Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote...


For all the worrying I’ve done about not being able to find work, a couple of weeks ago I actually quit my Wednesday afternoon teaching job with the girls. I hadn’t seen them for four weeks because of the Easter break and the visit from my niece.  I’d had performances from the brat at our previous two sessions and the last time I’d seen her I’d left her simmering in a red-faced rage after one of her tedious tantrums. This time she didn’t even wait until we were out of the school yard before acting up. She refused to answer anything I asked her, sticking her fingers in her ears, shrieking and screwing up her eyes when I spoke to her. Then she stood stock still and refused to move. When I finally did get her home I decided that the money I was paid for this nonsense was nowhere near sufficient compensation. The next day I received a very angry text from the other one’s mother complaining about the fact that I’d quit the job but completely failing to acknowledge that the brat’s antics had forced me into it, only going so far as to admit that kids can sometimes be ‘a pain’. 
On a more civilised note, I have been working on the book translation. I’ve also had another article published on Slow Travel Berlin’s website – unpaid but at least I’m writing – and I’m gathering material for a few lines about the city’s latest bookshops for another article.

I’ve also started to reapply myself to my fiction writing. I had a prolonged period of self-doubt, feeling that everything I wrote was sub-standard, but I’m beginning to emerge from that and last week my main project reached almost 85,000 words.
A couple of Saturdays ago I went to the launch of SAND Journal, Issue 11 at the 1820 Bar in Rosa Luxemburg Platz. It would have been very easy to miss this venue – there was just a door in the wall with a small plaque bearing the bar’s name. Once through the door, I took a staircase down to a dark, smoky basement where beer garden benches and a couple of battered sofas were arranged facing the stage. The evening kicked off with Will Studdert, the winner of The Reader’s short story competition reading his winning entry ‘Horst Wessel Stadt’.  After this a couple of poets took to the stage and finally another prose writer, Kasia Juno van Schalk, read a short story. I particularly enjoyed the fiction. The entrance to the event was three Euros or free with the purchase of the journal so I bought the journal and spent much of the next day dipping into it.
Another month then of reading, writing and employment anxiety. April also included Easter, a birthday party, a couple of meetings with Twitter friends, another visit to Guinness, Books and Records at Curious Fox (which is becoming one of my favourite Berlin events) and some very dramatic weather.
 
 
Wintry-looking scene at the beginning of the month
 
 
The same place a few days later 
 

 
Double rainbow for our friend Albert's birthday (and he's not even a Korean dictator)
 

Thursday, 23 April 2015

Travels with my niece


Last week I had a very short visit from my sixteen-year-old niece India. She was only able to get over for a couple of days as she had been performing in a local theatre production which took up most of her Easter break (she has a belting soprano voice). As she’s studying A Level history and is fascinated by World War II and Nazi Germany, there was more than enough to keep her occupied. She arrived on a ridiculously early flight on Wednesday morning so we stoked up with a Spreegold breakfast before beginning our sightseeing marathon with a visit to the Topographie des Terrors via Checkpoint Charlie.  It’s impossible to avoid Cold War ‘sights’ in Berlin so we incorporated a few of those into the trip too. I hadn’t been to the Topographie des Terrors for years so I’d not visited the new indoor exhibition before. The outdoor ‘trench’ is still there and features the exhibition Berlin 1933-1945: Between Propaganda and Terror.  Inside there are temporary and permanent exhibitions devoted to the historical site (several Third Reich institutions including the Gestapo headquarters were once located here), the last days of the war, and Nazi atrocities such as the treatment of homosexuals, political opponents and the disabled. 
 
