Hard times

This was a Saturday. I remember not having a place to go but after eating lunch at the soup kitchen and not having any thing else particularly to do...

Service desert

How in the fcuk can you call yourself running a grocery store and NOT have ish on the shelf?!

This is one of the horrors of living in Germany. I live alone and fortunately do not have to shop for a whole family. That is a good thing since my refridgerator is about the size of a dorm room unit from my old college days; big enough for one person. That, I suppose it where the problem begins, but not so much. You see, it means I have to go to the supermarket more often.

I happen to live in a neighbor hood with one supermarket you could call a supermarket. It is budget, no frills shop about 10 minutes walk from my flat in the opposite direction of the train station. If I want any thing special, read NORMAL brands, I have to make a decision, either take to train 3 stops downtown or 2 stops in the opposite direction to the nearest shopping center. I always make the wrong choice.

Saturday I decided to go to the shopping center, thinking, quite wrongly, that the supermarket there would HAVE my favorite spaghetti sauce with meat AND the spicy one I like to mix together for my pasta. Let me be clear, when I go shopping, I always by the same FEW things; Barilla angel hair pasta and sauce (Ragu Bolognese and Arrabbiata), tortellini with meat, sliced cheese and luncheon meat, flavored water, tzitziki, lemon juice, washed leafy salad, cut-up fruit and if I feel like affording them pine nuts. Well inevitably, I I would end up going to no less than 4 (four!) SUPERMARKETS before getting all the things I wanted to buy to eat for 3 days!

Granted, I never expect much out of the budget shop in my neighborhood. There it is always hit or miss. What I haven't gotten until now is that it is just as hit and miss with all the other, so called premium markets too!

I had the nerve to even ask on Saturday at the first store, since they didn't have the Ragu Bolognese on the shelf, when they would have it in since a) I had bought it there before and b) I only assume it is one of the more popular varieties from Barilla. Instead or either going to check the system or giving an at least valid if not entirely unacceptable "I'm sorry, I don't know.", the 2 assistants I happened to ask would rather just lie off the tops of their heads. "If is not on the shelf then we don't carry it. Yeah we might have it on offer from time to time but we don't keep it in our regular assortment." You know, all I want is an opportunity to plan, just let me at least know WHEN you will have it so I can save myself a fcukin trip over here!

Well it is a bit strong to call them all liars, but I encounter these kind of uninformed responses so regularly that I cannot help but believe that there is something else at play here. It just occurs to me that perhaps the assistants want so much to give a correct answer that they would rather make up something that sounds plausible than just admitting the truth, that they don't know it, or to at least find someone who does.

I have really given up on being able to one-stop shop. I am resigned to believe that it doesn't really matter what I want to buy for dinner, I will never be able to in one location.

:-(

[image: "Untitled" Paying the bill at Tim's Deli, Schöneberg, Berlin, Feburary 2001. Courtesy of the blogger. ]

BLTs

How do I miss BLTs! This has to be my favorite sandwich! Soft white bread slathered with REAL mayonaise, big beefsteak tomato slices, cold broad lettuce leaves and crispy greasy bacon strips! So simple, so delicious!

This is the ONLY reason I started frequenting Tim's Deli in Berlin. Maybe not the only reason. It was NOT Cafe Berio, which I had long decided to boycott for poor bad service and the carrot cake was kinda lushous too! What go my attention really was the most reasonable facsimile of a good ole bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich for 6 time zones! But who ever thought to put RED ONIONS on a BLT? Even though Tim is supposedly a Canadian (can't say I know for sure), I cannot help but to blame that one on the Germans.

Anyway, I spent many a summer day lunching here, hoping not to forget to order my beloved BLT on toast "ohne Zwiebeln bitte!" That, with the potato wedges was happiness on a plate in the sunshine!

[image: "Winterfeldt" — Tim's Deli, Winterfeldtplatz, Berlin, February 2001

Courtesy of the blogger.]

Homesickness pt. 1

In October 2002, I left Berlin. I went, what my family calls "home." I left Berlin under duress. I had been looking for work for quite some time after the re-organization of the company I had worked for a year earlier without much luck. I tried to be as optimistic as I quite possibly could but ultimately I succumb to the stress. I opted to leave the city for a while. This decision was precipitated also by the fact that I had a physical altercation with the obsessive type I was dating at the time. 

While I was away, I had never felt the kind of homesickness like I had never felt before. Never for Charlotte when I went to school in Raleigh. Never for Raleigh when I moved to Morrisville, AND never for any of these places when I left for Berlin.

The only thing I could think about was how much I wanted to get back to the city despite my much needed break. Desperately, I made sure I kept in touch with my friends and acquaintances. Maybe more than I had when I was there.

Being plopped down at my parents' on the outskirts of York, South Carolina, I missed being able to take the U-Bahh, S-Bahn or trams to all parts of the city. I missed all the people on the street that I had become used to seeing everyday; at the bakery, at the supermarket, in my German course. In York I felt isolated. I tried to make the best of it even after breaking down in tears exclaiming "I want to go home!" during a conversation with my mother.

