Sitting back in my parent's kitchen in Suffolk, with hot honey and lemon to nurse the second cold of the month, everything's feeling a little peculiar. The way the last month has raced by, combined with the quick re-adoption of old home routines, makes me wonder whether the last four weeks have been some fantastic, mind-blowing, perception-altering dream.
The final two days in Berlin were a great ending to a brilliant project. On Friday night I took some friends back to Gastón for an early dinner before me and two other girls headed off for an ice hockey match at the O2 World stadium. Since the last live sporting event I went to was a match at Sudbury Town FC on a very cold February afternoon about seven years ago, I was incredibly excited to be going to a big game (Eisbären Berlin, the city's ice hockey darlings, were playing Grizzly Adams Wolfsburg) at a big venue.
We were sat about seven rows from the ice pad, fantastic seats for the cheap price we paid. The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric; as the team made their entrance from the mouth of a giant inflatable polar bear, flames erupted from two jets on either side, fireworks were set off, and lights beamed across the stands. Eisbären were down two-nil at the end of the second third, but the home stand was still as vocal as ever. Drums were beating and the dedicated fans were clapping and chanting across the ice. Despite managing to claw back one goal, Eisbären lost three-one (the defeat would have been considerably worse if it weren't for the heroic efforts of their goalie Rob Zepp).
You can now call me an ice hockey convert. Eisbären, we love you.
Yesterday can't be described as anything other than strange. We woke to a gloriously blue-skied day, resenting Berlin for being so beautiful when our flights home were just hours away. Three of us went to an imbiss with a Mexican/Indian theme (tacos, quesadillas, tortillas, and naan-based pizzas were on the menu). Although the place didn't look like much from the outside, like so many good eateries in Berlin, the food was excellent. We followed it up with waffles from Glücklich am Park - our second lot in three days, equally as fabulous as the first.
My flatmate and me took one last wander down Unter den Linden, from Alexanderplatz to Parizer Platz and back, via a few tourist shops for some last-minute souvenir and present shopping. Then before we knew it we were on the S-Bahn from Landsberger Allee to Schönefeld, all of us subdued as we raced away from the heart of the city in a stunningly coloured dusk.
Forgive the drama, but every fibre of my being is glad I applied for and accepted this placement. Although elements of the course and its organisation were questionable, the writing experience was invaluable and the city itself was unforgettable. Disenchantment with England, which I was told by a friend to expect, is stirring at the back of my mind. In a couple of days, when I have come down from my month-long Berlin-induced high, I'm sure normal life out here in the sticks won't seem so bad. However, I can say with certainty that I'll be seeing Berlin again very soon. It seduced me swiftly and subtly, and I know I couldn't stay away even if I wanted to.
Berlin, du bist wunderbar.
Sunday 29 September 2013
Friday 27 September 2013
Stumbling over the final hurdle
"Hurtling" is the only word that can be used to describe the events of the past 24 hours. The movement from having time to finish the project, and having no time at all, was worryingly fast and uncontrolled. Yesterday afternoon was a mad rush to complete the remaining editing, writing the final section introductions, and generally panicking. However, I allowed myself the night off to visit a couple of places that I have been eager to go to.
The first was a tapas bar in Neukölln called Gastón. As an enormous fan of Spanish cuisine, I was desperate to give this place a try. When I first arrived about 7:30, the tiny bar was packed out. After standing awkwardly behind the crowd at the bar for a few minutes, I gave up and left, deciding that I'd head to the jazz bar and try again later.
A few U-Bahn stops away in Kreuzberg, Yorckschlösschen reminded me of a traditional English pub. Wooden beams striped the walls and posters of jazz legends were plastered on the paintwork between them. I chose a seat in the larger back room, a small wooden table with bar stools clustered around it. The amiable middle-aged waitress came and took my order - a conversation which we managed in German - and came back shortly with a generous glass of Rioja. Sat with my book and a glass of wine, listening to soft jazz crooning over the stereo... if it wasn't for the lure of tapas, I could have stayed all night.
When I got back to Gastón, around 2 hours after my first attempt, the bar was just as full. Luckily, I spotted a stool at the end of the bar. After I'd been sat there for a minute or so, a girl and a guy a few years my seniors came to squeeze into their place on the window seat next to the bar. We got chatting (inevitably, as we were sitting so close) after I'd ordered my food and drink in an odd linguistic combination of Spanish and German. She was from Paris, a recent graduate like myself, and had been living in Prenzlauer Berg for 18 months. He was her boyfriend, a chef in the tapas bar who hailed from Barcelona. After thinking I'd spend a quiet evening with my new book, I instead ended up talking, eating and drinking with this cute multicultural couple, and juggling basic vocabulary in three foreign languages - something that got a little more difficult after the Spanish anise liqueur and the gin.
On returning home I found my flatmate and the other two members of her group'd layout team still hard at work. It was nearly one in the morning. They left shortly after, and I went to bed about 1:30 with strict instructions to my flatmate not to work for too much longer (made a promise to myself to drag her form her laptop if she was still there at 2am, but unfortunately fell asleep before I could make good on it).
This morning has been the final push. After a hellish bus journey, we got coffee and pastries to power us through the final few touches. Now, the guides are finished. We all have that slightly lost look of people who've lost a purpose that has occupied their every waking moment for some considerable amount of time.
Plans for the final night are: a return trip to the tapas bar with the flatmate; an ice-hockey match at the O2 World stadium; and a final celebratory drink. Debating going out clubbing one last time, but considering the amount of effort that will be required tomorrow to pack and tidy the apartment, sleeping until the afternoon and trying to continue with a raging hangover is probably not the best idea.
The first was a tapas bar in Neukölln called Gastón. As an enormous fan of Spanish cuisine, I was desperate to give this place a try. When I first arrived about 7:30, the tiny bar was packed out. After standing awkwardly behind the crowd at the bar for a few minutes, I gave up and left, deciding that I'd head to the jazz bar and try again later.
A few U-Bahn stops away in Kreuzberg, Yorckschlösschen reminded me of a traditional English pub. Wooden beams striped the walls and posters of jazz legends were plastered on the paintwork between them. I chose a seat in the larger back room, a small wooden table with bar stools clustered around it. The amiable middle-aged waitress came and took my order - a conversation which we managed in German - and came back shortly with a generous glass of Rioja. Sat with my book and a glass of wine, listening to soft jazz crooning over the stereo... if it wasn't for the lure of tapas, I could have stayed all night.
When I got back to Gastón, around 2 hours after my first attempt, the bar was just as full. Luckily, I spotted a stool at the end of the bar. After I'd been sat there for a minute or so, a girl and a guy a few years my seniors came to squeeze into their place on the window seat next to the bar. We got chatting (inevitably, as we were sitting so close) after I'd ordered my food and drink in an odd linguistic combination of Spanish and German. She was from Paris, a recent graduate like myself, and had been living in Prenzlauer Berg for 18 months. He was her boyfriend, a chef in the tapas bar who hailed from Barcelona. After thinking I'd spend a quiet evening with my new book, I instead ended up talking, eating and drinking with this cute multicultural couple, and juggling basic vocabulary in three foreign languages - something that got a little more difficult after the Spanish anise liqueur and the gin.
