My life in Berlin at this point consists mostly of comforting little rituals as I find my roots. Every day after German class, a small troupe of students march down to the nearby Tha restaurant and order the same thing. I rip out the crossword from the International Herald Tribune and pretend to know big words. But, above all, the most ritualistic element of my everyday reality is the public transportation system.
The morning commute to my place of German academia can either be mind-bogglingly boring or relatively exciting. The excitement is usually derived from the rush that comes when I'm frantically calculating exactly how many seconds I have until my tardiness won't be excused by my somewhat meek, former East-Berliner langugage teacher, Frau Thietz.
The Berlin subway is divided into mainly the U-bahn and S-bahn, "U" standing for something to do with being underground and "S" for... something else. If I get on the U6 line going towards Alt-Mariendorf at exactly 8:22 a.m., transfer to the S-bahn at Tempelhof and then back to the U3 at Heidelbergerplatz, I can be at school at exactly 8:51 a.m. Wow!
This realization of my commitment to timetables was depressing. I knew I needed to find something other than clock-watching to keep myself occupied while I sat in the mustard-colored railway car. That was when I rediscovered my long-term relationship with people-watching.
I've been in Berlin for a solid month now and have only scratched this surface of good people-watching: mass transit. But as I began to take note of the people around me while I ventured over to school, I noticed some distinct patterns that indeed reminded me of the unavoidable ritualistic nature of my life. Is this comforting? Sort of.
First, there's the man with the beagle. He's always in my car when I get on the S-bahn. He has thick jowls that mimic the saggy cheeks of his canine companion. The man is always clutching a token newspaper, as well as the leash to his beagle. The beagle is in essence the foulest dog in Germany. He omits a cruel, odorous gas and almost seems to smirk when he's caught humping the calf of innocent female riders. I've learned to avoid the beagle because if there's one thing Berliners love, it's their dogs. And should the beagle ever decide to impregnate my calf, I would probably be arrested for kicking it aside.
Second is the bike guy. Bicycle-toting folk outnumber pedestrians in Berlin, but this one is special. This particular gentleman is always, always in the same car as the putrid beagle and the man with the jowls that shame Winston Churchill. His svelte cycle is red and gold and he always manages to roll up his jeans to the ankle without looking goofy. He has perfectly wind-tousled hair and is always reading out of some tattered pocket version of Sartre or Camus. Okay, so basically Bike Guy is ridiculously hot and I see him every day and I just wish my Deutsch was good enough that I could ask him something besides where he was from and if he liked going to the movies (although that's a pretty decent start.) Give me three weeks.
Third is this one girl. There's really nothing remarkable about her until you soak in the radiance of this gigantic, rainbow, cotton poncho that she rocks with gusto. I don't dare mention the lewd and/or crude patches the adorn the back - a whole separate column could be devoted to the slogans Berliners develop for self-expression. Graffiti artists in the U.S. would be ashamed of themselves. In any event, I don't know why but I am just mesmerized by something so large and in charge that early in the morning.
It's really quite fortunate that I have this constant cast of characters to ease my morning commute and break apart this repetitive existence. Not only do I get to ponder important questions like, "Why does this man take his smelly beagle to work?" and "Who makes and/or sells patches that actually say '4:20 tokin' up 24/7?' Isn't that a little obvious?" But I also have time to invent little vignettes surrounding these people and their lives.
The man with the jowls loves this beagle enough to subject himself and others to the odor because the dog once saved his life. The girl with the poncho is a spy for the German Bundestag. And then between 8:22 and 8:51 a.m., this Bike Guy figures out that I am the most stunning creature of youth and beauty he's ever laid eyes on.
It's just so much better than on the Metro.
"From Berlin with love," Jen Turner's encapsulation of the whirlwind life that is studying abroad in Germany, appears every other Monday.