India with her breakfast pancakes

Nearby, in a car park just behind the Holocaust Memorial – a piece of positioning I find wonderfully ironic – is the site of Hitler’s bunker.  India wanted to visit the site as she’s particularly interested in the Führer’s last days. It’s kept deliberately free of razzmatazz to deter fascists from creating a shrine but there is an information panel. 
From there we walked through the Holocaust Memorial, properly named the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. India’s paternal grandfather was the son of Russian Jews who moved to Britain in the 1930s so it’s possible that some of her ancestors suffered Nazi persecution. It’s a very sobering monument but I’m not a great fan, partly because it’s always overrun with tourists failing to accord it the proper respect. After taking a look at the Brandenburger Tor, the Reichstag and the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtniskirche we were ready for a rest so, making the most of a beautiful late afternoon we made our way back to Prenzlauer Berg and stopped for refreshments in the Prater. Alan had to leave us there as he’d got a ticket for a Paul Weller concert so India and I went for a walk around the Mauerpark and dinner at an Italian restaurant.
 
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe
 
The next day we went to the Deutsch-Russisches Museum in Karlshorst whose building contains the room in which the declaration of surrender at the end of WWII was signed. The emphasis here is on the German onslaught on the Soviet Union, the crimes committed against Soviet prisoners of war and, naturally, Germany’s eventual capitulation. 
There were things that we didn’t have time to fit in (Sachsenhausen and the Haus der Wannsee Konferenz for example), but by Thursday afternoon we were a little museum-weary and I didn’t want India to return home feeling as though she’d been on a school trip so we decided to head for the shops. As her flight home was early on Friday morning we rounded off the visit with pizza and an early night.

 
Room in which representatives of Nazi Germany signed the declaration of surrender, ending WWII

Obviously it’s always lovely to spend time with family members even if it’s only a short visit. I’m happy that we were able to have such a great couple of days – the weather was perfect and, as well as a few clothing purchases, India got plenty of photos to share with her history class.

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

March in Berlin: Books, Booze, Birthdays (and an eclipse)


Eclipse-watching at the Planetarium

March ended as it began with blustery weather and a scattering of snow.  In between there were days so warm and bright that it seemed more like May.  I don’t think there is another month as meteorologically diverse; our birthdays are both in March and we’ve had some with temperatures in the high twenties and others under a foot of snow.  Over the last two days the city has been battered by a violent storm so I’ve stayed indoors catching up with some reading and writing and contemplating an ‘Easter clean’.  I’ve been reluctant to walk the streets during high winds ever since one Saturday morning a few years ago when I’d been for a wander around Kollwitzplatz market and, as I was walking down Sredzkistrasse, a large terracotta plant pot fell from a balcony and crashed to the pavement a few feet in front of me.

The first weekend of the month was spectacularly radiant after a bitterly cold start.  We went to see Buzzcocks at Astra in Revaler Strasse on the Saturday and prepared for it by spending a mellow afternoon drinking beer in Friedrichshain, at one point standing outside on the street amid a crowd of ageing punks bound for the same gig.  The next day when I went for a roam around the Mauerpark it was so warm I didn’t even need a cardigan let alone a coat.  The park was packed that afternoon with Berliners making the most of the unexpectedly lovely weather.

The following evening I went to Lettretage in Mehringdamm for the launch of Readux Books’ fifth series.  I caught up with my friend Bernadette, an American poet based in Prenzlauer Berg, and had a couple of drinks while listening to the authors read extracts from their texts.  Usually there is no entry fee for a Readux event but on this occasion there was a 4€ charge which included a free book from the series.  I’m building up a collection of these delightful little books; I have six of the Berlin-centred ones so far.  Later that week I went to the opening of Topics in Weserstrasse for which I’m planning a separate article.  