On returning home I found my flatmate and the other two members of her group'd layout team still hard at work. It was nearly one in the morning. They left shortly after, and I went to bed about 1:30 with strict instructions to my flatmate not to work for too much longer (made a promise to myself to drag her form her laptop if she was still there at 2am, but unfortunately fell asleep before I could make good on it).
This morning has been the final push. After a hellish bus journey, we got coffee and pastries to power us through the final few touches. Now, the guides are finished. We all have that slightly lost look of people who've lost a purpose that has occupied their every waking moment for some considerable amount of time.
Plans for the final night are: a return trip to the tapas bar with the flatmate; an ice-hockey match at the O2 World stadium; and a final celebratory drink. Debating going out clubbing one last time, but considering the amount of effort that will be required tomorrow to pack and tidy the apartment, sleeping until the afternoon and trying to continue with a raging hangover is probably not the best idea.
Wednesday 25 September 2013
The day of edits
This afternoon has been a mad blur of articles and Google Drive.
We lost half our editing staff on a trip to Poland, so the remaining two of us
have been furiously picking up the slack to save our layout team from a
hellishly full day tomorrow. Think I may be getting another cold (quite
possibly gained from the boyfriend over the weekend), but we're hoping it
doesn't grow into anything too nasty.
Had our final German lesson today. Our teacher organised a few
games from those of us who made it, and was incredibly touched by the card we'd
all signed for her. As a teacher she has been fantastic; her ability to cram so
much vocabulary and grammar into four weeks of lessons is almost certainly
unrivalled. And teaching languages isn't even her first job.
A group of us went for lunch with our one of our project leaders.
He wasn't expecting quite so many of us to accompany him, but he took it in
good humour and shepherded us all to our destination - the Nordic Embassy. They
open their cafe to the public at lunch times, so the common folk have the
opportunity to mix with diplomats over baked fish and parsley potatoes.
Afterwards we were given a tour around the KaDeWe (a large
high-end department store in Schöneberg). An entire floor is devoted to food and drink of all kinds: meat counters selling products from around Germany, arranged by district; a selection of European cheeses; an array of fruits and vegetables, both local and exotic; a temperature-controlled bullet-proof glass room full of rare vintage wines; row upon row of beautifully crafted truffles; and two counters lined with irresistible cakes. We all indulged in a sweet treat, including our project leader.
Then ensued three grinding hours in the office. On the way home I had to stop at an automatic photo booth and take a picture for my contributor profile in the guide. Little did I know it was going to start snapping as soon as I'd put in my 2€; consequently, two of the four photographs are of me arranging my hair/scarf/face. At least two are (hopefully) useable.
Working late in St Oberholz again. Shouldn't really be writing this at all; there are several section introductions to edit before the day is done. I think I'll be able to go for a full-blown American breakfast tomorrow morning with a few others with a relatively clear conscience; today, I was one of a two-man team completing the work of four. That, if nothing else, warrants a big stack of pancakes.
Tuesday 24 September 2013
Time to hit the panic button
Today has had essentially no redeeming features: the weather has been awful (windy, rainy, cold and grey with no let-up); our review session this afternoon descended into a four-way shouting match (of which, I'll concede, I was one voice) and was henceforth tenser than a Hitchcock thriller; and we are a relatively far cry from where we ought to be by now in the editing process. As I had the smallest sections to edit (not exactly by choice), I am up to date and have been desperately offering help to others. It will come together in the end, but the next 48 hours are going to be a stressful bout of frantic messaging, angry requests, and furious work in front of a computer for all of us.
Work is far less fun when you don't have a boyfriend to offer constructive advice/listen to your whining at the end of the day.
Yesterday was a better day. After German class, about eight of us went to Mustafa's Gemüse Kebaps kiosk next to Mehringdamm U-Bahn. Since they're reputed to be the best kebabs in Berlin - a city full of good Turkish food - we went with high expectations. We'd timed it to avoid one of Mustafa's many busy periods; waiting times of up to ninety minutes are not uncommon. However, our queue was tiny and we were served in fifteen minutes. Although the kebabs were delicious, filled with meat, roasted vegetables, salad and homemade sauce and sprinkled with feta cheese, I'm not sure I would have been willing to wait an hour and a half for it.
After a busy afternoon of work, my housemate decided that we deserved a sweet after-dinner treat. We headed out to a waffle place that Google had reliably informed me opened until late. This wasn't the impression we got from the staff member who was in the process of closing up at 7:30. We retreated back toward Rosenthaler Platz and stopped in at Café Fleury, a charming little French café with retro 60s furniture and extremely good cake and tarts.
Debated going for a naan pizza for dinner tonight, but since I a) am running out of money and b) could probably do with eating a little more sensibly, I may have dinner at home tonight. When I was cold and soaked waiting for a bus earlier this afternoon, the thought of going for waffles was extremely tempting; however, I have held my nerve and resisted as it was a trip my housemate and I wanted to make together. Despite my addiction to all things sweet and doughy, I am better than petty deception.
This time, at least.
Work is far less fun when you don't have a boyfriend to offer constructive advice/listen to your whining at the end of the day.
Yesterday was a better day. After German class, about eight of us went to Mustafa's Gemüse Kebaps kiosk next to Mehringdamm U-Bahn. Since they're reputed to be the best kebabs in Berlin - a city full of good Turkish food - we went with high expectations. We'd timed it to avoid one of Mustafa's many busy periods; waiting times of up to ninety minutes are not uncommon. However, our queue was tiny and we were served in fifteen minutes. Although the kebabs were delicious, filled with meat, roasted vegetables, salad and homemade sauce and sprinkled with feta cheese, I'm not sure I would have been willing to wait an hour and a half for it.
After a busy afternoon of work, my housemate decided that we deserved a sweet after-dinner treat. We headed out to a waffle place that Google had reliably informed me opened until late. This wasn't the impression we got from the staff member who was in the process of closing up at 7:30. We retreated back toward Rosenthaler Platz and stopped in at Café Fleury, a charming little French café with retro 60s furniture and extremely good cake and tarts.
Debated going for a naan pizza for dinner tonight, but since I a) am running out of money and b) could probably do with eating a little more sensibly, I may have dinner at home tonight. When I was cold and soaked waiting for a bus earlier this afternoon, the thought of going for waffles was extremely tempting; however, I have held my nerve and resisted as it was a trip my housemate and I wanted to make together. Despite my addiction to all things sweet and doughy, I am better than petty deception.
This time, at least.
Sunday 22 September 2013
Doing the "tourist" thing
This weekend has been a welcome respite before the madness which will doubtless ensue tomorrow. With five days to go, there is still no discernible end in sight - not panicking yet, but I'm sure it won't be long before the tearing out of the hair starts.
