Saturday, August 13, 2005
Purgatorio
Apparently, the journey from Copenhagen to Glasgow passes through the outer rings of hell.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Last bits on Copenhagen
I forgot to mention. The last day I was there Jens took RMJ and me to Rothgilde to visit the Cathedral where all the Danish kings (and one queen) are buried.
Very cool. And MANY different styles contained therein. Pretty wild, as it has been modified and added to since the middle ages.
Walking around the town, you can really witness the gene pool. Several guys seem to embody the whole viking stereotype—Nordic features, platinum blond hair and all.
We also stopped for some Danish danish.
and visited the viking museum on the waterfront.
Argh.
And again with the signs.
Very cool. And MANY different styles contained therein. Pretty wild, as it has been modified and added to since the middle ages. Walking around the town, you can really witness the gene pool. Several guys seem to embody the whole viking stereotype—Nordic features, platinum blond hair and all.
We also stopped for some Danish danish.
and visited the viking museum on the waterfront.
Argh.And again with the signs.
Winding up CPH
.
Had a fabulous time in Copenhagen, culminating in a lovely house warming party for Klaus and Jens with some really stellar people (and family).
Robert-Michael and I took a bike tour, which is really the best way to do it. And we had a private guide, which was great.
We named our bikes Mustang Sally and Mustang Harry. (When Mustang Harry met Mustang Sally..)
And after the city bike tour, we took a tour of the Rosenborg castle. Very nice. But we were reminded why we avoid other tourists. I'm just glad the majority of the offenders may have been English-speaking, but not American. The grounds were also splendid.
I have taken hundreds of photos over the past few days-- Copenhagen is just a dream for architectural elements, good design, and a variety of patterns and textures. I have been collecting textures for a while and hope to make a good book out of it.
In Denmark, even something simple like a storm drain is approached with an appreciation for aesthetic.
And of course, the signs.
Had a fabulous time in Copenhagen, culminating in a lovely house warming party for Klaus and Jens with some really stellar people (and family).
Robert-Michael and I took a bike tour, which is really the best way to do it. And we had a private guide, which was great.
We named our bikes Mustang Sally and Mustang Harry. (When Mustang Harry met Mustang Sally..)
And after the city bike tour, we took a tour of the Rosenborg castle. Very nice. But we were reminded why we avoid other tourists. I'm just glad the majority of the offenders may have been English-speaking, but not American. The grounds were also splendid.
I have taken hundreds of photos over the past few days-- Copenhagen is just a dream for architectural elements, good design, and a variety of patterns and textures. I have been collecting textures for a while and hope to make a good book out of it.
In Denmark, even something simple like a storm drain is approached with an appreciation for aesthetic.
And of course, the signs.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Danish modesty really out of control now.
They just have no confidence in their work at all.
(looking in the window it appeared to be an interior design firm)
(looking in the window it appeared to be an interior design firm)
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
More Danish modesty
(or possibly just unclear on the concept of advertising in the Copenhagen Times Square)
We're not pushing you. We make some pretty good beer. We're not saying we're the greatest or anything. But maybe you should try some. It's probably really good.
We're not pushing you. We make some pretty good beer. We're not saying we're the greatest or anything. But maybe you should try some. It's probably really good.
Accessibility and Danish design
In Berlin, I had thought that the cobblestones were cool, but also that they were murder on the feet-- and dangerous for someone in heels, and a nightmare for wheelchair users. Dig the Copenhagen insets for wheelchairs:
(Okay, that might not be why. But still. Cool.)
(Okay, that might not be why. But still. Cool.)
Copenhagen first day
Lots to write about but I'm keeping it brief. The bike tour never happened. When we called the guy we woke him up. We have an appointment for tomorrow. We did not go out after dinner and everyone else is asleep. I've stayed up posting past bits.
We had a wonderful self-guided walking tour of the main part of the city. Even though the weather is gray and rainy the city still shines. I LOVE the architecture and it is an interesting contrast to Berlin. Took LOTS of photos.
We visited the Royal Library, aka the Black Diamond, which was just too cool. MAN! These Danes know the importance of good design and certainly emphasize it in everything they do.
Pics of the Royal Library (the new black glass structure connects to the old ancient structure).
We had a wonderful self-guided walking tour of the main part of the city. Even though the weather is gray and rainy the city still shines. I LOVE the architecture and it is an interesting contrast to Berlin. Took LOTS of photos.
We visited the Royal Library, aka the Black Diamond, which was just too cool. MAN! These Danes know the importance of good design and certainly emphasize it in everything they do.
Pics of the Royal Library (the new black glass structure connects to the old ancient structure).
grumble.. mornin'.. grumble...
We did not go out last night, and I slept fitfully (conscious of waking folks with my snoring—I kept Klaus awake a couple of months ago camping at the Grove). And somehow I missed it that Robert is a morning person. This is not fitting into my screwy Berlin wake/sleep schedule. Or lack thereof.
We are heading out—you better believe after coffee—to find a bike tour of Copenhagen. Scheduled to leave the new Danish Architectural Center at 10:00.
We are heading out—you better believe after coffee—to find a bike tour of Copenhagen. Scheduled to leave the new Danish Architectural Center at 10:00.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
You don't have to have a good time here...
But feel free.
No pressure.
(Welcome sign at the Copenhagen airport.)
No pressure.
(Welcome sign at the Copenhagen airport.)
Last Days in East Berlin
The American Express office was marginally helpful, and 45 minutes later I was walking out with some warm soft euros. Having previously resisted the whole shopping thing, I relented for H&M. There were some fabulous shirts, suits, and jackets all reasonable priced. But nothing came close to fitting. Everything is 'slim fit.' Which to be thinner than the average young German I've seen is unimaginable.
If you are under thirty, so is your waistline. In most cases, even the 40 year olds. These people are tiny. Grr.