On Wednesday 25th I went to my first ‘Fiction Canteen’.  This is normally held at the Alte Kantine in Wedding but for complicated reasons it took place in the Platzhaus on Teutoburger Platz this time.  I’d never managed to get to one of these events because it had always coincided with the language exchange but now I’m not involved with that any more I finally had the chance to check it out.   I got to the square – a little park at the very bottom of Prenzlauer Berg – to find those who’d already arrived, sitting outside around a crackling log fire.  Inside the Platzhaus there was wine and beer for which there was no set charge but a recommendation of a 1.50€ donation.  I opted for a tumbler of red wine and popped my coins into the tin. A couple of the readers wandered off through the park to fetch food from the Kaisers across the road as they hadn’t eaten and another joined them on a mission to pick up more wine before we took our seats inside for the readings (someone suggested that we hold the event round the fire which would have been very romantic but it was too dark to be able to read).  The event’s organiser Lucy got things under way by reading a piece from a translation she is currently working on then those who had volunteered to read took their turn.  There is a maximum of eight readers who each get a five-minute slot in which to read complete pieces, extracts or works in progress.  It operates on a first come first served basis so the first eight to register get to take the floor.  There was a short break after the first four readers whose offerings included poetry and prose, during which we replenished our empty wine tumblers.  Afterwards, most of the participants moved back outside having rekindled the fire.  I walked back to the U-Bahn station at Senefelder Platz by cutting through the Pfefferberg complex which contained one of my favourite beer gardens until it got ‘improved’ a few years ago.  I had chosen not to read as I’d been going through a crisis of confidence about my writing but by the time I left I felt much more inspired (I’m always amazed at the wealth of writing talent in this city) and I spent the next day raiding my work for a piece that I might possibly read at a future Fiction Canteen.


Spreading the word - at Guinness, Books and Records, Curious Fox

A month of music and literature was neatly rounded off on the final Friday when we went to the ‘Guinness, Books and Records’ evening at the cosy Curious Fox bookshop in Neukölln, one of my favourites.  Our friend Abby turned up, amply supplied with enough vinyl for all of us as our records are all in the UK.  The evening basically consists of drinking, browsing the bookshelves, listening to the records that have been brought along and chatting with the shop’s owners and the other vinyl enthusiasts. I had such a good time that I spent the following afternoon rummaging through the tubs outside the record shops on Kastanienallee.  

That evening we met up with Abby again at her home in Weissensee.  Her husband Albert was competently managing the barbecue on their very spacious fifth-floor balcony where we stayed, in fleeces because of a chilly wind, until it got dark before moving indoors without any disruption to our eating and drinking.  At one point a strange party game got under way when Alan and I (British), Albert (German) and Diego (Spanish) each tried to argue that our respective countries had the most shameful past before Abby (American) claimed that the behaviour of her nation trumped us all.  I’m still not sure which of us has the best case.

As far as writing goes, I’ve had a roller-coaster month in which I initially felt very low about the quality of my work but I’m now in a much more positive frame of mind and I’m revisiting my larger projects trying to get back on track. 

Work-wise, I’ve made a start with the proof-reading of the translated children’s book.  I still teach the two girls in Kreuzberg once a week too but the last couple of occasions have been rather joyless and I’m beginning to find one of the girls an extremely unpleasant, rude and disrespectful brat.  A couple of weeks ago I picked them up and it was obvious they’d had an argument. They wouldn’t even speak to me to begin with.  Then last week the brat had one of the most evil tantrums I’ve ever witnessed, scribbling all over her work, throwing her (my) pen across the room, shrieking and then refusing to do anything.  It’s rather tedious and not at all fair on her friend who gamely took part in the rest of the activities by herself while the brat sulked and fumed.  I won’t be seeing them again for another three weeks because of the Easter break and an upcoming visit from my sixteen-year-old niece so I’m hoping that the brat will have calmed down by then.

So, yet another busy Berlin month has passed.  Besides the literary events and music (live and otherwise), I’ve visited the cinema (Lichtblick), a new museum (Deutsche Widerstand), an old one (Film and TV), and a new street food market (Kulturbrauerei) I’ve been to a football match at which I got covered in beer following a last-minute winning goal, had a birthday, and watched an eclipse from the park at the Planetarium.  I’ve read four books and I'm now about half way through Kate Atkinson’s ‘Life after Life’.  I’ve added the pursuit of vinyl to my book and vintage shopping habits and we’ve added a couple of places to our lengthening list of favourite bars and cafés. 


Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Hope Springs...



After a second not-quite-Berlin-grade winter, it looks as though spring is springing.  Our hof is full of daffs and other Frühlingsblumen and there are green buds on the bushes around our terrace.  It all makes for a much-needed lift to the spirits because I’ve been in a bit of a rut lately.  I’ve practically given up hope of getting a regular job (although in this regard I think I’m relying on that perverse logic that you always find what you’ve been looking for the moment you stop).  I’m also going through a crisis of confidence at the moment. I’m regarding the written work I’m producing as trivial and irrelevant and feeling averse to continuing with it. 

I had been writing manically in the early weeks of the year, and my main project had reached 81,000 words, but just as I could see the shape of the finished article, I hit a patch of self-doubt.  I think it began when the story I’d submitted to the Reader’s competition failed to secure one of the ten winning places despite making the shortlist.  Always easily defeated, I instantly started to see my work as lightweight, clichéd and sub-standard. 

I’m now having a job trying to convince myself to get back on that particular horse. However, I have had one pick-me-up recently.  In January I wrote about a job I’d been interviewed for at a new bookshop and publisher in Neukölln.  I didn’t get the job but I was asked if I’d like to work in the publishing side of the business.  A few weeks later I was offered the opportunity of proof reading and editing a children’s book which had been written in Hebrew and translated into English by the author (one of the bookshop’s owners with whom I’d had the interview).  I agreed and went to meet him to have a look at the book. We met at the Café St. Oberholz in Mitte – a convenient location, although the only other time I'd been there I really disliked this café. On that occasion I’d paid for the two coffees I’d ordered and been left waiting while a stream of other customers came in and had their orders processed straight away. When, after about ten minutes I asked for my money back, the barman snapped that my drinks were on their way then slammed them down on the counter in front of me.  I ought to have realised from the level of ostentatious peering at MacBooks going on that this was not a place I would get along with very easily.  Nevertheless, I’m always prepared to give somewhere the benefit of a second visit so when the meeting was arranged I was quite happy to do just that.  On this occasion there was the same level of ‘co-working’ self-importance (it could have been the same people as the time before who’d just never left for all I know) but the service was actually quite friendly.  However, for some inexplicable reason they had no tea even though about five were listed on the board.  I wonder how it’s possible to run out of all the teas in one go.  Anyway, the meeting went ahead, I looked at the book and chatted with the author for about two and a half hours. He explained that he was planning a series of ten books altogether and that this was the first. After that I didn’t hear anything for a while as he was snowed under with the business of trying to get the shop ready for its opening night (which was on Friday 13th March). 

Earlier this week I received the translation, so I’ve spent the last couple of days working on that.  I’m also going back to the shop on Friday to interview him for a piece I’m writing about the new venture. This has helped drag me up out of my self-doubting, self-pitying rut.  I’m trying to persuade myself to get back to my fiction project and, as I say, the cheerful turn in the weather is having a beneficial effect on my well-being too.

Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Weissensee Wanderings


In January I wrote an article about Weissensee which was published, in a heavily edited form, on the Slow Travel Berlin website.  Last year I spent quite a bit of time in this part of the city for one reason or another – my two-month stint working in a call centre on Berliner Allee, the week of cat and flat-sitting in Langhansstrasse and the summer afternoons when we cycled to the lake armed with books, blankets and beer.  It’s a fascinating place for a ramble and it’s only a ten-minute walk from our flat to the beginning of the district at Prenzlauer Promenade (which is nowhere near as grand as it sounds). 
Here is my article, in its original form:
Factories, Friedhöfe and Films: Exploring Berlin’s ‘White Lake’ Neighbourhood
 
 