The boyfriend arrived at Schönefeld on Friday night. I was almost late to meet him; after having a much longer walk from the U-Bahn to our hotel than anticipated, then plagued by waits for trains, my frenzied run from the airport S-Bahn platform to the arrivals gate was less than dignified.
After a late dinner we headed straight for the hotel, deciding we'd both had long enough days to justify an early night (the fact that I'd gone to bed at 6am that morning and only slept for five hours had caught up with me). Saturday was occupied by a walk up Unter den Linden, a tour around the stunning Reichstag dome (a modern masterpiece of British design), and a quick beer at St Oberholz so I could catch up on some work. Went for dinner at a Block Haus (German chain of steak houses) near Alexanderplatz on a recommendation from my dad. At 7:30 on a Saturday night the place was packed, but despite delayed service the food and drinks were both fantastic.
We met up with some friends from the project and made our way together to Clërchin's Ballhaus, a club that more resembles a busy wedding reception than the typical smoke-filled, techno-thumping nighttime venues that dominate Berlin. It occupies the ground floor of a large Victorian building; a band were playing classic covers and the dance floor was full of optimistic shape-throwers. We stayed until about 3:30; the band had bowed out a couple of hours before and been replaced with a stereo, and we'd had enough drinks to be pleasantly merry on the walk back.
We stayed in the Park Inn on Alexanderplatz, a treat for the boyfriend since Friday night's accommodation was for a review. Our "room with a view" on the 18th floor looked out toward the TV Tower and Museum Island - otherworldly after so long in an apartment block in Lichtenberg. The fantastic view was quite something to behold in the darkness of early morning, and when we finally stirred at about 10:30 this morning.
Went out for brunch at a café called Anna Blume in Prenzlauer Berg; the fresh orange juice, coffee and crêpes were most definitely needed by that point. Afterwards we killed time first at the apartment, then at St Oberholz, before we had to head to the airport. Saying goodbye was quite tough (not sure the hangover-induced over-emotionality helped), but it is only a week before we'll see each other again.
The boyfriend said he enjoyed having a tour guide for the weekend (took it as a compliment, since my geographical knowledge of the city is far from perfect). It was nice to take a couple of days out to be a tourist; being in a foreign country for a month for work doesn't give you much of a chance to behave like one. From the start you have to pretty much fend for yourself, so it was a refreshing change to stay in a hotel, do some sightseeing and eat out guiltlessly.
Now my partner-in-tourism has left, work must commence again at a much accelerated rate.Well, it will commence tomorrow morning. Tonight has been about this blog and a beer, and when I get home it will be about tea, biscuits and the German elections.
The boyfriend arrived at Schönefeld on Friday night. I was almost late to meet him; after having a much longer walk from the U-Bahn to our hotel than anticipated, then plagued by waits for trains, my frenzied run from the airport S-Bahn platform to the arrivals gate was less than dignified.
After a late dinner we headed straight for the hotel, deciding we'd both had long enough days to justify an early night (the fact that I'd gone to bed at 6am that morning and only slept for five hours had caught up with me). Saturday was occupied by a walk up Unter den Linden, a tour around the stunning Reichstag dome (a modern masterpiece of British design), and a quick beer at St Oberholz so I could catch up on some work. Went for dinner at a Block Haus (German chain of steak houses) near Alexanderplatz on a recommendation from my dad. At 7:30 on a Saturday night the place was packed, but despite delayed service the food and drinks were both fantastic.
We met up with some friends from the project and made our way together to Clërchin's Ballhaus, a club that more resembles a busy wedding reception than the typical smoke-filled, techno-thumping nighttime venues that dominate Berlin. It occupies the ground floor of a large Victorian building; a band were playing classic covers and the dance floor was full of optimistic shape-throwers. We stayed until about 3:30; the band had bowed out a couple of hours before and been replaced with a stereo, and we'd had enough drinks to be pleasantly merry on the walk back.
We stayed in the Park Inn on Alexanderplatz, a treat for the boyfriend since Friday night's accommodation was for a review. Our "room with a view" on the 18th floor looked out toward the TV Tower and Museum Island - otherworldly after so long in an apartment block in Lichtenberg. The fantastic view was quite something to behold in the darkness of early morning, and when we finally stirred at about 10:30 this morning.
Went out for brunch at a café called Anna Blume in Prenzlauer Berg; the fresh orange juice, coffee and crêpes were most definitely needed by that point. Afterwards we killed time first at the apartment, then at St Oberholz, before we had to head to the airport. Saying goodbye was quite tough (not sure the hangover-induced over-emotionality helped), but it is only a week before we'll see each other again.
The boyfriend said he enjoyed having a tour guide for the weekend (took it as a compliment, since my geographical knowledge of the city is far from perfect). It was nice to take a couple of days out to be a tourist; being in a foreign country for a month for work doesn't give you much of a chance to behave like one. From the start you have to pretty much fend for yourself, so it was a refreshing change to stay in a hotel, do some sightseeing and eat out guiltlessly.
Now my partner-in-tourism has left, work must commence again at a much accelerated rate.Well, it will commence tomorrow morning. Tonight has been about this blog and a beer, and when I get home it will be about tea, biscuits and the German elections.
Friday 20 September 2013
A multicultural night out
Last night was the second of the major nights out in beautiful Berlin. One of the project leaders, another girl on the project and me went to the Stadtsoper in Charlottenburg and saw a performance of "Un ballo in maschera" by Verdi. The show was sold out and packed with yuppies and American tourists, but the all-star cast gave a spectacular performance. After we went for dinner at a vegetarian Indian restaurant close by (one of the project leader's favourite haunts) and chatted about previous years he had worked on the project, job opportunities and alcohol-induced accidents. At about quarter to midnight me and my friend got on the U-Bahn - she was headed for home, and I was headed for Kreuzberg.
The originally large group who had said they would accompany me on my two-club-review night had dwindled to four: two other girls from the project (die-hards from last weekend's KaterHolzig outing) and two young Turkish men (neighbours of one of the girls in their apartment block). The guys' English was incredibly basic; after a few beers the language barrier had been raised further, but we all struggled on regardless.
Our first search was for Club de Visionaere, an open-air bar by the river. After an unsuccessful hunt, a pit-stop on a giant bench on the riverfront and a chat with some guys from England who had been bounced from a club up the road, we decided to move on to the next planned location: Chalet.
Having heard about this club from friends who've been out in Berlin, I was really excited to see what all the fuss was about. The building itself is three stories of utilitarian washed-out-red brick, with a cobbled patio at the back and thumping techno inside. Since the others had beers to finish before they could go in, I went on ahead, aware of how dreadfully embarrassing it would be if I didn't get in. I positioned myself in the thankfully short queue behind a group of German teenagers, apparently having an altercation with the bouncers. After I'd been standing for a couple of minutes looking bored, one of the bouncers looked over at me and asked in German if I was alone. I replied that I was, and he beckoned me inside. Result.
