Thoughts on Germans and road-crossing

Why did the German cross the road?
If you answered anything other than 'because the green man was showing', you lose.

The Germans seem to share the British ingrained respect for all rules, but none of our reserve. I've been on the receiving end of loud tuts and disapproving head-shakes for crossing the road while the red man was showing - I looked both ways, there were no cars to be seen for miles, and I'm also 80% sure the traffic light was broken, but that wasn't enough to deter my fellow road-crossers from sticking it out.

They're probably still there now, slowly growing weary, tired and cold from standing on the same bit of pavement for over 24 hours, but warmed by the inner satisfaction in knowing that they are following the rules.

I'm all for road safety, but it takes a bit of getting used to after Rome, where every pedestrian crossing felt like the Hunger Games arena - may the odds be ever in your favour indeed - and the green man meant nothing more than 'haha we're still going to drive straight at you, loser'.

It really begs the question of why Khrushchev bothered with the Berlin Wall; in a country whose population can seemingly be kept in one place just by the presence of a luminous red man, it seems he may have missed a trick.

On another note, German traffic lights are in themselves pretty great, at least in former East Berlin. For one thing, the Ampelmännchen ('little traffic light man' - isn't German just the best) is wearing a bowler hat. When in stern red mode, he's depicted with arms outstretched, as though physically obstructing his fellow pedestrians from attempting an unsafe crossing, something I would not be at all surprised to hear many Germans actually do, while his green counterpart appears to be swinging his arms enthusiastically as he strides across the road. It's one of the few features of the Communist era to have survived the fall of the Wall and become an integral part of Berlin culture, and there's even a dedicated Ampelmännchen souvenir shop. Only in Germany.

Getting things done

Since my first week in Berlin, things have been a little less tragic (and a lot less phlegmmy, you'll be pleased to hear) and I think the German productivity might even be rubbing off on me. After six months of Italian shoulder shrugs, 'behhh's and general things not working as they should, it makes a nice change to be in a country where you can actually rely on people and transport schedules. In my last week in Rome it rained, quite a lot even by my Mancunian (or thereabouts) standards, and everything ground to a soggy standstill. The metro went into complete shutdown, shops closed, and I learnt that 'oooh it's a bit wet outside' is a valid reason for Italians to take a day off work. I'd love to see how far that would get them in England.

Anyway, true to stereotype, the Germans get stuff done, and now, somewhat less true to character, so have I.

Probably the biggest achievement was finding a flat within my first two weeks, something I'm still feeling a bit smug about. Having heard several people's tales of the various struggles/despair/scams/compromises/animal sacrifices etc etc (one of those might be made up) they'd had to go through before finding a flat, I really didn't want to get involved in the househunt at all. I hate ringing people up, for one thing. But as it turns out, the prospect of homelessness is a great motivator, so I went to three viewings, and the last one turned into an offer of a flatshare, which is where I'm living now for the next six months. It's a really nice flat in a cool bit of Berlin, shared with a German girl and with special features including a Nespresso machine, toaster and kettle (rare luxuries in these foreign parts), and a massive book on cocktail making which was left in my room. It's also on the fourth floor with no lift, so is basically a flat and a gym in one. Bargain.

During my first weekend, Kate and Claire, two of my friends from college, came to visit Berlin. With local knowledge extending no further than the nearest English speaking doctor, my office and the supermarket, I wasn't able to be a very good tour guide but it was great to see people from back home who are also doing the whole 'live in another country, go on it'll be funny' thing. They're both enjoying their years and seem settled in their countries, which was good to hear as throughout the year it's become obvious that universities don't give any help with the year abroad at all. You are just sort of unceremoniously dumped in a new country and expected to fend for yourself; it can go really well or really horribly badly, and I've heard stories from both sides.

After they left, I went along to a voluntary project I'd heard about. The idea is that a group of volunteers prepare a healthy 3 course meal for local homeless people - actually, anyone can go, but if you can afford it, you're supposed to leave a donation which will cover your meal and that of a homeless person (this is only about €5). There's some live music, this time from an Ethiopian band, and the idea that is that as well as the food, it gives the homeless community some more interaction than just with care workers and so on. I'm completely guilty of ignoring homeless people on the streets, mainly because I don't think giving them money directly is usually the best way to help, but then I feel guilty about seeming rude and ignoring them, so it was nice to be able to get involved in something which has a positive impact. Everyone there was so friendly and I'm hoping to go back each month to help.

