Things I both love and hate about Berlin: boys

Courtesy of "A Softer World"

Christ on a bike. Men.

Since the Breakup of Doom with The Boy I’ve not exactly shied away from the single life.

Goddamnit, I deserved a bit of fun after that clusterfuck!

If I’m honest, I’ve never in my adult been single before. I flitted from one relationship to another from the age of 16 to 19 when I met Paul the Ex Husband and was in a committed relationship then marriage with him for 7 years. After him there was The Boy and July 2009 was the first time since in 10 years that I had been really, properly single.

It’s been quite a shock to the system.

Aside from the marriage, the divorce and the relationship from hell, since I moved to Berlin, it’s been a progression of no-strings fun, some-strings fun, dating to now a relationship. It’s taken 4 months to get me from suicidal to “ready for a relationship” (if, indeed, I am) and I finally gave up on The Boy in every sense. It’s really hard work stopping loving someone, but at least I know it can be done.

So, for your delectation and delight, here are my thoughts on my experiences with Boys in Berlin.

 

No-Strings Fun.

Ahahahahahaha. Ha.

No. Such. Fucking. Thing.

So, you go out and you meet a good-looking, confident guy who seems ideal for the task at hand:  arrogant, in no way interested in a relationship, hot and knows it, and someone with whom you have next to nothing in common. Perfect. All the better if he’s moving to Azerbaijan next week.

You get pissed enough to fake some confidence yourself and you pick him up. Yup. YOU pick HIM up. Let’s be clear.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, let’s say he doesn’t in fact move to Azerbaijan and then you have to look him in the eye each and every time you pass him in public.

Even worse if, let’s say, just for example, it wasn’t that great.

Then not only do you have the mental anguish of  “oh God! Why did that happen? Did he not find me hot? Is it me? Am I a disgusting, hag of a woman”.

Let’s then, hypothetically combine that with seeing the guy around all the time, hitting on other, hotter women and agree that maybe one-night-stands are not, whilst empowering, everything they’re cracked up to be.

 

Some-Strings Sex

Also known as the Fuckbuddy, or Friend With Benefits.

This can easily start off as the example above and move into murkier territory. Perhaps you had some stuff in common with this guy, and he did in fact seem interested in you as a human being. You realised that with or without sex you could be friends and, hell, why not throw the sex in there too to sweeten the deal?

Except it really, really doesn’t work that way.

Ok, in my experience you can get away with it two, maybe three times before one of two things happens:

1 – you go off each other/meet someone else/get bored

2- one of you Gets Attached.

Oh, god help you if you get attached. It’s at this point you start to think “Hang on just a minute… this looks like a relationship, has all the same stuff a relationship has.. maybe…. maybe…”

But NO! Bad girl! No biscuit! In your bed! (Alone, preferably)

It is NOT a relationship, and if you think it is, you’re in it all by yourself. If it really were a relationship at some point both of you would have said “I don’t want to do this with anybody else, let’s be exclusive”.

The signs of a relationship are clear: you agree you’re in a relationship.

If that is not the case, and you have feelings? Out, get out!

 

Dating

Ah, now, dating. More complex by far than the options above.

At least both No- and Some-strings sex start out with the assumption that there are no expectations.

However, dating implies you’ve both agreed you are interested in one another and possibly for more than sex, otherwise you’d just cut out the food/movie/drinks part and go have sex, right?

Dating is a minefield of hopes, expectations and fears. You don’t know the other person well enough to ask what they think of you, so you have to guess. If you liked them, you’re worried about whether they want to meet again or did you make a total arsehole of yourself?

If you were the one not into it, how the hell do you let them down gently? How many dates before sex? And that one works both ways – many women feel that after a certain number of dates they almost owe sex. Now, that’s not healthy, but I guarantee you most of us feel that way. After two dates, really, there’s an expectation you’ll have sex and it takes a strong girl to resist the weight of expectation.

Then there’s what happens if you’ve been on dates but decided not to go out. Does that or does that not warrant a Clarification Discussion? Or do you just let it die?

Man, I hate dating. No more of that, please.

 

Relationships

Aaaaaahhhh. Nice, comforting, sensible relationships. Safe, wonderful respite from the evil world of Single Uncertainty…

WRONG.

Oh, the insecurity. Oh, the worrying.

Especially if, like me, you are A) Mental, and B) recently clusterfucked.

So, you finally met somebody you like enough to call your boyfriend, and they seem to like you too, wonder of wonders.

It’s amazing.