Chalet was everything I'd hoped it would be. I took advantage of being on my own for a few minutes to get a drink and have a look around. The others luckily got in too, so I didn't have to wander round looking awkward and lonely all night.
The multicultural experiences of the night included: a chat with a couple of gay German men on the patio; a conversation with a young German guy outside the toilets; meeting a girl and a guy from London, in Berlin for the weekend to party; encountering a large group of Australians in the garden; and being propositioned by a Frenchman. We were dancing enthusiastically to techno until around 5am, then decided to head home. Having crawled into bed at 6, I was not up at 8 to get ready for German class. It fell by the wayside this morning - but I was technically working last night.
In St Oberholz after a much-needed shower and a healthy lunch of open Gouda and tomato sandwiches. Have actually managed to be pretty productive despite the hangover. Oh, and the anticipation for the boyfriend's arrival this evening. I really can't wait to see him and show him this wonderful city; a weekend just isn't going to be enough for everything I want him to see.
The originally large group who had said they would accompany me on my two-club-review night had dwindled to four: two other girls from the project (die-hards from last weekend's KaterHolzig outing) and two young Turkish men (neighbours of one of the girls in their apartment block). The guys' English was incredibly basic; after a few beers the language barrier had been raised further, but we all struggled on regardless.
Our first search was for Club de Visionaere, an open-air bar by the river. After an unsuccessful hunt, a pit-stop on a giant bench on the riverfront and a chat with some guys from England who had been bounced from a club up the road, we decided to move on to the next planned location: Chalet.
Having heard about this club from friends who've been out in Berlin, I was really excited to see what all the fuss was about. The building itself is three stories of utilitarian washed-out-red brick, with a cobbled patio at the back and thumping techno inside. Since the others had beers to finish before they could go in, I went on ahead, aware of how dreadfully embarrassing it would be if I didn't get in. I positioned myself in the thankfully short queue behind a group of German teenagers, apparently having an altercation with the bouncers. After I'd been standing for a couple of minutes looking bored, one of the bouncers looked over at me and asked in German if I was alone. I replied that I was, and he beckoned me inside. Result.
Chalet was everything I'd hoped it would be. I took advantage of being on my own for a few minutes to get a drink and have a look around. The others luckily got in too, so I didn't have to wander round looking awkward and lonely all night.
The multicultural experiences of the night included: a chat with a couple of gay German men on the patio; a conversation with a young German guy outside the toilets; meeting a girl and a guy from London, in Berlin for the weekend to party; encountering a large group of Australians in the garden; and being propositioned by a Frenchman. We were dancing enthusiastically to techno until around 5am, then decided to head home. Having crawled into bed at 6, I was not up at 8 to get ready for German class. It fell by the wayside this morning - but I was technically working last night.
In St Oberholz after a much-needed shower and a healthy lunch of open Gouda and tomato sandwiches. Have actually managed to be pretty productive despite the hangover. Oh, and the anticipation for the boyfriend's arrival this evening. I really can't wait to see him and show him this wonderful city; a weekend just isn't going to be enough for everything I want him to see.
Wednesday 18 September 2013
All work and (almost) no play
Today the Wifi search has brought me and a friend to Café CK in Prenzlauer Berg (my favourite of Berlin's more central districts). I have already had my meagre knowledge of coffee beans and roasts insulted, but other than a little staff snobbery this quiet gourmet coffee shop makes a pleasant change from the endless crowds in St Oberholz. We've just spent (quite) a while in St George's English bookshop just down the road. Resisted the temptation to buy any more books because of the implications for the weight of my suitcase on the flight home.
Quite a lot has occurred since the last post. One of my flatmates and me visited the Pergamonmuseum and the Alte Nationalgalerie on Sunday, giving our weekend a serious cultural injection. After a quick but hearty lunch in Fraulein Burger - an all-organic, all-homemade, all-delicious burger bar - we spent four hours from late afternoon into the evening working in St Oberholz, watching the nighttime crowd filter in around us.
By Monday morning my cold had well and truly settled in. Used an embarrassing amount of loo roll as no one seems to sell single packets of tissues in Berlin and I didn't want to commit to buying 12 packets in the supermarket. Had my first ever doner kebab for lunch from a Turkish place around the corner from the offices - an incredibly tasty way to feed a cold. Decided to skip the afternoon trip to Mercedes World (the planned visit to the Garten der Welt couldn't go ahead because of the drizzly weather) and went for a guided tour of the Berliner Philharmonie instead. Architecturally the building is a masterpiece; every curvature of its concert hall was designed to create the best possible acoustic experience, from the tilted walls to the wooden sails hanging from the ceiling. It's most definitely one of my favourite buildings in the city.
After the tour I retreated back to St Oberholz and hid myself upstairs with a chai latte (newly discovered hot drink of choice). That evening, as none of us in the flat had made plans to go out, we stayed in with plenty of cheese, salami, bread, salad and Rittersport and pigged out in front of some German-dubbed American television. Blissful.
Yesterday involved a very long day in the office. When we finally did leave at nearly 5:30, it was to head out to Kreuzberg to find a German restaurant - dubbed by Marcus as "touristy" - called Max und Moritz's. The six of us who had headed out there enjoyed some good wine and very traditional, flavoursome German food. Overall immeasurably more successful than our previous attempt to find a German restaurant in Kreuzberg (see the "Mutti" incident from 6 September).
This morning was our final writing workshop; even though we've only had three in total, it feels like the end is already approaching. There's still so much to do before the project is finished - writing the final reviews, editing and finalising the layout designs to name but a few tasks - but the flights home are drawing close worryingly fast. Having been here two and a half weeks I now appreciate that one month in this glorious city is simply not enough. When I leave next Saturday, although I will have done so much in my time here, I will leave behind so many places I wanted to explore, so many things I wanted to try. It's safe to assume that Berlin will draw me back before long.
Quite a lot has occurred since the last post. One of my flatmates and me visited the Pergamonmuseum and the Alte Nationalgalerie on Sunday, giving our weekend a serious cultural injection. After a quick but hearty lunch in Fraulein Burger - an all-organic, all-homemade, all-delicious burger bar - we spent four hours from late afternoon into the evening working in St Oberholz, watching the nighttime crowd filter in around us.
By Monday morning my cold had well and truly settled in. Used an embarrassing amount of loo roll as no one seems to sell single packets of tissues in Berlin and I didn't want to commit to buying 12 packets in the supermarket. Had my first ever doner kebab for lunch from a Turkish place around the corner from the offices - an incredibly tasty way to feed a cold. Decided to skip the afternoon trip to Mercedes World (the planned visit to the Garten der Welt couldn't go ahead because of the drizzly weather) and went for a guided tour of the Berliner Philharmonie instead. Architecturally the building is a masterpiece; every curvature of its concert hall was designed to create the best possible acoustic experience, from the tilted walls to the wooden sails hanging from the ceiling. It's most definitely one of my favourite buildings in the city.