After the dinner I also went to a comedy night with some girls I met there. It was 'Deuglish' night, which meant there were 3 comedians from Germany and 3 from England. I'd never seen German comedy before, and it was a bizarre night, but I couldn't say how much of my confusion was down to their odd sense of humour and how much was just my lack of German knowledge.

So it seems that Berlin is much nicer when you're not all fluey and sorry for yourself - who'd have guessed. It's fast becoming my favourite city, even from the little I've seen from it in between my internship, winning major bonus points over Rome for the fact that everything works. More exciting tales soon about the job, the city, and the wonderfully efficient transport network (the latter potentially not so exciting for someone who hasn't spent 6 months in Italy, and 20 years before that in a tiny village, both of which subscribe to the motto of 'you wait ages for a bus, and then none turn up, ever')

I live in Berlin now...

...Just about. In what turned out to be a gross overestimation of my capabilities, when I planned my switch between countries I gave myself a grand total of 64 hours between finishing work in Rome on a Friday afternoon, and turned up to my new job on Monday morning, in Berlin. I'm not quite sure why this seemed like such a fantastic idea, and it is not a tactic I would recommend.

The actual, physical, moving part went surprisingly well, considering I'd inexplicably gained an extra suitcase of luggage during my first five months. No matter; I am by now well practiced in the fine art of standing looking helpless in an airport with my cases, and again once on the plane as I clog up the aisle, too weak to lift my definitely-over-the-permitted-weight hand luggage into the locker and steadfastly ignoring the glares of hatred from other more competent passengers, until some kind stranger takes pity. I even made it to my temporary accommodation relatively unscathed, and used the weekend to embark on my flat hunt. I think some part of me was vaguely expecting that in those vital 64 hours I'd manage to fly to Berlin, find a flat, remember all my German, assimilate perfectly into the new culture and turn up at my new office with time to spare, ready to wow my new boss.

Instead, none of the above happened, and upon arrival at work I spectacularly failed to open the front door, and managed to get stuck in the bike shed where I had to await rescue. In my defence, it is an extremely heavy door, and as previously mentioned, brute strength is far from my forte.

As first impressions go it was fairly tragic, and only got worse, as I went on to spend the rest of the week developing some kind of flu. I really really didn't want to be 'that' intern who took the second day off sick, so took the (in hindsight far worse) option of being the intern who coughed a lot, probably infected half the office and could barely manage simple tasks, before finally conceding and going home on Thursday. Ideal.

Being ill on the year abroad is awful. I don't have any of my Disney DVD's with me, the German orange juice I bought tastes gross, and it came at the absolute worst time because I had just traded lovely Rome, where I had actual friends and an amazing job, for Berlin where I knew nothing and no one, least of all how to get through all the German bureaucracy, which it turns out is not just a cliche but a very real and very horrible deluge of paperwork to fill out, forms to sign, places to go and people to see.

The first step is to 'anmelden', registering as a German citizen, and this is the gateway to all sorts of other exciting treats; a phone contract, bank account, and a tax number. I'm not overly keen about the latter, since about 20% of my hard-earned intern wages will apparently be going to 'obligatory social security contributions', most bizarrely my 'compulsory pension scheme'. But it all has to be done, which means you have to anmelden, and to anmelden you need to have a permanent German address. Which I did not.

Finding accommodation in Berlin is super competitive - to the extreme that  interviews, and in some cases 'auditions' or 'castings' are held for potential tenants or housemates. Apparently, you can expect to be quizzed on anything from your cooking skills to music taste to political views, and that's assuming you get a vaguely normal landlord who isn't just getting a kick out of the sudden power they've had thrust upon them and has taken it upon themselves to think up a selection of riddles, role play tasks or incriminating ink-blot tests...

I guess it's fair enough that flatmates get to choose who they's like to live with, but it doesn't bode well when your current defining character traits are near-constant sniffing and nose-blowing, and a voice so croaky it sounds like you've been possessed. I'm also using flu as the reason I've been struggling to make sense in any language, let alone scary German with all its grammar and words and stuff.

Sitting wrapped in a Star Wars blanket surrounded by various cough sweets and dubious herbal remedies (all supplied by my well-meaning but slightly odd landlady) was not how I imagined my first week in Berlin, but it can only really get better (please). More, and hopefully less moany, updates to follow soon!