Its happy and wonderful and exciting and simple. At first.

Then it gets scary – you could get hurt again, like last time. You could hurt them, which would be almost as bad. Can they or you be trusted?

I’m like this dog

A pain-in-the-ass, scared, needy, animal welfare issue.

What can you do?

Nothing. Ride it out. Hope for the best. Learn from your mistakes.

But whatever happens, I’m thoroughly done with dating.

The upside of down

Personally, I think I have a mild form of Bipolar disorder. When I am down, I am DOWN. There’s no getting out of it: it’s like being hit around the head with a big, dirty raincloud, the type that would exist above Beijing, say.

But the way it works for me is that I have, of every 7 days or so, 2-4 days of DOWN, 1-2 days of being on the way down, and 1-3 days of being fucking amazing.

Today, I feel fucking amazing.

I can’t write you a good post because when I feel like this I just want to sing around the place and do stuff, or even if I’m not doing stuff, I’m just enjoying not feeling like shit.

It is the one blessing of the whole mental illness malarky – I really, REALLY have a basis for comparison. I really know what happy can feel like because I really, REALLY know what sad can feel like.

It’s not quite worth it, but it’s compensation of a sort

Autumn Leaves

Bats are falling out of the night sky, fluttering and crashing to the ground: wet and sloppy, dry and crispy bats describing various, unwholesome trajectories to the ground.

The wet ones crash suddenly, slappily, sticking to car windows, bike tyres, upturned faces. They are kamikaze corpses, smacking into any flat surface too slow or too stationary to move aside. Their slick and slippery vengeance is taken for the crime of being under them when they fell, and they adhere to the perpetrators like guilt.

The dry ones float crazily, spinning and whispering, bullied by the wind currents that the wet ones refused to be dictated to by. Watching them whilst travelling is an invitation to disaster and injury: their route is unpredictable, unknowable and too beguiling to watch.

So many are falling, more each night, that every bike ride and walk in the rainy, windy evening is a bat-corpse slalom, the strangest dodge-game I’ve ever played at night, in Berlin

Things I like about Berlin: Living Alone

In some respects I could be regarded as a person who has been independent for a long time. I moved away from my parents’ house when I was 16 and went to boarding school in Edinburgh for 2 years before returning to Inverness to live in my first flatshare. After that I went to university in Newcastle, then Edinburgh where I met and moved in with my ex-husband. I got my degree, my marriage certificate and my post-grad, got divorced, got my heart broken and moved to Berlin, all by the time I was 26.

You can, and probably have, looked at that in one of two ways:

a) I’ve done alot of stuff quite quickly

b) I’ve fucked up alot of stuff quite quickly

Anyway.

The one thing I hadn’t done thus far was lived alone. I’ve lived in a boarding school, university accomodation, flatshares and a marital home, but this is my first, official home of my own.

Ok, I don’t own it. And, ok, none of the furniture or contents actually belong to me. But, I pay the rent and the bills by myself and when the heating fucks up I’m the one who has to deal with it. In German.

When my ex and I split up I never wanted to live with any random people again. A co-habitation relationship is one thing, iI miss alot of stuff about that, but a flatshare is different – I hate other people’s dishes, and hearing the sound of the key in the lock when you’re having a cosy night in on the sofa. I hate noticing somebody finished the last of the milk and didn’t buy any to replace it. I hate coming home to questions about where I’ve been, who I was with and lengthy stories about somebody else’s crappy day. I also hate the subtle or not so subtle judgement of flatmates about the fact that maybe I chose not to leave my room all day, or I’ve just eaten nutella on bread for dinner AGAIN.

Living alone offers a really liberating opportunity to do exactly what the fuck I like for a change, even if it’s only within these 52 square meters. And if somebody finished the milk I can only be so pissed off, because it was definitely me.

Of course, there are things I miss about living with somebody else, like watching TV with somebody or having somebody right there to share your day’s stories with, but I’ve had that for 26 years and the pay off of true independence is worth a little bit of loneliness from time to time.

So, I’m off to sit around in my pants and eat Nutella from the spoon.

Later, suckers

Back to work

This is my first job since the end of May.

I gave up my crappy gym job partly because if I didn’t I was going to end up taking somebody out with one of the dumb-bells and partly because I had accepted ajob with the police, working in the cells.

I’d been thinking about joining the police for months and had gotten pretty far in my application for the volunteer police (Special Constabulary), but sadly my terrible eyesight and history of depression had seen me rejected at the last minute.

