My New Digs- Au Pair Land

Madame Claude's

 Yesterday I moved from my lovely home of 2 months in Lichtnberg to Wienerstraße, into a situation that I was quite nervous about but is proving to be quite nice.  In exchange for a private, furnished room, private bath and toilet and a shared but rarely used living room, I will give 10-15 hours of childcare a week.  10 of these hours will be Monday through Friday, from 7 am to 9 am, when I will prepare 2 year old Younis for Kita. And I will also work from 4 to 7 on Monday evenings.  Then there will be another evening thrown in there somewhere.  All in all, a sweet deal that hopefully won't keep me from doing other small jobs and working as an artist so I can earn some money.
The family is lovely, Arabic and German.  The 8 year old, Juliet, speaks excellent English.  I will have to try to get her to help me with my German.  I ate dinner with them tonight, pasta with a creamy salmon sauce and vegetables.  I really like the parenting style. Everyone is quite friendly and I feel more comfortable by the second.
While part of me is dreading the early mornings, another part of me looks forward to getting back to my old schedule where I actually get to enjoy daylight!
Last night was Sam's last night in town, and he wanted to go to a kneipe just down the straße from my new digs called Madame Claude's.  The place was crowded but cool, with low light and furniture glued upside-down to the ceiling.  Everyone in this place seemed to be American, even the Russian music promoter we met!  Robert had gone somewhere with his sister Ricarda after hanging out at my place a bit, but he came and met us around 10:30.  Sam snapped photos, growing already nostalgic, and Robert and I did a little John Waters-style posing.  That is, I was hoping for a John Waters-esque, "Ick!" factor, but actually, we're just cute, and that makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.  I thought about posting the picture, but well, we're just to damn cute and it's disgusting.
So I live in trendy Kreuzberg, and I am concerned because everyone speaks English to me because they want me to feel comfortable.  It is hard to get the chutzpah to practice.  But it is necessary.  I have freelance work offers if can get a bit fluent.  I am considering taking another German course. I heard that the Volkshochschule in Kreuzberg is better than the one in Neukölln.  We will see!  Meanwhile, I went to a gym for an introductory session today and spoke no English.  My German is bad.  Bad!  But if I need to, I can get by.  While not an end result, this is still progress.  The gym, McFit, costs only 17.99€ a month, but you have to sign up for a year contract.  I can't afford that and language school, so I will have to utilize the flat screen TV and DVD collection in the living room during the day when no one is home to instigate my own workout program, because the guy at the gym let me be on the elliptical machine for 45 minutes even after I told him I couldn't buy a membership, and damn, did I feel lifted when I was done!  I asked him, "Deutschkurs oder Fitnesstudio."
He said, "Deutschkurs."
I wrote a very short email, all in German, this evening.  It took me FOREVER and I don't know if it made any sense.  The words were all correct (I think) but the grammar?  No idea.
It's almost 11 now and I have to be upstairs drinking coffee and waiting for Younis to wake up at 7 am, so I'm going to go to bed.  This is the earliest I've turned in in months, and I am looking forward to it!

German Class at the VHS (Deutschsprache Kurs auf die Volkshausschule)

I started my language course, Deutschsprache A1 (beginning level German) at the Volkshausschule yesterday.  I was really excited.
Yes, the class is 4 hours long and begins early in the morning 5 days a week. This will not deter me.  I am a good student and I really want to do well.  I need to learn these basics in order to start talking to people.
I take the S41 to the U8, walk a block and a half, and show up early and ready to learn.  There are maybe 14 people in the class from all over the world.  a guy from Scotland, someone from France, a girl from Macedonia, a few other Americans, Spanish, Portuguese, a Kiwi.  An international crowd.  I can't tell if anyone else is excited.  But I am.

The teacher is 15 minutes late.  He is tall, thin, wears glasses, needs a haircut, and seems to lack any sense of joy.  The humor he does have is backed by sarcasm.  He is bored with his job.  He wanted to have a prestigious, tenured position at a Universitat in Berlin.  He wanted to translate great literary works, to have a few freshman who would bring him fruit, flirt with him, make him feel important.  Instead he is teaching beginning German and doing by the book, teaching old-school style out of a tired text book.
Our workbook, Schritte +1, is as drab as the teacher, with canned dialogue that we read aloud.  Here is a brief sample:

-Firma Teletee, Iris Pfeil, guten tag.

-Guten Tag. Mein Name ist Khosa.  Ist Frau Söll da, bitte?

 -Guten Tag, Herr...

-Khosa. 

-Entschuldigung, wie ist Ihr Mane?

-Khosa.  Ich buchstabiere: K-H-O-S-A. 

-Ah ja, Herr Khosa.  Einen Moment bitte... Herr Khosa? Tut mir leid.  Frau Söll is nicht da.

-Ja, gut.  Danke.  Auf Wiederhören. 

-Auf Wiederhören, Herr Khosa.

 
 All I can say is LANGWEILIG!  (Boring!)  And did I mention the guys sitting on either side of me both have the jimmy-leg?  (Jimmy-leg:  This unconscious jiggling of the leg that seems isolated to the male gender.  It's a sort of fidget.  Who knows why it happens?  All I know is it is a bit disconcerting when one is surrounded by it.  Like a mini earthquake just for me.)
I think this class is useful to a point, but the instructor doesn't correct our pronunciation or let us talk enough.  It's all book work.  Although I do need basics.  My next step is to find a native German speaker does not speak much English (good luck in Berlin! Everyone speaks English here!)and wants to trade practicing English and Deutsch.
I will make it happen.
Language should be fun.  True, it is a giant, but it can be an enjoyable giant. I am currently working on translating the original "Mack the Knife" (Die Moritat von Mackie Messer) into English (the literal meaning of the words, not the American lyrics) then memorizing the German, looking at the English and translating it back from memory.  After I finish this I think I'll pick a monologue by Bertolt Brecht or Georg Büchner to tackle and go through the same process.  Theatre and song are the way I learn other things, so why not German?

I have heard there are some very good teachers at the VHS.  I, unfortunately, did not get one of them.  But I will tough it out.  Bored instructors have never sopped me from learning.

Sprache, Technical Difficulties, My Beautiful Life

I am getting pretty weary of speaking only English.  Still, I see my progress.  I travel at a snail's pace, put I travel nonetheless.  Language is a giant, a mountain I must climb.  I am finally to the point where I realize that nobody minds speaking English with me, but my life will be much easier if I start to speak Deutsch a little better.  Last night I was in a room with Robert and three of his friends.  Two of them spoke very good Englisch.  One was French and fluent in German but spoke very little Englisch.  She started speaking to me in Deutsch, very slowly and simply and nobody helped me.  It was fabulous!  I spoke with her!  I tongue stumbled.  I was not eloquent.  But I spoke and she understood me.  A small triumph.
I begin Deutschsprache kurs on Montag at 8:30 am and I am SO EXCITED about this!  I feel that a little formal coursework will help me a lot!
I have been dogwalking, working as a life model, and even working as an overnight nanny in order to machen das Geld und die Miete zahlen! The overnight nanny gig was intense but somewhat rewarding.  The child, a very sweet 2 year old, was still 2.  Heard of the phrase "the terrible twos?"  The little girl's favorite words were "No," and "Mine."  Mostly "No!"  But we had a great time, full of face paint, the spielplatz (playground), eis, und storybooks. 
I am almost done gathering all of my paperwork for my visit to the Auslanderbehörde.  I have been using this page as a guide and it has been really helpful.  All that's left at this point is to print out a few pages and buy some health insurance.  I don't think I can technically buy the insurance until I have a Visa, but I have paperwork from an insurance company saying that they will insure me when I have my Visa.  We will see if this is enough. 
I have begun work on a new performance piece, not sure what it will be like, except that I will use some text and movement.  But that's all I know so far!  Beginnings are exciting!