I wanted to walk around the parliament dome, but the line was out the building and down the park. Waiting in line looked like it would waste my whole day as people were lying down and looked as if they had been camped out for hours. The memorial to the murdered jews was very interesting. Again, the line was too long to get into the museum, but the installation was cool. Not very moving though—the creation is more like a modern art piece than an emotional memorial. The image of headstones is fitting, but the result is more like a stone maze and playground rather than a solemn space.
Someone at one of the bars last night recommended the Topography of Terror exhibit so I made my way there. It also took up a chunk of time just getting there. The exhibit is only in German, but there are other language audio tours. I got one, and was amused to see it was produced by Antenna Audio—an outfit in Sausalito where I interviewed for a job last year. All in all, that exhibit was also a waste of my valuable museum/touring time. The tour was a bit slowly paced, and I am not all that much of a history buff in the first place. And the history of the bureaucracy of the SS (kinda boring), and the atrocities (aie!), were just way too disturbing for a hot sunny day. About 45 minutes into it, I skipped for Museum Island. The New Museum was beautiful from the outside, but apparently closed. All of Berlin is still under construction, and it was cool to see the "backstage" restoration behind the fences. (I have pix for later.)
I did make into the Berlin Dom, the main cathedral, which was spectacular.
The breath-taking climb to the top was worth it for the breathtaking views.
The Pergamon was closed (being Monday), so I had just enough time for a boat tour before meeting Clark for dinner. Unfortunately, I spend the next hour trying to find a tour in English, finally learning that there are none.
After more sight-seeing and shopping in the Quateriers and Gallerie LaFayette (the "Berlin Herrod's"), I hiked home and collapsed with the Juice Guys, who really have become my good friends on this trip. After a shower and wardrobe change, I did laundry at Clark's while he fed Peter (Alexia is on a trip with the President) and we did some more visiting.
On the way for the promised-fun happy hour at Flaxx, I passed the Juice Guys (Keith and Rob, with Steven) just starting dinner on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant—with their Swedish friends they told me about who just returned from Oslo Pride. (or was that Finland?) They invited me to join them but I didn't want to intrude. After chatting a while I realized I was hungry (I didn't really get a chance to eat with Clark b/c of Peter) and I wished I had just accepted their invitation. I stayed with them for a while and went to Flaxx, which was nearly empty. The Juice Guys had told me that if it were a typical German bar, 'happy hour' meant all night and that it would likely not be hopping until later. They said they might meet up with me there after dinner. When I got there it was pretty sparse, so I thought I would kill some time by getting a bite myself. When I returned there were even fewer people. I got a beer and settled into a couch to see if the place would pick up or if the Londoners would show, but neither happened. In fact, I started to fall asleep sitting there.
Finishing my beer I decided to call it a night, but the bartender convinced me to try this other bar which would be crowded (he remembered asking me to come back for happy hour and explained it was only from 7 to 9 so it had been long over). This other bar would be popular because they were having a special on Becks that night and it is a 'dark bar.' Thinking I should not waste an opportunity for a good Berlin experience, I began the trek, which was way beyond walking distance. I should have taken a cab but took the tram and subway instead.
The place was pretty cool if not hard to find [I'll insert the name when I look it up later]. Well, not cool really, but doable. And the Becks were in fact cheap. Beer at dinner: 3.75 euro. Beer at bar: 70 cents. The barback/other bartender was the same kid from Pick Ab I met the night before. This was a stand/sit and pose crowd, with no real opportunity to make conversation. A creepy old guy kept giving me a look so I pretended to be amused and fascinated with the Bel Ami video playing and turned my back. After one more, I cut my losses and started to head back.
With no cabs to be found and no southbound U service, it would take about 30 plus minutes to walk back. I took longer as I hung out and talked with some young guys outside of a late night food place. One kept asking me for a fire. He was mostly speaking German so I wasn't tuned in that he was talking to me. One of his friends corrected him saying, "No man, you got it wrong. It's a light. This is a light, man." It took some time explaining the difference between fire, flame, and "a light." They started to leave to go smoke more pot, but one of them—the guy who had asked for a flame—came trotting back and wanted to make sure that I got the best late night snack possible (clearly, I had no idea what I was reading). I thought he kept suggesting a "tuna," which I thought sounded gross this late at night/early in the morning. It was an excellent chicken (lamb maybe? it was meat) pita sandwich. Hodon I believe it's called. And is the late night staple in Berlin. The equivalent of getting a slice on the way home from the bar. Again, I didn't make it home until after 5:00.
In the morning I had intended to pack up first and hit the Pergamon before flying out. I had to got to Clark's before he went to work so I could get my laundry. German washers are very thorough and take hours to wash so they were not ready the night before. And the smoke is so pervasive I really wanted to wash out the jeans.
Always dressing for the day before, I left in shorts and a linen shirt, and froze my ass off. Sure, 90 yesterday, 45 today.
Got my clothes, helped Clark with Peter, then went back for a nap before packing and going out again. Hey, I had only been in bed for a few hours.
When I woke up again, it was freezing cold outside and pouring rain and I thought I would much rather sleep in than traipse about in the cold rain. After an extended lie-in, I rationalized the sleeping in and not museum-ing with the (1) stay healthy by resting (2) the need to sleep because Robert would surely want to rage our first night in Copenhagen, and (3) it was absolutely piss miserable weather. I packed and then did a final hang-out with the juice guys. I searched vainly for a good lunch place, and spent most of my remaining time in Berlin merely circling the neighborhood looking for a reasonable lunch.
Ultimately, I went into the really nice restaurant downstairs from the guest flat. It was relatively expensive, but warm, dry, beautiful, had a decipherable menu, and coffee. As I entered I noticed a tiny transparent sign on the door: WLAN. All week looking for wi-fi hotspots and there was one just downstairs. Behind the nice restaurant is a deeper coffee lounge with leather seats and low tables—and several people on laptops. I posted the previous entries (I tend to write these as text docs and post later) and met Clark in time for him to give me a lift to the outlying airport for my evening EasyJet (euro SouthWest Airlines) flight to CPH (Copenhagen).
