Berlin, Cologne, and New Friends a Thousand Miles From Home

What's good everybody. I hope you enjoyed that title rhyme because I spent about two minutes thinking it up. Then the Vanessa Hudgens song, "A Thousand Miles" started playing in my head and I had to take a break from writing before my keyboard became tear-soaked and useless.

I'm back, and today, a poetically just post considering the title of my post from last week. After a combination of new friends, incredible experiences, and perhaps the most reckless of world festivals (Europe's Carnivale), my wallet, as well as my liver, is practically screaming for mercy

Before I enthrall all of you with a completely incriminating tale of the weekend, I would actually love to preface my confessions by setting the stage for what you're about to read.

A group of us was supposed to fly to Innsbruck on Wednesday. After oversleeping (aka, mashing the snooze button until 11:00am) I knew I wasn't going to make it to the famously scenic winter sports Mecca. So instead, I actually spent Wednesday performing domestic duties, watching House of Cards, and booking a new flight to Berlin, where I would rendezvous with the Innsbruck group.

The next day, as I'm taking a train to Eindhoven for the flight, I realize that I'm completely alone and wearing a camo South Carolina hat, mountaineering pants, a rain jacket, and hiking boots. Why I even settled on this outfit, I'll never know, though I did climb a number of stairs in Berlin....so I suppose that counts for something. In other words, I look like a walking poster child for 'White American College Student Studies Abroad." More about the inevitably damning consequences of this appearance to follow.

Probably what I looked like to Germans

As I'm on my way to Berlin, I read a few of the Dutch magazines in the seat pocket, pretending as if I have some idea of what the descriptions for nose hair trimmers and noise-canceling headphones are saying. I believe I managed to avoid suspicion. Once in Berlin, I hop on a bus towards the east side of the city, where I've booked a night at a ultra-hip looking hostel, for the oh so sweet price of 9 euros a night, not far from the TV tower and the main commercial drag of the city, Alexanderplatz.

I soon realize that I have no idea where I'm going, and yet, I'm strangely at ease. The sun is almost setting as I exit a small, child dungeon of an internet cafe on the northwest side of the city, where I've stopped to catch up with the Innsbruck group and consult Google maps, as a member of the Austria group has my phone and I'm without WiFi or battery power on my laptop.

The internet cafe reeks of kebab and loneliness.

But no matter. I set off in some vague direction of where I'm supposed to end up, and soon, I'm hopelessly and awesomely lost yet again in Berlin. All this meandering has made me a hungry nomad, and I subsequently stumble upon a kebab shop where I rattle off an order in rapid Arabic before realizing that not every person who works at a kebab shop speaks Arabic. But before I can apologize, an answer from the cashier comes back to me...also in Arabic. Egyptian dialect actually. And before I know it, I'm introducing myself to this guy, Hassan was his name, as if I've known him for years.

Hassan and I talk about Egyptian politics, the Arab Spring, and Syria for awhile. At times I mix up definite/indefinite articles in Arabic and he patiently corrects me and waits for me as I try to remember the words for 'overcrowding' and 'geopolitics'. After I inform him that I have to get going, he promptly whips out a punch card. You know, like you buy nine kebabs, get the tenth free type deal, and promptly stamps nine spaces, leaving the tenth open for a free kebab, whenever I should return to Berlin.

Ya'll, you don't know happy until you've successfully spoken a language you've studied for three years with a native speaker and earned a delicious free kebab for doing so in one of the coolest cities in the world. I absolutely adored Berlin. There was not a second in this city that I didn't relish completely and totally. In that sense, Berlin was like the first sip of cold water that hits the back of your throat and perfectly quenches your thirst, qualming the Sahara that has become your entire esophagus when you wake up in the middle of a summer night.

Far-flung similes aside, you're probably anxiously awaiting the verdict on why exactly Berlin was so great. And to be completely clear, Berlin was, if not #1, the #2 city I've ever visited in my life. In all honesty, it took me awhile to put my finger on why I was so overwhelmed with the place, but here are a few things that led to such a realization:

1: After spending the night in a mixed 12 person hostel room (where I actually got to speak a little Spanish with Elisa and Eduardo, a Mexican brother and sister traveling abroad), I realized that Berlin is the only place where I actually meaningfully spoke the three languages I know within hours of one another. Emboldened by my ability to talk to a pretty diverse group of people (minus the majority German speaking population of Berlin), I meet a group in the hostel lobby for a free walking tour around the city. 