My external hard drive with all my media and back ups on it stopped working yesterday.  It still shows up in my disk utility but refuses to be repaired.  It's not the end of the world, just the end of my itunes until I figure out how to transfer the music from my ipod back onto my computer.  Luckily it's Western Digital, which they have in Deutschland, so I can most likely get a replacement drive.  I still have the HE documentation from Berlin on a mini-dv tape.  And I have most of my important documents in google docs as well as on a hard drive in America.  So it's annoying, not tragic.  Still, this disruption of my fragile world is distressing.  Robert thinks he may be able to recover my files for me.  Everything will be okay.

I guess I have been here for a while, because I don't take my camera with me everywhere anymore.  Still, I am due for a photo expedition sometime soon.  All of you who read this deserve some photos, right?  

Asia is on her way over for some theatre work, so I guess that's all for now.  I'm glad to have a new collaborator.  Still, I really miss Eve and the way she would snap at me, "Harvey!"  and then everyone would laugh...

Eve, Me, Robert, outside Sandmann on Reuterstraße

Partings, Kefir, The Cold

I have developed a taste for Kefir, a yogurt drink my grandfather used to drink.  I remember being young, going to the stuffy apartment in Los Angeles, the shelves laid heavy with tchatskies and candy, and drinking strawberry kefir from a small, round glass. 
Now, I sit in the spacious kitchen on Spittastraße at the round table and drink unsweetened Kefir from a plastic container, it's foil lid crumpled and peeled back.  I look around the space, appreciating the vibrance of this, my temporary home, the high kitchen counters, the orchid in bloom on the window sill, the small, random stuffed animals and figurines placed on shelves without reason or ceremony.  There is ET, a clown fish, and a blue troll/monster that I have named Aristotle.  He's got all the answers.
The air has a bite to it today and while I am tempted to build a fire, I think it would be a waste.  I'll only be home for a few more hours and then it's off to childcare.  I'm doing 4 overnights with a two-year old.  I've never done overnight childcare before.  While I'm nervous about this, I think it might actually be pretty fun.  Also, it is relieving quite a bit of my financial stress.
Also, it will be a nice distraction from my rapidly changing world.  Eve and I had our last show on Sunday at Silver Future, a small queer cafe which is one of my favorite spots in Berlin.  We were well received and after sat for quite awhile with Daniel, Asia, Sharon, Robert and Eve's friend Jakob.  The mood was festive and close.  I felt belonging.  I felt like home.
Last night Eve left for Prague and onward.  She will be flying out of Barcelona back to Canada on December 19th (my birthday.)  So concludes this chapter of my life as a clown.  I try to remember that we are all on our own paths, that everything is temporary.  I think of my favorite Robert Frost poem"

Nothing Gold Can Stay (1923)

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

 

It's true.  I accept this.  But this knowledge doesn't make the parting easier.  I feel that with Eve's leaving, I lose a part of myself.  Maybe I lose this one part to make room for another.  Now, instead of focus on clown and performance, I focus on language and immigration.  I start my language class on November 21st and I will be making my first attempt at obtaining my Visa in the beginning of Dezember.  Still, it is hard to say goodbye to HE: A Genderstranged Clown Duo.

 

Another difficult parting is that of Sharon, who is going back to Israel at the end of November.  He does not know if he will return to Berlin.  This really tears my heart in half, but everyone has to take care of themselves, and he is doing what he needs to do.  I cannot imagine Berlin without Sharon.  He was my first friend here.  He is my brother.  I feel an understanding, a connection with him I don't feel with most people.  And I'll miss his dog Zigi also.

 

Everyone does things for their own reasons.  We are all free agents.  We are all temporary.  The leaves on the Sycamores on Türrschmidtstraße turn gold and fall, floating softly to the ground.  Gravity is gentle with them, forms them into large, soft piles that one can jump into, kick into a flurry.  Soon it will be winter.  Snow and ice will cover the ground, the barren trees standing sentinels watching over the world.  

I fasten myself to myself, dry my tears, take deep breaths. Wait.

There is No Masengil in Deutschland

T, J and I sit around the kitchen table Monday morning.  When I entered the kitchen an hour ago, I was offered kaffee und früstuck.  I sat and listened to their conversation in Deutsch.  I could make out that they discussed, Nazis, politics, history, cultural observations.  It is not at all uncomfortable for me, these situations of not understanding everything that is being said.  I trust and feel accepted by the people I am around, and it is good for me to be able to pick out words that I recognize and try to piece sentences and ideas out of the few verbs, nouns and adjectives that are familiar to me.  Eventually J turns to me and asks, "Do you understand what we are talking about?"
"Sort of."
They speak in English a bit and I join the conversation.  Somehow, we begin talking about insults.  "Douchebag is the best one in English." I say.
"What is this?  J asks.  I explain what a douche is.  T translates a little into German.  (These are my favorite types of translation scenes, the ones that are always about something slightly taboo.  The German culture, I feel, is not so prudish, so there is rarely shock value involved.)
"It is a medical device?"  J asks me.
"Nein, it is for 'freshness,' so your vagina smells like a field of daisies."
Slightly bewildered, she turns to T, reiterating what I have said , but in German.
"Ja," T confirms that she has heard right.  "I hear this on 'The Sopranos' a lot.  I can never figure out what they mean.  I always thought it was a type of bag you put water in to pour over yourself."
I laugh.  The German word for shower is Dusch, so I understand the error.  I imagine a German tourist driving through America, hearing the term "Douchebag," and wondering why we all talk about portable showers in such a negative way.

I start my German classes in a little less than a month.

I am excited to sink my teeth into the language in a booklearning way.

The other night, in a desperate attempt to make Deutsch sprachen more a part of mein Leben, I watched 'Bad Teacher' dubbed in German.  I didn't understand most of the dialogue, but the plot was not so hard to figure out.
It is a blessing and a curse that the people I know speak such marvelous English.  A blessing because we can speak about abstract and important things.  I have the opportunity to develop deep understanding with people.  There is an opportunity to make close friends.  It is a curse because I have been here a month and a half and still have great difficulty speaking Deutsch.  But I will start school.  I will learn enough of the basics to be able to learn more.  I have stopped caring about grammatik, speaking correctly.  If someone can understand what I am saying, this is enough.

