I'm sitting in a surprisingly good Spanish restaraunt in Spittelmarkt, Neue Grunstrasse, (in the former East) Berlin.
I figured that rather than sit alone in my room, smoking cigarettes while watching Scrubs reruns on the internet, I'd get out of the place, and stumble about 40 feet across the street and sit alone amongst a roomful of people who's language I don't speak. All in all, I'd say it's working out pretty well.
I'm really fond of Berlin. It is architecturally a jaw-dropping city to look at, the people are very friendly, there is zero litter on the streets, and their bathrooms & elevators remain unparalleled. The one drawback is that I still can't get strange way that Europeans design their showers. Most tubs have a shower situated right in the center of the tub, rather than at the end like the typical north American plumbing, also all with no shower curtain. I've tried and tried, but I don't think there is a system devised for non-europeans not to get water all over the damned floor. The toilets though, are about as good as one will find anywhere on this blue planet. One might scoff at that audacious statement, but I'll stand behind it (and more importantly squat on top of it whenever and wherever necessary). Not only do they seem to be of a slightly higher height than back home, there has been clearly some substantial thought put into the the actual design & layout of said piece. (Not like the French ones where the main bowl is a flat platform which then drops off to the drainage area at the back. Stupid French, and don't even get me started about the holes in the floor in Italy either.) The German toilets I've encountered thus far give you the user, unparalleled, and unfettered access accompanied by the ensuing the bulls-eye right into the target zone, thus ensuring the endorphin-producing of a job well done, knowing that with the designs inherant cleverness that splash-back is not an issue, and also leaves a clean playing field for the next time of use. I suppose the coolest thing is that there are two flush buttons; one for a standard, automatic flush (which is your standard flush & forget) and the other is a "use it as long or as short as you need it" button. Not only do these Bavarians excel at toilet design, it's also economical, AND good for the environment! Thanks, German Toilet Engineers - is there anything you CAN'T do?
With all the travel I've done this year, I guess I accumulated enough air miles to be a part of Air Canada's "You're a super duper GOLD ELITE member" - which basically only gets me access to the Business lounge in the airport where there is free booze, newspapers & snacks, Mmmm snacks. I still sit back in peasant class, squeezed into too small seats, elbow to elbow, and shoulder to shoulder with complete strangers, breathing their air, smelling their farts and witnessing their bad habits. I've developed this mad, irrational thing about my personal space, and the one thing that literally drives me batty is being touched by a stranger. I think that we should all have a 1 inch force field surrounding us. Don't invade it. Ever. Take for example the armrest. We share an armrest. There are unwritten rules about this; I will take the front half, you take the back half of the armrest. Also, Unless specifically prompted (or unless you are a totally hot babe) there will be no conversations about what we do for a living, small talk of any kind other than a pleasant smile when sitting down, or the slightly embarrased "I'm sorry" shrug when the window seat occupant has to get up to go to the washroom. Other than that? We're strangers, not even two ships passing in the night. Just two small people who wound up on a collision course at that exact place & time to sit beside each other for 11 hours, and then lets just end it already!
For example, take Vancouver - Toronto a couple of days ago. I was in the immediate vicinity of someone who had simply HORRID gas, of which said noxious fumes spewed out about every 10 minutes for the 4.5 hour flight. I was about ready to strangle someone by the time we began our final descent into snowy Ontario, I also think there was a fair to middlin chance of me being acquitted of any charges too - it was pretty nasty. There was also Mr. Fat Guy sitting in the aisle directly across from me who right after take off, promptly fell asleep and snored so loudly the entire trip most of the people in my area were chuckling. Well they were, until the masked Farter let his presence be known. Again. The Fiend.
Toronto to Frankfurt yesterday. Using my manly charms and Super Duper GOLD ELITE status, I sweet-talked the check-in lady to give me the aisle seat on the bulkhead for the long overnight overseas flight. I was originally checked into a middle seat - so thank god I'm irresistible and charming to women, else there would have been a mile high meltdown. The beauty about getting the bulkhead on an Airbus A340, is that there is nothing between me and business class, except about 8 long feet of beautiful, empty industrial carpet stretching out in front of my feet. Wonderful doesn't begin to describe it. That is, until "Robert" the 6 foot 4 inch Astrophysicist squeezed his massive bulk in beside me. OK I can deal with that, but Robert has a problem. Robert is a huge, chronic nose-picker. Robert likes to work on his laptop, all while sticking his pinky so far up his nose that the underside of his brain must have bruises on it by now. Seriously. This guy was knuckles deep every 5 minutes, then inspected said digit, then of course sucked whatever was there into his mouth. I was so disgusted after 2 hours of this, I gave up my perfect seat in Valhalla, and squeezed my way into an empty seat across the aisle, beside a single mom and an 8 month old baby.
Take Frankfurt - Berlin Yesterday morning. I was squeezed into my seat on an older Boeing 737, and sitting beside me was Mr. Twitchy Guy. A little east Indian chap who not only looked like a bit of a rat, had the mannerisms as well. He had the Jimmy legs, he liked to stick his pinky into his ear, and furiously wiggle it around like the world's biggest, unhygienic Q-Tip, then furiously scratch his neck. He would cross over his legs so quickly, that he would literally erupt with a start, switch his legs, the settle back to plunge another finger into his ear and violently scrub it from side to side, then go back to scratching his neck. As I hadn't slept on the overnight flight to Frankfurt, I was just drifting off for the short, final hop into Berlin and each time he would squirm in his seat, either he'd kick me, or jab me in the ribs with his elbow as he renewed his assault on his inner-ear canals. After he woke me up for the 4th time. I took a deep breath, faced him squarely and simply glared at him for a good 5 seconds. I didn't trust myself to say anything, and apparently by the look I gave him, I didn't have to say anything after that. Mr. Twitchy Guy slunk into the corner of his seat and remained still as a statue for the last 20 minutes of our descent.
So the madness of Berlinale starts tomorrow, another film market, another vicious round of jet-lag, and another back & forth roller coaster of shaking far too many hands, drinking far too many drinks, spending for too many interminable hours in airports, airport lounges, taxi cabs, and the like. The film business; The Glamour! The Excitement!
I'm going to finish my scotch, pack up my laptop, and sit here for just a little while longer. The Spanish restaurant is pretty empty by now, there are 3 Brits holding up the bar a few feet away, talking about footy, Gordon Ramsay, andfilthily insulting each other like only the Brits can. There is lovely version of Sabor A Mi playing over the loudspeakers, and soon, it will be time to try and get some sleep, and come out shiny & happy in the morning.