2: On this tour, I meet Blair, Morgan, Lexie, and Jessi, four girls from the US who are all studying abroad in Seville. Blair and Lexie go to UT Austin, Morgan goes to Penn State, and Jessi goes to Oregon. We hit it off right away (mainly because we're the only people in the immediate tour group who speak English and/or we all empathize with the need to stick together as Americans abroad.

                  Our chill af group (from left: Jessi, Lexie, moi, Blair, and Molly)

3: Our tour guide was Sam Noble, the #1 rated city guide on Trip Advisor. Sam was a freshly-minted British student who had just received his PhD in History from Humboldt University, and man, did it show. From dates and names to thought-provoking questions and cutting insights, Sam managed to put the entire historical period normally associated with Germany (WWII) on the backburner, instead challenging us to consider the numerous contributions made by Germany before that time. From art to philosophy to composers to being the place where Michael Jackson hung his baby over a balcony (yeah, actually saw the balcony), Sam shone a brilliantly positive light on the city itself, while still remaining somber and contemplative in his discussion of the Stasi, the Third Reich, and the Holocaust.

As we toured the city, our first stop was the Holocaust Memorial. A lot of people I've talked to who've been to the seemingly nonsensical collection of various sized grey stones near the Brandenburg Gate still don't know what to make of it. I still don't even know what to make of it. To see just these blank grey stones though, I felt, really forced whoever views the monument to make their own interpretation. The first thing I noticed here was the lack of any names or dates. It was a memorial free from bias and gaudy flair of gold lettering and floral decoration It was simple. Blunt. Almost brutal in its indifference, and to me, a completely accurate depiction of how we tend to view the six million people lost in the Holocaust as just a faceless number.

One of those things that makes you stop and think

After this, we headed towards the Berlin Wall, stopping on our way to visit a seemingly nondescript car park. None of us had any idea what was going on until Sam told us that below our feet, through six meters of concrete, was the exact spot where, on April 30th, 1945 the world's most brutal mass murderer, Adolf Hitler, admitted the fall of the Third Reich by swallowing a cyanide capsule and shooting himself in the mouth. His then wife, Ava Braun, would do the same by biting into a cyanide capsule, while his right hand man, Josef Goebbels, along with his wife, would forcibly murder their own children and then commit suicide in similar fashion.

Little did I know, Hitler and Braun's corpses were then carried out of the bunker. Today the space is occupied by a slide which totally looks like the head of Jar Jar Binks and a sandbox. There, their bodies were burned and concrete identification of Hitler's demise would remain a mystery until, of all things, looting Soviet troops would locate his teeth, which they matched to dental records in 1970.

All this morbidity, and for what? A history lesson? A cautionary tale? In my opinion, Sam's sharing of the graphic details of Hitler's death was for one express purpose: to remind us 30 tour group disciples, of the power of history. For even a fleeting moment, I found myself transported back to Berlin in 1945, witnessing the carnage and the fall of a nation. As awful as it sounds, I could almost place myself in Hitler's shoes (which probably weren't that big considering the dude was like 5'7 and all frail n sickly n whatnot) at the moment he realized the failure of his Grand Solution, and even, perhaps, the error of his ways.

After all, I was in the same place, under the same Berlin sun, walking along the same piece of Earth on which one of many of the world's momentary masters may have potentially walked as well. That sort of connection, however unwanted, is visceral and powerful. It's as if you got the chance to look Hitler in the eye. His work was no longer evidenced by black and white pictures of textbooks, but by the evidence laying in front of you; by even the physical proximity of the Fuhrer's final resting place.

                                      All that remains of the Fuhrerbunker

At the same time, to learn about Berlin's history besides its most egregious offense was enlightening to say the least. From Beethoven to Wagner to Nietzsche to Einstein and - up until the 1920s - being one of the most progressive, forward-thinking cities in the world, I got the impression that Berlin was a bit of a Prodigal Son. Sure, it allowed Hitler to rise to power completely legally, and of course, it was a city that stood idly by as the worst genocide in human history commenced mere miles from its city limits. But like anyone or any place, it would be unfair to judge all of Berlin by its worst performance. It was a city that gave off a vibe of penance; a sincere willingness to acknowledge its troubled past and right its wrongs.    

