I've heard people talk about Stieg Larsson's "Millennium" series for a few years now, but I've only just started reading the first book.
Usually when it comes to books, movies, TV shows and the like, I don't go with trends. Chances are, if everyone's talking about it, I'll ignore it and try it out in a few years in peace when all the hype has died down. When the "Tomorrow" series by John Marsden first came out, I ignored it. Everyone at my school was reading it, so I didn't. Then halfway through high school, once everyone stopped talking about it, I checked it out. And loved it. It was exactly the same with Harry Potter: I was working at Toys R Us when the fourth book came out, and every second person was buying it or asking where to find it, but I wasn't interested; when I decided to venture into the world of Hogwarts a few years later, I loved it. It's the same with movies (Lord of the Rings, Empire Records), some bands (Green Day, silverchair) and tv shows (How I Met Your Mother, Gilmore Girls). Usually once I try one of these really popular series, I tend to like them, but I don't like to be told what to like by the hype circus.
So I've waited a few years to read "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", and until today, I loved it. It's very well written, the characters are well developed (so far anyway - I'm only 200 pages in), and I'm torn between reading it at every opportunity and savouring it - it's that good.
Then there was today. I still love it, but I'm mildly annoyed by today's pages.
Product placement in media is almost unavoidable. From Bella Swan's MacBook to the Miracle Whip in Lady Gaga's "Telephone" video to the Coca Cola water glasses on talent show judges' desks, there's no escaping it. That's the thing with movies, TV or radio - the fleeting image of a brand of computer, food or drink in a popular show is a subtle (or sometimes less subtle) way of creating a positive association with their product in a few seconds, but it's typically in the background - rarely is it blatantly highlighed: that's what commercials are for. In books however, it's less subtle. I'm sure I've come across occasional mentions of food or drink brands in novels before, but one word in a thousand isn't something you really notice. Or notice maybe, but it doesn't distract you from the narrative.
In the first hundred and fifty odd pages of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", there were a few mentions of an iBook, but I didn't think much of it. Then a central character's laptop got destroyed halfway through chapter 11. It would have sufficed to mention that the laptop was expensive or high-quality or state-of-the-art or similar; not everyone who reads Swedish crime novels is interested in computer specifications. Well, it would have sufficed for me. Larsson however thought it necessary to outline the specifications of her computer in detail - the brand, the brands of various components, and also mention several times that she bought it because this model by this brand was the best available, the highest quality, a superior product. This irritated me - if I wanted to read about Apple computers, I wouldn't be reading a Stieg Larsson novel; I'd be reading the Apple website.
That wasn't enough though. The following page outlined her desired replacement, in even more detail than the previous page. It wasn't just that it was blatant product placement, or that it was for a brand that I dislike for various reasons. The thing that really annoyed me was that the author chose to waste two pages of his novel on a sales pitch for a 2004 model Apple laptop when he could have been further developing a character or continuing the narrative - you know, what fiction writers usually do in their novels.
I'll keep reading, but reading in the hope that the next page does not make more than a passing reference to technology branded with a piece of glowing white fruit.
A new job and Milli Vanilli on the sax
So some of you may already know, but in the last few weeks, my work situation has been... well, interesting to say the least.
Here's the short version. Australia's not in the EU, so I need a visa to work and live in Germany. Until May this year my work and residence permit has been restricted to a specific position within the company I work for, which became more and more frustrating. I'm a teacher - qualified and experienced in teaching English and German - but I was employed as, well, a receptionist. Albeit a receptionist who got asked grammatical questions and had to cover for her boss when she didn't feel like teaching, but a receptionist nonetheless. Making any changes to my contract would have involved a three-month ordeal of appointments and paperwork involving immigration and the employment office convincing them that neither Germans nor EU citizens could do the job. Problem with that is that not only are there Germans who are qualified English teachers, but that the country where my chosen teaching speciality originated is also a part of the EU. The United Kingdom.
When a teaching colleague resigned in August, I grabbed the job with both hands, and for one fantastic month, over four years since I started at the company, I was employed as a teacher. A week after I got the job, I was offered another position - a managerial role at another centre. Full-time hours, training for the next step up the ladder, and I would get to keep teaching - a reduced number of hours, but teaching nonetheless.
Bring it on.
The language school I work at has five centres around Berlin - I've always been based at one centre, but I've filled in at all of the others at various points. The centres are all the same in that they all teach the same method, but there are differences - at the end of the day, some centres are much busier than others. The one I've worked at until now is the busiest in Berlin, and the new location is one of the quieter centres, which is a great opportunity for me to learn the new job in a much less chaotic setting.
The location of the new centre is also very different. While both of them are on touristy thoroughfares, one in former East Berlin and the other in former West Berlin, that's the only similarity. The tourists in the first area are noticeably younger and more budget conscious - think youth hostels and pub crawls - while the second is clearly a more upmarket shopping area, home to Berlin's version of Harrods.
One thing remains the same though: the weirdos. Like every large city, Berlin has its fair share of weirdos. I have a theory that the alcholics, the beggars, the buskers, the undiagnosed mentally ill and the homeless that roam the city's streets are more visible in Berlin than in other cities partly due to the honesty policy of the public transport system, but that's a topic for another day.
