Day 3: Berlin

Highlights:

• 5ft German male bartender wearing denim hotpants
• Trying to sell stamps to a post office
• German jazz singing of Frank Sinatra - "Let me see what spring is like on yupiter und mars"

So as I've been to Berlin a few times before, there are no real tourist sights I still need to see, so I'm going on Gurk's recommendations of things to do whilst she's at work. I'm trying to use this opening stint in Berlin to plan my route for the month so I want to mix her museum recommendations with thoughtful, cafe sessions. I'm going to be honest; I figured the easiest thing to do was to google 'cool cafes in Berlin' and found a list of various places, including somewhere called 'Mein Haus am See' on Brunnenstrasse, which was about a 40m walk from Gurk's, so I headed there first. I asked Gurk for a map and she gave me her copy of "111 alternative things to do in Berlin" guide and map. Not 100% useful, as the book was in German...and the map at the back also helpfully only had a smattering of street names in it. 

After the sun and completely clear skies yesterday (on the two European Bank Holidays I've experienced this year - Queen's Day in Amsterdam and Reunification Day in Berlin - both have had unbelievable weather, in between a month of rain. In the UK, we had the Queen's Jubilee...), it had got quite rainy and cold (regenisch und kalt?), but I wanted to walk to get my bearings. Mein Haus am See was really cool. It was a large, long room with high ceilings, and the back area had cinema/arena style, tiered seating overlooking the rest of the cafe. The best thing undoubtedly about this place was the bartender/barista. When he was stood behind the bar, he just seemed like a grumpy, short German guy, but only when he stepped out to make my coffee did I notice his RIDICULOUSLY short denim shorts. We're talking bottom-grazing hotpants. He was wearing army style boots, and had really tanned, muscular legs and just looked incredible. And as he was so short, it felt like most of his body was on show. No matter how miserable he was, despite my best German attempts and smiling, it really made my day. I creepily took a photo of him on my phone.

Gurk had mentioned the C/O Berlin on Oranienburger Strasse, where she'd seen some photography exhibition by a guy called Larry King which she said was completely shocking and eye-opening, so I headed there next (stopping off to buy some SOCKS from H&M). I did a €10 walking tour of Berlin with my sister on my first visit and realised they'd actually pointed out the c/o building on that route, because it used to be a post sorting office, and has only been a gallery relatively recently. I'm presuming the C/O name of the gallery relates to the postal term 'care of (c/o)'. I've still got a student card from my OU, so it was €5 entry, which I think's about the most I'd pay given that they were mid-exhibition change and so there was less on show. Larry King had gone but there was a cool exhibition on fashion photography, which I'd never really given much credit to before this year when I watched the David Bailey biopic on the BBC with Karen Gillen as Jean Shrimpton. There was some really cool photography, including Bailey, and later Gurk had a good chat about fashion (she knows a lot more than I do) and the differences between male and female designers and photographers (there's apparently significantly increased wear- and suitability of women's clothes if designed by females, rather than males, who view fashion more commonly as just a form of art). 

There was also an exhibition about the reporting of Osama Bin Laden's death in media around the world. Completely shamefully, the most ridiculous report was in the Sun with their headline 'Bin Bagged'. From what I remember the gist of other papers was:

• Guardian - good that he's dead, but isn't it suspicious how he hid for so long...?
• Telegraph - died 'cowering' behind his wife
• Sun - ....Bin Bagged...
• Independent - died using wife as human shield

A few US papers used the opportunity to emphasise how similar Obama and Osama's names are.

From the C/O Berlin, I went to try take a few photos. I've set myself a target of taking three good photos a day (I'm already falling behind) so I just wandered through the streets a bit, seeing what I could find. I was also looking out for supermarkets to buy this product Gurk mentioned. It's a local German soft drink made by a company called Fritz-Cola. Like Reggae Reggae sauce and cola, they've got a secret recipe, so it can't be copied. I've tried some of their melon-lemonade and it's really good, but apparently still not really sold in many places outside of Northern Germany. I also love European supermarkets. I spent about an hour in a Rewe, just having a bit of an exploration. 