If you are under thirty, so is your waistline. In most cases, even the 40 year olds. These people are tiny. Grr.
I wanted to walk around the parliament dome, but the line was out the building and down the park. Waiting in line looked like it would waste my whole day as people were lying down and looked as if they had been camped out for hours. The memorial to the murdered jews was very interesting. Again, the line was too long to get into the museum, but the installation was cool. Not very moving though—the creation is more like a modern art piece than an emotional memorial. The image of headstones is fitting, but the result is more like a stone maze and playground rather than a solemn space.
Someone at one of the bars last night recommended the Topography of Terror exhibit so I made my way there. It also took up a chunk of time just getting there. The exhibit is only in German, but there are other language audio tours. I got one, and was amused to see it was produced by Antenna Audio—an outfit in Sausalito where I interviewed for a job last year. All in all, that exhibit was also a waste of my valuable museum/touring time. The tour was a bit slowly paced, and I am not all that much of a history buff in the first place. And the history of the bureaucracy of the SS (kinda boring), and the atrocities (aie!), were just way too disturbing for a hot sunny day. About 45 minutes into it, I skipped for Museum Island. The New Museum was beautiful from the outside, but apparently closed. All of Berlin is still under construction, and it was cool to see the "backstage" restoration behind the fences. (I have pix for later.)
I did make into the Berlin Dom, the main cathedral, which was spectacular.
The breath-taking climb to the top was worth it for the breathtaking views.
The Pergamon was closed (being Monday), so I had just enough time for a boat tour before meeting Clark for dinner. Unfortunately, I spend the next hour trying to find a tour in English, finally learning that there are none.
After more sight-seeing and shopping in the Quateriers and Gallerie LaFayette (the "Berlin Herrod's"), I hiked home and collapsed with the Juice Guys, who really have become my good friends on this trip. After a shower and wardrobe change, I did laundry at Clark's while he fed Peter (Alexia is on a trip with the President) and we did some more visiting.
On the way for the promised-fun happy hour at Flaxx, I passed the Juice Guys (Keith and Rob, with Steven) just starting dinner on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant—with their Swedish friends they told me about who just returned from Oslo Pride. (or was that Finland?) They invited me to join them but I didn't want to intrude. After chatting a while I realized I was hungry (I didn't really get a chance to eat with Clark b/c of Peter) and I wished I had just accepted their invitation. I stayed with them for a while and went to Flaxx, which was nearly empty. The Juice Guys had told me that if it were a typical German bar, 'happy hour' meant all night and that it would likely not be hopping until later. They said they might meet up with me there after dinner. When I got there it was pretty sparse, so I thought I would kill some time by getting a bite myself. When I returned there were even fewer people. I got a beer and settled into a couch to see if the place would pick up or if the Londoners would show, but neither happened. In fact, I started to fall asleep sitting there.
Finishing my beer I decided to call it a night, but the bartender convinced me to try this other bar which would be crowded (he remembered asking me to come back for happy hour and explained it was only from 7 to 9 so it had been long over). This other bar would be popular because they were having a special on Becks that night and it is a 'dark bar.' Thinking I should not waste an opportunity for a good Berlin experience, I began the trek, which was way beyond walking distance. I should have taken a cab but took the tram and subway instead.
The place was pretty cool if not hard to find [I'll insert the name when I look it up later]. Well, not cool really, but doable. And the Becks were in fact cheap. Beer at dinner: 3.75 euro. Beer at bar: 70 cents. The barback/other bartender was the same kid from Pick Ab I met the night before. This was a stand/sit and pose crowd, with no real opportunity to make conversation. A creepy old guy kept giving me a look so I pretended to be amused and fascinated with the Bel Ami video playing and turned my back. After one more, I cut my losses and started to head back.
With no cabs to be found and no southbound U service, it would take about 30 plus minutes to walk back. I took longer as I hung out and talked with some young guys outside of a late night food place. One kept asking me for a fire. He was mostly speaking German so I wasn't tuned in that he was talking to me. One of his friends corrected him saying, "No man, you got it wrong. It's a light. This is a light, man." It took some time explaining the difference between fire, flame, and "a light." They started to leave to go smoke more pot, but one of them—the guy who had asked for a flame—came trotting back and wanted to make sure that I got the best late night snack possible (clearly, I had no idea what I was reading). I thought he kept suggesting a "tuna," which I thought sounded gross this late at night/early in the morning. It was an excellent chicken (lamb maybe? it was meat) pita sandwich. Hodon I believe it's called. And is the late night staple in Berlin. The equivalent of getting a slice on the way home from the bar. Again, I didn't make it home until after 5:00.
In the morning I had intended to pack up first and hit the Pergamon before flying out. I had to got to Clark's before he went to work so I could get my laundry. German washers are very thorough and take hours to wash so they were not ready the night before. And the smoke is so pervasive I really wanted to wash out the jeans.
Always dressing for the day before, I left in shorts and a linen shirt, and froze my ass off. Sure, 90 yesterday, 45 today.
Got my clothes, helped Clark with Peter, then went back for a nap before packing and going out again. Hey, I had only been in bed for a few hours.
When I woke up again, it was freezing cold outside and pouring rain and I thought I would much rather sleep in than traipse about in the cold rain. After an extended lie-in, I rationalized the sleeping in and not museum-ing with the (1) stay healthy by resting (2) the need to sleep because Robert would surely want to rage our first night in Copenhagen, and (3) it was absolutely piss miserable weather. I packed and then did a final hang-out with the juice guys. I searched vainly for a good lunch place, and spent most of my remaining time in Berlin merely circling the neighborhood looking for a reasonable lunch.
Ultimately, I went into the really nice restaurant downstairs from the guest flat. It was relatively expensive, but warm, dry, beautiful, had a decipherable menu, and coffee. As I entered I noticed a tiny transparent sign on the door: WLAN. All week looking for wi-fi hotspots and there was one just downstairs. Behind the nice restaurant is a deeper coffee lounge with leather seats and low tables—and several people on laptops. I posted the previous entries (I tend to write these as text docs and post later) and met Clark in time for him to give me a lift to the outlying airport for my evening EasyJet (euro SouthWest Airlines) flight to CPH (Copenhagen).
