Die Hard Three

Maybe one indication that I’m getting proficient in German is my ability to become annoyed after an engagement conducted entirely in my third language. The transaction in question was one that I had forecast well in advance and I figured it would be the second easiest thing I would do during my 13 weeks here in Germany. I was wrong.

So if you think my views on child-rearing are utilitarian, wait till you hear my thoughts on haircuts. When it comes to visiting the hairdresser some people in my family are anarchists (e.g. they get their hair cut once every sixty months) and others, like me, a more civilized every three to four weeks. And as you can tell from my photos I’m in dire need of one.

Now I’m thinking “end to end this should take five minutes”. I’m basing this on what I did in the morning: traveled effortlessly on public transportation (changing trains a total of three times – two outbound, one for the return trip) across half the city. I didn’t have to wait more than three minutes for any of the five trains I had to catch. Implementing an effective public transportation system is really hard and the Germans have done such a good job at this sort of thing I’m thinking they’ve probably got a robot or something that will cut my hair in like 3 minutes. I only need a number 4.

Sadly, there was no robot.

I’m waking down Schlesiches Tor Strasse and I pass this hair salon. I pop in and the woman working there asks me to come back in one hour – for my 5 minute haircut. Ok… so when I do come back she motions me to sit on the sofa to wait. After witting for fifteen minutes she tells me it’s going to be another fifteen or twenty minutes. Now I’m a patient person but I just spent my first 15 minutes watching the other hairdresser tease the bangs of her client while applying enough hairspray to burn a hole in the ozone layer the size of Texas. She could have cut my hair twice in the amount of time it took her to finish with Goldilocks.

Basically all the worst parts of the bible.

So I bail out of there and I return to the pub to work on my blog. Here I sit, my hair a complete mess, but kinda happy I was able to get upset in German. One step closer to being complete.

Note: for a return trip, the number of trains waited for is equal to the number of transfers plus two (the wait for the first outbound train and for the first return train)

My first full week of school is under my belt. I have to say it feels good. The people in my class are great. I’m meeting some of them tonight at Belushi’s to watch the first game of the Rangers-Rays series. I get there at 23:00 and the game has just started and the kitchen is closed. Alex (from France/England) and Miel (Seattle) arrive about half an hour later. Finn (from Sweden?) never shows. After about 4 innings we’re all starving so we go grab a doner at the Alexander Platz. Hard Target is playing on the TV. I don’t even know where to begin with this one.

We return to the bar to watch the end of the game. Miel really wants to see the Yankees but they’re not on until 02:30. We grab a beer for last call and finish watching the Rangers lose (big time). I take off when the Yankees and Tigers are tied one all.

Making your way through a German city early on a Saturday morning is an interesting experience. Compare this to my first night in Tunisia almost one year ago

In Germany you can purchase alcohol (beer) at any time of the day and you are permitted to drink it anywhere (even in a moving car). So on your walk home on a typical Friday night you will see people out drinking beer in public, on the trams, busses, and subways. In Kanada this is incredibly verboten. I don’t think I will ever get used to seeing it. In Tunisia it was very different. I arrived in Tozeur and while alcohol was not illegal it was pretty difficult to find. There were lot of people (all men) out on the streets but none of them were drunk.

In Tunisia I felt safe because everyone was sober (but they were drinking lots of coffee) and beforehand I had read that the police don’t look too kindly on locals who mess with the tourists. In Germany it’s my familiarly with the city, the culture, and the language that keeps me at ease.

I jump on the tram to get home. I exit at Antonplatz and the local doner shop is playing Black Velvet by Alannah Myles on the radio. I haven’t heard this song in years and here here it is playing in a Turkish diner in Berlin at 03:30 on a Saturday morning. A little piece of Kanada. Surreal.