And with moving to my new environment, I have place myself around people who want to speak more German with me because the y want to speak with me!  I am at a truly blessed place in my life.  How long will it last?  I don't know, but it seems with my move to Kreuzburg, I have had an explosion of positivity in my life.  Tobi and I have long conversations about the mind, culture, media, ourselves, love, relationships, everything at the round kitchen table in the day or night with more and more frequency.  I have developed a strong connection with a man named R also.  We sit up until 6 in the morning talking about ourselves, our pasts, sharing music and youtube videos.  R, like J, has been a perpetual student of Psychology in a Masters' program in Berlin for the past decade but has become disenchanted with the program.  The mind on this guy is pretty fantastic as is his ability to communicate emotion and show vulnerability.  We discuss the psyche in abstract and also how it pertains to ourselves.  He opens himself to me, possibly afraid but doing it anyway.  for this he has gained my utmost respect.

I also have landed a job as a babysitter/nanny for a 2 and a half year old child.  The mother is single, American and a sculptor.  I will be doing four overnights next week because C (the mother) has to go to Belguim to work on a large scale iron sculpture she is designing.  I am nervous but excited for this.  It is good to work.  It makes me know I live here.  I am not just passing through.  I am also doing some figure modeling for a drawing class tomorrow and sometimes walking a very bad dog in Wedding, which is too far away from my liking.  I will let the dog walking go soon, but not yet.

I have stopped fretting about immigration for a moment, but need to start focusing on this again soon.  I cannot go to the Auslanderbehörde until early December, close to the time my Schengnen visa expires.  Until then, I will focus on getting everything in order.  I am getting quite a bit of help from friends and family here and in the States, and for this I am so grateful!

Don't get me wrong.  Life is not easy in Berlin.  I am terrified a lot.  It is not an easy, luxurious dreamland here, but I do not feel as hopeless as I did in San Francisco, and I appreciate that the communication between people here is more direct and to the point.  No one here is perfect.  The culture here is not perfect, but for me, right now, it really works, and I don't question it too much.

Berlin: Poem

Berlin

Tobacco-stained fingertips

Autumn’s alchemy

Ochre leaves the colors

of a sun setting sooner

Night walks and

Closed train stations

We are stranded Air nipping

skin hidden

Hot hands together in

Messy moonlit kitchens

Savoring flavors

Of leftovers, eggs, Ossig

Hot water und Honig Wodka

Lips

The smell of a slow, wet wind

Maple-covered cobblestones

Dried leaves make a swishing sound

when I drag my feet on the path

Cold, stone facades

Hide the wealth and warmth

Of Graffiti

Gardens

Sequins and smoke

Coffee beans

Freshly ground

Steeped and served in small white cups

Almond cookies

Fresh cream

Alien tones trip across tongue

As I try

To eek out

Simple sentences

Stumble and fail

Brush the shame off

my worn blue jeans,

Get up

Try

Again.

-H.

Extreme Autumn happy dance after moving to Kruezberg.

 

Ich liebe mein Leben!

After the darkness must come light.  And light there is in the life of Harvey Rabbit, a clown in Berlin!  Not only do I have a room in a home in Kruezberg with people that I already know but would like to know better, but this evening I landed a job with an American family.  The mother is American, from New York.  I do not know if dad is in the icture, but Io, the 2 and a half year old girl, is adorable, confident and smart.  I begin work on Friday and then will (if it all works out) be doing four days (three nights) the week of November 8th.  I have never done overnight childcare before, but now is the time.  I will have roughly 7 hours free in the daytime between dropping Io off at her Kita (preschool) and picking her up.  Then it's kid time until around 7 or 8 and then I read, use the internet (how unusual) or maybe mom has TV.  It would be really good for me to watch some Deutsch TV as fr as language is concerned.  I have really been missing Bones lately.  I wonder if I can find it in German.  Hmm.  Oh, when you open yourself to possiblility, sometimes things just work out!

The Tower, Housing, Stumbling Through A Language

The Tower is a very trying Tarot card to receive in a spread.  It is about the world crumbling around you, everything falling apart so something new can occur.  Sometimes this card is necessary, but it is never an easy thing to pull.  While I have not drawn the tower in quite some time, there have been moments where I have really felt like this is what has been happening to me. 
*Something is wrong with my Paypal account. 
*It is getting very cold.
*I have no work permit and need a job.
*Immigration and all the papers I must get together and all the money I need to manifest completely overwhelm me.
*I need to find a place to live by November 1st.
*I don't speak the language here and it is hard to learn because all my friends speak good English.

It's a lot.  But deep breaths.  Things are beginning to look up.
When it rains it pours and now instead of having no options for housing, I may have two.  Jana Korb, who I met through my first gig here at ZirCouplet is flatmates with Tobias Stiefel, who is the MC of the varieté show.  Jana is going to be traveling for over a month in November and then Tobias will be travelling in December and January.  So they have space for me to rent in their giant home in Kruezberg.  I said yes to this.  It is at the top of my manageable price range (250€/month.) I have the rent for November and I have over a month to find a job.  With my tenacity, I can manage this.  Then, two days ago, I get a text from a WG (Wohngehmeinschaft: shared space, generally somewhat communal) that they would like to meet me.  They have 2 large dogs and are across the street.  It's a little cheaper (220€/month), there is a shared vegetarian food budget of 20€ per week, and 9 other women live there.  The flat is the 2nd or 3rd floor of a converter warehouse and has a community space that is a bar once a month on Thursdays and I could possibly have rehearsals/teach workshops there if I went to a few meetings.  I would not be allowed to cook meat in the house, but that is really the only rule.  Meat is expensive anyway.  This doesn't bother me at all.  Honestly, this WG is my Berlin fantasy.  I hope I get it.  Otherwise, I am very excited to live for a month with Tobias and then a few months with Jana.  It is a hard choice to make, actually.  I don't know what I want more.  The house in Kruezberg is warm with a woodburning stove.  Hmm. 
Maybe I will not get the room in the WG and it will be decided for me.
I have been beginning to get my things together for my trip to the Auslanderbehörde (alien's authority.)  Most daunting right now is health insurance, mostly because I can't read German well enough to navigate the websites.  Also, the fact that I have to bring a translator with me to the Auslandbehörde.  Also, everything.  But I really shouldn't go until the end of November anyway, as my Visa is not up until December 12th.  My German class is from November 21st to December 16th, so I'll have to get a little bit of an extension, anyway.
And I discovered something.  If you don't immediately get your Visa, they don't just tell you to go back to your home country.  Nope!  They give you an appointment to come back with the stuff you were missing or need to amend and an extension on your Visa until that appointment.  So I figure as long as I can keep myself housed and fed, this is what I will do.  Even when I come back to the States for a few months to teach summer camp in June, I can still be working with the German Embassy there to get me my year long Visa.  Or maybe the first time I go will be I will luck out with someone nice and I will get it the first time.  The point is, if I make the effort, I will be able to stay here legally. 
It's not just me that can do this!  I am not magic. I am just driven!  If you don't like a situation you are in, leave!  Find something better!  Take a risk at failure! 
Go somewhere where you don't speak the language!  Stumble and fall!  Be afraid and sit with the fear!  Challenge yourself!  You can get back up!  You can!
And speaking of language, it is really hard to practice your German when you can hardly ask "Vas ist dein Name?" and "Woher kommst du?" when the person you are talking to speaks English well enough to have deep philosophical conversations with you about how the mind works, what makes us attracted to certain people, and how fear can control us if we aren't careful.  You begin to feel like you will never be able to be so fluent and why not just speak English.  This is not a good feeling when you sit alone with it or you realize that you don't know how to ask someone if they need help.
Last night on my way home from watching this month's Zir Couplet show, I sat on the train across form a Turkish man who obviously wanted to talk to me.  We made eye contact.  "Ist Kalt!"  He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. 
"Ja!" I agree.  "Ist Kalt."
He says something else and I am confused.  "Es tut mir leid," the words feel blocky coming out of my mouth.  "Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut.  Langsamer, bitte."  He says it again.  I understand a tiny bit.  "Ah, America!  San Francisco, California."
He asks how long I have been here.  Slowly.  I can't really understand every word, but I know what we are talking about.
"Ein monat.  Ich Versuchen,"  I stumble.  Did I say the word right?  Versuchen- I try.  I think I conjugated it wrong, though!  I feel my face get hot.  But the man is so patient.  He smiles at me.  I try again.  "Ich versuchen bleiban."  He nods.  I say, "Ich versuchen bleiban.  Visa. . ."  I trail off. 
"Visa problems."  He says.
"Ja."
The train stops.  "Viel Glück." He says as he departs.
I feel like an idiot because I am so ridiculously proud of myself.  I just need to start trying more.  I wonder what kind of reward I could give myself for going out into the world and speaking no Englisch for a few hours?  I wonder if I would cry?  We'll see!