Monday, August 08, 2005
This way please...
Women and children with one leg shorter than the other please stay left.
(Alternate caption: "If your legs are uneven as shown you will be walking in circles this way.")
(Alternate caption: "If your legs are uneven as shown you will be walking in circles this way.")
The dollar is weak, but the beer is strong.
It was a long Saturday.
After failing to make a phone call at the box (and after the last blog entry) I went out to the curb to try using Gizmo to make a phone call via the internet. I could connect fine, but with the wind and traffic and such, Clark could not hear me well at all. He had not heard from the luggage people, and he took their number and would call and harangue for me. The connection was so bad and I was anxious enough about the luggage that I just headed back from Mehringdam to Kollwitzstrasse.
When I got to Clark's there was bad news: Alexia and Peter had been violently ill all night and day, and it was starting on Clark. Keeping me at bay lest I catch it next, he told me that he spoke to the baggage office (who remembered me-- apparently I made an impression) and they reported that knew my luggage existed, but it was still in London and wouldn't be to Berlin until that evening, and not delivered until the next moring between 7 and 9. I wanted to keep pressuring the luggage people, and to call home to let Fran and John know I had arrived safely, so Clark lent me his handy phone (mobile) to use over the weekend. Which would also enable us to keep in touch while they recuperated.
Walking back to the guest flat, I discovered I didn't know the right prefixes to make local or long distance calls on his mobile. When Alexia and Clark had first welcomed me to the guest flat on Wortherstrass, they pointed out a little shop across the way: The London Juice Company. "If you ever need help in English, you can go over there." This qualified.
I love these guys. Having been linguistically isolated all day (and for me that's something), it was nice to be able to have a conversation and get some advice. I gave them the brief rundown (just arrived, family sick, luggage lost, how do I dial out) and then we moved on to dinner and night life suggestions. We got into a discussion about the luggage as one of the owners, Keith, also works for British Airways and I recognized him from my flight (at 6'6" with a shaved head and pale features, he was quite noticeable). Couldn't have been nicer. I carefully segued from general dinner/nightlife suggestions to gay suggestions—sort of feeling my way here (were they all old Germany skinheads or new Germany skinheads?). Turns out they were all a bunch of 'mo's and promtly set to creating my itinerary for dinner and debauchery. The blokes I met were Keith and Robert, apparent owners, and Steven (with hound viggie) apparent regular.
While most of Berlin is very comfortably gay/straight mixed, there are three or four neighborhoods with more gay social attractions than others. For sheer culinary pleasure and density of venue options, they recommended Nollendorfplatz.
Everything here starts late, so after failing to nap I just I chilled with Harry Potter for a while, had a shower and a cocktail and hiked the ten minutes to the U-bahn station. The Nollendorf station is in the middle of a star pattern and which avenue was which was not readily apparent. Getting directions from a skinhead with leather chaps (clearly, I was in a gay neighborhood—well, the whole city is rather leather-philic), I found Cafe Berio. Dinner was excellent, the wait staff gorgeous, and my waiter spent a year in Texas and spoke English fluently with a slightly southern but extremely American accent. He brought me one of the free tabloids, which while being entirely in German featured neighborhood maps with restaurant/bar/club guides which were easy to understand and proved invaluable.
After dinner, the English Juice Guys recommended starting at Tom's then making my way next door to Hafen. Tom's (a common gay bar name in the city. Of Finland and all of that.) looked dead and Hafen looked more friendly (a la Moby's in SF) so there I went. It was quite small and pleasantly crowed. A Jack and Ginger set me back six euros and I found a stool and wondered how to start a conversation without speaking the language. Eventually I chatted up a guy who had been standing behind me (but whom I had been watching in the mirror opposite). Vitcor is from New York and is here for five weeks learning German. Victor is handsome, charming, and a good conversationalist, but also embodies the Manhattan Guy archetype. You know, never been off Manhattan, hates to, why would you, New York has everything and everything else sucks, yadda. Also, we should all leave the US because Bush has made it so bad, everything is horrible everywhere but NYC, LA, and SF, gays are the new jews (political scapegoats), etc. A little more serious bar conversation than I needed. Most of this came out in conversation after we befriended Steven(?), wearing a New Hamshire hoody, who came to visit Berlin 10 years ago and dropped out of college to stay behind and only recently became a legal expat. If he personified an American archetype, it would be the guy who, as long as his has his bike, his pot, and his hackey sack, he's cool.
The bartender would change the CD fairly often depending on his mood or that of the crowd, and I loved almost all of his selections. I was particularly impressed when he put in Joe Henry's Scar CD. I didn't think anyone else but me had heard of it. Very jazzy/bluesy with really interesting rhythms, almost african or cajun in influence. I bought it after a review on NPR years ago, and one of the tracks "Stop" was remade into Madonna's club dance track "Tell Me." My estimation of the bar went up several notches.
All in all a fun evening and we enjoyed each other's company and plenty of Becks for several hours. Steven wanted to hit a deep house/tance sort of disco with lots of "young guys" and a mixed crowd in the northeast area (we were in the south). According to the bar maps, it was the only thing around there, and we would have to take a 20 euro cab to get there. The more he described the club, its crowd, its pharmaceuticals, and its music, the more excited he got and the more certain I knew I would not have a good time, even though I was going with 'new friends.' They also made it clear their goal was to get laid (and not with me) and I decided I'd rather stay in the neighborhood where I knew how to get home and had enough attractions that if I wasn't having fun in one place I could always move on to another.
By the way, I had forgotten the whole 'beer is crazy strong here compared to the states' thing. I was well, well on my way to being surprisingly hammered.