The topic that inspired today's post is the kid I encountered on the way home. Walking past the six-storey department store I mentioned, I heard snippets of George Michael being played on the sax, and sure enough, there's a little kid and a saxophone that's almost as big as he is doing his best at
"Careless Whisper". Sounded pretty good too. He played to the end of the verse, with flair and attitude and all that, but when it got to the chorus, he stopped. He just stood there for the next sixteen bars and tapped his foot. Thing is, the sound of the saxophone didn't stop. It continued through the chorus, improvisation a-plenty just as before, then when the next verse started, he picked up his sax again and Milli Vanilli-ed his way through the rest of the song. Class act. Can't even be bothered sax-synching to the whole song.
Here's the short version. Australia's not in the EU, so I need a visa to work and live in Germany. Until May this year my work and residence permit has been restricted to a specific position within the company I work for, which became more and more frustrating. I'm a teacher - qualified and experienced in teaching English and German - but I was employed as, well, a receptionist. Albeit a receptionist who got asked grammatical questions and had to cover for her boss when she didn't feel like teaching, but a receptionist nonetheless. Making any changes to my contract would have involved a three-month ordeal of appointments and paperwork involving immigration and the employment office convincing them that neither Germans nor EU citizens could do the job. Problem with that is that not only are there Germans who are qualified English teachers, but that the country where my chosen teaching speciality originated is also a part of the EU. The United Kingdom.
When a teaching colleague resigned in August, I grabbed the job with both hands, and for one fantastic month, over four years since I started at the company, I was employed as a teacher. A week after I got the job, I was offered another position - a managerial role at another centre. Full-time hours, training for the next step up the ladder, and I would get to keep teaching - a reduced number of hours, but teaching nonetheless.
Bring it on.
The language school I work at has five centres around Berlin - I've always been based at one centre, but I've filled in at all of the others at various points. The centres are all the same in that they all teach the same method, but there are differences - at the end of the day, some centres are much busier than others. The one I've worked at until now is the busiest in Berlin, and the new location is one of the quieter centres, which is a great opportunity for me to learn the new job in a much less chaotic setting.
The location of the new centre is also very different. While both of them are on touristy thoroughfares, one in former East Berlin and the other in former West Berlin, that's the only similarity. The tourists in the first area are noticeably younger and more budget conscious - think youth hostels and pub crawls - while the second is clearly a more upmarket shopping area, home to Berlin's version of Harrods.
One thing remains the same though: the weirdos. Like every large city, Berlin has its fair share of weirdos. I have a theory that the alcholics, the beggars, the buskers, the undiagnosed mentally ill and the homeless that roam the city's streets are more visible in Berlin than in other cities partly due to the honesty policy of the public transport system, but that's a topic for another day.
The topic that inspired today's post is the kid I encountered on the way home. Walking past the six-storey department store I mentioned, I heard snippets of George Michael being played on the sax, and sure enough, there's a little kid and a saxophone that's almost as big as he is doing his best at
"Careless Whisper". Sounded pretty good too. He played to the end of the verse, with flair and attitude and all that, but when it got to the chorus, he stopped. He just stood there for the next sixteen bars and tapped his foot. Thing is, the sound of the saxophone didn't stop. It continued through the chorus, improvisation a-plenty just as before, then when the next verse started, he picked up his sax again and Milli Vanilli-ed his way through the rest of the song. Class act. Can't even be bothered sax-synching to the whole song.
Skipping across international borders for a day.
One of the things I love about living in Europe is the travel opportunities.
Living in Australia, international travel requires a flight (or a ship). Actually, when talking about travel plans in Australian English, you usually talk either about interstate or overseas. A one hour flight from any of the five major cities is not enough to leave Australian airspace, let alone reach an airport, or indeed land. From Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra, Adelaide or Hobart, the closest international travel destination is New Zealand. While NZ is an independent nation and has been since 1852, the similarities between Australian and New Zealand culture and language are akin to those between U.S. American and Canadian. They're different, but as a visitor, you feel more like you're in a different Australian state than a different country.
As I'm sure you're aware, other continents offer completely different travel situations. Even from the USA, two different countries are accessible by land. European geography takes land travel to a new level, and Germany's location in central Europe means it is the ideal location for a travelophile like me. Germany has nine neighbouring countries: Denmark, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, and Poland. I've been to five of them on short trips, my favourite of which is one memorable weekend in Luxembourg in 2005. In Schengen, the place where the Schengen Agreement that removed most border control between signatory countries was signed, I walked across a bridge from Luxembourg to France, then back to Luxembourg, then down the road to Germany and back into Luxembourg. I even have a photo of my feet in the dirt on the side of the road: one in Germany, one in Luxembourg. I realise this may sound like something a five-year-old would do, but for someone who grew up in an island nation like Australia, this was a novelty, and will probably always be something rather cool.
