Random Explosions

returning the favour / let's go clubbing

2007-04-09T17:33:00.000+03:00

No, I haven't joined an arty indie band and this isn't our promotional photo. Rather, it is Andrew, his British cousin Dan and myself being successfully snapped in a dark bar by Dan's flatmate Jed, who is more capable with my digital camera than I am.

Upon our departure from London, Andrew and I had heartily invited all associated parties to visit us in Berlin. They happily took us up on our offer, joining us for a Berlin-style Schönes Wochenende in late Feb. We took them to Tacheles (formerly a 1990s artists' squat and place of general bohemia) for a taste of Berlin grit, although the place has since become somewhat of a backpacker attraction, thus negating much of it's earlier edginess.

Above: Tacheles from behind (oooo errr). There's an open-air bar at the very top, with great views of the video art that is projected onto the back wall of the 5-story building opposite the Tacheles complex.

Later that night we ended up at Rodina, located underneath the Janowitzbrüke S-Bahn station, directly on the river Spree. Inside were two large dance rooms, one with electro, the other with Russian-born Berlin novelist Wladimir Kaminer cutting up the decks with his trademark Russen Disko. Such high-tempo, relentless Russian folk rock makes for some hilarious shouting-and-clapping-inspired improvised dance-moves, but dehydration and fatigue quickly take their toll. Although satisfied and sweat-drenched as we left to head home, I was disappointed not to have heard that stereotypical Russian call to arms, 'Moscow', which Kaminer always plays, and which Google tells me was penned by someone called Genghis Khan (although my search engine skills are notoriously bad).

You'll know it, it's the one that goes:

Moscow, Moscow, throwing glasses at the wall
And good fortune to us all, Hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh, Hey!
Moscow, Moscow, join us for a Cossack Show
We'll go dancing 'round the clock

Which in the club is sung thus:

Moscow, Moscow, laa-la-la-la laa laa laa
Laa-la-la-la-laa laa laa, Hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh, Hey!
Moscow, Moscow, laa-la-la-la laa laa laa
Laa-la-la-la-laa laa laa, Hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh, Hey!

The following night, after a few looseners at a red-lit bar near Boxhagener Platz (see photos), we all headed to the infamous Panorama Bar / Berghain. After a nail-biting wait in the Schlange, fretting over the club's irrational iron-fist door policy, we entered the monolithic ex-factory and had our digital cameras confiscated. As such, I have no images of this notoriously salacious club to post online. Well known for it's 60-40 gay/straight mix, Panorama/Bergain's 'we never close' weekend policy encourages drug-addled benders and there were still many revellers rocking up on Sunday morning as we were leaving. As a straight woman, I found the abundance of topless gay muscle men a bit intimidating, but the insane sound system and other-worldliness of the place was pretty awesome.

Above: Tom, Joss and Katie going red at a bar near Boxhagener Platz, Friedrichshain.

Above: The whole crew gets in on the act.

east7

2007-03-06T00:43:00.000+02:00

In other Back to Berlin news, I have finally scored a regular job which isn't bizarre or involve mopping floors with a rag! I applied to an ad I saw in Zitty (city mag full of listings), for a receptionist at a 'relaxed' hostel in Prenzlauer Berg. I managed to get an interview, and was completely bamboozled to discover I'd applied to the same hostel where I'd stayed when I first arrived in Berlin. Moreover, this is the hostel where my sister and her boyfriend had stayed in 2005 and befriended the Polish receptionist!

So I had my training at East7 Berlin Hostel in early Feb, which consisted of Nik (said Pole) showing myself and the other two new receptionists, Paula (German) and Bart (Dutch) how to use the Dorm software, make cappuccinos and engage in off-the-cuff witty banter with the guests. The pay is paltry (6,50€ / $10.95 per hour), but Berlin is cheap and at least I know where next month's rent is coming from. I have two bosses; Jörg, the wacky, easy-going German, and Pierre, a business-focussed, straight-laced South African.

My first shift at East7 was a struggle. I was ill (and had had a roaring fever a few days prior) and as nervous as hell. I foolishly accepted 3 different 'walk-ins', which were inevitably complicated bookings, involving Room Changes and mixed payments. Particularly tricky was a group of 4 Italian men, who spoke neither German nor English. The language difficulties inflamed my nerves and I accidentally took the wrong set of keys when I showed them up to their rooms...

The nightshift goes from 6pm until 9am, but the reception is closed between midnight and 7am so there is some scope for sleep. This scope is, however, somewhat hindered as the nightshift bedroom is also the noisiest in the building. Being woken up by the front door closing, or the sound of a drunken backpacker as they stomp awkwardly upstairs, is not unusual. Oh and on my first shift I accidentally left a sign out at reception reading 'If you need the receptionist, ring the doorbell', so that I was rudely woken at 6am by drunks wanting coffee. (Admittedly, I've become used to East7's night-time soundscape, but simply find it easier and more enjoyable to write whingey, cynical prose. Hoho.)

Soooo a month has passed and I'm feeling much more confident about my work at East7. I'm getting to know the rhythm of the place, making far fewer mistakes and really starting to enjoy myself. It's great being able to help guests with information, coffee, internet and the like. (Plus responding to emails and making complicated bookings appeals to my anal streak.)

