17 May 2010
Kreuzberg, 2 AM
(Caberet, Berlin Style. Photography by Jim Ferreira)
I suddenly realized what a pathetic dependent creature I am. The Internet is down at the Hotel Armony and I am suddenly in Germany. Without it I cannot contact my associate in the building next door, and may actually have to deal with the German people and their republic.
The ash cloud is apparently coming this way again, and I could be in Berlin for the duration. That would obviate the haste I felt to experience everything- and I mean everything- over the weekend.
You may have noted more than the usual number of typos and lost thought-trains in the last story I was able to transmit. There was a reason for that. I was preparing to attend a Rave.
As you know, Berlin is famed for its nightlife and its general decadence. It is difficult to see that side of the city when you go to bed at nine at night as I normally do. I have been reliably informed that most parties worth attending have not only no fixed location but operating hours that commence after mid-night.
I suppose I could have gone to bed early and risen equally so, at one or two, to sortie out, but after the adventure to Potsdam in the chill rain I took a hard nap and felt I might be able to power right through, and thus worked on some material until one or so before venturing down to the Oranienstrasse to seek out excitement.
I might have fortified myself along the way with some vodka; I do not recall with any precision this morning. I do know that there were definitely signs of life on the street, little knots of people moving purposefully in various directions. Their average age appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty.
I had some vague instructions about one techno party that was going to materialize in an abandoned shop adjacent to a physicians office at 133 Skalitzerstrasse. There were certainly some physician’s offices around, and as I approached the Kottbusser Tor S-Bahn station I saw a crowd of people in a plaza before a large building and turned in. Several beefy Germans were standing around a table in an entryway.
“Guten-nacht,” I said helpfully. They looked at me and responded in English, saying “The concert is over,” with a certain grim finality.
I told them it was OK, and they stepped aside. Curious. I walked across the courtyard and heard loud hard chords sounding from inside. The concert was not in fact over. I was blasted by the last few chords of a song reaching a blues-fusion crescendo, and the band took in the applause with some bows and disappeared offstage. I found a place to prop myself and observe at the corner of a long bar and let my eyes adjust to the scene. No one was seated. There was a dance floor of sorts, packed, no seats, a few tall tables scattered haphazardly around the floor that I could see.
No one seemed inclined to leave, so the band did the right thing and cam back out, this time with the front man clad in a feathered headdress. They roared off into another song I was not familiar with, but they were accomplished and good and the throng on the floor roared their approval.
The lights went out at the conclusion of he encore and there appeared to be no coming back for another. Two earnest young people were selling t-shirts with post-modern designs from a table by the door. They looked hopefully at the crowd, which began to stream toward the door. Male and female in about the same number, many couples in the usual three combinations, most happy, and headed out for the next thing just after two.
I wondered what I might be doing next when the bartender approached me and in self-defense I ordered a Beck’s. An odd thing began to occur. After the initial rush, as many people were entering the hall as were leaving. Music began to pour from speakers on the stage, canned, but loud an eclectic. Standing at the bar I head everything from Bill Haley and the Comets to gritty blues sung by German bands. The music migh be America’s greatest contribution to the world, I thought. It belongs to everyone now.
The crowd swayed and I almost felt like swaying along with them.
A woman with short black hair and a gray hoodie drawn halfway up approached me. She had a pair of Euro glasses- narrow black fames. She was looking for a light for her friend, a question that started in German and transitioned to something Germlish. Her name was Monika, or something, and she was from Hamburg.
“I like the freedom of Berlin,” she said. “I come her seven years ago and have not gone back.” At that point an angular woman with hair colored a crimson not found in nature swayed up and grasped he bar to keep from toppling over. She produced a cigarette, which I considered possibly the last thing she needed. It went on the floor as I produced my lighter, and after some confusion, we managed to unite both.
She looked a bit green under the light and I said to Monika that it might be time or her friend to call it a night. She nodded in agreement, and being careful to stay away form the lit cigarette, I managed to launch the redhead into Monika’s arm and head toward the door and into the night.
I had another beer and listened to more music, watching the bodies undulate on the floor. This is a young person’s game, and it probably requires more than a couple Beck’s to fully get with the program. I finished the beer and wobbled out into the night myself,
Rave complete.
I got back to the room at the Armony before four, and collapsed on the bed. The eiderdown was marvelously soft, I thought, and as the last thoughts fled in that new day, I was content that I had gone out to actually see it. I never would have understood the energy of this place, or the time dysphasia that makes the mornings so quiet on the streets of the Kreuzberg District.
The residents have just gone to bed.
Copyight 2010 Vic Socotra
Photography by Jim Ferreira
www.vicsocotra.com
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