This past weekend, I took another short international trip - this time, a day trip to Poland with students and colleagues from my language school. The goal was to spend an entire day speaking English, and I am proud to say that our mission was accomplished. We left Berlin at 8am and were in Poland by 9.30am. We went on a city tour in English, cruised around the port with a Polish/English soundtrack, went bowling and billiarding when the weather turned horrible, tried the local cuisine at a food court and a delicious restaurant, and strolled, power walked and jogged from the restaurant toward the station, Polish dumplings and beer churning in our stomachs, culminating in a frantic run down the train platform to our waiting train. The door lights were flashing, the warning bells were sounding, but somehow all 22 of us managed to make it onto the train, and for a few minutes, all of us collapsed into the closest available seats, trying to catch our breath and laughing hysterically. Two hours later, we arrived back in German-speaking Berlin. I woke up in Berlin, spent the day in Poland, and returned to my bed in Berlin that night.
The point of this post? International day trips - love 'em.
Living in Australia, international travel requires a flight (or a ship). Actually, when talking about travel plans in Australian English, you usually talk either about interstate or overseas. A one hour flight from any of the five major cities is not enough to leave Australian airspace, let alone reach an airport, or indeed land. From Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra, Adelaide or Hobart, the closest international travel destination is New Zealand. While NZ is an independent nation and has been since 1852, the similarities between Australian and New Zealand culture and language are akin to those between U.S. American and Canadian. They're different, but as a visitor, you feel more like you're in a different Australian state than a different country.
As I'm sure you're aware, other continents offer completely different travel situations. Even from the USA, two different countries are accessible by land. European geography takes land travel to a new level, and Germany's location in central Europe means it is the ideal location for a travelophile like me. Germany has nine neighbouring countries: Denmark, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, and Poland. I've been to five of them on short trips, my favourite of which is one memorable weekend in Luxembourg in 2005. In Schengen, the place where the Schengen Agreement that removed most border control between signatory countries was signed, I walked across a bridge from Luxembourg to France, then back to Luxembourg, then down the road to Germany and back into Luxembourg. I even have a photo of my feet in the dirt on the side of the road: one in Germany, one in Luxembourg. I realise this may sound like something a five-year-old would do, but for someone who grew up in an island nation like Australia, this was a novelty, and will probably always be something rather cool.
This past weekend, I took another short international trip - this time, a day trip to Poland with students and colleagues from my language school. The goal was to spend an entire day speaking English, and I am proud to say that our mission was accomplished. We left Berlin at 8am and were in Poland by 9.30am. We went on a city tour in English, cruised around the port with a Polish/English soundtrack, went bowling and billiarding when the weather turned horrible, tried the local cuisine at a food court and a delicious restaurant, and strolled, power walked and jogged from the restaurant toward the station, Polish dumplings and beer churning in our stomachs, culminating in a frantic run down the train platform to our waiting train. The door lights were flashing, the warning bells were sounding, but somehow all 22 of us managed to make it onto the train, and for a few minutes, all of us collapsed into the closest available seats, trying to catch our breath and laughing hysterically. Two hours later, we arrived back in German-speaking Berlin. I woke up in Berlin, spent the day in Poland, and returned to my bed in Berlin that night.
The point of this post? International day trips - love 'em.
Go go gadget culture!
Berlin is famous for many things, one of which is its collection of museums. According to the Berlin tourism website, there are over 170 of them. This includes Museumsinsel, a UNESCO World Heritage listed collection of five immense museums on an island in the middle of the Spree River in central Berlin - the Pergamon, the Bode Museum, the Old and New Museums, and the National Gallery (my personal favourite). The others around Berlin include the Stasi Museum, the Haus am Checkpoint Charlie (more on that in a minute), the Sugar Museum, the Clock Museum, the Musical Instrument Museum, various suburban museums, the Museum of Things, and the Museum of Outrageous Things.
[Here's the "more on that in a minute" about Haus am Checkpoint Charlie: avoid it. At all costs. I've been there twice with different visitors and also worked there for an entire five hour trial shift after which I promptly handed in my name tag and quit on the spot, mostly because of the draconian customer service and employee relations policies. From a visitor's perspective though: aside from the ridiculous entrance fees (€9.50 - more expensive than any other museum in Berlin), there's no rhyme or reason to the layout within individual rooms or in general, the audio guides only cover half the exhibits, and the website is rubbish. As I said, skip it. Or better, go to Checkpoint Charlie and instead of going inside the museum, take photos of the replica checkpoint house with the actors in German, Russian and American military garb, and check out the free displays outside. Then go to the free and much better Gedenkstätte Berliner Mauer near Nordbahnhof.]
Anyway, of the remaining museums, I've been to a few, but there are many more that I have contemplated visiting for, well, to be honest, years, and recently it's dawned on me that I won't be in Berlin forever, hence my window of opportunity to see all of these wonderful museums is limited. Don't get me wrong: Melbourne has some brilliant museums, and the National Gallery of Victoria and Scienceworks are two of my favourites. But on the museum front, Melbourne can't compete with Berlin. On top of that, a friend of mine recently got himself a year pass to Berlin's state museums, and since I still have my student ID, which reduces the price by 50%, I've made the same cultural investment. (Bonus: it includes all of the temporary exhibitions and an audio guide in English for the lot!)