Vending Machine at Ostbanhof: Candy, Red Bull, 

 

Condoms, Pregnancy Test

Last night HE was BUILT FOR SPEED!

Eve wrote it down before I did, so I'm going to link to her blog here and just say, I CONCUR!  And I have found my home.

Yom Kippur: A day of Forgiveness

 

"In America, they don't have fresh bread.  It's hard to find in some places, and it's expensive." 
We're sitting in the middle of Grunewald Forst (Grunewald means greenwood, forst means forest), and Asia, who has spent a lot of time in the US is making cheese and tomato sandwiches with bread we bought at the train station.  She's Polish.  I think about the availability and accessibility of fresh bread in Poland, Germany, the Czech Rebuplic, and then I look at the cheese and jam sandwiches I have brought with me for our outing.  She's right!  I'm used to processed, sliced bread.  It's what I grew up on.  This is yet another thing that makes me an American, and slowly, I am learning that being an American is no worse than being anything else.
It's Yom Kippur, and I'm with Asia, her friend Satu, Sharon and, of course, Zigi. 
We are not fasting.  Instead, we are out among nature and newly-found friends.  We talk about forgiveness. 
"I forgive." Sharon says.  "I forgive myself." His statement has gravity.  It pertains to his tarot reading from last week.  I feel myself get lighter.  I feel him lift.  This makes me glad. 
Earlier, I was taking pictures, and he had the nerve to say to me, "Harvey, stop making things.  Be."
And I listened and put my camera away. 
Now the girls have caught up and we are in a birch grove, the trees tall and slender, with papery white bark that I remember from my childhood home in Santa Barbara, California.  I keep identifying things or wondering what kind of tree or fungus or grass.  But I need to still my mind.  We all stop for a sit and some food and I lie down on my back, stare up at the sunlight coming through the canopy.  And I let go.  I release.  I forgive.  I forgive myself for letting Matt move into my house.  I forgive Matt for all he put me through after he broke up with me but wouldn't move out of my house.  I forgive the communication breakdowns, the best friend breakups, the misunderstandings and the "pay attention to mes" and the "you're unimportants," and all of it.  I forgive my brother and his wife for making me feel pushed out of my family.  And I forgive God, or the idea something like him or her or it.  I breathe and I forgive God for taking my father and I forgive myself for not being able to fix it all, for not being able to be in all places I needed to be at one time, for not being able to learn to drive, for being unique or "differently-abled" or whatever you want to call it.  And I breathe.  I forgive the Nazis who hung my people from these trees 70 years ago.  And I smile.  Zigi is licking my face.

We hiked for hours, saw amazing fungus, talked about travel, language, charity, clown, theatre.  Asia has a sister-like quality to her.  She is funny, sarcastic, warm, open and lovable.  At one point she just turns around and hugs me, giggling, and then asks, "What do you want and what are you thankful for?"
"I want a visa and I am thankful for everything."  I answer, and then add, "I want love and I'm thankful for love."

At the end of the day, we are in a parking lot next to a soccer field, catching the last of the sun.  It's gotten cold.  Sharon lies on the ground and I use his belly as a pillow.  "Friends and forgiveness and food." He mutters as I doze.  On the S-Bahn home, we fall asleep in shifts.  I decide not to go to the party with them this evening.  I'm exhausted and need to get up early to go twist balloons at the Boxhagener Platz flea market.  It's not clowning, but I've got to make some money.

I reflect on the way the sunlight dappled the earth or the way the leaves sounded like an ocean wave when the wind rushed through them, the way the earth felt cool and comforting beneath my shoulders, and the way the giant mushroom crop on a tall, broad oak had the spongy feel of flesh. 

I anyone can identify any of these mushrooms for me, that would be incredible.  I think the red ones are aminita, but I'm not sure.

Deep breaths.
-H.

Rosh Hashonnah: Not So Traditional After All

On Thursday Eve and I rehearsed in a small park in Prenzlauerberg.  I don't remember the name of it, but it's a strange little spot on Papalallee that is a park, playground and cemetery with a theater next to it.  I tried on Eve's moustache and became Boris.  I wonder who this guy is.  I think he is part walrus.  I'd be interested to play around inside him and see what happens.  He is either a cowboy or some sort of lazy cop.  In any case, he is confused.

After rehearsal, I went to Eve's place.  She is living on the top floor of an old squat that is now a flat with roof access.  I am hoping that I can move into her room when she goes if I do indeed figure out a way to stay.  The place is amazing, a little gritty, high ceilings, art everywhere.  On the balcony is a miniature/forest, swampland, complete with DIY pond.  The roof is accessible by ladder and gives a beautiful view.

We bask in the sun for a bit and then I have to come back to Neukölln for a tandem speaking appointment.  S-- a friend of B--'s, is working on her English and has agreed to help me with German.  At 6 the bell rings and I invite Simone up.  She is a stout woman with mannish haircut, and a slight left-side deficit.  Her eyes are firey and she has a warm smile.  I like her immediately.  We figure out how we will structure our time.  An hour of English, and hour of German.  Perfect.  She speaks enough of my language to have a conversation.  She asks me about clown and I tell her about the idea of the other.  We talk about Artuad.  She is working on a writing project called "Handi-captured" challenging notions of disability and looking at how every person has deficits and is able-bodied at once.  She says she is an in-between person.  Due to certain things that have happened to her, she cannot do things that she used to with out help, but she is an independent and strong woman, and likes to do most things by herself.  I tell her a little bit about me.  She asks me to write a one-page story for the project.  My deadline is the 12th of Oktober.  Yes!

