Eins, Zwei, Drei Berliner

14-15 January 2011—Berlin 

 

Who Knew was playing in Berlin at the Comet Club.  It was there last show during their (quite short) German tour and I really wanted to see them.  I slept in far later than I intended, and was slow to get going.  I managed to grab a train around 17:15.  It arrived in Berlin at about 21:25 and the show started at 21:00 (or so the internet had told me).  That was perfectly fine, I generally go to concerts about an hour late.

I really should learn to plan better or at least give myself more leeway for the mistakes I inevitably make and the obstacles I encounter.  The train arrived in Berlin at around 22:00.  We had been delayed by a medical emergency.  Stepping into the hauptbahnhof in Berlin, I was immediately overwhelmed.  It was far larger that I had expected.  All I had was the name of a station, and I saw no maps to aid me in deciphering which train I should board.  As I wandered in circles I saw a sign with Warschauer Straße.  I remembered seeing this near my destination on google maps.  I boarded the train and hoped for the best.

When I arrived at Warschauer Straße my instincts told me to go right.  My instinct were wrong.  I walked for nearly a mile before I concluded that I was going the wrong direction.  I was suppose to cross a river and I hadn’t.  I turned around and trekked back the way I had come.  I passed the station again, shortly thereafter was the river, and then the Comet Club, my final destination.  By the time I arrived, I was two hours late.  Which could have been fine, but I had also been mistaken about the start time.  Posted outside, it said 20:00.  I was three hours late.  Scheiße.  I missed the show.  The sign also had an event posted for 23:00, so I went in anyways.

I grabbed a beer (a Berliner, as I was in Berlin) and took a seat.  23:00 is early for Berliners, and the club was sparsely populated.  The music selection was fantastic, leaving me quite content to relax in a corner with my beer and listen. As I observed the room around me, I found myself wondering if I had entered a gay club.  Each collection of people was either exclusively male or exclusively female and no interaction.  It looked like a middle school dance.  However, as more people arrived, and more alcohol was consumed, this changed.

On my third beer, a Colombian approached me.  The ensuing conversation would be comical for an outside observer.  We bounced between his poor English and my forgotten Spanish, while surrounded by German.  He bought me a shot of Yeager and I had a few more beers.  The dance floor had filled and I was finally ready to join the party.

I like how Germans dance—a free-spirited flailing of all limbs that may or may not coincide with a beat.  They dance like I do.

It was not long before I began harassing strangers.  On my first attempt, I was unsuccessful.  I tried to tell one guy that I liked his shirt (it simply said “love music, hate facism).  He didn’t speak English.  And, while I could probably say something as simple as “Ich mag deine t-shirt”, I failed to recover any German competency that I might have.  Later, I saw someone sitting on the edge of the stage.  He looked bored, sad, less than happy.  I approached him, and honestly, I don’t remember exactly what I said.  It included the word “smile” a lot.  I then dragged him onto his feet to dance.  We became friends.  We’ll call him Hans (for anonymity, entertainment, and to mask the fact that I don’t actually remember his name, I likely forgot it immediately upon hearing it… well, mostly the latter).

Now 4 or 5 in the morning, Hans and I left the club with his friend.  I didn’t trust him (the friend, that is).  Eventually, I became fed up with him and simply walked away.  Shortly after, Hans caught up with me, rid of his friend.  We went and grabbed some food.  I’m not really sure what it was I ate; he ordered for me.  There were noodles and I think there may have been some meat (I’m really on a role here with the whole vegetarian thing, aren’t I?). 

I had intended to spend the night in the train station, not wanting to pay for a room, and simply grab an early train back to Offenbach.  Hans refused to allow me to do such a thing.  And, although the sky was turning light with the dawn, he set me up on a futon in his apartment.  When I woke up in the morning (mid-day), he prepared breakfast and sent me on my way.  I probably should have paid more attention when he gave me directions.  As soon as I walked out onto the street I realized I had no idea where I was, or where I was going.  I started walking.  Eventually I found my way.

Oh, and on the train you get your beer in a legitimate glass.  Beer in GLASS on a train?!?!  Only the Germans.  Rad.