Which leads me to the point of this post. I have all of these cultural institutions at my doorstep, all of which will provide me with various cultural experiences, which in turn may or may not provide creative inspiration. We'll see how that turns out. But over the course of the next year, I will visit each and every one of Berlin's 18 state-run museums, and several of the others (yes, I will go to the Sugar Museum, the Museum of Clocks, and the Museum of Outrageous Things), and I will write about each and every one. The goal is one a week for a year.
Go go gadget culture! :)
[Here's the "more on that in a minute" about Haus am Checkpoint Charlie: avoid it. At all costs. I've been there twice with different visitors and also worked there for an entire five hour trial shift after which I promptly handed in my name tag and quit on the spot, mostly because of the draconian customer service and employee relations policies. From a visitor's perspective though: aside from the ridiculous entrance fees (€9.50 - more expensive than any other museum in Berlin), there's no rhyme or reason to the layout within individual rooms or in general, the audio guides only cover half the exhibits, and the website is rubbish. As I said, skip it. Or better, go to Checkpoint Charlie and instead of going inside the museum, take photos of the replica checkpoint house with the actors in German, Russian and American military garb, and check out the free displays outside. Then go to the free and much better Gedenkstätte Berliner Mauer near Nordbahnhof.]
Anyway, of the remaining museums, I've been to a few, but there are many more that I have contemplated visiting for, well, to be honest, years, and recently it's dawned on me that I won't be in Berlin forever, hence my window of opportunity to see all of these wonderful museums is limited. Don't get me wrong: Melbourne has some brilliant museums, and the National Gallery of Victoria and Scienceworks are two of my favourites. But on the museum front, Melbourne can't compete with Berlin. On top of that, a friend of mine recently got himself a year pass to Berlin's state museums, and since I still have my student ID, which reduces the price by 50%, I've made the same cultural investment. (Bonus: it includes all of the temporary exhibitions and an audio guide in English for the lot!)
Which leads me to the point of this post. I have all of these cultural institutions at my doorstep, all of which will provide me with various cultural experiences, which in turn may or may not provide creative inspiration. We'll see how that turns out. But over the course of the next year, I will visit each and every one of Berlin's 18 state-run museums, and several of the others (yes, I will go to the Sugar Museum, the Museum of Clocks, and the Museum of Outrageous Things), and I will write about each and every one. The goal is one a week for a year.
Go go gadget culture! :)
I am hereby annoyed at myself.
So, this whole "regular post" thing keeps getting derailed, and it's starting to really annoy me. There are various reasons, only some of which could reasonably be referred to as excuses, but as previously mentioned, it annoys me. The ideas are there, the time is there; it's just that somehow the twain never seem to meet. Therefore, I hereby renew my resolve to write. Can't guarantee the quality, or for that matter, the quantity or regularity, but the intention is there.
We'll see how this goes. :)
We'll see how this goes. :)
"Yes, I'm Australian. Yes, I speak German."
"Where are you from?"
"Australia."
"But you speak German?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I am very aware that it is unusual for both to be true simultaneously, especially for someone who doesn’t have a German Opa or Austrian Oma. I was one of only two such students in the advanced German program at my university, and this classmate and I bonded so well over our shared lack of German-speaking ancestry in the department that we’ve now been good friends for the better part of a decade.
The point where she and I met is already ten years into my German experience, so let me go back to the start of the story, of how I came to be fluent in German. This is after all an answer to the question I am asked the most by strangers when they first discover my linguistic abilities, so I feel I should tell the story properly, and start at the very beginning… a very good place to start.
1992. I was nine, and in my own personal hell, otherwise known as grade five at a Melbourne primary school. I loved learning, but my female classmates made my life a misery. Halfway through the year, my mum and dad sat me down at the family room table one afternoon, for a conversation that changed my life. I knew I would be able to escape primary school at the end of the following year and start high school – a P-12 school, the same school my grandmother had attended, and most importantly, a school that none of my vindictive classmates would be going to. That afternoon however, my parents offered me the option of starting there a year early - at the start of grade 6 - and I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
At this school, language instruction began at early primary level; each year learned either German or French, which not only enabled but encouraged continuity into the senior levels – a rare example of excellent language teaching policy.
In early February 1993, I had my first German lesson. Everyone else in my class had between one and six years up on me, but I managed to pick up on everything they’d covered previously in a few months, and by the end of the year, I was winning maths races, singing songs, describing pictures, and introducing myself, all in German. This gave me a significant advantage over all of the newcomers at the start of year 7, and by the end of the year I was really enjoying it – not just German, but learning a language. At the start of year eight, we had the chance to choose electives: to keep German alone, to add either Japanese or French to the mix, to trade German for one of the other two, or to drop languages completely. I tried to convince my teachers to let me keep German and add French and Japanese, to no avail, and had to settle for German and French.
