Men Day 2015 Part 2

Jenny and I downed a few grenadine-heavy tequila sunrises and around 11:30 decided to go out. The boys' cell phones had died several hours before but we could predict where they would end up -- the Alte Kantine in Kulturbrauerei, a large building complex that formerly housed a brewery (hence the name Brauerei). Now it houses several clubs, small businesses, and a couple restaurants. Alte Kantine is a favorite of the boys because of quite a few reasons that keep them coming back week after week after week, despite the dozens of amazing clubs that provide Berlin its famous nightlife:

• cheap 5 euro entrance and hardly any line
• reasonable drink prices (3 eur beers, 6-7 eur rum & cokes, 1 eur shooters)
• partygoers are in their mid 20s - because no one wants to go out and party with 16 year olds just able to get into clubs
• big dance floor and good mix of music. The DJ normally plays a few songs from one genre and switches to another one; so you'll hear Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears, then a few German pop songs, then a few rap songs, then some modern pop songs, and maybe even some good ol' 90s grunge rock after that
• not really any electro music, which the boys don't really like for an entire evening anyway, and which ensures that drugs in the club are at a minimum

So we could predict with 90% certainty that Olli and Mario would be heading to Alte Kantine some time that night, if they were still coherent enough to decide they even wanted to go out. Remember, they had been drinking for about 12 hours by this time.

She and I went to a dive bar in Prenzlauer Berg called Mokum. It was everything a dive bar should be - dirty, filled with drunk loud people, shady changing drink prices, darts, pool table; and it even had a  small dance room with a few tables and worn fake-leather couches sprinkled along the walls. 

outside of Mokum (yelp.com)

The DJ was playing heavy metal when we arrived and found a spot on a couch. The dance floor was mostly empty except for a few guys who were really into the music. I couldn't help sitting there and laughing silently -- watching these crazy white people bounce around and headbang reminded me of the "Black People not Amused with White People" meme. Of course Jenny didn't get it when I told her because there are seemingly only 3 black people in all of Germany, and those who are here definitely do not have the same culture as in America. So she just nodded as if she knew what I was talking about and we went back to watching the crazed rockers mosh around. 

I was beginning to understand what rocker Jenny liked about the bar - she is a rocker through and through and while she tolerates pop, it's really not her thing. I went with her once to an 80s metal night and was like "Who is this person and how can she headbang so much?"

Blah blah blah, party party party, dance dance dance, beer beer beer. Fast forward to 4 am. Shortly after we arrived, Jenny had requested a Judas Priest song - and the DJ promptly played everything except 80s metal. She was getting pretty annoyed and definitely not feeling the atmosphere any longer, so we called it a night. The bar is situated directly on the tram line I needed to go back home, and would have been faster than walking back to the Ubahn station and taking the subway with Jenny, so we said goodbye and headed our separate ways.

I unfortunately managed to just miss the tram. During the day, almost all of the public transport systems run ever 5 - 10 minutes. After midnight regardless of the day, the trams run once every half hour. I arrived at the stop and saw 30 minutes until the next one. Perfect. I was in relatively safe Berlin, in a relatively safe neighborhood, and the sky was already beginning to get lighter, even at 4 am, and I was sober. I decided to follow the tram line and walk from one station to the next. It's something I would never do in San Francisco, with the high-crime areas of the Tenderloin and Western Addition blocking the path to my apartment in pristine Pacific Heights. But here in Berlin, it was just a walk in the cool, early morning air.

So I walked.. and walked.. and walked. The minutes on each tram station dwindled but not nearly fast enough. At this rate I would be all the way to Frankfurter Allee before the tram even got close. So when I came to the intersection where Mario always turns left while driving home, I decided to follow that road instead. The hypotenuse is the shortest distance between two points, and I've come this far, might as well walk the rest of the way, right?

Well.. Not exactly. I've got a habit of heading off in the general direction of something without knowing exactly how to get there. I always arrive, but it's not necessarily the best route. It's actually usually definitely not the fastest route. And this happened again. See, the thing about Berlin is that it is huge. HUGE. It is 891 km sq. San Francisco is a measly 121 km sq, including Treasure Island and Alcatraz. The entire city of San Francisco is basically a district inside Berlin. I failed to take this into account and walked for about 50 minutes. I saw a landmark, a tall hotel, that is about 10 minutes away from our apartment. And it was probably at least 20 minutes of walking away. By now the sun was almost over the horizon and my refreshing morning walk had turned into drudgery. I found an Sbahn station and hopped onto the train, getting home in 10 minutes.

I texted Jenny as promised, letting her know that I got home all right. It was almost 5:30 am and Mario still wasn't home. That isn't anything strange - sometimes he gets home at 7 am when he goes out without me, and sometimes we get home at 8 or 9 when we go out together. But this time something didn't feel right. I waited and waited, and finally at 6:30 I decided it was time to go to bed.

I woke up just before 9 am with a start. Still no Mario. I had a really bad feeling. I immediately checked my phone and saw that he had written me just minutes before:

"Baby ich bin im Krankenhaus und muss erst mal hier bleiben... Es geht mir so weit gut also mach dir bitte keine Sorgen. Ich liebe dich. Ich muss jetzt schlafen"  - Baby I am in the hospital and have to stay here for now. I'm OK so far so don't worry, please. I love you. I have to sleep now.

 Cue instant panic.