Below: I don't have any photos of the hostel, but I thought it was time I posted new shots of my room, as I've accumulated quite a bit of 'stuff' in the last few months, and it's feeling much more homely.

the day to day

2007-03-02T18:56:00.000+02:00

Back in Berlin, and back to day-to-day life; U-bahns and S-bahns, English conversation lessons and stressful episodes at discount supermarket chain Plus. And of course, enjoying nights-in with my WG. Such evenings are usually composed of drinking Becks or Sternburg half litres, talking quatsch and playing UNO. If a bigger group of people are involved, my flatmate Samuel inevitably instigates a game of Murder in the Dark. Unlike the version I used to play as a child, which involved running around in the dark and loudly screaming victims, Samuel's version is a much more sedate game of words and shutting one's eyes at specific intervals. He takes great delight in narrating the grand tales of murder and deceit, laboriously describing the gruesome details of each crime. It's actually a great game to play with a group of semi-drunk friends, as it requires a lot of unsubstantiated finger-pointing and lying, which is often highly entertaining.

Above: Samuel does his best That's Life cover pose.

Above: My French flatmate Marie relaxes WG-style, after a hard day at the gallery.

Above: Marie demonstrates a Punjabi dance move, whilst Andrew eagerly anticipates the next round of UNO.

london pictorial

2007-02-15T15:25:00.000+02:00

Here now is a highlights package of snaps from my London visit - then I promise my blog shall return to Berlin; the Wall, Currywurst, and all things Kraut.

Above: I somehow managed to score 6 iconic red buses in one shot.

Above: Doing the Tourist Thang; Andrew consulting the Lonely Planet outside 'Bucks'.

Above: Ooohhhh Britain! Britain, Britain, Britain.

Above: ABC's London Correspondent Andrew Cook reporting live outside parliament.

Above: Me and Aslan in Trafalgar Square.

Above: The main hall of the Natural History Museum; wonderfully 'oldskool', complete with Brontosaurus skeleton and Gothic architecture. (NB I am still mildly disgruntled about the decision to shift our museum out of the State Library Building and into that minimalist, cavernous, charmless blob on Nicholson St...)

Above: Suspended T-Rex skeleton reminiscent of either Jurassic Park or Ben Stiller's Night at the Museum, depending on your age.

Above: Hamstead Heath in the north of London, with a rare burst of winter sunshine.

Above: The Manor House in Hamstead Heath, and potentially also (the set of) Mr Darcy's summer retreat.

Above: The Millennium Bridge linking the new with the old; St Pauls Cathedral and the Tate Modern. (Note also how the ominous purple sky is reminiscent of Ghostbusters II, after Vigo's evil spirit had been awakened and the National Gallery was coated in slime. )

Above: The Palace Theatre in Spamalot Mode.

sierra oscar receiving? go ahead sarge

2007-02-14T14:21:00.000+02:00

New Years Eve. Silvester. Although typically a night of over-inflated anticipation and crushing disappointment, my 06/07 transitional celebrations were flipping brilliant. Still in London, Andrew and I attended a private party in a split-level club with Dan and all his mates. After 'pre-drinks' at a friend's flat, our crew of semi-inebriated Party People stumbled out into the chilled streets, and legged it towards the venue.

A queue meant that we only made it inside the club by 11:40, which gave us just enough time to, uh, join the drinks queue, the sluggish speed of which ensured that when the clocks struck 12 we were dutifully scattered throughout the club, clutching scrunched bills, fistfuls of coins, lager and other people's Creme de Menthe.

But the initial overcrowding, queues and unwanted bodily contact were soon overcome, as a fair few people headed off soon after the Countdown. Thereafter it was a veritable orgy of live bands, house DJs, alcohol and loose dancing. I personally danced and sweated my Body Mass Index (BMI) rating down 25 points; a weight-height ratio which was subsequently squandered through the fat-inducing properties of beer and a morning-after kebab.

The club had an awesome vibe, as most people there knew some people, who knew others, so that the festivities had a house-party atmosphere, but with the added bonus of live music and a killer sound system.

The D&D (drinking and dancing) lasted until about 6:30am, after which Andrew, myself and a hodge-podge collection of friends-of-friends went on a Beer Mission en route to the pre-drinks flat (which was thereafter to be known as the 'post-drinks' flat). Perhaps unsurprisingly, we got royally lost and spent about an hour blindly wandering through various estates in the 01.01.07 haze, with no accurate street address, or mobile number of anyone who wasn't off their mash. Ahh but what larks, Pip! Highlights included lending my white fluffy beanie to a member of our Beer Mission who looked like PC Des Taviner from The Bill, and, er, pretending to be roaming the streets of Sun Hill. Poor old Reg. And whatever became of Jim Carver?

Dan eventually saved us, managing to direct us from his mobile through winding back streets and along a canal to a location he was barely familiar with - whilst being completely drug-bunged. (Good on ya, Dan!) Upon arrival at the smoke-filled post-drinks flat our beer was ungraciously accepted and consumed, and we decided we'd had enough. Having no choice but to end our NYE on a (financial) high, we extravagantly shelled out 30 quid (A$75) for a blackcab ride home. Ah, lovely!

Above: Our blurry pilgrimage to the club.

Dan: "You see thish guy here? He's like, you know, my cousin. Maaaaate."

Andrew: "Do you think people can tell that we're off chops?"
Dan: "Nah we're smooth."

Above: Andrew's sister Lucy with cousin Matt, whilst Dan hovers, overexposed and intoxicated, in the foreground.

Above: A band performs under what my camera (and several party-goers) perceived to be some pretty dazzling lights.

so this was christmas

2007-01-15T13:46:00.000+02:00

Yes, I know it's mid-Feb, but here, nonetheless, is my Xmas blog! I celebrated this Festival of Eating with Andrew's immediate family (all the way from Melbs) and extended family in London. Christmas Day was hosted by Judy Kennard, Andrew's Mum's cousin. The British connection was forged by one John (Martin) Royal, who came out to Australia after the war to start a family (enter Andrew's Mum, Pam) and read the nightly news on the ABC for years and years. So Judy and her sisters Lucy and Suey are John's nieces. Simple.