I want to head out into the day so I am going to make the rest of this short. Or shorter. Hit Tom's which was kind of lame. Nice enough crowd, but not chatty or openly friendly. The music was good. All of these places have free coat check, which was nice. But also air thick with smoke, which is not. The downstairs "dark room" was packed and yet lame. After a beer there I walked into Schene, which was a hardcore leather/uniform bar. The most leather I had on was cowboy boots. But at least I was wearing a black shirt, designer though it may be. But everyone was really friendly so I stayed and had a good time. (Kevin, you would be proud.) One small guy kept coming on to me and said, "Ah, no German? English? That is fine." When spent some time together but when he left me alone on his quest for poppers I realized that I was really drunk and took that as a sign it was time to go home.
I am used to bars closing and going home at a situationally reasonable hour. Apparently, the bars here close at "whenever we damn please o'clock." It was about 5:00 a.m. Not only was the subway still running at that time, but it was almost crowded. Lots of folks, young and old (well, not old but way past young) on their way home from a Saturday night. By the time I reached the U-bhf station nearest my neighborhood, it was light. I poured myself into bed by six.
Having had too much strong beer and not much sleep, and throw in the jet lag, I was not an early riser on Sunday. The plan was to call clark 11-ish to noon-ish to check how they were feeling, if the luggage appeared, and make a possible plan for lunch. They were still ill and he suggested I come by after I find a brunch place in the neighborhood, serving until 4:00. I finally made it up and out by 3:00. I knew I needed something to eat but looking at every plate I passed made me queasy. Wanting nothing more than a banana and an OJ, I went back to the Juice Guys. They were quite interested in my night's experience and made me the most spectacular hangover helper, appropriately called "The Detox."
Unfortunately, sometime at Schene I lost all of my cash and some of my traveler's checks. I don't know if they were nicked or what. I know I had more cash, and may it just fell out of my wallet while paying for something, or maybe with the cash I forgot to pick up my change or what. There are lots of pickpocket warnings in clubs, but the rest of my wallet and credit cards are intact. Even though no one takes credit cards or traveler's checks, at least the TCs are replaceable.
Clark, Alexia, and Peter, all looking only slightly worse for wear, appeared at the Juice bar and took me, and my recently arrived luggage (!) for a driving tour of east and west Berlin. Very very cool. I now have a much better idea of the lay of the land, where I am, what else I want to see, and a much better general context. Their car also has a live GPS map which helped immensely. Alexia was still feeling a little peaked and stayed in for the evening with Peter, while Clark and I enjoyed a fabulous dinner (duck with blueberry glaze) at a neighborhood Alsatian restaurant (made all the more popular after Clinton ate here with Helmut).
I hit about 6 or 7 bars in this district and a little northward, none of which had more than four people. As crazy wild as this town is on a Saturday night, it is quite the opposite on a Sunday night. I still managed to make conversation and have a lovely time, and again was quite surprised to find myself arriving home five-ish. LOTS of late night walking as I took two trams and the U during the night, but a U ride home was unavailable as it was not running southbound due to construction. So that took a half-hour or so. So many of these bars play porn on the videos as a matter of course. At Flaxx, where I started, the bartender urged me to come back on Monday for their happy hour, which is always popular. We shall see. I now renewed my great affection for German beer (real German beer that is). I had forgotten from my last tour ten plus years ago.
Again, I had planned an early rise but didn't leave the flat until 10:30. I've had an amazing brunch at a corner restaurant, sitting in the sun in front of the park and writing this out. Now I am off to the Amex Office, with a plan to hit Museum Island and maybe take a boat tour.
Later.
After failing to make a phone call at the box (and after the last blog entry) I went out to the curb to try using Gizmo to make a phone call via the internet. I could connect fine, but with the wind and traffic and such, Clark could not hear me well at all. He had not heard from the luggage people, and he took their number and would call and harangue for me. The connection was so bad and I was anxious enough about the luggage that I just headed back from Mehringdam to Kollwitzstrasse.
When I got to Clark's there was bad news: Alexia and Peter had been violently ill all night and day, and it was starting on Clark. Keeping me at bay lest I catch it next, he told me that he spoke to the baggage office (who remembered me-- apparently I made an impression) and they reported that knew my luggage existed, but it was still in London and wouldn't be to Berlin until that evening, and not delivered until the next moring between 7 and 9. I wanted to keep pressuring the luggage people, and to call home to let Fran and John know I had arrived safely, so Clark lent me his handy phone (mobile) to use over the weekend. Which would also enable us to keep in touch while they recuperated.
Walking back to the guest flat, I discovered I didn't know the right prefixes to make local or long distance calls on his mobile. When Alexia and Clark had first welcomed me to the guest flat on Wortherstrass, they pointed out a little shop across the way: The London Juice Company. "If you ever need help in English, you can go over there." This qualified.I love these guys. Having been linguistically isolated all day (and for me that's something), it was nice to be able to have a conversation and get some advice. I gave them the brief rundown (just arrived, family sick, luggage lost, how do I dial out) and then we moved on to dinner and night life suggestions. We got into a discussion about the luggage as one of the owners, Keith, also works for British Airways and I recognized him from my flight (at 6'6" with a shaved head and pale features, he was quite noticeable). Couldn't have been nicer. I carefully segued from general dinner/nightlife suggestions to gay suggestions—sort of feeling my way here (were they all old Germany skinheads or new Germany skinheads?). Turns out they were all a bunch of 'mo's and promtly set to creating my itinerary for dinner and debauchery. The blokes I met were Keith and Robert, apparent owners, and Steven (with hound viggie) apparent regular.
While most of Berlin is very comfortably gay/straight mixed, there are three or four neighborhoods with more gay social attractions than others. For sheer culinary pleasure and density of venue options, they recommended Nollendorfplatz.
Everything here starts late, so after failing to nap I just I chilled with Harry Potter for a while, had a shower and a cocktail and hiked the ten minutes to the U-bahn station. The Nollendorf station is in the middle of a star pattern and which avenue was which was not readily apparent. Getting directions from a skinhead with leather chaps (clearly, I was in a gay neighborhood—well, the whole city is rather leather-philic), I found Cafe Berio. Dinner was excellent, the wait staff gorgeous, and my waiter spent a year in Texas and spoke English fluently with a slightly southern but extremely American accent. He brought me one of the free tabloids, which while being entirely in German featured neighborhood maps with restaurant/bar/club guides which were easy to understand and proved invaluable.