After the tour I retreated back to St Oberholz and hid myself upstairs with a chai latte (newly discovered hot drink of choice). That evening, as none of us in the flat had made plans to go out, we stayed in with plenty of cheese, salami, bread, salad and Rittersport and pigged out in front of some German-dubbed American television. Blissful.
Yesterday involved a very long day in the office. When we finally did leave at nearly 5:30, it was to head out to Kreuzberg to find a German restaurant - dubbed by Marcus as "touristy" - called Max und Moritz's. The six of us who had headed out there enjoyed some good wine and very traditional, flavoursome German food. Overall immeasurably more successful than our previous attempt to find a German restaurant in Kreuzberg (see the "Mutti" incident from 6 September).
This morning was our final writing workshop; even though we've only had three in total, it feels like the end is already approaching. There's still so much to do before the project is finished - writing the final reviews, editing and finalising the layout designs to name but a few tasks - but the flights home are drawing close worryingly fast. Having been here two and a half weeks I now appreciate that one month in this glorious city is simply not enough. When I leave next Saturday, although I will have done so much in my time here, I will leave behind so many places I wanted to explore, so many things I wanted to try. It's safe to assume that Berlin will draw me back before long.
Saturday 14 September 2013
The morning after the night before
I use the term "morning" purely for poetic purposes. After last night's events, it was after 2pm before I hauled myself out of bed.
Unfortunately the sobering-up process is now beginning.
Last night was my first German clubbing experience. A group of us, after a protracted afternoon in picturesque Potsdam, left the flats at about 2am - standard going-out time in Berlin, we're told. After nearly two hours of detours, pointless wanders and numerous questions asked to passers-by, we found the club we were searching for.
KaterHolzig had come highly recommended to us by my roommate. We were told it was a club on the riverside that played techno (like almost every other big German club) and was open well past the early hours. When we arrived at 4:30 this morning (and all got let in, miraculously), the place was still packed. We bought some not very competitively priced drinks and danced until around 7:30, when we decided it was probably time to go home. Having been up for over 24 hours by the time we returned to the apartments, I was out like a light when my head hit the pillow (the alcohol consumed may also have contributed).
As a first experience of Berlin's late-night life, it was pretty spectacular. We joined scattered others stumbling home on the S-Bahn this morning, taking advantage of the ever-reliable public transport, reflected on the night and decided that we had succeeded in having a cracking night.
The trip yesterday to Potsdam is also worth a mention. We visited Park Sanssouci and Friedrich II's summer palace, the Neues Palais, enjoying the unexpected afternoon sunshine and snapping as many photographs as was socially acceptable. The Neue Palais itself was something to behold; the building had a lived-in feel that is lacked by so many stately homes and palaces. It is a requirement that you wear peculiar slippers over your shoes in order to protect the parquet flooring. Owing to their cumbersome presence on our feet, we skated rather than walked around the Palais.
Getting home involved over an hour of waiting for public transport, during which we all wished for the efficiency and regularity of Berlin's trains and trams. However, it was most definitely a worthwhile afternoon.
Currently in St. Oberholz - again. I have the sneaking suspicion that I may have to head home soon; after spending significantly more than I had planned last night, I have no burning desire to stay here and drink marginally overpriced coffee. The prospect of camomile tea and biscuits at home is overwhelmingly tempting, not to mention a sofa to work on rather than a rigid chair.
And the autumn cold that I'm fast developing is not helping matters.
Unfortunately the sobering-up process is now beginning.
Last night was my first German clubbing experience. A group of us, after a protracted afternoon in picturesque Potsdam, left the flats at about 2am - standard going-out time in Berlin, we're told. After nearly two hours of detours, pointless wanders and numerous questions asked to passers-by, we found the club we were searching for.
KaterHolzig had come highly recommended to us by my roommate. We were told it was a club on the riverside that played techno (like almost every other big German club) and was open well past the early hours. When we arrived at 4:30 this morning (and all got let in, miraculously), the place was still packed. We bought some not very competitively priced drinks and danced until around 7:30, when we decided it was probably time to go home. Having been up for over 24 hours by the time we returned to the apartments, I was out like a light when my head hit the pillow (the alcohol consumed may also have contributed).
As a first experience of Berlin's late-night life, it was pretty spectacular. We joined scattered others stumbling home on the S-Bahn this morning, taking advantage of the ever-reliable public transport, reflected on the night and decided that we had succeeded in having a cracking night.
The trip yesterday to Potsdam is also worth a mention. We visited Park Sanssouci and Friedrich II's summer palace, the Neues Palais, enjoying the unexpected afternoon sunshine and snapping as many photographs as was socially acceptable. The Neue Palais itself was something to behold; the building had a lived-in feel that is lacked by so many stately homes and palaces. It is a requirement that you wear peculiar slippers over your shoes in order to protect the parquet flooring. Owing to their cumbersome presence on our feet, we skated rather than walked around the Palais.
Getting home involved over an hour of waiting for public transport, during which we all wished for the efficiency and regularity of Berlin's trains and trams. However, it was most definitely a worthwhile afternoon.
Currently in St. Oberholz - again. I have the sneaking suspicion that I may have to head home soon; after spending significantly more than I had planned last night, I have no burning desire to stay here and drink marginally overpriced coffee. The prospect of camomile tea and biscuits at home is overwhelmingly tempting, not to mention a sofa to work on rather than a rigid chair.
And the autumn cold that I'm fast developing is not helping matters.
Tuesday 10 September 2013
Judgement Day
Today in St Oberholz I am joined by a new friend. Its name is Chocolate Brownie, and unfortunately I don't expect it will be with me for long.
This has been the afternoon of decision-making in the office. We recapped who was reviewing what essential sights, places and locations in and around the city, finalised some internal deadlines, and discussed our stylistic rules. It turns out that once you get down to the nitty-gritty of writing processes and production, there are an awful lot of particulars to be agreed upon. Deciding upon them all feels a bit like splitting hairs, but it's all necessary for the production of a professional product. For an example: will we be using contractions? When we write the date, which comes first: number or month? How will we write opening times - 24-hour or am/pm? Etc etc...
Now that the practicalities have been decided we are all free to crack on with our individual work schedules. My own appears to be turning out rather nicely; I've mostly chosen to review cafes, eateries, and musical centres. Aside from all the money I'll be spending and the weight I'll probably gain, it's a pretty decent way to spend the next few weeks. Obviously there's all the writing to be done, and I've put myself forward as an editor (so I'll be scrutinising everyone else's work as well as my own), but I'm looking forward to keeping busy. Plus I'll be doing what I love - exploring and writing.
(And eating and drinking and being a classical music snob.)
I'll try to get as much work as possible done before next Friday, when the boyfriend is coming over. By then there'll be so much to show him - more than could possibly be squeezed into a week, let alone a weekend.