I continued with both throughout high school, and did well, both in class and in various regional and state level competitions. When the topic of VCE (A Levels) subjects came up, German and French were always a part of the discussion. At the end of year 11, I travelled to Germany for the first time, and spent six weeks in Kiel over Christmas in 1998. That trip warrants its own post, but by the time I returned to Melbourne (despite begging my mum to let me do my senior year in Germany), I took on year 12 German with a vengeance, well enough to get me into my number one university course at Monash University. I transferred into the languages program and traded French for Italian after the first year, and graduated with a double major in German and Linguistics in 2004.
From September 2004, I spent a year as a foreign language assistant at a high school in rural south-west Germany, which again warrants its own posts, and this is where I learned to truly love German. Living in the community and speaking it every day – with colleagues, with my landlord and his wife and with everyone else in the town enabled me to transition from German skills learned from a book to fluent German, and I’ve never looked back. A little over two years after I returned from that trip, and with a teaching degree in German and ESL under my belt, I bought myself a one-way ticket to Berlin, and have been living here ever since, with no immediate plans to return to Australia.
And that is how I am both Australian and fluent in German with no germanophone heritage to speak of.
Questions, comments?
"Australia."
"But you speak German?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I am very aware that it is unusual for both to be true simultaneously, especially for someone who doesn’t have a German Opa or Austrian Oma. I was one of only two such students in the advanced German program at my university, and this classmate and I bonded so well over our shared lack of German-speaking ancestry in the department that we’ve now been good friends for the better part of a decade.
The point where she and I met is already ten years into my German experience, so let me go back to the start of the story, of how I came to be fluent in German. This is after all an answer to the question I am asked the most by strangers when they first discover my linguistic abilities, so I feel I should tell the story properly, and start at the very beginning… a very good place to start.
1992. I was nine, and in my own personal hell, otherwise known as grade five at a Melbourne primary school. I loved learning, but my female classmates made my life a misery. Halfway through the year, my mum and dad sat me down at the family room table one afternoon, for a conversation that changed my life. I knew I would be able to escape primary school at the end of the following year and start high school – a P-12 school, the same school my grandmother had attended, and most importantly, a school that none of my vindictive classmates would be going to. That afternoon however, my parents offered me the option of starting there a year early - at the start of grade 6 - and I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.
At this school, language instruction began at early primary level; each year learned either German or French, which not only enabled but encouraged continuity into the senior levels – a rare example of excellent language teaching policy.
In early February 1993, I had my first German lesson. Everyone else in my class had between one and six years up on me, but I managed to pick up on everything they’d covered previously in a few months, and by the end of the year, I was winning maths races, singing songs, describing pictures, and introducing myself, all in German. This gave me a significant advantage over all of the newcomers at the start of year 7, and by the end of the year I was really enjoying it – not just German, but learning a language. At the start of year eight, we had the chance to choose electives: to keep German alone, to add either Japanese or French to the mix, to trade German for one of the other two, or to drop languages completely. I tried to convince my teachers to let me keep German and add French and Japanese, to no avail, and had to settle for German and French.
I continued with both throughout high school, and did well, both in class and in various regional and state level competitions. When the topic of VCE (A Levels) subjects came up, German and French were always a part of the discussion. At the end of year 11, I travelled to Germany for the first time, and spent six weeks in Kiel over Christmas in 1998. That trip warrants its own post, but by the time I returned to Melbourne (despite begging my mum to let me do my senior year in Germany), I took on year 12 German with a vengeance, well enough to get me into my number one university course at Monash University. I transferred into the languages program and traded French for Italian after the first year, and graduated with a double major in German and Linguistics in 2004.
From September 2004, I spent a year as a foreign language assistant at a high school in rural south-west Germany, which again warrants its own posts, and this is where I learned to truly love German. Living in the community and speaking it every day – with colleagues, with my landlord and his wife and with everyone else in the town enabled me to transition from German skills learned from a book to fluent German, and I’ve never looked back. A little over two years after I returned from that trip, and with a teaching degree in German and ESL under my belt, I bought myself a one-way ticket to Berlin, and have been living here ever since, with no immediate plans to return to Australia.
And that is how I am both Australian and fluent in German with no germanophone heritage to speak of.
Questions, comments?
Ghosts
Last Sunday, I met a few friends for brunch in Friedrichshain, an area of Berlin I don't usually go to - specifically the area bordered by the S-Bahn and Ringbahn lines and thoroughfares Warschauer Straße and Frankfurter Allee. From where I live, it takes longer and more changes to get to Friedrichshain than almost anywhere else in the city, and I always get lost trying to find addresses. Usually I'm a navigational doyenne, but Friedrichshain's a rabbit warren to me.
There is another reason I don't usually go there. Someone I used to know. We'll leave it at that for the moment. Someone I used to know, and don't particularly want to see again. I know they live and spend a lot of time in this area of Friedrichshain. It's not just that I don't want to go back there because I don't want to see them again, but also that I don't enjoy going back to places which remind me of negative experiences.