After dinner, the English Juice Guys recommended starting at Tom's then making my way next door to Hafen. Tom's (a common gay bar name in the city. Of Finland and all of that.) looked dead and Hafen looked more friendly (a la Moby's in SF) so there I went. It was quite small and pleasantly crowed. A Jack and Ginger set me back six euros and I found a stool and wondered how to start a conversation without speaking the language. Eventually I chatted up a guy who had been standing behind me (but whom I had been watching in the mirror opposite). Vitcor is from New York and is here for five weeks learning German. Victor is handsome, charming, and a good conversationalist, but also embodies the Manhattan Guy archetype. You know, never been off Manhattan, hates to, why would you, New York has everything and everything else sucks, yadda. Also, we should all leave the US because Bush has made it so bad, everything is horrible everywhere but NYC, LA, and SF, gays are the new jews (political scapegoats), etc. A little more serious bar conversation than I needed. Most of this came out in conversation after we befriended Steven(?), wearing a New Hamshire hoody, who came to visit Berlin 10 years ago and dropped out of college to stay behind and only recently became a legal expat. If he personified an American archetype, it would be the guy who, as long as his has his bike, his pot, and his hackey sack, he's cool.
The bartender would change the CD fairly often depending on his mood or that of the crowd, and I loved almost all of his selections. I was particularly impressed when he put in Joe Henry's Scar CD. I didn't think anyone else but me had heard of it. Very jazzy/bluesy with really interesting rhythms, almost african or cajun in influence. I bought it after a review on NPR years ago, and one of the tracks "Stop" was remade into Madonna's club dance track "Tell Me." My estimation of the bar went up several notches.
All in all a fun evening and we enjoyed each other's company and plenty of Becks for several hours. Steven wanted to hit a deep house/tance sort of disco with lots of "young guys" and a mixed crowd in the northeast area (we were in the south). According to the bar maps, it was the only thing around there, and we would have to take a 20 euro cab to get there. The more he described the club, its crowd, its pharmaceuticals, and its music, the more excited he got and the more certain I knew I would not have a good time, even though I was going with 'new friends.' They also made it clear their goal was to get laid (and not with me) and I decided I'd rather stay in the neighborhood where I knew how to get home and had enough attractions that if I wasn't having fun in one place I could always move on to another.
By the way, I had forgotten the whole 'beer is crazy strong here compared to the states' thing. I was well, well on my way to being surprisingly hammered.
I want to head out into the day so I am going to make the rest of this short. Or shorter. Hit Tom's which was kind of lame. Nice enough crowd, but not chatty or openly friendly. The music was good. All of these places have free coat check, which was nice. But also air thick with smoke, which is not. The downstairs "dark room" was packed and yet lame. After a beer there I walked into Schene, which was a hardcore leather/uniform bar. The most leather I had on was cowboy boots. But at least I was wearing a black shirt, designer though it may be. But everyone was really friendly so I stayed and had a good time. (Kevin, you would be proud.) One small guy kept coming on to me and said, "Ah, no German? English? That is fine." When spent some time together but when he left me alone on his quest for poppers I realized that I was really drunk and took that as a sign it was time to go home.
I am used to bars closing and going home at a situationally reasonable hour. Apparently, the bars here close at "whenever we damn please o'clock." It was about 5:00 a.m. Not only was the subway still running at that time, but it was almost crowded. Lots of folks, young and old (well, not old but way past young) on their way home from a Saturday night. By the time I reached the U-bhf station nearest my neighborhood, it was light. I poured myself into bed by six.
Having had too much strong beer and not much sleep, and throw in the jet lag, I was not an early riser on Sunday. The plan was to call clark 11-ish to noon-ish to check how they were feeling, if the luggage appeared, and make a possible plan for lunch. They were still ill and he suggested I come by after I find a brunch place in the neighborhood, serving until 4:00. I finally made it up and out by 3:00. I knew I needed something to eat but looking at every plate I passed made me queasy. Wanting nothing more than a banana and an OJ, I went back to the Juice Guys. They were quite interested in my night's experience and made me the most spectacular hangover helper, appropriately called "The Detox."
Unfortunately, sometime at Schene I lost all of my cash and some of my traveler's checks. I don't know if they were nicked or what. I know I had more cash, and may it just fell out of my wallet while paying for something, or maybe with the cash I forgot to pick up my change or what. There are lots of pickpocket warnings in clubs, but the rest of my wallet and credit cards are intact. Even though no one takes credit cards or traveler's checks, at least the TCs are replaceable.
Clark, Alexia, and Peter, all looking only slightly worse for wear, appeared at the Juice bar and took me, and my recently arrived luggage (!) for a driving tour of east and west Berlin. Very very cool. I now have a much better idea of the lay of the land, where I am, what else I want to see, and a much better general context. Their car also has a live GPS map which helped immensely. Alexia was still feeling a little peaked and stayed in for the evening with Peter, while Clark and I enjoyed a fabulous dinner (duck with blueberry glaze) at a neighborhood Alsatian restaurant (made all the more popular after Clinton ate here with Helmut).I hit about 6 or 7 bars in this district and a little northward, none of which had more than four people. As crazy wild as this town is on a Saturday night, it is quite the opposite on a Sunday night. I still managed to make conversation and have a lovely time, and again was quite surprised to find myself arriving home five-ish. LOTS of late night walking as I took two trams and the U during the night, but a U ride home was unavailable as it was not running southbound due to construction. So that took a half-hour or so. So many of these bars play porn on the videos as a matter of course. At Flaxx, where I started, the bartender urged me to come back on Monday for their happy hour, which is always popular. We shall see. I now renewed my great affection for German beer (real German beer that is). I had forgotten from my last tour ten plus years ago.