Onward from the Holocaust memorial, Sam took us to remnants of the Berlin Wall, explaining all the while, the ulterior political motives behind the economic separation of East and West Germany. Or better put, the economic isolation of West Germany from East Germany. When I thought of the Berlin Wall, I thought of a clean dividing line of which there was a definite West and East. Not so. Apparently, the Berlin Wall was actually a circle around West Berlin which simply was put up to keep East Berlin citizens from entering West Berlin.

                                  Sam the Man. Chillest tour guide of all times

From there, it was on to Checkpoint Charlie, the most famous of crossing points between East and West during the Cold War, and a Starbucks frequented by current German Chancellor Angela Merkel. Then, it was on to Humboldt University and the Bebelplatz, Sam's alma mater and home to 27 Nobel laureates, Professor Albert Einstein, and the site of the famous Nazi Book Burning in 1933.

At the conclusion of Sam's tour, we all tipped him whatever the cost of an equivalent tour would be (10-15 Euros) and then some. After all, this was how he made his living, and we were all more than willing to help him out considering he'd just given us a full-on mind-blowing tour of Berlin and taught us more about European history than an AP class in the span of about two hours. Myself and the four girls from Seville then signed up for another paid tour and set off to meet our new guide, again by the Brandenburg Gate.

The next tour guide was Stephen, and though he wasn't the spry, sarcastic, Russell Brand-esque charmer that Sam was, he was obviously very knowledgeable and hilarious to boot. Stephen took us to, among other locations, the Reichstag, the Gypsy Memorial, the Soviet Memorial, and the Homosexual Memorial before leading us back to the Fuhrerbunker and giving us an in-depth look at Hitler's life and how he came to be the way that he was.

                                             Memorial to Sinte Romani

From that tour, we then decided to make tracks to the East Side Gallery, a section of Berlin particularly noted for its counter-culture attitude and anarchist artistic expression. The main attraction is a section of wall decorated with thought-provoking anti-establishment graffiti and vivid street art.

          Managed to find a section with a piece from one of my hometown's finest

After wandering around here for awhile, myself and the Seville girls (who at this point, might as well have been best friends) decided it best to head back to our hostel, grab some dinner and WiFi, and plan the remaining legs of our respective trips. We end up deciding on an off the beaten path Korean restaurant for dinner and we'd not been in the place for three seconds before we offended someone. Shoes. Of course, always take off your shoes at any Asian restaurant or residence. Feeling very self-conscious about the middle school locker room bouquet wafting from my blistered, sweaty feet, I decide on fried potstickers and kimchi for din din in the hopes that the scent of pickled, sour Korean cabbage will mask the olfactory consequences of walking around Berlin for 16 hours straight.

                                                       Das group

After dinner, it was back to the hostel to relax and listen to some live music. If you've never caught a live music show in a hostel before, I highly recommend doing so. Hostel covers of popular songs are sometimes the best versions, and this night at St. Christopher's Hostel in Berlin was no exception. We sang "Drops of Jupiter," "You Shook Me All Night Long," and Jet's, "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" accompanied by an awesome floor drum and guitar duo. It was then time for us to part ways, and so I bid my new friends adieu, then set off to find the hostel where the Innsbruck group would be staying. 

Now, at this point in this story, you would be expecting that everything would work out wonderfully. I've just had an enormously enriching cultural and historical experience in one of the world's coolest cities, so everything from this point on should be smooth sailing, right?

Wrong. 

I arrive at the hostel only to find out that our group is in fact not staying there. Instead, they'll be catching a train to Cologne, fraught with transfers and layovers, around 12:20am. At this point, I'm dead tired. All I want to do is go back to a hostel somewhere, amputate both of my feet for fear that they're ready to fall off anyways, and grab the earliest train to Cologne in the morning. But no. Adventure waits for no man, and I was no exception.