After brunch, I walked home from Friedrichshain through Kreuzberg and passed another place I used to visit all the time - an apartment, where I used to spend many a Tuesday evening devouring movies and caramel popcorn with a diverse group of friends. My memories of this place aren't negative - they're positive... but being there makes me a little sad. Several key people within that group have left Berlin, either temporarily or permanently, including the host, and while I enjoy going to that area, my reason for going to that apartment is gone.
There are other areas. An apartment near Sonnenallee - a place I used to spend a lot of time, since a good friend used to live there - someone I used to know. Gropiusstadt and Rudow, suburbs in far south Berlin where I used to teach and live for the first year I lived here. In this case, I don't have to avoid the area - Rudow is so far south that I'm seldom there more than once a year, but even if it were closer, I wouldn't go there.
In the twenty-odd years I lived in Melbourne, it seems I've only acquired a handful of ghosts - mostly around my old high school. But here in Berlin, I have a lot more. More than anything this is a reflection of the difference between life in Melbourne, in my home city, and life in Berlin, as an expat. People come and go here - you develop a good group of friends, then suddenly, two or three move on to other countries or back to their home country, and you have to start over. It can be difficult, but it's something you get used to. It's part of being an expat.
It has its perks though - you have accommodation offers in cities all over the world! :)
There is another reason I don't usually go there. Someone I used to know. We'll leave it at that for the moment. Someone I used to know, and don't particularly want to see again. I know they live and spend a lot of time in this area of Friedrichshain. It's not just that I don't want to go back there because I don't want to see them again, but also that I don't enjoy going back to places which remind me of negative experiences.
After brunch, I walked home from Friedrichshain through Kreuzberg and passed another place I used to visit all the time - an apartment, where I used to spend many a Tuesday evening devouring movies and caramel popcorn with a diverse group of friends. My memories of this place aren't negative - they're positive... but being there makes me a little sad. Several key people within that group have left Berlin, either temporarily or permanently, including the host, and while I enjoy going to that area, my reason for going to that apartment is gone.
There are other areas. An apartment near Sonnenallee - a place I used to spend a lot of time, since a good friend used to live there - someone I used to know. Gropiusstadt and Rudow, suburbs in far south Berlin where I used to teach and live for the first year I lived here. In this case, I don't have to avoid the area - Rudow is so far south that I'm seldom there more than once a year, but even if it were closer, I wouldn't go there.
In the twenty-odd years I lived in Melbourne, it seems I've only acquired a handful of ghosts - mostly around my old high school. But here in Berlin, I have a lot more. More than anything this is a reflection of the difference between life in Melbourne, in my home city, and life in Berlin, as an expat. People come and go here - you develop a good group of friends, then suddenly, two or three move on to other countries or back to their home country, and you have to start over. It can be difficult, but it's something you get used to. It's part of being an expat.
It has its perks though - you have accommodation offers in cities all over the world! :)
Lazy Sunday Afternoon
This weekend is the second of two long weekends in a row in Germany, and as is tradition for Pentecost weekend, the Karneval der Kulturen parade took over western Kreuzberg, from Hermannplatz to Mehringdamm and the surrounding streets. For the last three years, I've watched this parade with various friends, taking photos of the outlandish floats and the dancers in feathered and glittered costumes, drinking capihirinas and strawberry punch all afternoon in the sunshine. This year though, especially since almost all of the friends I had previously visited the festival with had left Berlin, I decided to forgo the crowds of teenagers in skinny jeans and Ray Bans and families trying to push strollers through the hordes of people, and went up to Mauerpark for a spot of karaoke instead.
I've been working on a post on Bearpit Karaoke for a while, but the short version is that between April and November, Dubliner Joe Hatchiban loads his laptop and amplifiers onto his cargo bike and cycles over to the stone amphitheatre in Prenzlauer Berg's Mauerpark for several hours every Sunday afternoon, where Berlin's residents and visitors alike take to the stage and belt out all manner of karaoke classics. From tongue-in-cheek 80s number to Idol wannabes showing off what they can (or can't) do with Whitney and Mariah tracks, and rockers who don't care if they can't sing getting everyone singing along to Queen, AC/DC, Aerosmith and the Stones, there's something for everyone.
In the last few weeks, the fun police known as Berlin's city council has decided that karaoke should be restricted to a mere twelve Sundays per year, rather than every weekend. (There are plenty of German-language articles on it - this is one of the few English-language ones). Either way, watching and paticipating are completely free of charge, and it is one of my favourite ways to while away a Sunday in the sun. Considering this Sunday was one of the rare pre-announced karaoke dates, I had to go.
And that is how I spent my afternoon - in the sunshine at Mauerpark, with a Tyskie in one hand and a pen in the other, listening to Australians, Dutch, Germans and a surprising number of French singing all manner of songs. No one cared if they were in tune - as long as the crowd knew the song and the performer put in some effort, they were unanimously well received.
Toward the end, as people began to leave, I noticed that my favourite seat in the house had become vacant. A hill runs along one side of the park, and along with this being the location of the amphitheatre and a great place to toboggan in winter, there are also several large stand-alone swings along the path, one of which is directly behind the amphitheatre.