At 20:30 she goes and Daniel rings the bell.  I get ready to go to this Rosh Hashonnah celebration, trying to look nice, conservative.  I did not bring so many clothes with me, so this is not an easy task.  The woman having the party is orthodox, which makes me nervous, but I will be with my friends, people I trust.  They will keep me safe and comfortable. 
Before we go to meet Sharon at Hermannplatz, which is about 3 blocks away, Daniel looks at the directions in his email.  Of course, they are in Hebrew, so I can't read them.  We walk to Hermannplatz, Daniel chattering playfully and me a bundle of nerves and caffiene.  I begin to smile in spite of myself, and by the time we get to the plaza, I am dancing to music in my head.  Sharon arrives in a huge bicycle with a seat on the front.  "Get on!"  He says in his authoritative tone.  I laugh and decline.  We shove each other around a little bit. 
We try to figure out where we are going.  The directions say to take the U-7 to Nuekölln station and then walk to some address.  It's written in Hebrew.  I have no idea what it says, so I just say, "Okay!"
Daniel and I hop on the train.  Sharon pedals off.  He'll meet us there.  Outside the station, we reconvene under a bridge.  I pull out my map and we look for the street we are supposed to go to.  It is nowhere.  Sharon takes the map, turns it over to the list of street names, stares at it.  "I never remember the order of the letters."  He says, handing me the map, "Can you find it?"
This shocks me for a moment.  Sharon has a brilliant and complex mind, speaks two languages fluently (Hebrew, English.)  But it makes sense. Both he and Daniel grew up with a separate alphabet.  I keep finding myself in these situations where everyone has something separate to contribute of equal importance.  All auslanders (foriegners), we all sort of need each other.
I find the street and the location on the grid.  It is on the other side of Berlin.  What to do?  If we try to go there now, we won't get there until midnight.  We can't call the host because she cannot pick up the phone due to it being the high holy days and her being orthodox.  And we are hungry.  We begin to walk.  "No sausage."  I request.  "I've had enough sausage."
"Oh, but this is traditional food for Rosh Hashonnah." Sharon chides.  (Sausage is pork.  Do the math, goyem.)
We don't want döner.  We don't want shawerma.  We want pizza.  "Harvey,"  Sharon says in his commanding voice.  "Use your powers.  Find us pizza."  We walk along.  I focus on pizza.  After 3 blocks, it appears, but it is pricey. 
"Sorry. " I say.  "I forgot to focus on cheap pizza."
Daniel begins to chant, "Cheap, cheap, cheap."  Too more blocks and voila!  2 euro pizza!

I get a margarita pizza and the Israelis both get salami and cheese.  Our pies come.  "Shana Tova," we all say and laugh.  Not only is salami unkosher, but they are eating it with cheese.  After, I want to go to a park.  I have a few bier in my backpack and, hey, it's new year's.  We walk and talk about all kinds of stuff.  Life, death, the soul, what it is and where it goes, pick up Daniel's bike, which is by my place. Eventually we reach Templehof Freiheit, only to find that it's closed.  We sit on the side of the bike path.  It's woodsy.  Sharon pops open the bier with his lighter, Daniel stretches out on his back.  I here rustling in the bushes and turn to my right. A fox is staring at me!  It is still, we are still.  Sharon moves his leg and the fox darts back to his hidden safety.  I feel magic in the air.  "Shana Tova!' Sharon and I clink bier bottles and Daniel's plastic one filled with water. 
We finish our biers.  Again, Sharon tells me to get on the front of the bike.  I acquiesce and get a ride home.  "Tchuss!"  I yell after the boys.  Daniel has sped off ahead. "Good night, Harvey!"  Sharon's voice trails off as he pedals toward his home at the circus.
My first observance of the Jewish New Year.  Nice!

We have plans to go hiking in the forest for Yom Kippur.

To Be Jewish in Berlin

circus studio

At 6 o'clock I have rehearsal with the cake puppet.  I meet Daniel at the Circus at Ostbanhof.  (There are two red and yellow striped circus tents, at least one rehearsal studio, a large kitchen with seating for 50, bathrooms, and a costume shop that also has rooms where people sleep.  Also several caravans.  Unfortunately, there is no heat in the caravans.  I guess they not for winter residency.)
I put the dowels in the puppet, make it stand, stretch a bit and Daniel comes in with his friend Ola, who is from Poland.  We run it a few times.  He has some good suggestions.  Then Sharon, the Israeli clown from Sunday night comes in.  Now we get down to the nitty-gritty!  He's got all sorts of things to say.  I learn from his comments and direction that he really knows his shit.  He begs me to study buffoon. (He is not the first one.)  We work for a total of two hours, after which my body as tired, but not as tired as I would expect. It seems I am getting stronger!  I lost 5 pounds of my body weight somewhere and have know idea where it went.  But one thing is certain, and that is that I am in shape! Daniel and Ola go to the kitchen.  I run the piece for Sharon a few more times.  It is interesting to hear his suggestions and impressions.  He does not understand things like the play on gender and the feminist aspects of my piece, but he does understand comedy and puppetry.  I take in what he has to say.  A lot of it, I will use, some I will not.  I am glad for the fresh perspective.
As I disassemble my puppet, he asks me if I want to eat.  Of course, he asks me in Hebrew, so I have to say, "What?"  He acts surprised that I don't speak Hebrew, but I think he is playing with me.
"But you are Jewish!"  I explain that my family is non-practicing, but we have the blood and the past of pogroms, anti-semitism, etc.  So he asks in English, "You want to eat?"
"Ja!" 
We go to the kitchen, were Daniel and Ola are talking.  Sharon takes stock of what is in the refrigerator.  I ask who would like bier.  Ola says yes, Daniel says no.  We all start talking again.  Sharon takes me gently by the shoulders and steers me out of the room.  "To the store!  Now or we will never get there."  We stop by his room first and Zigi, his little dog (part pug, chihuahua, and pit?) growls at me, tries to attack.  I am a stranger in Zigi's space.  Sharon kneels down.  "Zigi  Zigi!"  He stands, puts his arm around me, shows Ziggy we are friends.  Ziggy runs away, comes back, sniffs me, barks but does not bare his teeth.  Slow progress.  Sharon and walk to the Ostbanhof, a major train station and bus stop.  Also in the Ostbanhof are two supermarkets, an Apotheke (like a pharmacy,) a Schlecker (like Walgreens but without medicine) and a host of restaurants. We go to one of the groceries and Sharon buys eggs, onions, tomato and garlic.  I buy five large bottles of bier. The bier comes to around 6 euro.  I must be careful with money, it is true, but I also feel that if I am a little generous now, karmically it will come back to me.  This proves to be true again and again.  So I will keep on believing it.
On our walk back to the circus, Sharon and I start talking about our lives.  He is 29, has been in the Israeli army and in combat.  We talk about how the dark sides of ourselves relate to clown.  I ask him about the Isreali-Palestinian conflict, how he feels about it now.  "I was so stupid."  He says.  "I let myself be brainwashed and did horrible things.  I have taken life.  Now, I meet Palestinians, they are my friends.  How could I have believed the lie?"