Above: Judy's son Dan (Andrew's third cousin?) is startled whilst tending to the Indian curries which had superceded the traditional roast turkey.

Above: A bunch of crooks; Andrew, Sarah and Lucy.

Above: Pam and her British cousins Suey and Lucy sing rousing Christmas carols to piano accompaniment.

Above: Andrew and his Mum, Pam, at Boxing Day lunch.

Above: Dan reclines, satisfied and hung over, after Boxing Day lunch.

Above: Andrew struggles with a kebab, before paying £8.50 (A$21.30) to see the children's animated film 'Happy Feet', the tragicomic story of a dancing penguin.

weihnachts ampelmännchen kekse

2007-01-12T21:09:00.000+02:00

What better way to say 'Thanks for having us at Christmas', than to bake some homemade Christmas biscuits? This is precisely what Andrew and I did, very late at night, the day before we were due to fly to London for the festive season.

My track record for self-baked goods ain't flash. I tried to make choc-chip biscuits once, but added the choc-chips while the dough mixture was still warm from the liquid butter, so all the chips dutifully melted and left me with vaguely chocolate biscuits instead.

Anyway, we baked these biscuits in the shape of Ampelmännchen (East German trafficlight men) for our British hosts. The Ampelmännchen are famous in Berlin, as they were nearly made extinct when Germany reunified; when the homogenisation of East and West began. There was apparently much protest (Rettet die Ampelmännchen - Save the Trafficlight men!) from the Ossies, so that East Berlin is now a preserved habitat for this endangered species. And, of course, Berlin souvenir-purveyors wasted no time in producing an entire range of Ampelmännchen parafernalia. Including cookie-cutters.

Many biscuits somehow shattered in transit and we had to do a lot of Ampelmännchen-explaining (it seems no one outside of Berlin knows about them, and rightly so), but they all got eaten so I guess they were given the green light. Hoho.

Above: Andrew hard at work creating Ampelmännchen.

Above: The red Stop Men. Note how the icing appears to have applied by a five-year-old.

Above: Guten Appetit!

London Vs Berlin: the view from above

2007-01-12T16:10:00.000+02:00

UK's rival to the Fernsehturm, the British Airways London Eye is an enormous ferriswheel situated on the river Thames (pictured above, made sensible by cocking your head 90 degrees to the left). Look at it there. Isn't it grand? There it goes. Whoooo. So here now are some of the views made possible by said Eye.

Above: People wandering, ant-like, along Southbank.

Above: Andrew, whose hobbies include great heights, blue jackets and not shaving for days, surveys his birth-city with nostalgic gusto.

Above: Myself, noticably crusty from an early morning start, posing for the camera.

Above: The Millenium Bridge over the Thames.

Above: "Hey kids! Look! There's Big Ben! And Parliament! Big Ben...Parliament...Big Ben..."

Above: London in winter on a good day. ...I miss the sun!

So is London's amusement ride better than the pride of Berlin? You decide.
SMS 0178 445 LOADOFGUFF to evict the London Eye
SMS 0178 445 BERLINSCHMERLIN to evict the Fernsehturm

Berlin Vs London: the view from above

2007-01-11T14:05:00.000+02:00

There it is; the ubiquitous Fernsehturm (TV Tower). Visible from just about everywhere in Berlin, this gargantuan eye-on-a-stick no doubt encouraged residents of the former east to feel small and monitored. Nowadays this Big Brother has been usurped by its reality TV cousin, and boasts a wonderful viewing level and a revolving restaurant.

Here are some of the happy snaps I took when Andrew and I visited Der Himmel über Berlin:

Above: The main drag, Unter den Linden, with the Berliner Dom in the foreground and the barely visible Brandenberger Tor located just before the start of Tiergarten.

Above: Berliner Dom and some other building which I believe is a casino.

Above: Alexanderplatz, formerly the major Fußgängerzone (pedestrian square) of East Berlin, now home to constant construction works.

Above: Karl Marx Allee, bloody enormous boulevard which runs from Alexanderplatz through to the outer eastern boroughs. Previously the site of government displays of Communist power, but also of many anti-GDR rallies.

Above: A lovely sunset. Awwww.

Above: The city lights dazzle and amaze.

Above: Andrew, whose interests include maps, town planning and bright lights, was overwhelmed by the Fernsehturm experience.

my berlin st*ry - part II

2006-12-06T20:53:00.002+02:00

Yes, it's time to exhale that baited breath - part II has arrived!

This installment comes to you courtesy of Nadia, an Italian former-intern of Berlin St*ry. The bulk of this post will be her own words, translated from German into English, by yours truly.

Above: Nadia, my Italian ex-intern buddy.

Nadia and I were sanity lifelines for each other as we worked amidst a plethora of arbitrary rules, smiled inanely from behind the cash register, unpacked novelty shot glasses or performed 'Laden' ('shop') duties.

'Laden' was similar to water torture - seemingly benign but so drawn-out and excruciating it makes you want to eat your own face. It involved strolling slowly around and around the bookshop for hours on end 'looking helpful'. When on 'Laden', the Praktikantin (intern) is not allowed to look at any of the books, sit down, stand still, put away stock, or help other staff with their tasks. You are there for the customers. Your attention is focused entirely on the customers. Sadly their attention is not focused on you - most people direct their queries towards the so-called INFO POINT. Funny that. Moreover, Praktikantins actually make the worst 'Laden' workers due to their barely rudimentary knowledge of the stock etc. so that most questions were inevitably handballed to the nearest superior. Now that's what I call German Efficiency. Whaa?

