which I had in Denmark – namely, people expect me, based on how I look, to speak the native tongue. Palace guards come up to me and tell me in Deutsch not to take photos, old ladies ask in Deutsch for my seat on the train, people come up to me in clubs and ask in Deutsch to buy me drinks (in my dreams). Everywhere is Deutsch, Deutsch, Deutsch. And unlike the play-fake-stupid language that I faced down in Copenhagen, I actually feel bad about not knowing the word eingang, which prevented me from promptly entering lots of doors in my time here.

Despite the copious amounts of beer available, German just isn’t like Spanish – I can’t fake it (drunk) to make it. I just don’t know the language. So in one of my authentic German conversations with a local there always came that pretty awkward moment when I let them know “I don’t speak German, sorry,” after about three minutes of nodding and laughing at what they had been saying in their native language. They are good sports about it, however, and better at English than I am in German, on the whole.

And despite the missing words, there is still a connection I feel to the Germans that persists. Whether it’s driving on the autobahn at 120 mph or eating lots of meat, I have seen how Germany connects to Amerika. Berlin actually feels more American than any city I’ve been to so far (granted, there hasn’t been much competition). I thought I came to Europe to escape the land of drive-ins and shrink-wrap, but found myself most at home in its closest European cousin. Time to go to Paris and shake it all off, with the help, no doubt, of the stuffy Parisens. Can’t wait!

Danske Adventurske

Hej everyone! Not a typo - here it is "hej."

Yes, I am in Denmark now, hanging out with my lovely friend Sarah in her Copenhagen apartment. If you think you're orderly, you have to go to Denmark to test it before you can ever be sure. I mean, these mennesken (people) have their shit TOGETHER - there is no jaywalking, bikelanes on every street, and perfectly-dressed people everywhere. It is a little intimidating for those who love to be the big fish in the small pond - Denmark, at 5 million mennesken, sure is a small pond, but has lots of big ass fishes too.

I've been having many different cultural interactions with my Danish brethren. Yesterday, Sarah and I went to a bike auction to buy her way into the country's preferred mode of transportation. After 30 minutes of confusion, I learned the basic gist of Danish numbers and proceeded to bid for her and get a nice if bit derelict bike! Not knowing the language of where I'm staying is something that I haven't experienced in a while, and it's both fun and frustrating. Fun because I can sort of just walk around clueless in a reverie. Frustrating because I order chicken salad on accident in restaurants when trying to get a ham sandwich. All the same, my blonde hair for once puts me in the majority, and I have been mistaken for a Danish person more than once. My usual procedure is to make sounds like "mmmm" and "Ja!" and "tank" (thank you) until they go away. One has to fake it till one makes it, after all.

I am leaving for Berlin on Tuesday. Post haste!

Los Madrileños y sus almas

Hello Chaps!

Gotcha! If you thought that you were still chaps, you, mis amigos, are sadly en el pasado. In this moment (en este momento sounds so elegant, making me wonder why its literal translation sounds vaguely creepy) I am in Madrid, staying with some friends from school. After a sometimes-terrifying, sometimes-not-because-I-was-asleep flight on the illustrious(ly cheap) easyJet from Gatwick to Barajas, yo soy un Madrileño provisional.

Temporal presence means temporal learning - meaning we need to get down to the soulful matters right away. I spend most of the day navigating the serpentine (dios mio!) Madrid metro, second in length among subways in Europe only to London's. Second in length, maybe, but not second in soul - the Madrid subway pulses with life 250 feet below a semiarid capital ciudad. How do I illustrate this? With a dialogo, of course:

(Linea 2 con dirrecion a Ventas, dos de la tarde. A young woman sits on a seat across from the tired author, who is enamored with his recent coca cola light purchase. A man in his late fifties enters, looking tired, too):
Woman: Oy, papito, puede tener mi asiento
Man: Ahh que amable chiquita, no, no puedo
Woman: Vale, vale, tome el asiento.
Man: Ayy que es esto determinacion, ella tiene una misión!
Woman: Solo quiero que tu tome mi asiento.

CUT SCENE

The Londoners in their Paul Smith suits on the tube were nice, but not this nice. When a young woman persists so in offering a debilitated old man her seat, it is a luminous experience - it even made the author and his coca cola light give up their own seats for a similarly debilitated old woman. I went to Madrid and caught some soul.

Meeting my former lords

Hello! I write from a charming home in Kew Village, Richmond Borough, London. I'm here staying with the incorrigible David Mogilner, my freshman year roomate and London mapper extraordinaire. It's my first time among my colonizers, so I have decided to skip jetlag and fake it till I make it by sleeping when the Englishmen sleep and waking when the Englishmen wake. That has translated to 14 hours of sleep in the last 84 hours. But I feel like a million quid!

Of particular interest is the greenery in LDN. For such a crowded old world city, my adopted home has some breathing room, or, as Brannack would understate: "there is a little room to stretch out." Hyde Park and Richmond Park are wonderful breaks from the confusing hustle and bustle of the backwards/sideways hustle on London's lanes.

Also nice is all the free things I have been finding! The Tate modern is an amazing gallery! The British Museum - less so; I prefer my art to have color, and stolen ancient Greek artifacts just don't really get me going. No matter!

Tonight we venture again into the city for pizza and pubs. It shall be a smashing, shi-shi, posh experience, I am sure. Until next time!

p.s. so much sol in London. Not sure about the soul - can one really judge soul in five days? The Brits are excellent at understatement, however, which either indicates above-average cynicism or an incredible modesty on their part in the exposition of generous, soulful attributes.