We'll be spending one night in a hotel and hostel in Prenzlauer Berg, which I'm reviewing for the project. We'll have to scrutinise everything, from the bed linen to the breakfast (which means actually getting up for breakfast, something we tend not to bother with in hotels normally). Since he will more than likely have to deal with me contending with work for the first night at least, I've booked us into somewhere nice for the following night. Shan't say what it is on here, because if (as I hope) he's reading this blog I don't want to let the cat out of the bag. Ordinarily he's not a big fan of surprises, but this one he ought to appreciate.
Considering I'm the one who paid for it, I'll be appreciating it as much as is physically possible.
This has been the afternoon of decision-making in the office. We recapped who was reviewing what essential sights, places and locations in and around the city, finalised some internal deadlines, and discussed our stylistic rules. It turns out that once you get down to the nitty-gritty of writing processes and production, there are an awful lot of particulars to be agreed upon. Deciding upon them all feels a bit like splitting hairs, but it's all necessary for the production of a professional product. For an example: will we be using contractions? When we write the date, which comes first: number or month? How will we write opening times - 24-hour or am/pm? Etc etc...
Now that the practicalities have been decided we are all free to crack on with our individual work schedules. My own appears to be turning out rather nicely; I've mostly chosen to review cafes, eateries, and musical centres. Aside from all the money I'll be spending and the weight I'll probably gain, it's a pretty decent way to spend the next few weeks. Obviously there's all the writing to be done, and I've put myself forward as an editor (so I'll be scrutinising everyone else's work as well as my own), but I'm looking forward to keeping busy. Plus I'll be doing what I love - exploring and writing.
(And eating and drinking and being a classical music snob.)
I'll try to get as much work as possible done before next Friday, when the boyfriend is coming over. By then there'll be so much to show him - more than could possibly be squeezed into a week, let alone a weekend.
We'll be spending one night in a hotel and hostel in Prenzlauer Berg, which I'm reviewing for the project. We'll have to scrutinise everything, from the bed linen to the breakfast (which means actually getting up for breakfast, something we tend not to bother with in hotels normally). Since he will more than likely have to deal with me contending with work for the first night at least, I've booked us into somewhere nice for the following night. Shan't say what it is on here, because if (as I hope) he's reading this blog I don't want to let the cat out of the bag. Ordinarily he's not a big fan of surprises, but this one he ought to appreciate.
Considering I'm the one who paid for it, I'll be appreciating it as much as is physically possible.
Saturday 7 September 2013
Berliner Weisse is my friend
Back in St Oberholz again after one heck of a day. This Berliner Weisse with rhubarb syrup (tastes much better than it sounds) is well-deserved.
Myself and my flatmate had a big day planned. We set off for Alexanderplatz, ogled at the TV Tower for a few minutes, then walked down to Museum Island for a tour of the Berliner Dom. Unfortunately it was closed until 1pm for a service; it was only noon, so we decided we had to time to go down to the Victory Column (which I am also reviewing) and then come back for our tour later.
Little did either of us anticipate just how long a walk through a historical centre can be.
Over two miles later we arrived at the Column. With the temperature settled at a balmy 28 or so degrees, we completed the final mile or so through Berlin's beautiful Tiergarten, or Game Garden in English. Having reached the Column, we explored the museum and climbed the 270-step spiral staircase to the viewing platform. The view at the top was breathtaking under such a blue sky. Before, behind and around us, Berlin was basking in the heat. We took the requisite number of tourist photographs and squeezed our way back down the stairs to begin the walk back. Something was happening in front of the Brandenburg gate. Seating stands had been erected, men were alternately singing and shouting from a large stage, and the smells of chips and curry-wurst floated in the air.
We had a brief stop in a cafe for apfelstrudel (something my flatmate had been wanting to try, and luckily we found a pretty good example) and treated ourselves to a look in Fassbender and Rausch - one of the biggest and best chocolatiers in Germany. They have a chocolate model of the Titanic, for goodness' sake.
We made it back to the Berliner Dom as the heat of the day was waning. Inside, the cathedral is magnificent: the dome itself has eight mosaic panels, each containing over 500,000 individual tiles. The dome was essentially destroyed by a liquid incendiary in WWII, funding wasn't provided for its restoration until 1975, and the final mosaic was not completed until 2002. It's a blight on the city's history that it would allow one of its most recognisable and religiously significant buildings to go unattended for so long.
The walkway along the outside of the dome provided an almost better view than that from the Victory Column. The industrial and historic centres of Berlin melted seamlessly together in front of us in an amazing collusion of old and new Berlin. Quite something to behold in the late afternoon sunlight.
From there we took a quick (and unfortunately fruitless) trip to the Philharmonie near Potsdamer-Platz to enquire about concert tickets. Probably should have realised the office would be closed at quarter to seven on a Saturday evening.
Back on a train to Warschauer-Strasse to meet up with a few others, one of whom was reviewing a burger restaurant there called Burgermeister (located in a converted public convenience). The burgers were incredibly tasty and definitely needed after so many miles on our feet.
A quick stop back to the apartment to pick up my laptop, and here I am at twenty to midnight. My beautiful, fruity Berliner Weisse is almost finished - surely a sign that it's time to call an end to a very long day. The thought of staying for another may have crossed my mind if the cafe wasn't closing in twenty minutes, and if the trains weren't stopping in just under an hour.
A large group of us are heading to a flea market at Mauerpark in Prenzlauerberg tomorrow. A small amount of money may have to be spent - well, everything will be cheap at a flea market, right?
Myself and my flatmate had a big day planned. We set off for Alexanderplatz, ogled at the TV Tower for a few minutes, then walked down to Museum Island for a tour of the Berliner Dom. Unfortunately it was closed until 1pm for a service; it was only noon, so we decided we had to time to go down to the Victory Column (which I am also reviewing) and then come back for our tour later.
Little did either of us anticipate just how long a walk through a historical centre can be.
Over two miles later we arrived at the Column. With the temperature settled at a balmy 28 or so degrees, we completed the final mile or so through Berlin's beautiful Tiergarten, or Game Garden in English. Having reached the Column, we explored the museum and climbed the 270-step spiral staircase to the viewing platform. The view at the top was breathtaking under such a blue sky. Before, behind and around us, Berlin was basking in the heat. We took the requisite number of tourist photographs and squeezed our way back down the stairs to begin the walk back. Something was happening in front of the Brandenburg gate. Seating stands had been erected, men were alternately singing and shouting from a large stage, and the smells of chips and curry-wurst floated in the air.
We had a brief stop in a cafe for apfelstrudel (something my flatmate had been wanting to try, and luckily we found a pretty good example) and treated ourselves to a look in Fassbender and Rausch - one of the biggest and best chocolatiers in Germany. They have a chocolate model of the Titanic, for goodness' sake.
