Taken By a Stranger

This weekend, from England to Azerbaijan, Europeans tuned in for "Eurovision" as they have done for twenty-some-odd years. Eurovision is kind of like American Idol, except for you have a musical act, usually a soloist or duet, representing each country. I had no idea what a huge deal it was until Friday morning when I saw my shopping list for the party Wolfram and Maeve were hosting Saturday night. It would not have seemed so daunting if I had not been out so late the night before, celebrating the visit of my good friend Peter, who has been teaching English in Austria for the past two years, and who I have only had the pleasure of seeing a handful of times since we got back from Munich. I did not feel hungover until I saw the list. It was a first class spread of wine, beer, hors d'oeuvres, and cheeses; in fact, I ordered so much cheese at the cheese counter, that the cheese lady argued with me about how much cheese I would cheese, I mean, need. Typical know-it-all German, although she ended up being right, as is typical with throwing a good party, you always end up with way too much food. Now I am feasting on left-over Bree and cookies.


The party was complete with a disco ball, projector, and randomly assigned name tags representing every country and their contestant. I had the Ukraine with a harsh looking, blonde, Avril Lavigne type. The music that is sung for Eurovision is, how do you say, awful. They are pop ballads, mostly in English, sung by people in increasingly stranger attire. The Moldavian group, a five piece rock band (I guess you could call it that), all wore extremely tall pointy hats that made them look like gnomes. Twin brothers with hyperbolic Vanilla Ice haircuts and red leather jackets with shoulder pads from the not too distant future (from an 80's science fiction perspective) represented Ireland. Germany, which one last year, was represented by a sultry brunette with dark eye make up who sang a song called "Taken by a Stranger" which sounded suspiciously like it was about being abducted by a sexual predator as sung by someone with Stockholm Syndrome. I did not want to leave the party, but Peter had people to visit and, not knowing when I would see my friend again, I went out with him into the city around eleven. Such was the commotion for Eurovision that bars with TV's had crowds spilling out into the streets to the point that they obstructed traffic. We gave up on trying to watch the results, and settled in to a table outside of a bar that happened to serve beer on tap from Kloster Andechs, a monastery about an hour outside Munich that I visited a couple of times. We had some wonderful conversation and savored the night into the early hours of the morning. All the grownups of the house had quite a night, and were all rather quiet the next day.


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The past couple of weeks I have begun to take language courses to refresh my very rusty German language skills. Two days a week from 8:45-13:00 I exercise my brain. The timing of my arrival was not good for registration, most classes were full and I have to go to Reinickendorf, a suburb on the northern edge of Berlin that is a 30 minute commute (if I time it just right) that involves a subway and a bus. I went out there one day before class started to figure out how long it would take me and to ensure I would not be late on my first day of class. The building was a bit difficult to find because it was not directly on the street, but back behind some other buildings. At first I though I must be in the wrong place because the side of the building closes to the street had a sign that said "American Western Saloon." I did not know there were other types of saloons that required such specification for this particular establishment. I soon figured out that this was sort of a multi-purpose civic center (Bürgeramt) that included the saloon and an adult education center (Volkshochschule), that was my destination. Next to it is an indoor swimming hall full of kids, a commie apartment building, and an old-folks home. My reconnaissance excursion fell on a Saturday, when a miniature Eastern European flea market was bustling in the courtyard outside. Among the quality items featured were designer handbags for 10 Euros, but something tells me that deal was too good to be true.


I have wondered since arriving where all the elderly people in Berlin are, apparently they are in Reinickendorf along with a lot of Poles and South East Asians. My class has an interesting mix of people. There is a thirty-something male teacher from Turkey, a slightly younger Spanish man studying business, a reverend and father of four from Nigeria who looks 25 but is actually nearly twice that age (black truly don't crack, apparently), a young mother from Cameroon preparing for study at a German university, a student from South Korea who speaks in a tone so modest she is barely audible at times, a young Romanian newly-wed whose husband works at a Mercedes factory and talks a mile-a-minute, and an American smart-ass. The course days are split between a couple of really nice German gals, although I did not appreciate one of them telling me not to slouch on the second day--I'm a grown man, I'll slouch if I please, especially during a four-hour-long grammar course. 


During my long expeditions out to Reinickensdorf I have had a chance to amuse myself with the public service announcements that the transit authority of Berlin posts on the subway reminding the residents of their communitarian responsibilities. Some of my favorite slogans include:


"Your cell phone is not a loud-speaker!"


"The subway is not a dining car!"


"Loud music in your head phones: not only is is bad for your hearing, but it is inconsiderate of your neighbors!"


"For those with excess baggage, please do not molest your neighbors!" (with your copious baggage, that is)


I also enjoy when they make announcements in English as well as German, for example, when you reach the end of the line, "This train terminates here" said in a tone that suggests that the train will immediately be driven into a steel smelter and melted down into a new subway car, so you better get off. Considering that they are cleaned multiple times a day, they might as well be melted down and made anew.


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The weather has turned rather sour here the past few days, last week's heat and humidity has given way to cold winds and rain. I have been able to get the kids out to the park a little bit, and I will leave you with a picture of them playing in the sand with some other children's' toys at the famous Teutoburger Platz. I don't feel so bad about borrowing toys from other children after an incident last week. I went to pick up Daire from his day care one day, and found a little backpack hanging on his peg that I had not seen before but that he indicated was his and was excited to put on and bring home. Upon his mother's arrival home later that day, she asked me where the backpack was from, and I discovered that I had stolen the backpack of a small child. I also deduced that this probably resulted in a hysterical fit by this unknown child, making someone's life temporarily very difficult. I could not help but laugh. 


Till next week!