By some miracle, I make it to the Hauptbanhof station in Berlin from the very Easternmost part of the city. It's now 12:15....then it's 12:18....12:19...and still, no sign of the Innsbruck group. The train has arrived and people are piling on, the whistle is sounding, and I'm just standing on the platform for fear that I'll get on the wrong train and wake up in a German hostel, potentially in an ice-filled bathtub with a note taped to me informing me that my organs have been stolen and that I have 24 hours to carry bags of illicit drugs across the Swiss border if I hope to see my spleen again.

The tension is palpable, and I resign myself to the fates. But in a split second, my roommates Dan and Kelsey, as well as our friend Kaori, come sprinting up the escalator steps, screaming, "...GET ON THE MOTHERF***ING TRAIN!" We all board at different points on the platform and no sooner had I made it inside the train did the doors slam shut and the city of Berlin fade from view.

We manage to meet in the middle of the train, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't ready to cry. To see familiar people from whom you've previously been separated by hundreds of miles and train transfers safe and sound was a relief the likes of which I've never previously experienced. We shared stories about our travels and laughed at our alcohol-induced misfortunes, and soon enough, decided that we were ready to rally for Carnivale. After arriving at a darkened train station in Magdeburg, we manage to buy a bottle of wine as soon as the station's convenience store opened...at 6:00am.

We share sips of wine and take turns napping in a cold, dirty station waiting room while the sun rises brilliantly over the Elbe. The wine bottle drains rapidly and the amount of singing increases just as rapidly. Station by station, we make our way to Cologne. Through spacious countrysides and outlying cities, we intermittently wake up to drink more wine before falling asleep once more. By the time we make it to our last station before Cologne, the need for McDonalds has become more pressing than ever, and at 11:00am, we purchase a few bottles of Prosecco, a six pack of German beer, and another bottle of wine before getting on the train.

                                    We meet friends... also wearing onesies

Of all things I would've expected a German train ride to be, this was not. People are literally drinking bottle after bottle in the aisles, singing drinking songs, and chanting football club chants. We were lucky enough to be on a train with a number of Dortmund fans, who are notorious throughout Europe for being the rowdiest group of people in European soccer circles. They teach us drinking songs, we teach them Wagon Wheel. We make new friends and compare costumes with the hordes of German students our age who have crowded this train to Cologne. Onesies are certainly the most popular of these gettups, though Dan was the only one of our group to sport one. Someone who saw our group would've seen two American looking girls, me in my American attire, and Dan in his green Dragon onesie. It was without a doubt, the most rip-roaring good time I've had yet in my travels throughout Europe.

Once in Cologne, the day becomes a blur. We meet a German student about our age in the Cologne station who is an insanely talented street magician. He entertains us as we attempt to get our bearings straight. We then start walking around the city, stopping to marvel at the utter insanity unfolding before us. Parade floats are parked throughout the streets and dancing Germans of all ages and costumes are scattered about dancing and merrymaking. We visit the equivalent of a fraternity party hosted by German students where we meet up with about 40 other people from our study group and the party continues to gain momentum.

By nightfall, nobody is in control of anything. We're wandering the streets of Cologne as one amorphous conglomerate of American intoxication and debauchery, yet still managing to befriend everyone we meet. We all would split up, visit a few bars for a short period of time, and then reconnoiter in the street. We're ordering fire shots and bartenders eager to take our money are attending to our every whim by just lighting entire bars on fire and pouring us exotic drinks. How I managed to avoid spending all my money is beyond me. Even more impressively, I managed to keep track of my backpack, in which I was CARRYING MY LAPTOP throughout all of this.

                                           Suspicious of our own sobriety

By 2:00am on Sunday, I'm dead tired. Dan and I are trudging back to the Cologne train station to find Kelsey, and our group is just ready to be home. We make it back to Rotterdam after a harrowing experience in the Cologne train station and immediately enter a recovery coma until Monday evening.

Despite the physical scars of the weekend, I will gladly admit that Germany was one of the coolest places I've ever been. The sheer historical weight of Berlin accompanied by the sensory overload of Cologne managed to strike a perfect balance between work and play. There was time for friends and time to reflect in solitude; to truly breathe in the essence of all the world has to offer before moving on to the next adventure, the next city, the next opportunity to make lifelong friends and maybe, just maybe, learn a little something about yourself and the world you live in.

Until next time ya'll, thanks for reading.

Drew