First Day in Berlin.

So I’m here. Berlin and I have already had our first entanglements, but I am proud to say that I came out on top in all such struggles thus far. It’s very weird how I was struggling to come up with a kindergartener’s German vocabulary (I know, ha ha.) right before I left, but now all of a sudden all of these words are popping up in my head when I need them that I had forgotten were there at all. I’ve done way better with my German than I expected to; I’ve already made one woman comment that she was ashamed my German was so much better than her English. In my book that’s a victory (although of course, no offense to the woman in question, she’s a very nice lady)

I’ve been going on the offensive when it comes to socializing, sort of. More than usual, anyhow, which is sort of like saying that I’ve been skydiving more often than usual. I met a guy from Puerto Rico on the plane to Frankfurt next to me who was on his way to Poland via Croatia. All these Polish Catholics are starting to give me a headache- if we’re not careful, someone is going to think there’s a conspiracy going on. And they might be right. But he said he was off on a sort of pilgrimage to a shrine in Croatia where Mary had appeared to several people, and then he was off to Krakow and a couple other places. I told him about my high school that was named after a place in England (I think) where Mary appeared to some people. I’m not sure if he understood me, because right after that there was a very awkward conversation-killing silence. But that’s okay, I had already gotten to the good stuff- typical American, rail-trotting around Europe and planning to dodge as many classes as possible. Plus they had heard about Chapel Hill, which I was surprised at.

Next to me there were two identical stereotypical German couples maybe a little older than me; both girls had long blonde hair, lots of makeup, and cute little boyfriends that they could tug around on leashes. I know, it’s not fair- they can’t defend themselves. But at least one of those men looked like he knew how to obey a direct order. And no, I’m not talking about in the bedroom. Although, yeah, that too. The flight itself was pretty standard- went by a lot quicker than I thought it would, just like all flights with selectable entertainment. I watched 500 Days of Summer again, and then Date Night. They had Avatar, but I was like “Pssssssh. Please.” I didn’t sleep for one second, but I did manage to spend 5 hours straight staring at my screen. That was when I got to use my first German, because my own set was busted, so I got to leave the uncomfortable Croatia-bound silent zone for a brand-new seat of my choosing, which was next to a girl who spoke German. My conversation with her consisted of “Danke.” And maybe a “Ja.” And then I think I asked her to get up so I could go back to my seat after my marathon, but I fucked it up and said it in English. The most exciting part of that particular flight, I’m afraid, was when the captain told us “Ladies, and gentlemen (oder Herren und Frauen) today we will be deplaning (love, love, love this term) via the front and rear entrances to the aircraft. I was in the back, as always, because my mother delights in tormenting me by placing me in the very last row available, every time. If they offered a seat on the roof, my mother would take it as long as they offered life insurance. But anyway I got to deplane first. Badass.

Getting through immigration was a breeze- just a little crowded, but all you have to do is flash your American badge (that’s what I call my passport) and you’re in. Sort of like an exclusive club that only allows everyone but terrorists inside. I felt special. I then spent about half an hour waiting for my baggage to show up before I went through customs, because I was informed I would have to pick it up and re-check it. About four people had legitimately lost their luggage, and one guy just about took this poor little Asian woman’s head off when she asked for his luggage ticket. But the woman took one look at mine and told me they would have it for me in Berlin, and I got to walk out scot-free, the most hated man in that small five-foot radius. At this point I only had an hour left until my Berlin flight, so I sprinted through customs, only to discover that there was no such thing as customs. Good thing, because otherwise I may have been arrested for illegally transporting a packaged kindle for my soon-to-be-good-friend Sebastian.

End of story, I made it into my gate with about twenty minutes to spare, but very gross and sweaty, and I have only become more so since I’ve landed. I failed miserably in using German at the Lufthansa gate in Frankfurt, but ever since I landed in Berlin I have been on fire. I conversed with the taxi driver to let him know how to get to my hostel- easy peasy. I walked into the hostel building, of which there are three right next to each other with the same name, all working together but separate. Confusing, and add that to the fact that there was no one at the reception desk and the door to my building was locked, the key to which was locked itself in a safe with a number combination, none of which had been mentioned when I booked the place. Well, okay. I waited for someone to show up at reception for about half an hour. Nope. Well, alright. I walked back to the main entrance and noticed a list of names I had walked by, with mine on it, the German instructions kindly requesting that I call a cell number in order to get the keycode.

Well, hmm, this is interesting. I have no cell phone, and no public phone. Not that I would know how to even use the latter yet. So I walk into the dining section, where the previously mentioned woman who was ashamed of her English sat, computering away. “Sprechen Sie Englisch?” I asked. It’s very, very important if you’re an American tourist in Berlin with no knowledge of German that you say this phrase, but more importantly, that you say the word “Englisch” like it’s pronounced “ang-lish.” Otherwise you are outed as an impostor immediately. It really does sound gross when you insert the English pronunciation in there. She told me she’d grab the cook in the kitchen, who was female and younger than me. She led me to the locked reception office, where I dialed the number, but the phone wouldn’t connect. The cook (dare I call her wench? No. I shan’t.) knew a little English but not much, but she managed to grab a girl upstairs who was like, 12, who had a working Handy. That’s “cell phone” in German. So then I called the number, and after about twenty rings, a very annoyed voice comes on the line. I start babbling in English and I can hear the disapproval, so I say “Sprechen Sie Anglish?” And he goes, “Ein Bissche.” A little. So I rattle off a very coherent and sensible description of my problem in German, because I can tell I just woke him up or something. It is 11 in the morning on a Sunday, after all. “Ja, ich bin hier zu der Naturefreudehaus.” A grunt. “Und die Rezeption ist nicht aufgeschlossen.” Another grunt. “Also, ich brauche die Nummer für den Tur.” Another grunt, after which he started giving me a very detailed, very English description of how to open the door and how to grab some bed linens for myself, and when breakfast was. I made him laugh (not quite sure why) when I said “Ja, ich verstehe.” And he goes, my favorite German phrase, “Alles klar.” Success.

And that was maybe an hour ago. Right now I’m sitting in a small café typing this up, just having polished off half a loaf of fresh bread and a couple of Würscht that looked and tasted suspiciously like large, thin hot dogs. Oh well. I’m just happy to find anything open on Sunday, since apparently it’s pretty rare. And I ordered my meal in very competent German as well.

That’s all for now- the jet lag is starting to hit me at 12:40 (it’s 6:40 AM my time), and I have a bed waiting for me in a quiet hostel that I made myself. I just have to pray when my cell phone alarm goes off in a couple hours that I actually get up, otherwise there will be hell to pay.

Also, here’s a random note. German airlines have the baggage claim for each plane right inside the gate when you walk into the terminal. Awesome.