We made it back to the Berliner Dom as the heat of the day was waning. Inside, the cathedral is magnificent: the dome itself has eight mosaic panels, each containing over 500,000 individual tiles. The dome was essentially destroyed by a liquid incendiary in WWII, funding wasn't provided for its restoration until 1975, and the final mosaic was not completed until 2002. It's a blight on the city's history that it would allow one of its most recognisable and religiously significant buildings to go unattended for so long.
The walkway along the outside of the dome provided an almost better view than that from the Victory Column. The industrial and historic centres of Berlin melted seamlessly together in front of us in an amazing collusion of old and new Berlin. Quite something to behold in the late afternoon sunlight.
From there we took a quick (and unfortunately fruitless) trip to the Philharmonie near Potsdamer-Platz to enquire about concert tickets. Probably should have realised the office would be closed at quarter to seven on a Saturday evening.
Back on a train to Warschauer-Strasse to meet up with a few others, one of whom was reviewing a burger restaurant there called Burgermeister (located in a converted public convenience). The burgers were incredibly tasty and definitely needed after so many miles on our feet.
A quick stop back to the apartment to pick up my laptop, and here I am at twenty to midnight. My beautiful, fruity Berliner Weisse is almost finished - surely a sign that it's time to call an end to a very long day. The thought of staying for another may have crossed my mind if the cafe wasn't closing in twenty minutes, and if the trains weren't stopping in just under an hour.
A large group of us are heading to a flea market at Mauerpark in Prenzlauerberg tomorrow. A small amount of money may have to be spent - well, everything will be cheap at a flea market, right?
Friday 6 September 2013
Are we ready for the weekend?
The end of the first working week has arrived. Busy, as was predicted. It feels as though there hasn't been a spare second among German lessons, workshops and guided walks. To be honest I'm exhausted already, but a social engagement has arisen for tonight. A few drinks to end a hectic first week in Europe's hippest city. There may be a club involved, but since no one in Berlin heads out before 2am I get the feeling I may have flaked before we reach it.
Last night's expedition was by far the worst event of the project so far. A group of us trekked out to Kreusberg, around an hour by public transport from the apartments, to find a fabled German restaurant called "Mutti". After scouring the entire (very long) street, we asked at a bar if they knew of the restaurant. They'd never heard of it. Disgruntled and famished we walked the half-mile or so back to the U-Bahn station and headed down to Warschauer-Strasse, where we got some cheap and surprisingly good pizzas.
Currently sitting in St. Oberholz on Rosenthaler-Platz, again. Getting here involved a bus, a mishap at a tram stop, a short journey on the wrong S-Bahn train, and in total about 30 more minutes than it need have taken.
Having had some lovely quiche and iced tea, I feel about ready to call it a night. Will probably be in bed at some horrendously early hour for a Friday night in Berlin (1am). The weather today has been spectacular, unbroken sunshine and a temperature of 28 degrees or so. The city looks beautiful in the sunlight; its Soviet constructions, architectural anomalies and grandiose monuments are all brought to life by it. Tomorrow I'll be heading up the Victory Column and the Berliner Dom (both for work), hopefully followed by a biergarten or beach bar (well, work should include regular breaks).
(And that wasn't a typo, there really are beach bars in Berlin).
The next working week ought to be more organised and settled than the last. Our own individual timetables and work schedules will begin solidifying as we decide what we'll be reviewing and fall into a pattern of work, play and writing.
Right now I don't particularly want to think about work. Tea, biscuits and bed are occupying rather a lot of my mind, but I sense they may be a long way off.
I'm sure a few glasses of wine will suffice.
Last night's expedition was by far the worst event of the project so far. A group of us trekked out to Kreusberg, around an hour by public transport from the apartments, to find a fabled German restaurant called "Mutti". After scouring the entire (very long) street, we asked at a bar if they knew of the restaurant. They'd never heard of it. Disgruntled and famished we walked the half-mile or so back to the U-Bahn station and headed down to Warschauer-Strasse, where we got some cheap and surprisingly good pizzas.
Currently sitting in St. Oberholz on Rosenthaler-Platz, again. Getting here involved a bus, a mishap at a tram stop, a short journey on the wrong S-Bahn train, and in total about 30 more minutes than it need have taken.
Having had some lovely quiche and iced tea, I feel about ready to call it a night. Will probably be in bed at some horrendously early hour for a Friday night in Berlin (1am). The weather today has been spectacular, unbroken sunshine and a temperature of 28 degrees or so. The city looks beautiful in the sunlight; its Soviet constructions, architectural anomalies and grandiose monuments are all brought to life by it. Tomorrow I'll be heading up the Victory Column and the Berliner Dom (both for work), hopefully followed by a biergarten or beach bar (well, work should include regular breaks).
(And that wasn't a typo, there really are beach bars in Berlin).
The next working week ought to be more organised and settled than the last. Our own individual timetables and work schedules will begin solidifying as we decide what we'll be reviewing and fall into a pattern of work, play and writing.
Right now I don't particularly want to think about work. Tea, biscuits and bed are occupying rather a lot of my mind, but I sense they may be a long way off.
I'm sure a few glasses of wine will suffice.
Wednesday 4 September 2013
Das problem mit kaffee
Over the last twenty four hours or so, I've started to come to a worrying realisation.
I could quite easily spend entire days sitting in Berlin coffee shops, reading or taking advantage of free Wifi, drinking coffee and eating kuken.
Considering this is primarily intended as a research trip, during which I'm supposed to review more than just cafes, I'm slightly worried by just how easy it is to settle down in one of Berlin's many cafes and lose track of the hours. As I have today.
"Cafe-culture"is one aspect of European life that I could very happily become accustomed to. In most Western European cities there are more coffee shops than you could ever hope to visit, standing out on the main drag, curling themselves around cross-roads or hiding away in the back streets under a layer of ivy or fading paintwork. It's almost certain that each one will serve coffee as good as any gourmet coffee shop in England, if not better.
In Berlin many cafes offer free Wifi, attracting in lots of people like me: students, postgraduates or young tourists wanting a place to soak up the atmosphere, get a caffeine fix and surf the net. In this city you are spoilt for choice, but a favourite of the people on the CTR project is St Oberholz on Rosenthaler Platz. High-ceilinged, simply-decorated and with plenty of seating, it attracts a flood of customers all day every day, the majority of whom are under 30 and using laptops. It's open until midnight, and it also serves beer, wine and cocktails; when you've been slaving away all day and work has to continue into the evening, the prospect of staying where you are and swapping one sociable drink for another is a very attractive prospect.
At the moment, my choice of a west-facing window seat in St. Oberholz is seeming a little silly. For the first time in three days the sun has come out and I'm being blinded. Screen glare is just about manageable, but my super-serious/pained squint must be quite a sight for passers-by.
The atmosphere in Berlin's coffee shops is great because it facilitates a variety of uses. Whether there's a group of you chatting over coffee or wine, or you're on your own getting on with your own thing, you feel completely welcome to sit and do whatever you need or want, for as long as you need or want.