It’s a hot, languid Friday afternoon in July.  I’m sitting on a blanket on a patch of scraggy grass that slopes down to the Weisser See, the compact but charming lake from which the neighbourhood to the north east of Prenzlauer Berg takes its name.  Sun worshippers, families with beach balls and dinghies, and a nude bather or two have turned out for some early weekend recreation.  Energetic swimmers make for the lake’s frolicsome fountain while ducks and swans glide by, indifferent to the antics of their human companions.  As we’re only a few yards away from the ‘Milchhäuschen’ my partner and I are contemplating taking a stroll over for a beer on its lakeside terrace.
The first time we’d visited the lake, one drizzling February afternoon, the prospect had been rather forlorn; the Milchhäuschen’s terrace had been deserted, its tables and chairs in winter storage, and the only people about had been joggers and dog walkers.  At the time we lived opposite the tram stop for Prenzlauer Allee S-Bahn station and for some reason, we’d never explored this end of the city much beyond that point until that day in February when we decided to set off on foot for Prenzlauer Berg’s northern reaches.  A ten-minute walk past a few supermarkets and housing blocks brought us to Caligariplatz, a miniscule square sharpened to a point at the junction of Prenzlauer Promenade, Gustav Adolf Strasse and Heinersdorferstrasse.
Caligariplatz marks the south-westerly tip of Weissensee (established as the village of ‘Wittense’ in the Thirteenth Century and greatly developed and expanded in the late 1800s), at times attractive and well-heeled, at others a faded backwater, it often has the feel of a separate town rather than a suburb of the Hauptstadt. There are no hipster hangouts here, no paleo restaurants or third wave coffee shops.  And whilst a kilometre or so away in Prenzlauer Berg, olive oil boutiques and artisan pasta shops persuade locals to part with their cash, retail outlets in this part of the city are of a far more prosaic nature.  There are exceptions, such as the record shop on Gustav Adolf Strasse whose windows full of Duran Duran and Depeche Mode albums suggest an early 80s fetish, or the little shop in Langhansstrasse which sells only preserves, but they are relatively few in number. 

 
Brotfabrik, Caligariplatz


After that first foray, which took us on a meandering walk up to the lake and back, Weissensee became a favourite destination for our urban rambles.  Our acquaintance with the district deepened when we worked for a time at a call centre on Berliner Allee and contrived to walk home via a different combination of back streets every night.  We also spent a week cat-sitting for friends in their lovely Weissensee flat at the end of November.  For the reasons I’ve already mentioned, it’s not the number one destination on most visitor’s lists but a day spent exploring is worth consideration, not least because of the many surprises it has up its sleeve.  The first, if approaching via Prenzlauer Allee, can be found at Caligariplatz where an information panel details the area’s erstwhile importance as the ‘Hollywood’ of Europe.  In the early years of the Twentieth Century, the major German film studios were located in the neighbourhood, their most famous product being the silent horror classic ‘Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari’.  Screen legend Marlene Dietrich debuted here in the 1923 melodrama ‘Tragödie der Liebe’.
Nowadays, almost nothing persists of this legacy; the studios have long since disappeared from the landscape and of the many cinemas the area once boasted, only the Kino Toni on Antonplatz has survived.
Back on Caligariplatz, the dominant structure is the yellow-painted ‘Brotfabrik’.  A former bread factory as its name indicates, Brotfabrik is now a cultural centre housing a cinema, theatre, gallery and bar.  Across the road is the Delphi, a delightfully atmospheric but sadly dilapidated one-time silent movie theatre.  Funds are currently being sought for a redevelopment project aimed at transforming the Delphi into a multi-arts space.
A wander around the streets to the east of Caligariplatz – an area of car workshops, ‘Friedhöfe’ and former factories – yields more unexpected finds, such as the Kunsthalle on Hamburger Platz.  Run by a prestigious art college, the Kunsthalle, with the outward appearance of a community centre on a council estate, hosts cultural events of all kinds, from exhibitions to film screenings.