Die Juden

Back in the kitchen, Ola asks about being Jewish in Germany.  Sharon says, "Berlin is not really Germany.  It is Berlin."  I talk about how, in 2007 when I first came to Berlin, I was afraid.
"You are Jewish?" Daniel is surprised and delighted.  His eyes twinkle at me.
Sharon has just gotten his German passport.  His great-grandfather was a German citizen and died in a concentration camp.  His grandfather to Israel after the war.  Evidently, his Grandpa was able to pull some beaureaucratic strings and make Sharon a German citizen. We get into this conversation about what it means to be Jewish, if it is a religion or a culture. 
"I like parts of the Torah,"  Sharon says.  "Jews are intellectual.  We ask too many questions.  That is why we got kicked out of heaven."
Is this actually part of the Torah?  I was never religious.  I don't know.

Daniel and Ola are talking about practical things, aerial dance, where to busk.  Sharon is cooking dinner and he and I are talking about the holocaust, Isreal, what the hell we are doing here, being an artist in this world, where does clown come from, but with a certain levity.  "One egg or two,"  he asks me. 
"One," I answer.
"But they are small, and you have been working hard.  Two?"
"Ok, two."  I pause.  "This is what makes us Jewish.  The way we share food.  Come on, have some more!"  I chide him. 
"You may be right!"  He says.  "Would you ever lie about being a Jew?"
"No."  I don't even have to think about it.
"Someone wants to kill you."
"Then I will die." I am surprised at how fast the answer comes out of me, how I don't have to think about it.
We open a bier, I take out my camera ask Ola if she will photograph the three Jews.  We stand clumped together.  "Everyone say holocaust!" Daniel says.  The flash goes off.

Sharon and I eat this marvelous concoction he has made of tomato, onion, bell pepper, garlic, and egg, mop up the sauce with bread.  I play music from my ipod on the speakers in my kitty backpack (best purchase EVER!)  Daniel and Ola have a Michael Jackson dance party.  Eventually it is midnight.  Daniel and Ola go off to his caravan, leaving Sharon and I.  We finish the beer, he gets Zigi, who is so glad to finally be outside that he forgets I might be a threat, jumps on the bench where I sit and licks my face.  We sit outside in the surprisingly warm night air, talk for an hour.  I am not sure if the trains are still running, but I need to get home.  Ziggy and Sharon walk me to my platform and wait with me until my train comes.  I think we are both surprised at our connection to each other, which seems purely yet deeply intellectual.  We both wonder why we must muck around the dark spaces in ourselves, why we cannot just leave our pasts somewhere else.  Our journeys our separate, but perhaps similar.  The train comes,  We hug.  "Tchuss!"
I ride one stop to Jannowitzebrücke station and attempt to transfer.  It is 1:15 am on a weekday and the platform is closed.  Fuck!  What the hell do I do?  I go out into the night.  There is a bicyclist.  "Spreichen zie Englicsh?"
"Ja."
I ask him if he knows how to get to Boddinstrasse, my stop in Nuekollon.  He does not know of a bus.  "It is not so far.  a 30 minute walk." 
"Danke," I sigh.  He pedals off.  I would like to walk, but I am unsure of the route and don't want to attempt it for the first time at 2 am with the cake puppet under my arm.  I check my wallet and hail a cab.  It will be 10 Euro but I don't see another option.  My cab driver is Turkish, speaks English, takes me where I need to go. 
I have a gig tonight at the KingKongKlub and will get part of the money from the door.  I hope a lot of people come.  I think I will start to learn walking routes.  I feel much less self-conscious about walking here at night than I do in the States.  There are no guns and there is a different relationship to alcohol in Berlin.  No one is going to mess with me.  If I had known about the U-Bahn closing, I would have researched the all night busses, but without a smart phone and not speaking the language, I did not see a way to figure out a route.  If I had asked Sharon to walk me all the way home, he likely would have said yes.  Oh, well, Maybe next time.

Dance!

My Life in the Circus has Begun!

It's midnight.  I got home half an hour ago from my first gig in Berlin, Zir Couplet Varieté at imShake! tent at Ostbanhof.  I just have to blurt it out: I SLAUGHTERED this audience!  They would not stop laughing!  It was hard to go on to the next part of the act because they just wouldn't stop!  It was my first time performing this work in a venue that wasn't "queer" or alternative in some way, and you know, it was better!  They where not expecting me to go there, so when I did, it was all the more outrageous!  And I learned so much about what I was doing from this audience.  My character, this poor, sweet, confused clown who just wants to be loved, she is a child!  She has no idea that what she is doing might be inappropriate.  There is nothing sexual or erotic going on for her, just what feels good and what does not.  There's nothing in my 8 minute solo piece (see www.harveyrabbit.net if you don't know what I'm talking about and want to)  that is inappropriate for children.  And I really feel that way after performing for a mainstream audience this evening.

I'm getting the DVD of this performance in the coming month and will post it for you to witness.

The cakedance, well, the puppet is a constant work in progress and in need of seemingly constant repair.  I've only been working with it for a couple of weeks, so there is still a lot of discovery that can happen with that.  It didn't bomb, but it was "interesting," as in the audience watching but not laughing so much.  The best part is that I get to do it again tomorrow!

I really want to write about all the amazing people I met and tell describe for you the incredibleness of the environment, but I am just dead beat, so here are a few half-assed pictures.  This tired-assed clown is going to bed.  (well, i'm finishing my delicious german bier first.)