I'm pretty sure I'd never spend time anywhere else if I lived in Berlin. For this reason alone my bank balance is probably glad that I don't.
Tuesday 3 September 2013
A productive start
After two days in Berlin, the feeling of being "settled" seems a little more achievable. I'm sharing an apartment (and bedroom) with two other girls; I couldn't really have wished for better people to spend a month in a foreign country with.
Yesterday was primarily a cold and rainy blur. Orientation meeting in the morning, a hurried lunch break, during which all seventeen of us new City Travel Review recruits piled into one tiny cafe on the corner of Rungestrasse, and then a four-hour city tour in the best imitation of horrible British weather that Berlin had to offer. The tour itself was brilliant, covering some of the biggest historical and cultural highlights, and our English tour guide was undeterred by the drizzle. On a better day, the length of time we spent standing still to admire the architecture and listen to Chris' encyclopaedic knowledge of German history would have made an incredibly enjoyable afternoon.
A group of us headed straight back to the apartments at the end of the tour, agreeing a need to change our optimistic and soggy clothes for something warmer. Seven of us ventured out to Warschauer-Strasse after dinner to hunt out a bar. The gumption and expert haggling of one girl got us cocktails for 3€ each, an impressive discount from the 4,50€ advertised outside. We shared the suspicion that getting a group of girls to sit in their open front window was the primary motivation for the staff's willingness to slash the prices. The cocktails were all similar lurid shades of pink and orange, but upon testing we could confirm that each cocktail was indeed what it has claimed to be on the menu.
Although it was only Monday the bar we were in and those around it were filling up by 10:30. We chatted over the first and second drinks, then decided we had better head back to the tram stop so we didn't miss the last one home. I made a hasty detour into a hotel on the way to borrow their toilets. All in all a good first night in the city, and things can only improve from here on in, right?
Today has included an intense German lesson - well, intense if you're a total beginner like most of us are and the teacher refuses to speak a word of English. It's an effective way to run a language class, but after an hour and a half my brain was begging for a sentence I could understand without first analysing the infinitive.
The first project meeting with our team leader Marcus was an eye-opener. He told us about his conservative upbringing in West Berlin, how the city changed culturally after the fall of the Wall, and shared a gargantuan list of things to do and see and places to visit in the city - everything from museums and art galleries to churches and government buildings, to flea markets and vintage shops, jazz clubs and burger restaurants, cafes and lakes.
Having the chance to hear about all this from a native Berliner was pretty invaluable. It's all very well being in one of the most artistically diverse and historically rich cities in Europe, but when there are centres in every one of the twelve districts that have their own characters and points of interest it can be difficult knowing where to start. Apparently within the week my knowledge of the city, its hotspots and the public transport systems will be more solid. One can only hope.
Saturday 31 August 2013
Packing anxiety
It's reached the point where I'm beginning to wonder what I've let myself in for.
Tomorrow evening I will board a flight from Stansted to Berlin (less glamorous than the Franco-German expedition immortalised in song by Infernal) for a work experience placement with eBook publishers City Travel Review. The choice to spend a month abroad in a country I'd never imagined visiting is a triumph of career choice over geographical and linguistic prejudices. As a budding travel journalist, the appearance of this particular placement among the other internships and graduate job offers that regularly descend upon my inbox was something akin to a miracle. Vague hope when I applied gave way to elation when I was accepted.
After being stung by a poor Euro exchange rate in the Post Office, frustrated by Ryanair's impenetrable online check-in, and confused by a multitude of travel insurance quotes, I've arrived at the eve of departure. Dormant stomach butterflies are stirring, and the nagging fear that I've forgotten some vital piece of electrical equipment is starting to kick in. My Germanophilic boyfriend has been thrilled about the placement from the word go. He and a close friend from university, who has just completed a year of study at a Berlin university, are primarily responsible for the excitement I'm starting to feel.
Although my own experience of German culture is almost non-existent (apart from a weekend in Vienna earlier this year, if Austria can be counted), this placement is a learning curve I'm eager to tackle. I'm excited by the prospect of learning another language and practicing it in the real world. According to those I've spoken to about the trip, everyone in Berlin speaks at least a little English; however, I'm keen to dispel the image of the ignorant British tourist and try speaking the local language instead of relying on mad gesticulations and shouting. The diversity and richness of European culture and heritage have fascinated me for years, and consequently I'm thrilled at the chance to explore a capital with such a chequered past.
The rave reviews I've heard about the beer, the food and the nightlife have also had their fair share of influence on my current state of excitement.
As a Germany virgin, this blog is intended to chart my discoveries, revelations and anecdotes over the next four weeks (and the disenchantment with my home country which is bound to follow). I'm a country girl, born and bred, so there will probably be a certain amount of fascination at the pace and liveliness of the big city.
But for now, I have mundane packing duties to attend to. There are pairs of socks and chargers to be counted.
Tomorrow evening I will board a flight from Stansted to Berlin (less glamorous than the Franco-German expedition immortalised in song by Infernal) for a work experience placement with eBook publishers City Travel Review. The choice to spend a month abroad in a country I'd never imagined visiting is a triumph of career choice over geographical and linguistic prejudices. As a budding travel journalist, the appearance of this particular placement among the other internships and graduate job offers that regularly descend upon my inbox was something akin to a miracle. Vague hope when I applied gave way to elation when I was accepted.
After being stung by a poor Euro exchange rate in the Post Office, frustrated by Ryanair's impenetrable online check-in, and confused by a multitude of travel insurance quotes, I've arrived at the eve of departure. Dormant stomach butterflies are stirring, and the nagging fear that I've forgotten some vital piece of electrical equipment is starting to kick in. My Germanophilic boyfriend has been thrilled about the placement from the word go. He and a close friend from university, who has just completed a year of study at a Berlin university, are primarily responsible for the excitement I'm starting to feel.
Although my own experience of German culture is almost non-existent (apart from a weekend in Vienna earlier this year, if Austria can be counted), this placement is a learning curve I'm eager to tackle. I'm excited by the prospect of learning another language and practicing it in the real world. According to those I've spoken to about the trip, everyone in Berlin speaks at least a little English; however, I'm keen to dispel the image of the ignorant British tourist and try speaking the local language instead of relying on mad gesticulations and shouting. The diversity and richness of European culture and heritage have fascinated me for years, and consequently I'm thrilled at the chance to explore a capital with such a chequered past.
The rave reviews I've heard about the beer, the food and the nightlife have also had their fair share of influence on my current state of excitement.
As a Germany virgin, this blog is intended to chart my discoveries, revelations and anecdotes over the next four weeks (and the disenchantment with my home country which is bound to follow). I'm a country girl, born and bred, so there will probably be a certain amount of fascination at the pace and liveliness of the big city.
But for now, I have mundane packing duties to attend to. There are pairs of socks and chargers to be counted.
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