Again, I had planned an early rise but didn't leave the flat until 10:30. I've had an amazing brunch at a corner restaurant, sitting in the sun in front of the park and writing this out. Now I am off to the Amex Office, with a plan to hit Museum Island and maybe take a boat tour.
Later.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
rainy Saturday
After a long day of sight-seeing and rain, I took the subway to one of the "cool gay cafés" described in my guidebook. Not a chatty place this. I've drunk the coffee, circled destinations in my guidebook, perused the logal expat mags, and am now taking a moment to write this.
Since I got here I have been reluctant to interact (me? I know.) because I feel rude not speaking German. By the looks on their faces, they think so too. The AmEx Travel Office is zero help. No travel assistance, no phones, no directions. Just travelers check service. But I had a good time wandering around Mitte anyway.
I marveled at the baroque architecture, and its juxtaposition with sleek new glass and steel structures. I found many museums, but didn't really feel like browsing exhibits today. I found the library, my kind of attraction, and paid for a day pass (whatever). Heavily under construction, and exceptionally underwhelming. Nashville's blows the lid off this place. So does San Jose's. Unfortunately, no bags or cameras allowed. Also strange (no backpacks and all incoming notebooks/books must be checked in and tagged as non-library materials). Nothing about the Library seemed geared towards user service.
I did find a cool street fair sort of fest near Humbolt University, but it looks set up more for nightlife. There's a cover to get in, and there were artists stalls and lots and lots of drink/food huts, disco lights, and a couple of small stages. It felt like a cramped Nashville City Lights without the music. I had put off eating thinking I would find a cool college venue near Humbolt, but it is really in the city center so there is no feeling of campus or student stuff. I eventually decided getting a bratwurst was an appropriate thing to do. Much nicer club/restuarant setups than the usual stateside street fair. But then again, there was a cover. I got a day pass so maybe Clark and I can hit it tonight before I try to find some fun in the nightlife.
Of course, assuming my luggage has appeared. I am SO lost without a phone. I bought a phonecard, but can't figure out the pay phones. One would think it was (1) insert card (2) dial number. Apparently not. and of course, I can't understand the written or oral instructions. Just have to hope for the best I guess.
The plan is to meet up at Clark's around 7:00. It's been just a nose-around day and fairly uneventful. My guidebooks aren't too helpful for stimulation as the rain puts a damper on tours and such. I think I'll check out a few more neighborhoods and take a disco nap before dinner.
Wish of wishes: has my luggage appeared?
Since I got here I have been reluctant to interact (me? I know.) because I feel rude not speaking German. By the looks on their faces, they think so too. The AmEx Travel Office is zero help. No travel assistance, no phones, no directions. Just travelers check service. But I had a good time wandering around Mitte anyway.
I marveled at the baroque architecture, and its juxtaposition with sleek new glass and steel structures. I found many museums, but didn't really feel like browsing exhibits today. I found the library, my kind of attraction, and paid for a day pass (whatever). Heavily under construction, and exceptionally underwhelming. Nashville's blows the lid off this place. So does San Jose's. Unfortunately, no bags or cameras allowed. Also strange (no backpacks and all incoming notebooks/books must be checked in and tagged as non-library materials). Nothing about the Library seemed geared towards user service.
I did find a cool street fair sort of fest near Humbolt University, but it looks set up more for nightlife. There's a cover to get in, and there were artists stalls and lots and lots of drink/food huts, disco lights, and a couple of small stages. It felt like a cramped Nashville City Lights without the music. I had put off eating thinking I would find a cool college venue near Humbolt, but it is really in the city center so there is no feeling of campus or student stuff. I eventually decided getting a bratwurst was an appropriate thing to do. Much nicer club/restuarant setups than the usual stateside street fair. But then again, there was a cover. I got a day pass so maybe Clark and I can hit it tonight before I try to find some fun in the nightlife.
Of course, assuming my luggage has appeared. I am SO lost without a phone. I bought a phonecard, but can't figure out the pay phones. One would think it was (1) insert card (2) dial number. Apparently not. and of course, I can't understand the written or oral instructions. Just have to hope for the best I guess.
The plan is to meet up at Clark's around 7:00. It's been just a nose-around day and fairly uneventful. My guidebooks aren't too helpful for stimulation as the rain puts a damper on tours and such. I think I'll check out a few more neighborhoods and take a disco nap before dinner.
Wish of wishes: has my luggage appeared?
First Day in Berlin
.
Fears realized. Sure enough, they lost my luggage. So I was waiting at baggage claim until they turned the lights off. And in the Berlin airport, each flight has it's own secure area for baggage claim, so there were no attendants or people to ask for help-- just an exit to the curb. Fortunately, I was not alone. two other groups who changed planes in London lost bags via British Air. Someone helped me fine the "baggage tracing" office, which of course was in another terminal.
I was hot, nearly unconscious, and not even close to the freshest flower in the vase. And now I had a language barrier. And I was fretting because Clark's wife Alexia was picking me up. She did say she would be there about 30 minutes after I landed, but I had no idea how long the baggage issue would take, nor any way to call her, and we had never met so she had no idea what I looked like.
Basically what happened in the Baggage Tracing office was she took my name, Clark's phone number, and a description of the bag, and said she could be no help. They may call if they find it.
What's in the bag/s I'm missing: all underwear, socks, sleepclothes, razor, belts, all shoes, jackets.
I have the cowboy boots, but no socks to wear with them, and Clark just found out the that Saloon.de we were going to for country/western German cowboy loving is closed for August. Eurovaction thing. Sigh.
But the rain has finally stopped (really missing the jacket-- just wearing a Titans ballcap to keep the rain off. Very American tourist.). I had to walk through a street market to find my way to the U-bahn (underground) which was really cool. I was surprised and the number of stalls with meats and prepared foods. Lots of refrigerated trailers. All looked tasty.
I bought a banana with the change I borrowed from Clark.