These were my favourite moments of yesterday, and possibly of the weekend: swinging high above Mauerpark, the golden sun sinking slowly into the northwest horizon, the sweet smell of heather and shisha on the breeze and the sound of someone belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the stage below.
Bliss.
I've been working on a post on Bearpit Karaoke for a while, but the short version is that between April and November, Dubliner Joe Hatchiban loads his laptop and amplifiers onto his cargo bike and cycles over to the stone amphitheatre in Prenzlauer Berg's Mauerpark for several hours every Sunday afternoon, where Berlin's residents and visitors alike take to the stage and belt out all manner of karaoke classics. From tongue-in-cheek 80s number to Idol wannabes showing off what they can (or can't) do with Whitney and Mariah tracks, and rockers who don't care if they can't sing getting everyone singing along to Queen, AC/DC, Aerosmith and the Stones, there's something for everyone.
In the last few weeks, the fun police known as Berlin's city council has decided that karaoke should be restricted to a mere twelve Sundays per year, rather than every weekend. (There are plenty of German-language articles on it - this is one of the few English-language ones). Either way, watching and paticipating are completely free of charge, and it is one of my favourite ways to while away a Sunday in the sun. Considering this Sunday was one of the rare pre-announced karaoke dates, I had to go.
And that is how I spent my afternoon - in the sunshine at Mauerpark, with a Tyskie in one hand and a pen in the other, listening to Australians, Dutch, Germans and a surprising number of French singing all manner of songs. No one cared if they were in tune - as long as the crowd knew the song and the performer put in some effort, they were unanimously well received.
Toward the end, as people began to leave, I noticed that my favourite seat in the house had become vacant. A hill runs along one side of the park, and along with this being the location of the amphitheatre and a great place to toboggan in winter, there are also several large stand-alone swings along the path, one of which is directly behind the amphitheatre.
These were my favourite moments of yesterday, and possibly of the weekend: swinging high above Mauerpark, the golden sun sinking slowly into the northwest horizon, the sweet smell of heather and shisha on the breeze and the sound of someone belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the stage below.
Bliss.
Bruno Mars and I are now friends
This has never happened to me before. Well, ok, it has, but never in such a short time period.
About a month ago, I posted the following on a social networking site: first, a link to the Bruno Mars track "Marry You" (check it out here), then several comments expressing my disdain and extreme dislike of the song - the idiotic lyrics, the irritating catchiness, my disappointment in the artist for releasing a track like this considering most of his others were tolerable, if not enjoyable. I made it very clear that there was nothing I liked about it. At all.
It was played repeatedly on radio stations in Berlin, which annoyed me no end, and even when I travelled to Australia for my sister's wedding, I could not escape it. Bruno Mars had the local radio stations in the palm of his hand, and this song seemed to be by far the most popular. It drove me up the wall.
Gradually I reached the point where resistance was futile. This has happened before, especially with songs that suit multiple radio stations' playlists. Examples include Nickelback, U2, Snow Patrol, and others. Their music suits the cheesiness of Mix1011, can be played on Fox or Nova (only within the first week of release), are also rock enough to suit TripleM's blokey playlist, and in the case of U2, they have been around long enough to be classified as a "golden oldie".
[Disclaimer: I am in no way admitting to being a Nickelback fan.] Bruno Mars wasn't getting airtime on Triple M or Gold, but Nova, Mix and Fox were playing not only this track but also umpteen others often enough to more than make up for it.
Anyway, as I mentioned, I'd reached a place where I could listen to the entire song without diving for the tuner dial or preset button on the radio, or even lowering the volume. We were civil with each other.
Then came my sister's wedding. The meal was over, the cake had been cut, everyone had had a few drinks and the cheesy dance tracks were coming thick and fast from my sister's iPod playlist. Footloose, various Kylie tracks, stuff I didn't know... then it happened. Bruno Mars. Suddenly it seemed to fit. Everyone was up there: my sister grooving away in her stunning gown, my mum, my cousin carrying her little boy, my other three cousins in their heels and short dresses, and even my aunts and uncles. It had to be done. I knew the melody. I definitely knew the words (from all those forced listenings). I found myself striding in the direction of the dancefloor and before I knew it, I was grooving away and singing along to Bruno Mars "Marry You" like it was my favourite song, having the time of my life, and having conveniently forgotten my previous comments.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I found myself listening to his album for hours on end on the plane ride back, while competing in an in-flight tetris tournament with someone in 13A. Somehow, within the space of a month, I have become a Bruno Mars fan. Ugh... :)
*By the way, I'm back. :)
About a month ago, I posted the following on a social networking site: first, a link to the Bruno Mars track "Marry You" (check it out here), then several comments expressing my disdain and extreme dislike of the song - the idiotic lyrics, the irritating catchiness, my disappointment in the artist for releasing a track like this considering most of his others were tolerable, if not enjoyable. I made it very clear that there was nothing I liked about it. At all.
It was played repeatedly on radio stations in Berlin, which annoyed me no end, and even when I travelled to Australia for my sister's wedding, I could not escape it. Bruno Mars had the local radio stations in the palm of his hand, and this song seemed to be by far the most popular. It drove me up the wall.