Working as a custody security officer seemed like a nice way to be involved in the force in at least a minor way. However,  right after accepting the offer, I was offered this teaching post in Berlin.

Choosing between Berlin and Livingston…not that hard. Not that easy either, mind you because I knew if I left the The Boy and I would be over. However, even at the time I knew that was sort of the aim of applying in the first place: to put a pillow over the face of our relationship, like euthanising a dog with terminal cancer, which just lingers on and on, crapping itself, slowly starving and starting to smell.

However. I digress.

When I was offered the job here I had already handed in my notice with the gym and had to tell the police, with whom I should have started straight away, that I wasn’t coming any more. And I found myself unemployed for 3 months.

At first it was great. I was knackered from trying to sell the house, the separation with The Ex (Husband), had hated working at the gym and wanted to chill out, say goodbye to people, and spend what time I could with The Boy while there was still time.

By August I was bored out of my brain. Ok, the heinous break up with The Boy in July did pass the time to an extent; dreading the move made the time fly;  going out of my mind totally put being unemployed in context

Look on the bright side, that’s what my mum says.

Every cloud, etc.

The first 3 weeks of August were just a big Berlin holiday – in amongst the secret crying and missing of  The Boy, I made some awesome friends, built a social circle, found a flat, set myself up with bank accounts etc and started getting to know the city, so now that work has begun again, I feel well and truly out of the World of Work.

I miss not having to talk to people all day if I don’t want to and being able to stay up all night if I want to. Ok, I miss being a directionless bum: I admit it.

But it’s good to have a little structure, I admit that too.

The Sunday night feeling of  “Sigh. Work” had become unfamiliar but, what do you know, I think it’s back…

Oh well, only 5 days till Friday

Einschulung

In Berlin, the primary 1’s/ erste Klasse/first graders, whatever you want to call them, start a week later than years 2 upwards giving the rest of the school a little bit more time to settle in before unleashing this world of uncertainty and change on the poor little bastards.

Before they come on that first Monday (which for me is next Monday), they come on Saturday to a small ceremony called the Einschulung, which is to let the first grade see their new class, meet the bigger pupils and the teachers. There might be songs, speeches and a gathering afterwards. In our school, they will also go to their new classroom, sing a few songs, have a story and open their Schuletüten -’ school cones’.

Random cone filled with sweeties and school things: kids go crazy for them here

No, I’d never heard of them either.

But, it’s a Big Fucking Deal here in Germany – almost as exciting as a Christmas stocking.

Anyway, at the moment I’m much like a first grader, everything is new, lots of uncertainty, change and excitment. And, like a first grader, I’mfucking knackered at the end of the day and often in dire need of a reasurring cuddle. Sadly, my mum is nowhere around and the only other person up to the job resigned.

So, unlike most first graders I’m doing my best to do my own comforting.

And the beer helps, so that’s a bonus.

Ha- fuck you, cute 6 year olds- no Heffeweizen for you!

Look on the bright side, eh? Perhaps what I really need is a nice, quiet story, a bit of quality time with a colouring in book and some playdough and I’ll be right as rain?

Either that or I should introduce Weizebier for the kids….

Things I hate about Berlin 1

Wasps

The little bastards are EVERYWHERE.

In my ears, in my drink, in my face.

There is one, right now, trying to figure out how to infiltrate my fortress of an upturned saucer sitting on top of my apple  juice,like some sort of fruit-juice stealing Ronny Biggs. Except waspy.

It should have been immediately apparent to me that this was no one-off summer wasp invasion as soon as I arrived andsaw how Germans deal with wasps.

The best way to describe this is in direct comparison to how Brits deal with wasps:

“Oh my God, it’s a wasp! AAaaaaargh! Aaaah! There’s a a motherfucking wasp! I’M GOING TO DIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!! Run, everybody, save yourselves! No, leave the children, just GO!

AAAAAAAARRRRGGGH!”

Ok, I can’t deny that this is not also how i feel. When one of the little fuckers starts buzzing around my ears, or investigating my books, or trying to eat my smoked-salmon bagel or, crime of crimes, stealing my beer, inside I utterly freak out. In fact, just as I typed that, one landed on my toe and I bit both my lips and uttered a tiny “Mmm!” like somebody might inadvertantly do upon seeing, say, a lion at the edge of their garden. This is a major step forward for me: probably nobody even heard that one.

But I’m no way close to dealing with the situation in a German way. They are so used to constant wasp invasions that they completely ignore them. I have seen a German letting a wasp crawl along his lip without so much as batting as eyelid. The children, too, mostly inherit their parents’ wasp-ignoring attitudes, rarely dissolving into hysteria When Wasps Attack.