Fears realized. Sure enough, they lost my luggage. So I was waiting at baggage claim until they turned the lights off. And in the Berlin airport, each flight has it's own secure area for baggage claim, so there were no attendants or people to ask for help-- just an exit to the curb. Fortunately, I was not alone. two other groups who changed planes in London lost bags via British Air. Someone helped me fine the "baggage tracing" office, which of course was in another terminal.
I was hot, nearly unconscious, and not even close to the freshest flower in the vase. And now I had a language barrier. And I was fretting because Clark's wife Alexia was picking me up. She did say she would be there about 30 minutes after I landed, but I had no idea how long the baggage issue would take, nor any way to call her, and we had never met so she had no idea what I looked like.
Basically what happened in the Baggage Tracing office was she took my name, Clark's phone number, and a description of the bag, and said she could be no help. They may call if they find it.
What's in the bag/s I'm missing: all underwear, socks, sleepclothes, razor, belts, all shoes, jackets.
I have the cowboy boots, but no socks to wear with them, and Clark just found out the that Saloon.de we were going to for country/western German cowboy loving is closed for August. Eurovaction thing. Sigh.But the rain has finally stopped (really missing the jacket-- just wearing a Titans ballcap to keep the rain off. Very American tourist.). I had to walk through a street market to find my way to the U-bahn (underground) which was really cool. I was surprised and the number of stalls with meats and prepared foods. Lots of refrigerated trailers. All looked tasty.
I bought a banana with the change I borrowed from Clark.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Heathrow 2
Okay fine. I nosed even further back into Terminal in search of a bathroom and lo and behold, behind a construction barrier was the main mall section of Heathrow's Terminal 1- beautiful. I could look forward to killing time in this space.
Changing in Heathrow
Well, Heathrow airport is big, but not entirely pleasant. Hot and stale with too much humidity. And the lingering smell of airline food is nauseating. After about 30/40 minutes of wandering through a maze, then a bus, and another maze, we had to go through boarding security AGAIN. We all had just gotten off of one plane and were just making connections. They are a bit more efficient than their American counterparts, but the wait is always complicated by tourists who remain unclear on the concept.
I'm sitting at a laptop station writing this and charging my PowerBook with my handy Apple adapter, which is kinda cool. However, the Wi-Fi connection is T-Mobile and over-priced so I'll just wait to post this from Clark's place.
Of course, I am assuming he has a Wi-Fi network in his home. Doesn't everyone?
I'm sitting at a laptop station writing this and charging my PowerBook with my handy Apple adapter, which is kinda cool. However, the Wi-Fi connection is T-Mobile and over-priced so I'll just wait to post this from Clark's place.
Of course, I am assuming he has a Wi-Fi network in his home. Doesn't everyone?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Leaving the City
And I'm off. Killing time in the SFO International terminal, and man is this place shiny! I remember how long it took to finally build the new international terminal, and I will say they did an outstanding job. Beautiful, stylish, open, large, large large. A wonderful showcase for San Francisco, including outposts of some of its popular restaurants (no chain stores, food courts, or tourist gouging here!).
I passed no fewer than three Firewoods. While I like their fare well enough in the City, I think they are a little overpriced for what it is. While it may seem expensive to pay $7.95 for a wood-fired oven pizza at the airport, I was comforted to know it's the same price as it is in the Castro or in the Metreon.
Even the SF MOMA store was spiffy (as well it should be) and I found the perfect host gift for Clark and Alexi: the SF Fog Globe (instead of a snow globe). I considered buying three (for each of my hosts, and maybe a fourth for Jan's parents), but I was already lugging enough around and the Virgin pre-screener had made a big fuss about the new single carry-on bag rule and no more than 6 kilos max (which I exceeded but my charming check-in hostess was cool about it). I did exceed the weight limit on my luggage by a couple of kilos. Kevin loaned me his fabulous bags which all zip together to one large piece. Even though the total weight and size was unchanged, they made me separate the bags into two pieces so each bundle would be under the weight limit. The logic here escapes me, but they apparently use chicken innards to determine airfare rates so I wasn't really surprised. The inconvenience involved, and the anxiety that they doubled my chances of lost luggage, were mitigated by their suggestion and ability to check me clear through to Berlin even though my connection is on a different carrier.
Before I powered down my phone (which I may only use for the occasional text message while abroad) I snapped a few quick pix.
Here's a sign at the very end of the terminal subtly announcing another Firewood restaurant tucked around the corner. Which item do you think caught my eye?
I passed no fewer than three Firewoods. While I like their fare well enough in the City, I think they are a little overpriced for what it is. While it may seem expensive to pay $7.95 for a wood-fired oven pizza at the airport, I was comforted to know it's the same price as it is in the Castro or in the Metreon.
Even the SF MOMA store was spiffy (as well it should be) and I found the perfect host gift for Clark and Alexi: the SF Fog Globe (instead of a snow globe). I considered buying three (for each of my hosts, and maybe a fourth for Jan's parents), but I was already lugging enough around and the Virgin pre-screener had made a big fuss about the new single carry-on bag rule and no more than 6 kilos max (which I exceeded but my charming check-in hostess was cool about it). I did exceed the weight limit on my luggage by a couple of kilos. Kevin loaned me his fabulous bags which all zip together to one large piece. Even though the total weight and size was unchanged, they made me separate the bags into two pieces so each bundle would be under the weight limit. The logic here escapes me, but they apparently use chicken innards to determine airfare rates so I wasn't really surprised. The inconvenience involved, and the anxiety that they doubled my chances of lost luggage, were mitigated by their suggestion and ability to check me clear through to Berlin even though my connection is on a different carrier.
Before I powered down my phone (which I may only use for the occasional text message while abroad) I snapped a few quick pix.
Here's a sign at the very end of the terminal subtly announcing another Firewood restaurant tucked around the corner. Which item do you think caught my eye?
And here's a cutie I hoped would be sitting next to me. 
Alas, no. But while waiting I made friends with a couple of young cowboys from rural Montana. Robert-Michael would have been proud.
It's nice to be able to start a conversation based on boot design.
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