I had a conversation with Gurk yesterday about some German language nuances. There are different words for renting to and renting from someone. She'd once gone into a ski resort and asked if she could rent them some Skis...I came back to Prenzlauerber and found a Lotto, and had a similar experience where I tried to ask a guy in German if he sold stamps, but actually ended up asking him if he'd buy some stamps. He worked in a post office, so presumably wondered if I was some sort of travelling stamp sales person? Sorted it eventually, and then chilled for a bit before going to meet Gurk after work to go listen to some jazz. I got pretty lost trying to find the Metro so Gurk had to come find me and walk me to the place. We had a cool evening drinking Mojitos, red wine and Berliner Pils with Gurk telling me about her experiences as an Au Pair in Bavaria with a divorcing couple. The jazz was downstairs in this bar just off of Oranienburger Strasse where I'd been earlier, and was not the sort of experimental, German jazz I was expecting. It definitely fell in the Bill Bailey category of hotel lobby/elevator jazz, and consisted of three old guys wearing fleeces. Highlight was the trumpeter stopping to sing Frank's 'Fly Me to the Moon' in a German accent, not being able to pronounce the J in Jupiter. Gurk was able to fully impress with her knowledge of German (teaching me lots of words and translating the band banter) and of Berlin (telling a young Danish guy called Sebastian the coolest places to go in Berlin. Apparently always stay away from Bergheim and Watergate and head to Warschauer Strasse - where we were last night - and further East).

Got a U-Bahn back to Schonhauser Allee and stopped off for a Halloumi Kebab.

End of day 3.

Day 1: London to Berlin

Highlights:

• Helpful shop assistant at Stansted's Curry's Digital
• Prosecco in Stansted's Frankie and Benny's
• Gurk's creepy padded, Josef Fritzl-style sound-proofed door
• Ikea, meatball eating Swedes named Abba

I'd intended on packing the night before, but spent that day doing a mega room clearout in preparation and then having an evening with my housemates eating Thai curry lasagne (weird but not unpleasant) and then watching a Michael Jackson live DVD. So I did some last minute packing, and then headed to the bus stop, realising on route that I'd forgotten to pack more than one pair of socks and my headphones. I fortunately checked my boarding pass last minute, and realised I was flying from Stansted and NOT Gatwick, as I'd been telling everyone.

I LOVE being at airports alone. No-one knows you, and as far as they're concerned, you could be going anywhere - to visit family abroad, going on a spy mission, or starting a new life somewhere. I went to Curry's to buy some earphones and was advised by the nice shop guy that the ones I'd been about to go for were awful, and he set me up with some equally-priced better options. I included myself in the banter he was having with his colleague about how it sucked to be at work, and he said it was even worse being at Stansted airport, knowing that everyone you served was about to go on a trip or holiday of some sort, while you just slogged away. 

I'd given myself a bit of spare time to really enjoy the airport experience, and had time to have dinner at Frankie and Benny's and treated myself to a glass of prosecco with the tenner my Dad gave me towards the trip (I got a note of love and concern from Mum, and a tenner from Dad with the statement "If I had more in my pocket right now, I'd still only give you a tenner"). 

I arrived in Berlin at around 9.30pm on Tuesday. A pretty unpleasant RyanAir flight (awful), littered with non-stop, loud, Irish advertising of RyanAir sponsored products (I don't want a bloody scratchcard or smoke free cigarettes), but that's a small price to pay for a £26 flight.

From the airport I headed to the train station to get to my friend Gurkirpal's, near Schonhauser Allee. I jumped on a train but without a tube map couldn't tell if it was the right one. I think Germans must be pretty tall, as their inner-carriage tube map was about a metre above my head, so after a few failed, embarrassing attempts at jumping up to see it, that didn't help at all. I slunked back to my seat and hoped for some familiar, east to north sounding u-bahn stations.

Fortunately arriving at Schonhauser Allee, I headed to the bus stop to wait for Gurk to collect me. Again, I tried looking at the local area map to see if I could head to Gurk's myself to cut down waiting time, but the map was so bloody small I couldn't even find her street. Gurk said she'd be about 15minutes, but on the phone she sounded a bit drunk and like she was still in a bar. I spent the next 30minutes or so, dodging the local drunks by hiding behind the bus stop and various lampposts before Gurk arrived with a slow-motion movie hug.