Stranger in a Strange Land

Prenzlauerberg

A lot happens in two days when you're in a new place.  I still haven't taken pictures around Neukollon (my neighborhood) yet.  This place makes me a bit shy and nervous.  It's fairly working class and there is not a whole lot of English.  Everyone should give themselves this experience of not knowing the language where they live.  There is a certain sort of being vulnerable in the universe that I feel people who are American might not experience if they never leave.  English is a universal language.  Most people in the 1st and 2nd world have at least heard English before.  There are several people in my country who equate not speaking English with a lack of intelligence.  There is a fear and hatred of immigrants and refugees.  "Why can't they just learn English?"  I feel a great empathy for people who have the chutzpah to cross into the US, legally or illegally, without being fluent in English.
Yesterday was a horrible day.  I tried to buy a monatskarte (a monthly pass for public transit) from the Turkish guy at the newspaper stand and my pronunciation was so bad that I had to show him what I had written down in order for him to understand me.  It cost 74 Euro, which sounds like a lot, but it is much cheaper than paying the fare every time you want to go anywhere.  I left the store ashamed, holding back tears as I walked down Hermanstrasse to the electronics store so I could buy some blank cds.  Seems I forgot to pack a sound cue CD for my first gig (which is tomorrow night.)  On the way I passed a cemetery and I thought to myself, "I could go sit in the cemetery and cry.  No one would bother me because people are allowed and expected to cry in cemeteries.  I wouldn't have to tell anyone I don't speak German or that I only speak English.  I could stop feeling like a disgusting American or an imbecile."  I couldn't find the entrance, though, so I sucked it up and kept walking.  At Conrad, the electronic store, I approach an employee.  "Ich spreche kein Deutsch.  Sprechen zie Englisch?"
"Oh, ja," he says. "You can speak English here.  Is no problem."  And I want to kiss his feet. 
He tells me where the CD's are.  I check out without having to say anything except, "Danke," and then decide to wander.  There is a small outdoor market selling handbags, produce and kaffee on Karl-Marxstrasse.  I wander around but don't need anything so I start heading back up my street.  I look down a side street and see trees.  I decide to walk towards them.  A park!  Volkspark is huge and I will explore it again with a camera someday when I am feeling a bit more secure about being here.  There are Nigerian and Arab drug dealers around, but they leave you alone if you don't make eye contact.  I sit on a bench, plug my ipod into the speakers on my kitty backpack, and read my book while listening to David Bowie.  Some dude in a hoodie comes and sits down on the end of the bench.  I scoot over.  It doesn't matter.  He totally ignores me, rolls a spliff and walks away.  After a while it is too cold to stay out.  I didn't bring anything long-sleeved because my dino hoodie was still wet from the wash. 
Back in front of my building, I see there is a 1 Euro shop (like a dollar store) across the street.  I buy some crap and come home.  B-- s getting ready to leave for the weekend.  I am excited to be alone in the apartment, which is beautiful.  My room is enormous by San Francisco standards.  The toilet is separate from the bathing room and the walls are papered with envelopes.  The door is all stamps.  European toilets are weird.  There is a small platform with no standing water where you eliminate, and then a little hole with water below it that leads down into the plumbing.  After you go, you flush and all this water sprays across the little platform, forcing everything down the little hole.  You need to scrub the toilet every time you go number two.  TMI?  Just sharing my experience folks.  We're all human, right?
The bathroom is huge and tiled in shiny red.  The walls have a collage of different roses all over and the ceiling is silver.  There are a separate tub and shower.  I took a bath tonight. Yessss!


So today I decided that having a good day was imperative.  I fight my shy streak and call Julika, a sculptor and jewelery maker I met at my artist residency in the Czech Republic four years ago.  I tell her I am in Berlin for two months and would like to see her.  She invites me to dinner at her flat in Pankow with her 11 year old son, Neo and her boyfriend Norbert.  That's at 7:30, but at 3 pm I want to wander, so I go to the one place in Berlin that I know: Prenzlaurberg.  Everyone complains that it is so gentrified and all this, but I love it.  This area always makes me feel great!  So after rehearsing alone in my room with the video camera for a few hours, eating soft-boiled eggs and toast for breakfast, getting a German simcard for my phone, I am off on the U-8, which is right outside my front door.  I get off the train at Alexanderplatz to transfer to the U-2.  A Berlin train station is not like a BART stop.  It is a metropolitan area underground.  There are hosiery shops and cafés, places to get your watch fixed and kiosks where you may buy beer, wine and liquor.  On the actual train platform, you can buy alcohol, magazines and newspaper.  And there is no brown paper bag of shame you must wrap around your elixir.  You can just open it and drink it on the train, in the street, anywhere.  No social stigma.  They also sell cans of Jim Beam whiskey that you can drink straight.  Like Budwieser. 
I disembark the train at Eberswalderstrasse and I know where I am!  I wander down Kastanianalee, a street with many shops, galleries, artspaces and old squats, buy a kaffee at the MorningGlory café and sit outside at in an orange plastic chair next to one of the retro-60s tables, then by a tourist map and some postcards.  (If y'all want a postcard, send me your address and I'll do my best to mail you one.)  I finally feel like a normal human being!  Also, I find the language school is still there.  I go in.  "Sprechen zie Englisch?"  (I can say this extremely well! And it's a language school.  Of course the man behind the front desk speaks English.)  I inquire about programs.  There is a one-week class for 4 hours in the morning (20 hours total) for 180 Euro ($248) which includes books and all administrative fees.  At this point, I don't know if I can afford it, but then again, we'll see how the next few weeks go.  My pronunciation is TERRIBLE, my vocabulary minscule, and I want to be able to talk to folks.  I am also considering finding a tutor, a student who needs some extra money, that I could work with, because really, I just need conversational.  Of course, I am a bit of a nerd and really like school, so we'll see what happens.  I think I just need to be a bit patient with myself.  After all, I've only been here 3 days.
I take the train to Pankow around 7:15.  It is only two stops on the U-2.  Amazingly, I don't get lost finding Julika's address, Hydenstrasse 7.  When I arrive, She and Neo are fixing a window downstairs.  There is art dust, pieces of sculpture and grout everywhere.  I immediately feel at home.  Neo is taking English at school, though his favorite subject is biology.  Norbert comes home with bier.  He speaks no English but is very nice.  We try to communicate with each other and can both see the humor in the situation.  What a relief! 
Upstairs, Julika's flat is an art storm, the exact opposite of where I am living.  Mildly cluttered, there are knick-knacks and pieces of metal and clay on every shelf.  The only plumbing in the place so far is in the raised clawfoot bathtub, next to the toilet in her studio, which is next to the kitchen.  The pad is downright funky!  I feel the intense pressure of trying to fit in lift from my body.  I am smiling helium.  Neo has two pet rats that are allowed the run of the house.  They are adorable, sweet.  I miss animals immensely, and it means a lot to me that he let's me hold the albino one for as long as I like.  We all contribute to the meal.  I have found a bottle of California wine.  I chose it partially because it was from my home, but also because it was only 2,50 Euro.  I make a salad of tomato, cucumber, apple, artichoke heart, onion and caper.  We have also potatoes, zucchini, and smoked flounder.  Julika sings with a choir and invites me to practice on Monday.  I will go!  It is nice to have a friend.  Also, for the first time since I began my travels, my stomach is sated to the point where I cannot eat another bite, though they all keep trying to feed me. 
At 10:30, I depart, wanting to get lots of rest before my first gig.  I am already shaking in my shows.  The 8-minute piece, I know in my bones, but the cake piece is so new and is hard to practice on my own with no one to press play.  That, and I'm having some structural issues with the puppet.  I think I got them worked out, though.  In a panic I sent Tobias, my contact at ZirCouplet, an email saying I wasn't sure about the 3 minute act (the cakedance) and he said we could just decide at tech, which is at 4 pm.  Though I started writing this email last night when I got home, I am now finishing it on Saturday, the 17th at 11:30 am.  It's time to put a tail shake in it, shower, and ready myself for this evening.  I am so nervous I can't tell whether I am frozen or flying.  I hope they laugh!  But one thing is for sure: I'm going to get paid.

Berlin! Sprechen zie Englisch?