Gradually I reached the point where resistance was futile. This has happened before, especially with songs that suit multiple radio stations' playlists. Examples include Nickelback, U2, Snow Patrol, and others. Their music suits the cheesiness of Mix1011, can be played on Fox or Nova (only within the first week of release), are also rock enough to suit TripleM's blokey playlist, and in the case of U2, they have been around long enough to be classified as a "golden oldie".
[Disclaimer: I am in no way admitting to being a Nickelback fan.] Bruno Mars wasn't getting airtime on Triple M or Gold, but Nova, Mix and Fox were playing not only this track but also umpteen others often enough to more than make up for it.
Anyway, as I mentioned, I'd reached a place where I could listen to the entire song without diving for the tuner dial or preset button on the radio, or even lowering the volume. We were civil with each other.
Then came my sister's wedding. The meal was over, the cake had been cut, everyone had had a few drinks and the cheesy dance tracks were coming thick and fast from my sister's iPod playlist. Footloose, various Kylie tracks, stuff I didn't know... then it happened. Bruno Mars. Suddenly it seemed to fit. Everyone was up there: my sister grooving away in her stunning gown, my mum, my cousin carrying her little boy, my other three cousins in their heels and short dresses, and even my aunts and uncles. It had to be done. I knew the melody. I definitely knew the words (from all those forced listenings). I found myself striding in the direction of the dancefloor and before I knew it, I was grooving away and singing along to Bruno Mars "Marry You" like it was my favourite song, having the time of my life, and having conveniently forgotten my previous comments.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I found myself listening to his album for hours on end on the plane ride back, while competing in an in-flight tetris tournament with someone in 13A. Somehow, within the space of a month, I have become a Bruno Mars fan. Ugh... :)
*By the way, I'm back. :)
To be continued...
The time has come.
Kangaroos in Deutschland is going on temporary hiatus.
My decision has nothing to do with creative inspiration or motivation to write: I have at least five or six half-written posts and ideas for a further eight or nine - four of those from the last week alone - and the temptation to curl up on my bed with a mug of tea and a biscuit is very strong. But one thing is preventing me from doing that.
That issue is time. Until about a month ago, I had a lot of it. I worked part-time, and could fill in the rest of the week tutoring, translating, teaching myself Turkish, being a tourist when I wanted to, and writing until my heart was content.
In August however, I applied for a place in a Master's course in linguistics at Humboldt University in Berlin. I was accepted, passed a German language test, and two weeks ago, I started classes. The number of contact hours is relatively low, but the preparation required for each class is enormous. On top of that, it's in German, and my linguistics terminology is not only in English, but also pretty rusty, since I finished my studies in 2004. This means more preparation and revision time.
Considering that I'm still working twenty hours a week at the English language school, I don't have a lot of time left over. I've had to stop the weekly voluntary tutoring I was doing at a local library, helping school kids (primarily with Turkish and Lebanese background) with their English and German homework. I've also had to stop tutoring a friend's son on Saturdays: I miss the cash, and the tutoring itself, but I just don't have the time for the travel or the tutoring.
The ideas will keep coming, and I'll keep writing them down, storing them up for the Christmas holidays and the semester break in March, but until then, they're going to have to remain ideas, and I'll do my very best to resist the urge to flesh them out until I can justify spending the time on something other than university work.
I just hope it's possible to snap-freeze creative motivation... and that it doesn't have a defrost-by-date. Guess we'll find out.
Until then...
Kangaroos in Deutschland is going on temporary hiatus.
My decision has nothing to do with creative inspiration or motivation to write: I have at least five or six half-written posts and ideas for a further eight or nine - four of those from the last week alone - and the temptation to curl up on my bed with a mug of tea and a biscuit is very strong. But one thing is preventing me from doing that.
That issue is time. Until about a month ago, I had a lot of it. I worked part-time, and could fill in the rest of the week tutoring, translating, teaching myself Turkish, being a tourist when I wanted to, and writing until my heart was content.
In August however, I applied for a place in a Master's course in linguistics at Humboldt University in Berlin. I was accepted, passed a German language test, and two weeks ago, I started classes. The number of contact hours is relatively low, but the preparation required for each class is enormous. On top of that, it's in German, and my linguistics terminology is not only in English, but also pretty rusty, since I finished my studies in 2004. This means more preparation and revision time.
Considering that I'm still working twenty hours a week at the English language school, I don't have a lot of time left over. I've had to stop the weekly voluntary tutoring I was doing at a local library, helping school kids (primarily with Turkish and Lebanese background) with their English and German homework. I've also had to stop tutoring a friend's son on Saturdays: I miss the cash, and the tutoring itself, but I just don't have the time for the travel or the tutoring.
The ideas will keep coming, and I'll keep writing them down, storing them up for the Christmas holidays and the semester break in March, but until then, they're going to have to remain ideas, and I'll do my very best to resist the urge to flesh them out until I can justify spending the time on something other than university work.
I just hope it's possible to snap-freeze creative motivation... and that it doesn't have a defrost-by-date. Guess we'll find out.
Until then...
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