I have rarely felt so judged and non-European as when I was in a cafe last week, and having ignored the wasps’ increasingly invasive attentions for a good 45 minutes I decided to go in and make good my escape. As I paid, a particularly persistent little bastard flew right into my ear, causing me to do the “I’m-a-big-Jessie-flappy-flappy-dance”.

“God, I hate wasps!” I said, in pseudo-German (also known as Denglish)

The tall, blonde, leggy, Germanic goddess of a waitress looked at me with infinite distain and said in perfect, ice-cold English.

“Yes, well, it is August. It is Berlin. And try not to be scared: they can smell your fear…”

Hmm….

Thanks.

Things I like about Berlin 2

The Summer Lifestyle

Here in Berlin, in Summer they live a totally different lifestyle to that which I am used to.

Wait.

Sorry. I’m going too fast, aren’t I.

“Summer“: This is a season which is, in many countries warm and dry and comes both before and after Winter. Usually it is also preceded and followed by seasons known as “Spring” and “Autumn”.

In my country, Scotland, we have only one season, known as “Dreich”, or “Minging”. It stands in place of all the above seasons and is typified by being mostly cloudy and wet. At certain times of the year the cloudy wetness becomes warmer or colder, and there may or may not be longer breaks in the clouds to allow through some sunshine.

The arrival of said sunshine will cause the native Scots to erupt into paroxysms of joy and clothing removal in order to get as much of it on their skins as possible. If they are very lucky, they may even, through prolonged exposure (anything over 1 day) succeed in changing their skin tone from “Hypothermia Blue” (Dulux colour sample 125) to “Translucent White with patches of Lobster Red”, which is a rather cheery combo.

Anyway, here it seems that they have four distinct seasons, and I’ve pitched up near the end of the nice, hot one – Summer.

And God I love it.

I by no means pretend to understand the German psyche, but I have noticed that they are accustomed enough to hot weather to actively want to avoid it from time to time. Today it is 32 degrees (and it’s nearly September! I’m in heaven!) and the few Germans I know are seeking shelter, staying out of the sun because it’s too hot. I’m not there yet: I still have the UK mentality that sunshine is a precious commodity not to be wasted, and if it’s out there, so am I. Wearing as few clothes as I can get away with..

(Incidentally, remind me to come back to my admiration of the German attitude to the human body and nudity).

Because they have a long hot summer season, they have lots of things which they can do outdoors. They have an extremely prolific cafe culture which, to me, is only improved by the fact that they all front onto the street with outside tables and large removable windows: here’s where I am right now, for instance:

(The woman who owns this cafe is lovely: she lets me fumble around in German when I want to practise even though she speaks perfect English, and it must be torture for her)

The coffees are cheap, they do nice juice and lovely cheap food and I could quite happily sit for hours reading in the window. According to fantastically sarcastic blog Ich Werde Ein Berliner, that is totally appropriate.

Into the same category fall Biergartens – where better to be on a hot night than an outdoor pub with lots of trees and booths that sell various combinations of Meat On Bread. Awesome.

In the Summer evenings in Berlin there are three Freiluftkinos, which are open air cinemas that show films once it gets dark.

They have benches or little grassy knolls where you can lay out a blanket and drink a beer, and whilst some the technical bits and pieces in the film I watched, may not have met The Boy’s (a projectionist) exacting standards, mine are much lower so I was happy enough. Admittedly, however, going to see a really, really boring French film dubbed into German may have been a mistake.

Such a thing just couldn’t exist in Scotland. You couldn’t have something like that set up for 3 months for several reasons: mainly that idiot fucknuts would scratch or graffiti the screen for something to do when they were pissed, and that it would get rained off every night anyway.

It’s rained once since I’ve been here. Once. Know why? Because it’s Summer. And it doesn’t rain much in Summer. Because it’s Summer and that’s not what Summer is supposed to be like, apparently. Who knew?!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know it’s not like this all year here- Winters are proper Winters: last December it was -17C in Berlin, so I’m aware it’s not all Biergartens and Freiluftkinos. The thing is the Germans are aware of this too so they make the most of it when they can. In the wider area of Berlin are several freshwater lakes which the inhabitants of the city go to to escape the heat and get some outdoor exercise whilst they can.

Last Sunday I visited Liepnizsee with some friends to swim in the lake and it was one of the most refreshing experiences of my life.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to grow up with that as normal- for me it was such a treat to be able to swim in such a beautiful, clean lake in this heat and if I wanted to, I could go there for free every weekend during the summer.