We headed to Gurk's apartment, opposite the Cuban Embassy. She lives alone in what she called 'the smallest flat imaginable'. But seriously, the airbnb apartment I stayed in whilst in Paris would have fit into this apartment about three times. It's really cool - it's semi-studio, in that the living room is also the bedroom, but she's got enough space to have a double bed, a dining table, a sofa and a sort of high bunk bed where she has a rail for clothing with plenty of space below. The best part is undoubtedly the creepy, CREEPY brown leather padded front door, complete with studs around the edge and a small peep whole. I made a Josef Fritzl comment and Gurk said she'd made the same to the family she Au-paired with for a while in Bavaria, when they showed her to her room in their basement. They'd looked slightly blank in response.

I'm told Berlin nightlife only really begins around 12pm, so after an hour chilling at Gurk's, we headed to a bar to meet her friends, stopping off for a syprupy weiss beer to drink on the way. It's weird, and tastes a little of cream soda. On this trip, I'm planning on absorbing myself in as much local cuisines/drinks/traditions as possible, so am going to say yes to (pretty much) all local recommendations. We went to a bar in the only part of Berlin I ever seem to go out in when I'm there - I recognised a few of the local kebaberies from 5am post-night snacks. Since moving to Berlin last year, Gurk seems to have found all possible ex-Durham students living in the city. We briefly hung out with an English-born, but raised-in-France guy called Rory and his Swedish friends. No lie, but one of the group was a Swedish girl named Abba, who'd spent the day eating Meatballs at Ikea (and shopping in Primark, though I don't think this belongs to any Swedish stereotype). We got a taxi home, and drunkenly attempted to put Gurk's sheets on her bed. An awful idea.

End of day 1.

Day 2: Berlin

Highlights: 

• Frozen Yoghurt near Mauerpark
• Grunewald, a forest in Zone 2 of Berlin
• Sweet Turkish lady, who kept her cafe open to feed us Brotchen und Kase

I awoke at a shocking 12.30pm on Wednesday. It was a Bank Holiday in Berlin (mid-week?! Mental Europeans). We'd had loads of plans for the day but those were clearly abandoned as we slowly got ready (made even slower by my complete and utter flooding of Gurk's flat - we're talking entire bathroom, hall, and parts of the kitchen - the only benefit of this being that it gave Gurk her first ever opportunity in life to use a mop). But we eventually left, heading into a really nice warm and sunny day. 

Gurk took me to Mauerpark (translation Wall Park), stopping off for some frozen yoghurt nearby. We walked through Mauerpark, past parts of the Berlin Wall, a tantric sex couple (it looked like this anyway) and some swings. Gurk mentioned that an Irish guy often holds Karaoke in this park. It has gotten so successful that people around the world put in requests and come to sing. From here we walked to the place where the Berlin wall first fell. This is in Prenzlauerberg, which is now considered a pretty gentrified part of Berlin; a lot of the Eastern block style buildings now have Parisian/Hausmann facades making it look a much nicer area than the rest of Berlin. 

From here we took a few U-Bahns to head to Grunewald. Gurk had heard about this old American spy tower called Teufelsberg, in the middle of Grunewald (translation is Green Wood, I think?) where you were on slightly higher ground than the rest of Berlin, and could watch a sunset. We headed into the woods using Gurk's iPhone map, but spent the next few hours, and about 10km (according to my iPod) getting completely lost, and never actually finding the tower. It was still a really cool afternoon, and the woods were beautiful and really peaceful. Slightly dehydrated and exhausted, as it got dark we eventually escaped the woods and found our way back to the U-Bahn. We saw a cafe which was closing, but the owner kept it open to make us some cheese sandwiches. I'd been about to pass out, so this was such a relief. Gurk speaks decent enough German, but when she went to the loo, I tried my half English/German sentences on the owner. She was a nice, grey-haired Turkish lady, who said she loved England and the English, but disliked Germany and Germans. She liked Grunewald and the piggies (her word), but only from a distance. We paid up, and this sweet lady gave us some free mini-croissants and pain-au-chocolat. 

End of day 2.