Flasher on the Platz

It’s 3.00am on Friday morning and ladies and gentlemen, I have just witnessed my first German penis. I’m not exactly a stickler for romance, but I think there’s a lot of room for improvement on the situation where a man approaches his objet d’affection with his pink bits poking out through his fly and waves them at her.

Unwanted sausage is frightening. Even though I know the politically correct response to a flasher is to point and laugh hysterically, I think horror and disgust are the actual reactions hard-wired into the female psyche. Especially when you’re alone, and especially when you’re lost in Alexanderplatz, Berlin’s soulless central square.

Even before the willy incident, tonight has been pretty mediocre. Chris (another Australian guy from my language course) his friend (whose name has temporarily escaped me) and myself attempted to find a pub called Weinerei, a place based on the Lentil-As-Anything idea where you pay as much for an evening full of drinking as you think it’s worth. Perfect student fodder. But we got lost and by the time we got there it was shut and the owners were contentedly getting trolleyed inside.

Then Chris remembered that despite being world leaders in public transport technology, the last trains on the Berlin U-Bahn run around 1am. This wasn’t too concerning for me - I live in Kreuzberg, a relative hop-skip-and-jump’s distance from the action; whereas Chris and his friend live out in the F.U. student accommodation, which is an hour and a half away when your planets are aligned and there are connecting services. But eventually they found a bus and I found a taxi and I am now safely ensconced inside my room.

My language course at Deutsch Akademie only runs until Thursday so technically my weekend has begun already. I think I’ll need the whole three days to understand what I have supposedly learnt already. The course is great, although it’s difficult to sit still and pay attention for three hours straight after four months away from the books.

In my relatively limited experience, learning a language fucks with your emotions in a way that conventional Arts or Law education can’t – the ridiculous bursts of euphoria when you get a sentence right, the frustration when a concept that a 3 year old can master eludes you. It makes you care.

And finally - slowly but surely, I’m reaching the summit of the administrative Everest of becoming a legitimate person in Germany. There are about six different things every new student needs to do, which roughly translates into six queues, 18 forms (half only in German) 12 stilted conversations, 40 kilometres, 250 euro and about 30 hours of precious time. I’ve found that the key is to turn up early, often before a morning coffee or shower - the time saved is worth offending everyone around you.

I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a while – I had a sneaky pre-drink of several espresso shots from our stovetop espresso maker (every day I have a choice of 4 methods of making my coffee – this one is the quickest and packs the biggest punch). But until next time, bis später yo.