Car workshop, Heinersdorfer Strasse              

The large, leafy Georgen-Parochial-Friedhof III, across from the Kunsthalle, includes former Weissensee worthies and victims of World War II among those laid to rest within its walls.  Behind it are allotments and a community garden.  A little further along, on Gustav-Adolf Strasse, is a striking complex of five apartment houses grouped around sculpture-filled gardens.  The project of sculptor Sergej Dott, each brightly-coloured house is decorated according to a particular theme, for example, fish, rabbits, birds and butterflies.
East of the cemetery, on Pistoriusstrasse, is the Shri Wadim Shakti Tempel which contains an art gallery and a garden full of nude statues. 

Pistoriusstrasse is one of half a dozen streets which converge on Mirbachplatz, a small square, one side of which is taken up with the Café Mirbach.  In summer the café’s terrace is a hive of activity as locals gather for a beer, Kaffee und Kuchen or more substantial German fare in the shadow of the Bethanienturm, the church tower on the square’s central island.  The church was built at the turn of the Twentieth Century to accommodate the area’s growing population and suffered severe damage during World War II with only the tower escaping. 
Further east is Berliner Allee, the area’s main artery and the heart of the original village.  The section between Antonplatz and the Albertinenstrasse tram stop is the main shopping hub being lined with Euro shops and bakeries.  Locals can be found tucking into hearty platefuls of eisbein with red cabbage and mashed potato at Fleischereien which double up as lunch spots and on Tuesdays and Fridays Antonplatz hosts a food market. 

Eastwards of Antonplatz, accessed via Herbert Baum Strasse, is the Jüdischer Friedhof, the largest of its kind in Europe, with some 115,000 graves over a 40-acre site.  Notable tombs include those of painter Lesser Ury and murdered resistance fighter Herbert Baum.  Although the cemetery sustained some war damage, miraculously it was left largely untouched by the Nazis and occasional services were carried out right up until 1944.  Today, memorials commemorate victims of both World War I and the Holocaust.

Jewish Cemetery
 
Following Berliner Allee in the direction of the lake, Buschallee is notable for its Bruno Taut houses and across the road, at number 185, is the lakeside house in which dramatist Bertolt Brecht and his wife Helene Weigel lived between 1949 and 1953.  The house, like the row of abandoned shops alongside it, is rather run down; only the inscription ‘Brecht Haus Weissensee’ above the entrance gives any indication as to its illustrious one-time occupants. 

Brecht Haus, Berliner Allee
 
At the junction with Liebermannstrasse, a modest plaque marks the location of the ‘Filmstadt Weissensee’ and round the corner is the pocket-sized Joe May Platz, named after the director and film pioneer whose studios stood here.      
Although nothing is produced in Weissensee any more, industrial architecture abounds.  Brick-built, with soaring chimneys and sometimes tiled à la the Hackesche Höfe, many former factory complexes have been repurposed as residential premises while others stand empty, waiting perhaps for developers to give them a new lease of life.  Domestic architecture in this part of the city covers a diverse spectrum: the factory conversions sit side-by-side with DDR-era apartment blocks, Altbau tenements and individual villas.  Rents are lower than in the ‘trendier’ neighbourhoods but many buildings, both residential and commercial, whose ‘potential’ might be exploited elsewhere in the city remain derelict.
Abandoned factory
 
Weissensee is hardly a secret – it’s the eponymous location for a major German TV series for a start.  Nor is it off the beaten track, being served by a number of bus and tram routes.  It is however, rewarding territory for urban explorers with something of interest to be found in practically every street.
The lake at dawn
 

Saturday, 21 February 2015

The end of an era for me - but is it the end of the line for the language exchange?