Men's Day 2015 Part 1

In Germany, Father's Day is celebrated by all men. It's actually called "Männertag" (Men's Day) and falls on Ascension Day; the day that, according to Roman Catholiciscm, Jesus ascended to Heaven after His resurrection. Fun fact for those of you who are wondering: this tradition dates back to the eighteenth century when prizes were awarded to fathers after Ascension Day parades in rural areas.

Men who are fathers generally spend the day with their families. Men who are not fathers use it as an excuse to go day drinking and get wasted, then continue drinking into the night whereupon they are shitfaced around 5 am.  It's a national holiday and always falls on a Thursday, so naturally everyone takes Friday off as well and the streets can be fairly chaotic.

This year, Mario would be spending the day with his friend Olli. I am good friends with his girlfriend, Jenny, so she and I decided to have our own girls' day. We ate breakfast together around 11 am, and then the boys left to celebrate "being a man." Meaning having their first drink around 11:30, and many more thereafter.

She suggested that we go to a couple art galleries. A quick check online and we were on our way to Alexanderplatz. In the Ubahnhof we saw our first sign of Männertag: a group of 5 or 6 guys dressed like Superman. They had rigged up a little kid's wagon as a portable bar, decorated with Superman's red and blue colors and logo, and had speakers playing the Superman movie theme. It was pretty elaborate and also funny as hell. They kept doing the Superman pose as if they were flying, one fist in the air.

The gallery turned out to be closed, so we poked around at a Flohmarkt (a flea market) and headed to Museum Island, a clustering of diverse museums here in Berlin. You can buy tickets for each individual museum or, if you are a tourist and want to get your money's worth, you can buy a master ticket and spend the whole freaking day wandering around looking at old stuff.

On the way there we stopped to drink a beer. I had my wine and sipped it a bit while sitting on a park bench and pretending to be asozial, one of those day-drinking rednecks who hang out in front of Spätis (corner stores, very popular here in Berlin). We were right on a major tourist pathway between sights so I got a lot of funny looks. Mission accomplished.

We headed to the Pergamon Museum, which is cool because it has several huge displays including the Ishtar Gate from Babylon, which is a towering beautiful blue tribute to one of the greatest cities of the ancient world; the Market Gate of Miletus, which is a dominating two-story high, 30m wide monument; and the Mshatta Facade, an intricate palacial facade of an ancient desert castle in Jordan.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f6/Pergamonmuseum_Ishtartor_05.jpg

Mario was writing us periodically with updates so that we [aka Jenny] wouldn't worry. She kept saying things like "I wonder what the boys are doing now," and "I wonder what the boys are doing now." It seemed like they were just hanging out at our apartment drinking and Olli was singing and playing the guitar. He's quite good at it for someone who is self-taught, and it's his biggest passion. We sent them a few pictures too.

Men's Day Fun - Olli (L) and Mario

Sophistication and Culture - Girls' Day at the museum

I am someone who can appreciate museums, but I do have my saturation point. I have to see the coolest stuff first because once I reach that point, I am just wandering around staring at more old stuff instead of appreciating it for how cool it is. I also have persistent lower back pain, compounded by too much time on my feet, so by the time we left the museum my back had fused into one grinding ache.

We went to Dolores, a California-Mexican restaurant. I had no idea that Dolores referred to the Dolores in San Francisco. The walls were plastered with blown-up street maps of the Dolores Park and Mission neighborhoods of the city. I stared at the maps, reliving my memories in that glorious city. The walking tour with my brother that we had to cut short because the poor guy's foot was fractured and he couldn't stand to walk anymore; the day in the park with my cousin, when a guy randomly brought out DJ equipment and was spinning tunes while strangers gathered around and had a mini-dance party, sharing weed and throwing beach balls around; the towering hills rising out of nowhere, making you feel like you were on top of the whole world as you stared down at the entire city... I was nostalgic but Jenny was unimpressed, so instead of blabbing on about SF I just stuffed my face with my vegan burrito bowl, feeling like a cow as twig-sized Jenny picked at her salad.

With our early dinners down the hatch, we headed to a nearby art gallery Jenny had seen online. She's an aspiring photographer and loves going to those things. It was.. Interesting. Very tiny, with only 12 or 13 exhibits crammed into a single small room filled with people. One of the pieces of "art" looked like someone had dug up metal chain link fence posts, painted them pink, and badly taped pieces of paper with Sinhalese writing on them. No joke. The concrete was still on the bottom of the posts. We moved around the room and Jenny gave me her artistic opinion on the art, which ranged from a picture of a man holding a mirror and looking at himself to abstract colors on canvas. There was also a painting of skeletons walking to a funeral, most of whom looked old and somber in pinstriped suits and bowling hats. They had normal bodies and hands, just skull heads. One was even in a wheelchair. And then towards the end there was this sassy voluptuous blond skeleton in a super short skirt and huge boobs, carrying a skull under her arm. Unfortunately there were no explanations of the art, so Jenny and I amused ourselves trying to explain what the heck was happening in this picture. My theory was that the bombshell skeleton was the mistress of the rich old skeleton who died and that's why she was prancing her way to the funeral. But who knows, really?

The room quickly filled up to the point that there was no more room, and we had already done our tour, so we squeezed past the artsy hipsters who were chatting with people like they knew everyone already. They probably did. There was a small camera crew outside interviewing the artists and we stopped to listen for a few minutes, but Jenny could see that I was itching to sit down so we headed back to her apartment for tequila sunrises and girl talk.


Stay tuned for Part 2! It involves a weekend stay in a hospital, 8 stitches, and ruined bloody clothes!