Still at Luton.
At 3 am I discover that my carry-on is too large.  It doesn't matter that it separates into two pieces.  You're only allowed 1 piece of hand luggage, be it handbag, laptop, carry-on bag, whatever.  I spend the next hour sitting by the little "your bag must fit here" EasyJet carry-on display looking like a crazy woman unpacking and repacking my bags, trying to make it fit.  The problem is the goddamn cake puppet and my clown shoes.  They must by in my carry-on.  I have a gig on the 17th. What if something happens to my checked luggage?  I'd sooner lose all my clothing and toiletries than my clown show.  I can replace the other things or just be sad they are gone, but I need my working materials.  I finally take off the little day pack that attaches to my rolling luggage and shove it in my big army backpack which, when i originally packed it, was underweight, but now I'm worried. 
At 4 am i check in at the ticket counter, and my pack IS overweight by 2 Kilos, but the ticket counter guy is nice to me and says, just be careful on the way back or you'll get charged, and I think, "On the way BACK!  I am NEVER taking EasyJet again."  I probably will, though, 'cause I be po"!  I go through security and it is bizarre.  There's this conveyor belt that's shaped like a big, curvy snake.  They make me take off my belt but not my shoes, and I think, "Great, I just go wait at the gate now."  But nope, not yet.  One has to go sit in these hard, plastic chairs in the middle of what resembles a huge shopping mall.  My flight doesn't board for an hour, so I just sit there, totally zonked, not knowing whether I need coffee or sleep, and read the flashing signs.  "Relax and Shop!" they command.  I don't know about you, but I don't think those two words belong in the same sentence.  If I'm going to relax, I'm going to do it at the beach, the park, in the woods, maybe at a movie.  Definitely not while shopping.
I start talking to this old (and I do mean old) British lady.  She asks me if I'm on holiday and I tell her about my clown show.  "I've never met a clown before!"  Her eyes light up.  She and her husband are going to Ibiza for their 60th wedding anniversary.  I congratulate her.  Her husband returns to the empty seat next to her.  She turns to him excitedly and says, "She's a clown!" 
"Really?"  He leans forward and grins at me. 
We start talking about England and America, but then I look at the kiosk and my flight says, "Final boarding call."  What?  It's only 5:40!  They didn't even tell us what gate it was going to board at until 5 minutes ago.  I politely excuse myself and run to gate 19.  Fuck you, Easyjet.  I hate you and I hope I can find a better way to get back to London.
The flight is 90 minutes long and I manage to sleep for about 45.  We land at Berlin Schoenfeld Flughafen at 8:30 am and getting through customs is fast, thought the agent spends a little too long looking at my passport.  This happened last time I entered Germany back in 2007 on a train from Prague.  It made me uncomfortable then and it makes my uncomfortable now, though not as much this time because there is an orthodox Jew standing in back of me who is speaking German and looking quite comfortable.  Finally I'm out, transfer things around so I again have shoulder satchel, rolling carry-on and beastpack.  Time for currency exchange.  Changing my British pounds is exciting.  Changing USD a bit, well... we all know what's going on with the dollar.

The directions my new roommate gave me are clear, but I don't know how much fare is and I don't speak ANY German.  Someone helps me figure it out.  I get on the 171 toward U-Rudow, descend into the underground, stumble through buying a ticket from a woman who doesn't speak English and get on the U-7 toward Rathaus Spandau, transfer to the U-8 at Hermannplatz and ride one stop to Boddinstrasse.  Ascending into daylight, I look to my left and there, just as the roommate said there would be, is her building on Hermanstrasse, nestled in between a bakery and a Chinese restaurant.  I ring the bell and she buzzes me in.  It's a walk up and she's on the fourth floor.
You know the kind of ache in your joints that comes from dehydration and lack of sleep.  If you've ever been a heavy drinker, you know what I'm talking about, but if not, guess what?  No alcohol necessary!  Still, I'm almost home.  There's a bed at the top of the stairs.  I can do this.  She meets me on the second floor landing and takes the red, rolling carry-on bag.  B-- is only a slight bit taller than I, shaved head, androgenous features.  When we started communicating, I thought she was trans and she thought I was a man.  Neither of us really cared.
B-- is a native to Berlin but speaks English like an American, although every once in a while, her consonants come out a bit sharp.  She shows me around and I really want to talk to her, but I feel like I am underwater.  That, and I am coated with the sticky film of sleepless travel sweat, my feet strangling in the swamp of my striped socks.  Every once in awhile I get a whiff off myself and it is that mannish smell of cut grass with just a hint of taqueria.  I shower and then nap until 16:00.  By this time, Bridge, who did not sleep well the night before, is napping.  I dress and go out with my list of things to I need to buy.  There is a Woolworth's next to the apartment, so I stop here first for hair conditioner, sunblock, shower gel, hand creme and laundry detergent.  Simple, right?  But of course everything is in German.  Things like sunblock are easy to find because the plastic tubes are illustrated by pictures of the sun and they have numbers on them indicating their strength.  Sonnenmilch!  Suntan lotion.  I can read it, but I can't say it.  Yet.  I feel what is a ridiculous sense of accomplishment.  I am also able to find shower gel, hand creme and hair conditioner without a hitch.  They are all spelled the same or similarly to English, although the pronunciation is very different.  Laundry detergent poses more of an issue.  I am able to find powder, but I want liquid.  There are some bottles, but they seem to be stain remover and bleach.  One is definitely for black clothes only.  I'd be up for experimenting, but I didn't bring much with me, and a mistake, especially with my costume, could prove disastrous.  I find someone who works at the store.  "Sprechen sie Englisch?"  They go and get someone else, a pretty girl with a dark, complexion, long black hair and a lazy eye.  I am pointed at and labeled, "Englisch."  My cheeks flush.  The sense of shame I feel is almost overwhelming.  I am so scared of being an ugly American, some Anglo-centric idiot who grew up speaking only one language.  I try to explain that I am looking for liquid laundry soap, but we have a communication breakdown.  I say "Danke," and leave. 
I decide to keep walking, see what I find.  There is an outdoor mall that looks promising.  I float in, hoping that I don't have to talk to anyone.  I walk into a small drugstore (side note: the drugstores here don't actually sell western medicine, just make-up, detergents, soaps, things like that.  For stuff like ibuprofen you have to go to a pharmacy, where you can buy it over the counter, just like in the US.)  I come upon a large, plastic bottle with the word Sensitive on it.  Below it says, "Color- & Feinwaschmittel" and has pictures of colored clothing on it. YES!  I walk proudly to the counter to buy it, only to have my pride evaporate when the cashier tells me the price in German.  I understand "Zwei" (two) and then there's some change in there somewhere, so I give her 4 Euro.  Ah, accomplishment. 
Stuff is much easier at the grocery because I recognize the kind of  food I want to buy and I know how to say and read "Kaffee"  (coffee) which is the most important and necessary item on my list.  On my way back to B--'s place.  (I guess it's my place, too, for 2 months, as I'm paying 350 Euro a month.) I treat myself to a currywurst, a guilty pleasure unique to Berlin.  It's a cut-up sausage doused with curry powder and ketchup and is mm-mmm good.  My hunger sated, I go back to the fourth floor walk-up and spend 15 minutes trying to unlock the door to the flat while not having a total conniption.  Eventually, I get the goddamn door open, make some kaffee and unpack. And I've got a gig at ZirCouplet (http://www.zircouplet-variete-berlin.de/) on the 17th and 18th. 
Yep,  it's happening!