(Incidentally, Andrew finds the idea of 'Laden' duties hilarious and often calls me over with a beckoning finger, only to shout the command "Laden!", after which giggling fits usually ensue.)

So now here are Nadia's experiences, spoken from the disgruntled horse's mouth:

"So I will now try to list my memories of this kind of Berlin slavery:

1) 'Big W' is really a charmer, he says to you how lovely you are and how good that T-Shirt looks on you, only because he thinks that in this way, you'll work better, that after such a compliment you'll feel like Naomi Campbell. That is a truly cheap psychology.

2) Racial slurs: 'Big W' said to me many times that I should control my 'Italian temperament' - what kind is that?? So is he referring to the fact that I have my own opinions?

3) Once 'Big W' took Veronica and me up to the Historiale (offices above the bookshop) to tell us that in the next 10 minutes we should either start smiling at all the customers, or we can go home and never come back. The only reason we had sour expressions on our faces was because we were so bloody cold, because the shop doors are open the entire year. 'Big W' doesn't even pay us health insurance, so he should at least make sure that the working conditions are acceptable.

4) Night shifts were paid a measly 5€ (A$8.45) per hour, after you'd already worked the whole day. Practically no need to go home. Normally, work outside of normal working hours is paid double.

(Blogger's Note: nobody should get out of bed for 5€ an hour. And, er, if you've already been working all day you should go directly to bed and then refuse to get out again!)

5) Ok, it is an internship, but why should you always have to work on the weekend for so little money!?

6) What kind of an internship is it? What do you learn there? All the foreigners there are people who have studied and upstairs in the 'publishing house' are people who've only finished high school. I don't know how it works in Australia, but in Italy it is exactly the opposite. The shopgirls are normally people who haven't studied.

Ok we improved our German whilst working there, but yeah, I mean, I can improve it by going to pubs at night and speaking German. 'Big W' wants foreigners so that he's got people in the shop who have perfect English, French, Italian or whatever. Smart, or?

7) The sad truth is that the system supports such behaviour, but the question is, how far? I understand that some companies have interns, but to have a bookshop where almost all the workers are interns or apprentices is too much! Where's the professionalism?

(Blogger's Note: in the shop there were only 3 full-time workers. Everyone else was either an intern or doing a poorly paid apprenticeship to learn how to, um, order and sell books. Even Samuel, the hard-working monkey who basically runs the Web Shop is 'learning'...)

Above: Samuel the Web Shop monkey is paid badly to learn how to do the job that he, er, is currently doing...

After I while I was fired, apparently because I was "sometimes unfriendly to the customers". I told them that is not a real reason for sacking someone. I believe I was fired because I think, and I say what I think. 'Big W' understood that I was no longer putty in his hands, that I was a problem in the shop and needed to be disposed of.

After I was fired, my quality of life improved."

So there you have it. A crazy rant from a feisty Italian flying off the handle. But seriously folks!

I'd like to thank Nadia for her entertaining anecdotes and also give a big self-indulgent shout-out to Annabelle (Hi Naboo!). Annabelle is another Berlin St*ry intern buddy of mine, from France. Sadly, she's still 'interning' there...

Stop Press: In part I, I promised to regale you with the story of the late-night meeting at 'Big W's house. Basically it was just screwed that we had to have a staff meeting outside of working hours, unpaid, and disturbingly at the private residence of the manipulative 'Greylocks'. Sick. Sick is also the adjective I'd use to describe the feraliser cheese on bread which he served us as 'dinner' after we arrived, starving, directly from our 8 hour shift at the bookshop.

my berlin st*ry - part I

2006-11-16T16:35:00.000+02:00

Up until now, you could be forgiven for thinking I was living a carefree existence in Berlin, happily unemployed and drinking heavily at every given opportunity. But you'd only be half right. Somehow, I have managed to omit my employment situation from this here blog - most probably due to a lack of accompanying photos.

Aaaaanyway, I have been working, and one of the 'jobs' I've had thus far was an 'internship' at a big touristy bookshop called Berlin St*ry. (There will lots of asterixes throughout this post, so that my ex-boss doesn't discover my blog during his daily google vanity search.)

My first impressions of the place were all good. I was delighted at the prospect of work (it was my first gig) and thought this big, touristy bookshop seemed like a friendly workplace. I would be speaking German to the customers and my co-workers so my language skills should improve, plus I would be receiving regular pay, so I knew that I'd be able to cover my rent etc. I convinced myself to overlook the fact that it was 40 hours a week, with no proper weekends and that I was being paid a pittance (approx. 3.5 euros / AUD$5.80 per hour). It was an 'internship' after all, not a job, so the fact that I was getting money at all was apparently a bonus.

However this glossy sheen was soon stripped away to reveal a rusty, hypocritical workplace, run on exploitation and manipulation. My ex-boss (who shall be referred to as 'Big W') had somehow fostered an atmosphere of blind loyalty amongst the shop staff ('We're all part of the Berlin St*ry family') in an attempt to compensate for the below-the-poverty-line pay rates, lack of proper breaks, lack of proper weekends and the filthy condition of the shop.

(No professional cleaners were ever employed and the carpet was never vacumed, so that the books and souvenirs were constantly caked in a layer of dust and the air was stale and gross. After tidying the books, all moisture was inevitably stripped from one's hands, leaving staff with chalky fingers and hang-nails. Nice.)

