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When one has the luxury of expansive amounts of free time, one also gains the patience to do things that take time. Cooking, for example. Reading dense literary classics. Learning to appreciate classical music. Travelling vast distances without a second thought. It was in this vein that I found myself early on Wednesday morning at a swimming pool in Spandau, a suburb at the very end of my train line (read: the very edge of the earth) a good hour and a half away from my apartment.

The Spandau pool was certainly worth the trip. The pools are the centrepieces of a massive green park with trees, valleys and several food outlets. Wearing a bikini for the first time in months, and ignoring the wind, the cold and the purple sky in the distance, Cat and I did leisurely laps of the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Being a cold, windy weekday, our only companions were an elderly couple and a family of ducks. We snuck down the waterslide when the lifeguard wasn’t watching, then showered, got dressed and dutifully went to Uni.

The Berlin spring continues to surprise. Recently, the air has been thick with white fluff that whoosh around with the wind and collect in furballs in stairwells. The stuff is everywhere and it gets everywhere. My German teacher said it comes from the poplar trees and creates all types of hell for allergies.

But I haven’t seen it since the Great Downpour of Tuesday. When we began our International Criminal Justice seminar, the day was muggy and hot (by “hot” I mean about 28 degrees – it’s embarrassing how pathetic my thermostat has become). When we finished, it had started to rain in a heavy and tough-looking manner. Being too impatient and probably too stupid, James and I decided to make a break for it and sprint to the station.

It was wild. I lost my shoes a few times on the way and by the time we reached cover my I was soaked down to my underwear. It’s very lonely, travelling home when you look like the proverbial drowned rat – avoiding the piercing, smug stares of the umbrella-wielding locals and making your own puddle in the middle of the carriage.

A part of spring that I’m having considerably more success with are the public holidays. April and May have been chock-full of them – it seems like every second week we’re celebrating Labour Day or Whit Monday or something equally as wonderful. Last Thursday was Ascension Day and Tessa and I took advantage of no university to get out of Berlin and check out Hamburg. While I’ve been to Sweden twice, in my three months in Berlin I’ve yet to leave the city limits for another German location. Good to put my city-slicking to an end.

My housemates described Hamburg as the ‘grown-up Berlin’ and it’s true, there was a marked increase in sports cars and pastel sweaters. Hamburg is a lovely stately place. Like Berlin, it was almost completely levelled in WWII so most of the old things that we saw were reconstructions. It’s also a harbour town, as we discovered on our ferry ride to nowhere in particular with hundreds of other German tourists. And, of course, it also has an underbelly – a seedy street called Reeperbahn where you can buy guns and ginormous dildos from the same shop.

But Tessa and I both admitted that our favourite parts of Hamburg were the ones that reminded us of Berlin. A bit sad, but the truth. While it was refreshing to get out of the city and fun being a tourist again, there’s nothing like seeing the Fernsehturm on the skyline again.

This has been a really long post but there’s something else I have to tell you. At the end of my studies here I’ve decided to go to North America. My family is going to a folk music festival in the Rockies in Canada, and I’m going to join them for a family reunion. I guess it’s not as daggy if it’s in another country, right…? After that, Leah and I will be travelling around the South (mostly for the mint juleps) eventually ending up at the Burning Man festival in Nevada. After that? Hopefully, California bound. After that, back to Europe for a month and a half, then back to the Motherland.

I now have two questions for the studio audience:

1) Is it okay to be absolutely, completely broke?

And, more importantly

2) Will I need to change the name of this blog??

When a German Stares

In Germany, there is no social convention that limits a stare to the time needed to register another person’s presence. The German stare is harsh and unforgiving. It’s like you’ve accidently left a boob hanging out in the complicated process of getting dressed; like you have an entire spinach plant stuck between your teeth. It’s not appreciative, nor is it a neutral appraisal. When a German stares, you feel a pressing need to justify your existence.

The stare, and how to live with it, is a hotly debated topic in expat forums. In most countries you just need make eye contact and the starer will quickly look away or pretend they were looking over your shoulder. But here, staring back will only ensnare you in an uncomfortable game of chicken. The loser blinks. You save your pride and sanity if you just ignore it.

But getting used to the stare means that you are completely disarmed when a starer takes things the next level. It was Tuesday, around 11am, and I was in between trains on my way to H.U.. I was somewhat distracted by my iPod (more specifically, Prince’s not-so-subtle double entendres) so I didn’t realise the man in a straw hat walk towards me, place his face directly in front of mine and stare intently at my head. I was startled but, like a good Berliner, pretended that everything was normal.

A minute or so passed. I realised this situation was going nowhere quickly, so pulling out my earphones, said:

Me: err…Ja?

Herr: (long pause, leans in) Incomprehensible German.

Me : <thinking: am I being propositioned? Is this guy 100%?> Ahh, es tut mir leid, ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutsch.

Herr: (long pause, squints) What do you in Berlin study?

Me: <thinking: I don’t even look like a student today! I’ve brushed my hair! Do I finally have my own stalker after 23 lonely years of being ignored by the crazies of the world?> Law. Jura. Er, Rechtswissenschaft?

Herr: Kommen Sie aus U.S.A?