Outdoor exercise for Europeans who experience proper seasons appears to be very important- they make hay while the sun shines: kayaking; swimming; running; hiking,cycling; sailing. I intend to jump right on the back of that particular bandwagon as long as the weather remains nice.

To experience such a change in climate and culture is in some ways unexpected: since I’m only a £40 Ryanair flight away. If I wanted to I could be home in 2 hours to meet you for dinner, and I’m actually looking forward to seeing what Berlin Autumns, Winters and Springs are like.

Perhaps I’ll like them just as much.

Also, warum sind Sie hier in Berlin?

It’s a question I get asked quite alot, I suppose because many people have interesting stories about it being their dream location, or their partner moved here, or they studied German/politics/architecture/art/the psychology of post-war schnitzel consumption or something and so Berlin has for them a special significance.

I quite envy those people: their decision to come here seems often to have been based on positivity, optimism and a sense of adventure which I feel is sorely lacking in my decision making process.

I came here because I was totally fucked up on a number of levels and I didn’t have any better ideas. How do you even say that in German?!

I got divorced, had a job I hated, fell in love with/at somebody and got my ass kicked (emotionally) for it so came here to lick my wounds in peace.

Google-translate gives me this:

Ich geschieden, hatte eine Arbeit, die ich gehasst, verliebte sich in / an jemanden und bekam meinen Arsch getreten (emotional) für so kam hier, um meine Wunden lecken in Frieden.

Even using the same programme to translate it back I get:

“I am divorced, had a job I hated, fell in love with / to someone and got my ass underfoot (emotionally) for, then came here to lick my wounds in peace.”

I don’t know about you, but I suspect the grammar may, at the very least, be questionable, and anyway: nobody wants to hear about me getting my ass “underfoot”.

It’s just too depressing.

So what do I say?

I usually say I came here for work because I have a friend in the city and leave it at that.

The fact of the matter is, running away 800 miles or so will never be far enough away to create an instant solution, because my thoughts insist on coming with me, try as I might to encourage them to take a break through liberal application of alkeehawl and social events with new people.

I remain todunglücklich, beschädigt und Herz-gebrochen although I’m a whole shitload happier here than I was in Edinburgh, but I still don’t know how to move on for the best and make this a life which isn’t always going to be about something a bit sad.

I have moved a great many times in my life, and I’ve always previously cut myself off from my past entirely, usually over a pretty quick period. It’s innate I think, because I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.

This time, I feel like I’ve taken bits and pieces of feelings and relationships that don’t belong to me here by mistake in my luggage, and that I left very important parts of me behind, in the care of people who don’t even know they’re there, like unopened letters hidden in a piece of furniture destined for the dump.

I’d like to create a life which keeps the best bits and the best people of the life I left behind, but which builds on it and so my life and me are all the better for it.

I want more, not less but I’m not sure it can be done, and I don’t know where to start.

Things I like about Berlin 1

So I have to say,  just over 1 week into my epic German adventure, initial reports are positive. So far I really like Berlin- every day I notice something about it which is way cooler than life at home, provided I set aside the ever present issue of not being able to ask anybody anything about what the hell is going on because I don’t speak German well enough.

Time for a series of short posts about things which I like about Berlin, beginning with:

Bikes

In Edinburgh I was, for a time, a fairly militant cyclist. I cycled everywhere, at high speed, in padded shorts and had gadgets on my fairly nice bike and generally asserted myself over cars wherever possible.

Bike riding in Berlin is, for some, just the same. I’ve seen a few hardened cyclists zooming around on fixed-gear racing bikes, lycra-wrapped thighs pounding away, a sense of steely determination in their eyes.

However, this is not the norm. Most people ride bikes like these:

They ride them on the pavement, in the cycle lanes (which are everywhere), on the roads, but wherever they ride them they mostly ride them slowly. This suits me, as this bike only goes slowly.

Everybody has a bike and it genuinely is one of the best ways to get around – Berlin’s pretty flat, and the cycle lanes are extensive and well-maintained, so I was pleased to make this purchase, all by myself from the Flohmarkt am Mauer Park (Flea market) for 50 Euros.

Admittedly, the bike and I have had difficulties adjusting to our new relationship, as evidenced by these near-mortal wounds caused by a scratchy bit on the chain cover

Given time, I reckon we’ll work out our differences. Either that or I’ll take a metal-file to her till she settles down.