This week I put an end to one particular aspect of my Berlin life when I took my last session at the language exchange.  I’ve loved doing these sessions ever since I hosted my first one almost a year ago and I’ll always be grateful to Darren for giving me the opportunity to keep my teaching skills from getting rusty and enabling me to earn a few extra Euros.  But attendances have been dropping for some time now and I think that the language exchange’s days are probably numbered. 

We first attended a session about three weeks after moving here, when they were held at the St Gaudy Café.  We’d wanted to meet people and try to improve our terrible German.  At the time, the café’s Australian owner (who also ran the language exchange) was in the process of selling up and returning to her native country.  After her departure, the sessions were taken over by Darren but the café closed and he managed to find a new home for us in the Rhino Café on Rhinower Strasse.  The Rhino Café is a lovely, friendly venue whose owner, despite closing up at seven in the evening, agreed to keep the café open late on Wednesdays just for us.  It’s a cosy environment in the winter and on warm evenings we conduct our sessions al fresco around the pavement tables to the bewilderment of locals and passers-by, especially if they happen to come by during the ‘performance’ part of the evening. 

But the St Gaudy, having been owned by an English-speaking ex-pat, always attracted a sizeable English crowd and since the move it’s been ever more difficult to do this with the result that most weeks the groups contain roughly one English speaker to four or five Germans.  Darren’s promotion of the event on ex-pat forums brings newcomers but they hardly ever return.  Since before Christmas there have been fewer and fewer people of any nationality attending. 

There is a ‘hard core’ of regulars who seem to operate on a squad-rotation system; we never know who’s going to attend from one week to the next.  Sometimes someone will disappear for weeks, or even months, and then turn up again as though they’d never been away.  I like this casual, haphazard approach although it means that it’s difficult to plan activities with the participants in advance.  It’s a very close-knit group but not at all cliquey and newcomers are welcomed with genuine warmth.  When I began taking sessions I received a lot of support and I’ve made some great friends.  My new tandem partner Heidi is one example, as is Lars, whose brain is an encyclopaedia of music.  There is nothing Lars hasn’t heard of; he can name the producer of just about every album ever recorded, can say who wrote which songs, who stood in for the regular drummer on the third track or guested on keyboards on the album’s final track.  Franzi, the bubbliest person I’ve ever met, is also a music lover but, apart from a penchant for soul music and a fixation with the Beatles and the Stones, she prefers classical concerts.  Franzi’s other mania is for fashion, particularly unusual footwear and bright lipstick and her infectious good humour is a wonder to behold. There are other friends too, Germans and ex-pats, who we meet up with regularly for birthday parties or spontaneously-arranged evenings out.  I’m sure we will continue to meet socially but, I can’t see a future for the event that brought us all together.

In recent weeks Darren has spoken about quitting as he’s trying to establish a business and no longer has the time for lesson planning.  I’d been giving serious thought to my future participation too and last week I finally told Darren that I wouldn’t be taking any more sessions.  I suggested that, with so few English-speakers and the low attendances we’ve been getting lately, it was time to think about winding it up.  The lack of customers is not helpful to the Rhino Café’s turnover either and it can only be a matter of time before the Wednesday evening late-opener becomes unprofitable.


I shall still attend as a participant but I have a feeling that sooner or later we’ll be having a farewell party there…