Later when I moved to Rock Hill to replenish my bank account for my return, I imagined my walk to work to be my walk to school in Berlin. Down Lychener Straße, across Schönhauser Allee and down the hill on Kastanienallee to Rosenthaler Platz, and on to Linienstraße.

I ultimately did return to Berlin, a year after my departure. Nine months longer than I had intended to be away. Berlin was the only place where I have felt totally at sync with. From the first day I arrived. The city I returned to was not the city I left, but I was home nonetheless.

[image: Schönhauser Allee, U-Bahnhof Eberswalder Straße looking towards Alexanderplatz, Berlin February 2001

Courtesy of the blogger.]

Racismus

This is a particularly sensitive subject in Germany. Rightly so considering what took place here under the Nazi regime after WWI. Having said that, it DOES exist here, as it does in almost every other place on the face of the planet.

It concerns me here simply because I am here. Actually what concerns me is not particularly...

to be continued...

[image: "Jeder ist Ausländer. Nur dort nicht, wo er hingehört." Lamppost in front of my flat, Pankow, Berlin, July 2005

Courtesy of the blogger.]

Home is where the heart is.

I am not entirely sure, but I do have some suppositions why Germany, specifically Berlin, has felt more like home to me than my place of birth. My guess is it is not only because I chose to come here, but most likely the investments I made to be that I fully invested myself in being here. What I mean is that even though I had no real reason to come to this place over any other, after I arrived, I was crucially dependent on any and every effort I made to survive every decision I made was a crucial one. There was no network of family or friends to fall back on just in case. I would have to rely solely on everything I had ever learned to make my way in this new environment. At the same time, I would have to forget all the things I had ever taken for granted. I would not only have to learn not only a new language from scratch, but new systems as well, and to build a support network from the ground up.

Though it was one of the most exhausting things I have ever done, I have to say that it seems to have been my greatest achievement accomplishment to date. A coup of my own status quo. In the process, I have managed not only to find new family-friends from the endeavor, but have also learned a new language on the ground and have successfully managed to integrate myself into a foreign society.

Of course, this all has not been without its share heartache of various kinds, as life usually has.However it has certainly been a most worthwhile effort, if only for the experience. My horizon has expanded in ways I never dreamed possible; understanding the world and life in ways I never had before. Every ounce of blood, sweat and tears I have put into making this place into my home has given me ownership of the kind I wonder whether I could have ever claimed by birthright. It is surely one thing that if one ever has or takes the chance to do, I would most highly recommend!

[image: Kastanienallee looking towards U-Bahnhof Eberswalder Straße, Berlin, April 2001.

Courtesy of the blogger.]

Ich bin ein Berliner?!

So spoke JFK at the Rathaus Schöneberg in 1963. Four whole years before I made my way into this world. Thirty-six years later, these four words would have a most profound effect on my being as a citizen of this world.

[image: "Kein Durchgang" View from U-Bahnhof Schönhauser Allee towards Alexanderplatz, Berlin, September 2001.
Courtesy of the blogger]

A new beginning.

I remember coming to German, Berlin specifically. It was the most bold and exciting thing I had done up until that point in my life.

People often ask, why did I come to Germany? The answer is complex. In its simplest form, I needed an adventure!

[image: Prenzlauer Berg, U-Bahnhof Eberswalder Straße looking towards Alexanderplatz, January 2002. 

Courtesy of the blogger.]

der Ausländer

By definition, a so called Ausländer is a person that DOES NOT live in a particular place. The use of this word is similar to that of foreigner in English. I take exception to the use of either of these words to describe people "who live here that were not born here," or worse, "who don't look like us." It's use in both these cases is careless and particularly offensive!

There are certainly better words that could be used with various degrees of precision. As someone who has come to Germany to live but has not yet be naturalized, I consider Einwanderer most appropriate. For those who may be here temporarily for professional reasons, the internationally accepted Expatriate, or simply Expat is preferred. Individuals and their families who have decided to settle here could best be described as Migranten.

Fortunately thing seem to be changing slowly from the top down. Among the general populace and the politically divisive, Ausländer seems to be the most expedient.

Ich bin aber KEIN Ausländer.

[image: Samson, Schloßpark Pankow, Berlin, June 2003.

Courtesy of the blogger.]

The disillusionment

There was a time when I actually would have considered becoming German. That is, as much as Germans would let me become German. You see, one cannot for all intents and purposes, become German. One is either German OR not. And fact of the matter is, most of us are not. I learned that not only am I not, but most likely would not be any time soon.

This fact came to my attention most bluntly during my last visit to the infamous Ausländerbehörder, or German Immigration Office, which by its very name serves to remind visitors who are fortunate enough to find it necessary to have to visit it, that YOU are in fact are NOT one of US. That is when after effectively eight years of waiting and trying to play a game the rules of which seemed to change almost arbitrarily and more than a bit to often, I was effectively denied the very permanent residency that not only was I told three years earlier would be granted, but that was also most certainly necessary in order to apply for German citizenship.

Almost a decade gone by and the question I cannot help to ask myself and anyone else I could hold as captive audience is, "For what?!"

[image: German Reichstag building during landscaping, Berlin, July 2001. 

Courtesy of the blogger.]