This uber-team-mentality was also employed to compel staff to give 110% of their time and emotional labour, which most unquestioningly did. Staff lateness was also strictly controlled, to the extent that Big W would sit at home watching the shop's webcam, to monitor staff arrival. I had been late a few times, and on one occasion after a late night work meeting at Big W's house (see part II), I arrived 5 minutes late the following morning and was scolded by a co-worker. She told me that Big W had sent her an email asking whether I'd been on time. He must have sent it after I'd left the previous night! She was pissed off with me, because now she was going to have to lie to him and write that I'd been on time. And I thought the Wall had fallen in '89...

Above: The smiling face of hypocrisy, Big W (AKA 'Greylocks').

The other ridiculously exploitative nugget in this tale (beyond being over-worked and under-paid in the bookshop) was the Berlin travel guide that Big W wanted me to write. Ooohh goodie! I get to write a book! Extra money, prestige, future-employability - these were all things that crossed my mind.

However, my enthusiasm was gradually dampened, and eventually sodden, as I discovered the conditions under which I was to 'write' 'my' book. Big W mislead me in order to get me onboard this crazy project but it was soon revealed that I was just compiling the guide. Moreover, Big W's definition of 'compile' equated to 'commit borderline plagarism in order to produce a 'new' book as quickly and cheaply as possible'. Oh yes, I was to pepper in my own personal anecdotes throughout, but pretty much everything else was to be 'sourced' from other guides, or translated directly from a guide he'd written in German some years earlier.

But wait. There's more.

Initially he suggested I write the book in my free time, because, you know, "it's not really that much work". Oohh no, of course not! Write a travel guide? Piece of cake. I'll drop it in your pigeonhole on Monday, sir. Oh and don't bother paying me for my overtime, I simply love Berlin St*ry!

So I made it pretty darn clear that I refused to write it in my freetime: "No sir, I will not write it in my free time." Clear, non?
"Oh ok, I will give you a few extra free days in which to write it," Big W replied.

Well I did get a couple of extra days, but this was only time enough to sketch out a plan for the book. Call me crazy, but to me, writing a freaking book is no small task. So the extra free days dried up, but I still had Big W asking me, "how's the book going?". To which I would reply,"it's not."

Big W seemed baffled as to my requests for time and money to produce this wonderful book, as he clearly thought books were usually produced by badly paid interns, in their free time, for no extra money. What a surprise for him, when I sat him down and told him I refused to 'compile' anything unless my working conditions were met.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I was dumped from the project. He'd asked a lacky in his 'publishing house' (ahem) to write the book in German, after which he'd get a professional translator to translate it into English. The reasons he gave me? Apparently I don't know enough about Berlin to translate the book and I don't know how translators should be paid. Whaaa???

No matter. By this stage I'd had a gutful of the whole shamozzle and was happy to handball it to whichever nut was happy to work for a pittance.

Stay tuned for part II. Oh yes. There's more.

der tisch geht unter : wg party

2006-11-04T19:56:00.000+02:00

Der Tisch geht unter (the table goes under) was the somewhat confusing (yet intriguing) title of our WG party. We threw this party about 3 weeks ago; part belated house-warming for Rolf, Marie and myself, part uni-break boozefest.

My room (pictured above) was the main part-ay room, as it's the largest and contained the 'DJ booth' and the 'dancefloor'. Said booth was manned for most of the night by the infamous DJ Andy C (of Melbourne Uni Concrete Lawns fame), who overcame the technological nightmare of multiple ipods, data overload, a sluggish laptop and an overheating amplifier. Despite his many hours of pre- and during-party IT labour, the system had a mini crash and we were only able to play songs from Marie's ipod. This sufficed for the most part, although things got tricky when I was DJing and had to deal with the punters' (frequently colloquial) requests, when I myself had no idea what the playlist contained. The phrase, "No, I don't have any traditional German drinking songs" was oft repeated.

Below: DJ Andy C still smiling despite having spent hours trying to create a monster playlist mere hours before the first guests arrived...

Below: Samuel briefly takes the reigns, Andrew continues his role as IT technician, and a deckpest crouches, troll-like, examining the playlist.

Technology aside, I think everyone had a pretty rocking time. I think we had somewhere between 100 and 200 guests throughout the night (and early morn). My room unfortunately bore the brunt of muddy shoes and disrespectful, drunk, friends-of-friends, and the sound of smashing glass was disconcertingly frequent. But the whole place had this great club-like atmosphere. At times I kind of forgot it was my room, what with the sheer number of unfamiliar people bopping around, although I did feel the occasional stomach pang of Host-Angst when a caught glimpses of people stomping their boots on my sofa (Rick James style).

Below: Approx. 3 billion people in my room. Cool!

Below: Samuel (still relatively sober at this point) and Fran (with her new fringe!).

Below: Marie (with her colleague from the gallery) and me (fending off a deckpest who insisted on scrolling through EVERY song on Marie's ipod, before dismissing the playlist wholesale).

In true Berlin style, the party powered on until daybreak. By about 5am, most of my friends had left and I was starting to run out of steam - but there was still a considerable drunken contingent intent on bellowing ACDC songs to the tune of someone strangling Samuel's acoustic guitar. Their growling and screaming was highly entertaining and Andrew captured some of the hilarious audio on his camera. However, they were in my room, and didn't end up leaving until 6:30am... Ohhhh noooooo.

