Berlin: Day One

Day One

You know how it is with trains and buses and waiting at the airport. And then you get on for your 95-minute flight and the air is dry like the inside of an aerosol can – maybe lynx, maybe imperial leather. If you say ‘aerosol’ with an accent you probably sound like an asshole.

On the flight you have to put up with somebody sitting near you, reading and breathing, wearing glasses and leaving just one seat between the two of you, even though the flight is two people under capacity.

To top things off you are so tired from your punctual 25-mile journey to the airport this morning that when the vessels touches down on German soil you are pissed because you’re still sleepy and need another twenty minutes or so to wake up.

The toilet at the airport is inadequate at best. There is only one urinal and everybody needs a piss.

Although the S-bahn service is both efficient and comprehensive, you find the prospect of paying for it abhorrent. “This is supposed to be the capital city of Europe’s most resilient economy,” you think to yourself as you gaze upon stacks of sheds with graffiti and juvenile pink tubes carrying gas and electricity. The water is glorious like the Thames, yet the river Spree is less famous and this makes you feel proud to be British. Most of the ‘street art’ is English, and this also tightens the muscles in your lower abdomen and neck to improve your posture and sense of self.

After taking another train, this time titled ‘U-bahn’ – what’s the difference? – you are pretty close to the destination but the dastardly directions have sold you short. Undeterred, you persevere and as you see the disgraceful doorway, rendered pink and blue with cheap crayons and unskilled spray-paint scribblings, you sigh an audible expression of disgust before announcing for no apparent reason: “HONEY I’M HOME.”

****

The remainder of the evening is spent toking on a spliff of business, adjusting your eardrums to understand the garish commonwealth, and diluted hummous.