Me: Nein, ich komme aus Australien

Herr: (pause) Ahhh! (walks away and steps immediately onto the next carriage)

I know this isn’t a remarkable conversation, but in the three months I’ve been riding the U-Bahn, it’s the longest I’ve had. Back in Australia, staring is just plain rude. But I’ve gotten so used to the silent, socially acceptable communication that the whole exchange left me weirdly unsettled.

Perhaps it’s because people treat other people differently here in Germany. The Protection of Human Dignity is the most important concept in German Basic Law, sitting pretty in the very first article in the very first section of the German Constitution. But it’s no secret that Germans can be a little abrupt. Apologies, even when fault is clear, are rare. As someone remarked last week, it’s one of the few countries in the world where “No” is a complete and acceptable response to a question.

At first, this all seemed a little hypocritical. But it’s becoming clear that brusqueness does not equal disrespect. At least it’s the truth. It seems that people won’t ask you how you’re going unless they actually care, and if they don’t feel like going out, they simply won’t. I find this streamlined approach refreshing. It’s better than being drowned in our social niceties. Perhaps human dignity is better protected by being honest.

What to do?

So I’m back. Last week was a tricky week for me. Earlier on in this blog I wrote about how liberating it felt to have so much time on my hands. Last week I experienced the flip-side of that.

I’m not used to doing so little, to being so free. For example: I haven’t organised an event since my farewell party. I went from working 50 hours a week to working none. This blog is my only extra-curricular activity. Studying is a leisurely pursuit, requiring a very minimum time commitment (unlike my Australian counterparts, who at this very moment in preparation for exams are cutting off all contact with the outside world and buying Red Bull in slabs).

But nature abhors a vaccum, and the void has quickly been filled by dancing, drinking, partying and general merriment. Which, of course, is lots of fun. But while it’s helped me to deprogram myself from the pace of life back home, I don’t think it’s enough to structure my life around. God forbid, I think I’m looking for a little more meaning in my exchange. I’ll let you know what I come up with.

In the meantime, I’ve decided that I should take my studies a little more seriously. And it doesn’t get much more serious than a meeting at the German Federal Foreign Office on the topic of „Committing to a New EU-Afghan Partnership – Review of the EU-Afghanistan Joint Declaration”.

I’m doing a subject called Model European Union. It’s also known (to exchange students) as a “jackpot” subject – it counts for a massive 10 ECTS, the equivalent of two and a half normal subjects. Model things have never been my thing, but this offer was hard to refuse. Also, as my knowledge of the EU is limited to the Euro, the Schengen Agreement and incomprehension regarding the legal ‚Pillars’ of the ‚Temple’ I thought it would be a great way to learn.

The dress code was “Business Style” and since the most businessy thing I own is a pair of skinny black jeans, an urgent shopping trip was required. An indecisive hour in H&M later I stepped out onto the street in corporate attire, not quite believing that I was wearing sheer stockings and a crisply ironed shirt a) in Berlin, capital city of casual comfort; and b) almost a full year before I actually get paid to wear anything as dour again.

A retired German diplomat, who looked like he was born to wear a safari suit and sip English Tea at some colonial outpost (AND had Baroque music as his ringtone!) chaired the session. Half of the attendees were students from F.U., the other half trainee diplomats from Afghanistan’s equivalent of DFAT. I ended up with Poland, and I’m working with an Afghani gentleman called Alibaba. My homework is to acquaint myself with Afghanistan’s history which is no easy task. I’m taking it slowly.

As my bike is now plumbing the depths of utter uselessness, I’m turning to other ways of fitness. Jogging is one of them. I live right across the road from Volkspark Hasenheide, one of Berlin’s phenomenal green spots. As well as containing fields and forests, lakes, a dog paddock, a petting zoo and, at present, a medium-sized fairground, it is also criss-crossed with running tracks. Most mornings I roll out of bed, tie on my runners and do a bleary-eyed lap before I wake up enough to protest.

Hasenheide is also full of drug dealers. From the break of day tracksuited men take up their positions around the park, whispering „Alles klar?“ to startled pink-faced joggers. If you wait long enough, you can watch straight-laced Germans walking determinedly off the path and into the shrubbery to meet their Man. A police wagon routinely does a crawl around the perimiter but I’ve yet to see them make any busts. I’ve never felt unsafe, but the contrast between the beauty of the park and the seediness of its internal commerce strikes me every time.

interlude

This week has been pretty extraordinary on a number of fronts, including:

• May Day in Kreuzberg.
  
• Baumblutenfest with the lovely Inga and her hilarious German friends.
  
• Traditional German Feast with Inga in her bitchin' apartment.
• 3 separate foosball ("kicker") games with assorted Germans, at each occasion losing comprehensively.
• First episode of quintessential crime show "Tatort" watched with housemates in reverential silence. 

Sadly, on the blogging front things are grim. Motivation and inspiration, once in abundance,  have fled for the hills. But I didn't want to leave the regulars (all four of you) hanging, so this is just a temporary update so you know that things are still chugging along here. If you think you've got the goods to write a decent substitute, please feel free to utilize the comments box. Back soon, yous.