Some people say the subsequent clean-up could be classified as 'extensive'. And they'd be right. Or would they? The answer: Yes.

lazing on a sunny afternoon

2006-09-25T00:05:00.000+03:00

Hello again, dear listeners! Apologies for my random blogging absence, I shall try and make amends with some backlog-updating asap. Unfortunately, these sunny photos are not recent - Berlin is no longer quite so bright and warm. I took these happy-snappers about a month ago, when I went to the Mauer Park fleamarket with my french flatmate Marie and her french friend Silvan. It was a glorious day, and after wandering around hundreds of stalls, buying Asterix & Obelix comics, we grabbed a couple of half-litres and settled down on the grass for some lazy people-watching.

Above: Marie and Silvan soaking up the rays.

Above: Silvan reclines, and the peeps at Mauer Park. Mauer (Wall) Park was actually part of the infamous death strip between the two concrete barriers of the Berlin Wall. It's still quite bald and grey, but it's historical richness makes up for it's aesthetic shortcomings.

Below: Sunset on the hill (note the cool swings at the top - talk about 'power fun'!).

sunsets and amber ale

2006-09-23T19:53:00.000+03:00

This, dear listeners, is the gorgeous industrial sunset I saw from the Ostkreuz Bahnhof (train station) a few weeks back. I was standing on the raised walkway between the platforms, looking out over the former East Berlin.

And here are some totally unrelated beer portraits of Fran and I, when we were out on the town:

mein blaues fahrrad

2006-09-20T02:53:00.000+03:00

I've got a bike. You can ride it if you like.

It's got a basket, a bell that rings and

Things to make it look good.

I'd give it to you if I could, but I borrowed it.

You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.

I'll give you anything, ev'rything if you want things.

I've got a cloak. It's a bit of a joke.

There's a tear up the front. It's red and black.

I've had it for months.

If you think it could look good, then I guess it should.

You're the kind of girl ...

I know a mouse, and he hasn't got a house.

I don't know why. I call him Gerald.

He's getting rather old, but he's a good mouse.

You're the kind of girl ...

I've got a clan of gingerbread men.

Here a man, there a man, lots of gingerbread men.

Take a couple if you wish. They're on the dish.

You're the kind of girl ...

I know a room of musical tunes.

Some rhyme, some ching. Most of them are clockwork.

Let's go into the other room and make them work.

Bike - Pink Floyd

kiki blofeld

2006-09-20T02:21:00.000+03:00

Although it sounds like the name of a pornstar, or a rare exotic disease, Kiki Blofeld is in fact a super trendy Berlin bar. Situated on the banks of the river Spree (and opposite the infamous Bar Fünfundzwanzig), KB sports a unique water feature. The Spree actually merges with the club, creating a rectangular paddling pool of sorts, around which the patrons shake their money-makers, or are seen being seen lounging around the bar. In the photo above you can see Samuel, Fransiska, Fran and Marie undertaking the former, and behind them is the flimsy fence that prevents boozed patrons from taking an unwanted dip.

Above: More rump-shaking action.

Above: Fran and I 'feel the love', whilst 'Mr. Hawaii' looks on.

Above: The spooky marsh-like entrance to Kiki Blofeld. Cool lights though - the way they catch on that person in the foreground is highly reminiscent of the closing sequence of Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' videoclip. Although maybe only Arwen and Ry will agree with me here, as we were all weened on the same VHS collection of 80s videoclips, and thus share a similar collection of bizaare (but highly entertaining!) cultural reference points.

gastric goodness

2006-09-18T11:01:00.000+03:00

Well, it doesn't get much more traditionally German than this. This is photographic evidence of the Bavarian feast that Samuel and I cooked up a couple of weeks ago. Note: Bratwurst, Kartoffeln (potatoes) and vast quantities of Sauerkraut. Oh and we made a little salad too, which unfortunately bucks the Deutsch theme.

The first time I tasted Sauerkraut, I hated it in a kinda of German-person-tries-vegemite-for-the-first-time kind of way. It was during my exchange with Karina's family, when I was 15. We'd gone on a Autobahn trip south along the Rhein and had ended up in Frankfurt, where Karina's Aunt and Uncle live. They took me to the most barn-like, traditional beer hall / restaurant they cook find. A little bit like The Cuckoo back in Victoria, only much larger and filled with Germans. My scrunched-face reaction to the sour cabbage was exactly what they had been anticipating, braced for belly-laughs as they were. But then I guess I orchestrated a similar cultural exchange when I insisted Vegemite be included in the Lange Family breakfast spread.

Above: gastric goodness, and Samuel pulls a silly face (complete with skewered Wurst).

meet my flatmates

2006-09-01T00:25:00.000+03:00

Yes, they really do exist! Please allow me to introduce meine wunderschöne Mitbewohner:

First up, we have Samuel. Samuel is one kerazy party-lovin' mofo (see picture above). On that particular evening, he instigated the dance action - grooving away by himself on the dancefloor until the rest of us swallowed our collective self-consciousness and followed suit. Samuel studies politics and sociology and helps to produce a political website called e-politik.de (check it out, y'all). At the moment he's organising a panel discussion at Humbolt Uni on the topic of 'free will'.

Next up is Marie (pictured left with aforementioned party monkey, Samuel). Marie is French (and is subsequently very petite and has a goregous accent) and is currently doing a Praktikum (internship) at an art gallery in Prenzlauer Berg. She's a 'top shelia', has a real cheeky sense of humour and is, like me, in love with Berlin.

Last but not least, there's Rolf. Rolf recently finished studying Business Management and now works at a giant gas and electricity conglomo in the centre of town. When not spending time with his Spanish beau, Laia (pictured above right), he enjoys boxing and just returned from a cycling holiday in Poland. Perhaps as a result of the boxing (and the subsequent expulsion of stress), he is the most chilled out, laid back, easy guy to live with.