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

January



On Saturday I woke up find to a dusting of snow on the ground so I set off on a ramble around Prenzlauer Berg to take some photos, along with every amateur photographer in the city it appeared.  Berlin is irresistibly romantic in the snow and it provided a perfect end to what can be a desolate month.  By the time February arrives I often have the feeling of having survived something.  It’s as though all the health drives and ‘dry January’ initiatives we subject ourselves to are a form of self-imposed punishment for the revelry of the previous weeks.  Although I despair at the rampant commercialism of Christmas, I do love the event itself and the sense of goodwill it seems to foster.  The atmosphere during advent has always felt quite magical to me. I’m also a sucker for fairy lights and sparkly things.  Once it’s all over and my fellow humans begin dieting, abstaining and facing up to the credit card bills, I feel a strange yet not unpleasant post-festive melancholy, a state for which there should definitely be a German word.
This year January proved quite eventful for me in one way or another.  A few weeks ago I had an interview with the owners of a bookshop and publishing venture that’s due to open in Neukölln.  We met at a café in Weserstrasse and had such a positive and laid-back discussion, that I ended up badly wanting the job.  I was told that I’d be notified a week later but the following Friday I got in touch and proposed working for them on a month's free trial.  I reasoned that I had nothing to lose; if they were thinking of giving me the job then they’d save a month’s wages, and if they weren’t they might at least think about taking me up on the offer so I'd get a chance to prove myself.  I received a very friendly reply saying that they were still interviewing and would let me know the outcome in time.  No reference was made to my proposal so I deduced that one decision they had made was that the job was definitely not going to be mine.  I was disappointed and I couldn’t help wondering if my age had been a factor. 
I’d also applied that week for a job as a tour guide and received a patronising rejection telling me that although I had ‘so much to offer’ they could not proceed further with my application.  In a rare fit of bolshiness, I challenged this, asking why, if they really did believe I had so much going for me, was I not worth interviewing, and their non-committal reply only strengthened my suspicions that they considered me too old for their enterprise.  I think they were probably looking for people to conduct pub crawls rather than in-depth insights into the Cold War, and see bar-hopping as a young person’s pursuit. 
So I was stunned when, on Monday, I opened an e-mail from the bookshop owners asking if I’d be interested in working with them in the publishing side of the business.  I’m not sure what the work entails but I’m overjoyed and can’t wait to find out.
From a creative point of view, January was a very productive month.  What I'm now beginning to think of as 'my novel' reached 70,000 words and I completed a piece of writing about Weissensee that was published on the travel website Slow Travel Berlin.  I’d got a sizeable collection of photographs of the area from past visits but I decided to have another wander around to take some more and to check that everything I wanted to write about was still actually there (it’s amazing how things appear and disappear in this city).  I spent an unexpectedly warm and sunny afternoon gathering snaps; at one point the camera on my phone suffered the same malfunction as it had at the Lenin-Liebknecht-Luxemburg demo so I had to use the ‘proper’ camera.  Alan and I also took a sleepy tram ride early one morning to get some pictures of the lake at daybreak.  Although I didn’t use any of the pictures for my article, it was worth the effort for a very atmospheric dawn walk.  We found the lake silent and still, reflecting orange globes of light from the lamps along the surrounding pathways.  The only signs of life were ducks and a red squirrel and, near the bank, a group of swans.  Before long, lights began to appear in the windows of nearby houses, visible through the naked branches of the trees.  A drizzly rain started to fall which seemed to rinse the blackness from the sky.  We got back on to Berliner Allee, now shimmering in the headlights of the morning traffic and by half past eight we were warming up with steaming hot coffee. 
 
Daybreak at the 'White Lake'

Socially, January was quite a busy month, beginning with a long, lazy brunch with friends Abby and Albert and ending with a birthday party in a tiny flat on Schivelbeiner Strasse.  In between we were entertained by a couple of twenty-something friends who invited us to their flat in Moabit for an evening of curry, conversation, beer and wine and a bit of guitar playing.  I’ve also acquired a new tandem partner in Heidi from the language exchange as my other partner seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.  We had our first session at Heidi’s flat in Schöneweide and spent an agreeable afternoon drinking tea, eating the last of her home-made Christmas cookies and helping each other with our respective languages while snow swirled outside the window.
I’m now getting February under way by attempting to secure Berlinale tickets, reading the Orhan Pamuk book I bought the other day, working on a piece about Prenzlauer Allee, and building on the 70,000 words of my novel.  On Sunday I learned that I’ve made the shortlist of The Reader’s short story competition and I was so delighted that I don’t think I stopped smiling all the rest of the day.