Mar 20, 2016
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Berlin Journal, part 3
7 September
How on Earth was I convinced that I could find an apartment in this city in 5 days' time? I checked out of the hostel this morning- the better for it; I find it grating to share a small room with three other men- and were it not for Dalton's extreme generosity, I would be homeless. Sydney says I'm ballsy for moving here without an apartment. Part of me thinks it's just plain stupid.
Friday was a terrible day. I found an ad for a 60 euro iPhone 3 on Craigslist. I offered 70 for it because people will snatch up anything in this city, or so I thought. I then got lost in Neukölln trying to find the damn place. I finally found the place-- an obscure corner, several blocks away from one of the larger roads. Then, I set off for Ku'damm to get a SIM card at the only Vodafone I knew of.
Ku'damm does not impress me. It's too much like America-- there are Dunkin' Donuts, Urban Outfitters, a giant McDonald's; in other words, the giant chains that I'm trying so hard to avoid-- but I went there anyhow. I bought at SIM card for 45 euro and went back to the hostel to figure out my phone. What the girl didn't tell me is that the phone barely works for all of the malfunctions it has. The touch screen barely works at all and will randomly open and close various apps. Not to mention that it won't update, so I can't download anything that would be remotely useful to me. So that 100 euros was essentially wasted.
In the hopes of finding an apartment, I followed a lead from a dancer at Marameo, because she had a spare room. So, I journeyed down south to Eisenacherstraße. Right as I was about to transfer stations at Hermannplatz, I was caught on the U-Bahn without a ticket. I suppose that all good things must come to an end, but the embarrassment that I felt went nicely with the 40 euro fine I was slapped with. The address that I supplied in Georgia is no longer current, however, but I hope this doesn't come back to haunt me.
When I finally made it to the place, I was more or less informed that they were looking for a German speaker. On the way back to Nollendorfplatz-- this time with a purchased and validated ticket firmly in my hand-- I could have cried from the frustration that I felt.
The night ended on a better note though. One of my roommates, a Portuguese man whose name I forget-- let's call him Bruno--took me out to dinner in Schöneberg. I'd been avoiding the gay district out of intimidation on my part, but he took me to a lovely Italian place. We drank delicious red wine and ate pizza and chain smoked the whole time. Already tipsy by the end of dinner-- I eat so little here and the alcoholic content is so high that it only takes about two beers before I'm tipsy-- we stumbled along to Tom's Bar on Motzstraße. He bought me a whiskey and we talked. Men where everywhere. Hardcore porn was playing on the walls. Madonna, Blondie, Donna Summer remixes blared over the loudspeakers. My head was swimming as I led him to the darkroom in the basement.
The ceilings were low, the light was dim, and men of varying ages, sizes and ethnicities were everywhere, milling aimlessly around. We found a quasi-deserted corner and began kissing, then touching. He must've been twice my age, but I don't know. It wasn't something we discussed. As soon as we began, men swarmed around us. It was like being back at Midtowne Spa. Fearing for my valuables-- signs were posted everywhere, warning of pickpockets-- I suggested that we leave for the hostel.
Our ardor could not be contained, and so in the courtyard outside the hostel, in the shadows of the solitary tree, we resumed. I eventually suggested we go inside. To our dismay, both of the other men were asleep in our shared room, and so, with nowhere else to go, we went to the tiny bathroom at the end of the hall. We stripped and began again, until we were both on that cold tile floor. We went to bed separately. He was very tender with me. But I had no wish to do it again. When he came back to the room last night, I left in search of a meal; I didn't want him to get the wrong impression. I returned home, swaggeringly drunk, and passed out on the bed in my underwear. He kissed me on the cheek this morning as I feigned sleep. He was very sweet, all in all.
