In a radical break from tradition, I'm going to write about a city while I'm still actually in it. This does mean that Kracow basically gets skipped over, but in all honesty, I don't think it's a great loss for any of us. Not to say that Kracow wasn't a lovely city, just that nothing blogworthy really occurred there. It would be to my shame if this site became little more than a list of our activities – surely it needs to be a little more colorful than that to keep the interest of such a discerning readership as yourselves? Thus, I fast forward to our arrival in Berlin...
It's been a long day on the train, more or less ten hours in transit. An uneventful trip really, except for the part towards the end where the German ticket inspectors reduced a girl in a nearby seat to tears, with some kind of dressing-down. Uncomprehending as I am of the language, I cannot state any details, other than inferring that whatever card or ticket she had was somehow unfit for travel, and the inspectors were – in their own stony way – filled with wrath. It appeared that a substantial sum of cash was required to convince them to take their wrath elsewhere. It would seem that nationality is a secondary factor; ticket inspectors are of their own ugly breed wherever they may hark from.
Apologies to any decent ticket inspectors out there who I just slandered with sweeping generalisation. You have to admit though – the most of you are thorough bastards.
Anyhow, I digress. Now in Berlin, we make our way out to the hostel. Having read reviews of the place, I'd been informed that it was in a neighborhood that other travelers had described as 'shady', 'dodgy', and 'seedy'. As it was, it simply turned out to be Turkish. Not exactly a ritzy neighborhood, but hardly the dangerous slum implied in the reviews. We've noticed that the traveling youth of today seem to be a fairly sensitive lot, complaining about everything from the number of bathrooms on their floor, to the number of coat-hooks in their bedroom. One critical fellow even observed in his feedback that the light fittings seemed poorly attached to the roof. To these people, we would have but one suggestion: Go to Edinburgh Backpackers. You'll have enough review material to start a periodical.
It seems we arrived on an interesting night – in a nearby square, a street festival of sorts was taking place. Something to do with the anniversary of a protest against police treatment of the homeless, the festival seemed to draw together all manner of street performers. Magicians, jugglers, dancers, they were all out in force. Some were clearly fancy enough to have their own stage, others just grabbed a bit of grass in the park and strutted their stuff. Among the more sensational acts was a fellow who could inflate a surgical glove. With his nostrils. Whilst it was stretched over his head, like a translucent white rooster comb. There was a drum & digeridoo outfit called Wild Marmalade (actually an Aussie group!) who drew quite a crowd in the park. Some of the dancing they inspired was truly... original. The most mind boggling act, however, we found a little way down the street. Two enterprising performers had conspired to create a scene that very nearly defies comprehension, let alone description. They were dressed in a kind of eighties-idea-of-the-future style, all shiny and segmented, with rather incredible headgear, that was part robot, part skeleton, part chicken. One of them played an insane kind of experimental techno music, a one man band of sorts, darting from one console to another creating all kind of electronic mayhem. His female counterpart occupied herself by cooking along to the music. To add to the oddity of the act, her stove was elevated well above practical height, so that she had to climb a ladder in order to deposit ingredients in the pot. The entire spectacle took place in front of a blurry projection of what appeared to be a time lapse of chickens.
No doubt, we've arrived in Berlin.
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