The awesome foursome: Marie and I outside Bar 23, and Samuel and Rolf playing 'kicker' (or foooseball as we Aussies have decided to call it).

leute die ich kenne

2006-08-31T23:55:00.000+03:00

Ahhh how suitable this photo is for my blog! It is truly random. This is me with some of Fran's friends - Toshia (aus Tokyo) and Flo (aus München). I have no idea what Toshia is doing with that pretzel stick, and I look like some kind of human-sized ventriloquist doll!

And here's Annaiis (Toshia's French girlfriend), Fransiska (Fran's neighbour) and Fran (my Aussie buddy). Fran is my 'rock' in Berlin. Thanks to her drunkenly chatting to a guy called Samuel at a party, I found my shareflat within 4 days of arriving here. She met Samuel (one of my flatmates), passed on his number, I went and visited the flat and then, boom-shanka, I had a WG!

Fran also inspires me with her love of all things German, and her passion (and talent) for speaking the language, even to me, at all times. Often the Germans ask us 'Errr...you two speak German to each other?' (like as if we're deranged), and Fran's typical answer goes something like 'Fuck yeah!'.

The other photo is Manuela (a friend of Fran's, aus Italien) and a Spanisch friend of Manuela's. The photos were taken at her farewell drinks - her student visa expired so she had to pack her bags. And then board a flight to Italy.

pretty as a postcard

2006-08-28T23:57:00.000+03:00

Well here it is, my first Berlin post! About blaaardy time too, considering I've been living here for over a month now. Unfortunately I don't have Photoshop (or similar) and am unable to rotate this picture....so you'll just have to twist your necks in a pilates kind of way, in order to have a squizz.

This is Unter den Linden - one of the main drags in the centre of Berlin. The bookshop where I work is also on Unter den Linden, although not shown here. In the background are two major iconic landmarks of the city, the Berliner Dom (Cathedral) and the Fernsehturm (TV Tower).

You can see how during the World Cup, the sphere of the Fernsehturm was made to look like a soccer ball. I thought it looked pretty damn cool, but they've changed it back to plain silver now... I guess they had to, because it was actually spammy advertising for T.Com (a major German telecommunications provider) and therefore couldn't last forever.

Below: Another sadly lop-sided photo. A stack of books sculpture celebrating famous German authors (also on Unter den Linden).

der kölnische dom

2006-08-28T23:36:00.000+03:00

Behold the Köln (Cologne) Cathedral, in all its gargantuan proportions!

The last time I climbed to the top of this bugger, I had a near fatal asthma attack - the result of scaling approx. one million ye olde stairs, in conjunction with the inhalation of city smog and dusty pigeon shit. Gross. But I did manage to enjoy the view, after taking a few long drags of Ventolin...

ning nang nong

2006-08-27T03:00:00.000+03:00

On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong!

and the monkeys all say BOO!

There's a Nong Nang Ning Where the trees go Ping!

And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.

On the Nong Ning Nang All the mice go Clang

And you just can't catch 'em when they do!

So its Ning Nang Nong Cows go Bong!

Nong Nang Ning Trees go ping!

Nong Ning Nang The mice go Clang

What a noisy place to belong is the

Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!

It's 2am and I can't sleep. Not only that, for some reason I was thinking about monkeys, blogging and Spike Milligan. So here is the culmination of that bizarre marriage of ideas. (The photos are from my trip to Bochum Zoo. I don't have any pictures of mice, so I've included some sleeping Ferrets instead.)

weltmeisterschaft madness

2006-08-16T22:16:00.000+03:00

The WM is now but a hazy memory; all the t-shirts and flags are now half price and the tourists have gone home. But will the (partial) renewal of Germany's sense of national pride be long lasting?

I cannot answer this question, but what I can do is share with you, dear listener, the visual stills which make up my WM experience.

Above: Bochum Stadium, where I watched Italy defeat Germany on the big screen.

Considering I normally couldn't 'give a rats' about soccer, once in Germany I was surprised to find myself caught up in WM madness. Back in Melbourne, even though I knew it was very 'unAustralian' of me, I failed to stay awake and watch any 'historically significant' matches. Sadly however, Australia was knocked out of the comp very soon after my arrival in Deutschland. I soon learnt the German expression for penalty kick (elf meter), because the Germans were just as outraged as I about the ridiculous penalty which handed Italy victory on a velvet cushion. With golden tassels. Das war kein elf meter!

Above: Karina and Marc at Bochum Stadium, and the 'Mötley Crüe' - my backpacker mates from Köln with whom I celebrated the WM - Paul (Wales), Rita (Ireland) and Christina (USA).

Above: a stretch of pubs along the Rhein in Köln, where I watched Germany win 'the bronze medal', and the subsequent fireworks.

Above: Italians celebrate the WM win on the streets of Köln, and some random Italians who were more than happy to have their photo taken.

Above: the ceiling of the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) in Köln. Krass geil, oder?

gettin' arty wit it in düsseldorf

2006-08-10T17:53:00.000+03:00

I made a little day trip to Düsseldorf back in July. I can't say I'm much enthused by this city. To wander along the Rhein is lovely, but to sit and enjoy a beer there is a bit pricey, and the whole place was sodden with snap-happy tourists, much like a wettex soaks up grey, frothy dish water. (NB yes yes I am a hypocrite, I know...)

Mind you, on the day I visited, it was blisteringly hot (maybe 40 degrees?). That, coupled with the fact that I got lost and wasted over an hour wandering around a vast wasteland of office blocks, maaaay have influenced my impression of the place.

Ahh well. At least I found these cool bendy, shiny buildings.

care to dance?

