Hats off Ellen, bye bye Friedrich!

Holy Macaroni, what a week this was!

Here are my favourite bits from the interwebs. My week and maybe a tiny weeny bit of your week in a nutshell. A special message from me to one person who had to leave the public interest: Don't be sad Hans-Peter, a multi-national company will hire you. And Seehofer will take care of you in your warm CSU nest. Ok, enough said. Here we go:

How to do a German accent

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„You may want to do this because you’re in a play or want to impress your friends“ 

Yes, these are convincing reasons to do a German accent whilst speaking English. I, for example, do that all the time. But I have to work on that because people keep on asking me where I come from when I’m speaking English.

Thinking of moving to another country? Move to another planet!

In an earlier post I whinged about my constant thoughts of moving away from Berlin. Away means for me to another country. But what did I dare to whinge! There are 200.000 people who want to leave mother earth. Forever. And ever ever. 

My E5 Hackney

I almost forgot about this video. It shows my drug hell house, a really nice café called "Dreyfus" (go there! http://www.dreyfuscafe.co.uk/), the soap that will forever remind me of my druggie flatmate, because he used to buy exactly that brand (you need clean hands for your needle) and lovely Mare Street down to Hackney Central. I made these snippets when I was back in Britain. In case you missed my odd feelings about that trip, catch up here.

https://t.co/SvL9Qx4UWH
— Laura Varriale (@LrVrrl) 16. Dezember 2013

Every time I’m thinking of leaving Berlin, comes a weekend and...

…I decide to stay.

During the last weeks - well, since September to be more accurate - I’ve been getting constant flashbacks from London. I know, I know. It’s normal to think of what happened exactly one year ago. But with another degree to end soon and a highly competitive job market (listen to the people who say “don’t go into journalism unless you’re in the countryside and happy with local association stories”) the question evolves whether to stay in Berlin or not.

It might be the Berlin winter issue. It’s horrible in the winter here. GDR buildings greyer than grey, cold wind piping through the streets and the weird and awful moisture on trams. But is it that?

Do I need a change of scenery? I had that already in London and was not too sad to come back. What am I complaining about? Berlin is hip, comparatively cheap and I can sit every morning in a café without feeling the social pressure to work during office hours, because everyone else in the café bumming around is either a freelancer, unemployed or an unemployed freelancer. (Yes and some are existentialistic hedonistic pensioners)

So I shouldn’t feel bad about hopping from one job to another and complaining about money. No one has it. Even the city itself. Or is it the quarter-life-crisis? Naaah, I don’t think so. Besides some stuff I really like my life. Poor but sexy. What are they then, these constant doubts?

Maybe I should ask the question the other way around: why am I not leaving Berlin? Hell yes, that’s a brilliant thought. This is an easy answer: Because Berlin centres its beauty on the evenings and weekends. No it’s not at all about Berghain and booze. It’s about the people. For more than one hundred years, the city has been a magnet to all sorts of people. It’s the spirit of the night that brings these interesting people and me together. As I am mostly out and about at the weekend, it’s the weekend that saves my love for Berlin. Thank you weekend.

You probably find a lot of fascinating people everywhere (maybe not in Hanover) but the density is very high here. Of course I met great people in London, but they are rather split up between their E5, N1 and E2s.

Aaah, everything’s fine. I will put this post on the wall and read it out loud on weekdays before going to bed. My personal Lord’s prayer. Let’s light a candle for the city. Amen.

Back from being back

I should have read Irvine Welsh before I moved there. In “Porno” Sick Boy describes my old neighbourhood exactly. I should have known better.

I recently went back to lovely London. It was great. The city showed off its beauty. I strolled around places that shaped my London experience. My old neighbourhood in Hackney for example. That was a tricky rebound. I liked my house and my neighbours. I hated my flat and my flatmate. Some of you will know and experienced it yourselves. The flat was - exceptthe bathroom, kitchen and doors (you could slip your two hands under them) - fine. I even had double-glazed windows (!) and a pet. Sadly, the windows were so badly installed that the curtains moved when it was windy outside and the pet was a mouse. I heard also a rat running beneath the walls. But it was alright. That’s London.

Surviving my flatmate and his habits was my everyday challenge. First I thought that he was a nice guy and we would get on. I wasn’t really interested in being best friends so I didn’t think much of the rejection of my invite for a beer on my moving in day as an omen for this living nightmare. But as time went by I recognised the sweet smell coming under the door every evening. And through the blinds of the window hole in the wall from the kitchen to his room. No it wasn’t a scented candle.

“That’s not upgrading his IQ, but fine with me”, I thought, having a Greenpeace history. A few months passed with some of his strange weekend benders ending at the flat with friends and a dog called “Chaos”. I was a bit pissed off with them, because they turned techno music on at 4 am and pooed the bathroom so well… full that I rather had a shower at the gym than home. Plus the gas was constantly empty, anyway. I made a few remarks that he must have had fun and that I could hear the music. I didn’t want to be the boring flatmate. I had a reputation to defend. I’m from Berlin.

-       “Do you know Berghain?”

-        “Yes.”

-       “Man, I love that city. The nightlife”

-       “Yes it’s fun”

-        “When I was there, I went to clubs until the morning and slept the whole day and went clubbing again. Berlin is so great!”

-       “Well Berlin has some other things to offer too”

-       “Yeah, do you know Simon-Dach-Straße? I went there!”

This was probably the longest conversation we ever had after I moved in.

Last December he met a girl. The weekend benders (Thursday to Monday) were then relocated to home, evacuated on Saturdays to a techno car park rave. Orders from the dealer were made at home: “I need some hash, ex and ketamine”. One point I found an empty bottle of methadone in the kitchen. When telling that in a pub to friends I was comforted with the comment: “At least he’s doing something against it”. Well, that doesn’t help me when the flat smells of fart, alcohol, sweat, shit and spots of blood in the basin. But the worst was the music. I cannot listen to any techno anymore. It hurts. Weeks of sleep deprivation imprinted my mind in disgust with this genre. I live in Berlin. The London experience has decreased my clubbing options in this city tremendously.

Of course I complained. I tried. But how do you get through to someone who’s never sober, always on uppers or downers? The neighbours didn't manage it, either.

You ask yourself why I stayed there for almost half a year? Because it was bloody cheap for London prices. Yes, I paid the same amount for my flat in Berlin for the room in hipster-Hackney. But hey, that’s a reasonable price!

That I never got my deposit back goes without saying.

Hackney Downs. I tried you and, no thank you. I rather enjoy my Kiez.

Back in Britain

This is how a proper supermarket stroll looks like. I was craving these products for almost half a year. Still not satisfied.

https://t.co/8GRoSvI6xm
— Laura Varriale (@LrVrrl) September 5, 2013