2006-08-10T17:10:00.000+03:00

Awww süß. Here's Karina and I posing for a portrait of sorts before getting very drunk in celebration of her 23rd birthday. The party was at her WG (shareflat) in Bochum, where she lives with two other women - Caro and Micha. It was a great night; someone had brought along a mix CD of funk, soul and other miscellanous 60s classics which was, needless to say, total tanzbar! Later in the night the same compilation CD got spun a second time round, because we dance-hungry partyites weren't too keen on the alternative - hard rock/metal such and such. Blah.

A couple of nights later, Karina and I found ourselves at the Hawaiian-themed birthday party of the boyfriend of a friend of Karina's new girlfriend's sister. Oooohh so tenuous it hurts! Was great kitsch fun, though. We were all decked out with plastic flowers and ended up dancing the night away to, you guessed it, the exact same soul/funk/60s compilation CD that we'd danced to TWICE at Karina's birthday. Ahhh you gotta love a highly restricted music selection; just like in the DDR (!?).

Photos above: Hendrik (Karina's best friend), Karina and myself. And Marc with a very blurry (in more ways than one!) Hendrik.

fachwerkhäuser or: how I learnt to stop craving photos with people in them and love scenic pictures

2006-08-10T16:47:00.000+03:00

Before I (back)peddle onwards and upwards towards my stay in Bochum, I thought I should post some pictures of quaint little Fachwerkhäuser (houses with that criss-cross timber action). Typisch Deutsch, oder?

And here are a couple of extra pics with which you can satisfy your craving for the architectural delights of Nordrheinwestfahlen:

gevelsberg im sommer

2006-08-05T14:49:00.000+03:00

Let the backpeddling begin! Here is a lovely pic of my 'exchange sister' Karina, and her Dad, Martin. I did a highschool exchange with Karina when I was 15, and we've remained buddies ever since. Needless to say, when I arrived in Germany I was welcomed into their cosy home with open arms and a pot of tea.

Karina's parents live in Gevelsberg, which is a little town in the North-West of Germany - near Düsseldorf, Dortmund, Essen and the like. It was previously a very industrial area, and the skeletal remains of several coal power stations (for example) have been preserved as monuments to this area's proud history of manual labour.

While I was in 'G-Berg', their local carnival (or 'Kirmes') was held, so I got stuck into the beers and developed a love of Bratwurst in Brötchen mit Senf (a long sausage smeared with mustard and clamped in the middle by a small round roll). Although on several occasions we foolishly decided to ride the Breakdance after our beer & bratwurst combo meal deal and (perhaps unsurprisingly) felt rather 'wrong' afterwards. Ahhh good times!

Karina, me and her boyfriend Marc
on the ferris wheel at Kirmes -->

It was blisteringly hot during my stay in the North-West too. Everyone was covered by a thin film of sweat at all times. And there was no Melbourne-style 'cool change' to speak of. So, what do you do in Germany when the weather is so schön und heiß? You swim at a lake! I went to two with Karina and Marc, here are them now:

<-- Karina &

me at Silbersee

<-- A lovely lake in the middle of a forest. (Sorry for the sideways action, I'm not yet 'down' with all this kerazy blogging technology.)

mein wünderschones zimmer

2006-08-01T15:36:00.000+03:00

Well, true to form, this blog continues to be completely random. Due to the fiscal constraints of crappy internet cafes, posting of any description has been on hold for the past 6 weeks. And what have I been doing for the past 6 weeks? Establishing my new life in Deutschland, that's what!

I promise that I will do some serious backpeddling at some stage and pay due credit to the people and places I've seen thus far in my trip, but right now, I want to share with you all some pictures of my lovely new flat. I somehow managed to land on my feet and found a 'sweet as' renovated WG in Prenzlauer Berg, within my first 3 days in Berlin. (WG bascially means shareflat. It stands for Wohngemeinschaft, or 'living community'.)

Enjoy!

Meine Kuche

Mein Badezimmer

Mein Zimmer

Ich bins!

10 days and counting

2006-06-14T13:26:00.000+03:00

Can you really believe I'm skipping the country in a mere 10 days? No? Neither can I.

Un-freaking-believeable.

If I haven't already chewed off your ear with excited travel banter, you may not be privvy to my plans. I'm heading to Germany for a bit of an old working holiday. This venture could last as little as 3 months, but if all goes well, I'm looking at about 6 months plus.

For the first few weeks I'll be staying with my old high school exchange partner, Karina, in the booming metropolis of Gevelsberg, then it's on to Berlin—the city with a divided history and a love of oversized pretzels.

As the days slowly dribble away into the past tense, I'm wondering what it is exactly that I should be doing to prepare myself for a trip of this length. The longest I've spent overseas before is 6 weeks, and by week 5 my mind usually becomes 'Homeward Bound' (not unlike the film). I start mythologising Melbourne, remincising about crumby pubs and missing my friends.

What do I pack? How do I say buh-bye to my loved ones? Are Dunlop Volleys as cool in Berlin as they are in Melbourne?

better late than never

2006-05-16T16:23:00.000+03:00

Greetings Viewers!

It's late at night and for some reason fate has decided that it's high time I got blogging. I realise that I'm already about 10 years too late and am subsequently 'hella lame', but what the hey. Apparently, you've got to be in 'it', in order to win 'it'. So here I am. Online. At last.

My ulterior motive for this sudden foray into all things internet is that I want to establish a forum for my thoughts before I head overseas. Once my roots are firmly settled in my new expatriate home, this blog shall become a handy resource for friends and familial relations back home who give a damn about what I'm up to.

Giddyup.