The rain poured down as we decided what to do next. It was 3 in the morning and we had just been turned away from the biggest club in Berlin. A tragic, if not totally unexpected, ending.
Earlier in the evening, Ana and I had braved the July showers to go out to dinner at a well known Vietnamese restaurant, Monsieur Vuong. As we waited for our table, we struck up a conversation with six Americans--three guys, three gals--who were also on a trans Europe tour. They invited us to eat with them as we swapped travel stories and I explained how I had come to meet Ana.
We were both staying with a mutual German friend, Elina, who I had met two years prior in Israel. Ana, who's from Costa Rica, and Elina were exchange students in the States together about ten years ago. Ironically, our plans to visit Elina in Berlin coincided with a trip that she had to take to Krakow, Poland. (Elina manages a band called Yemen Blues that was headlining at the Jewish Culture Festival, which my parents were attending. Small world, huh?) So, unintentional travel buddies Ana and I had become.
After dinner, I suggested that we head to this club in Friedrichshain East Berlin called Berghain/Panorama Bar. I had heard that if you wanted to see the best DJs in Berlin, this was the place to go. The crew was on board, but the girls said that they needed to go to the hotel to change. I think what you're wearing is fine for this club, I said. But they thoroughly disagreed.
So Ana and I headed to Panorama Bar to stand in line while our new friends freshened up. We took the U Bahn farther East than I had been, entering an area that didn't feel entirely safe. The graffiti, which is present on almost every Berlin building, intensified and covered all visible wall space. The club was a dark warehouse about five stories high in an industrial area with no houses or shops in sight. We stood in line in the cold taking a few steps forward through the rain soaked mud every few minutes. Occasionally, people would walk past us away from the club looking dejected. None of them were speaking German.
Behind us stood a young, eager Swiss boy who was probably about 19 or 20 years old. He told us that he had already gotten to the front of the line but had been turned away. This was his second attempt and he hoped that the bouncer wouldn't recognize him. Should I offer the bouncer a bribe? I asked. It's not that kind of club, said the Swiss boy.
As we got closer, I saw them. I'll admit, I've always been afraid of bouncers. But these guys terrified me. They looked exactly how I would imagine KGB agents to look. It probably had been years since they last smiled. I imagined how desperately they wanted someone to argue with their arbitrary rulings of who could stay and who could not. I will crush you, I could hear in my mind's ear.
With about four people ahead of us, the three girls from dinner came prancing to the front of the line in low cut cocktail dresses and 4 inch stilettos that keep getting stuck in the mud. They leaned over the railing toward the bouncers, showing off their goods, and asked innocently, Do we need tickets? The KGB agents didn't respond, but I did see the hint of a smirk cross one of their faces. Ah, now I understood their mirth: It was their job to say no to people who don't hear the word often enough. A few extra cover charges aren't necessary to keep this place in business, and high profit margins weren't the ultimate goal. No wonder these bouncers had so much power.
Clearly not getting the response they wanted, the girls (and guys who were standing a few feet behind them) spotted us practically at the front of the line and jumped in to join us. Great. When it was our turn for judgement day, the KGB agent didn't take more than two seconds to decide. Without a word, he motioned for us to step aside. We had been waiting in line for almost an hour and a half. Ana and I crossed our fingers, hoping that the young Swiss boy would have more luck. But as he was walked away, rejected a second time, I could see tears welling up in his eyes. For the KGB agents, it was a very successful night.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Amsterdam: Imran the Pakistani
Hotel Janson on the outer edge of Amsterdam is one of the dirtier and more run down establishments at which I've ever stayed. When I entered my two person shared dorm room (so excited that my €14 got me this luxury rather than the 8-10 person shared dorm rooms I'd been staying at in London and Paris), I thought that the pungent odor was emanating from my new Pakistani roommate, Imran. Turns out, it was just Hotel Janson.
Imran is a PhD mathematician who, though he lives in Lahore, Pakistan with his wife and two kids, spends much of his time in Italy and at the University of Minnesota on collaborative research projects. He has a large research grant, I believe funded by the Saudis, and therefore has traveled far more extensively than most of his fellow countrymen. When he's in Pakistan, he told me that he has a continuous stream of guests at his house. Distant relatives show up on his doorstep everyday expected to be taken in, given a place to sleep, given food to eat, and driven around town. They come without any advance warning for anywhere from one to seven nights, and may bring with them their entire family of four. When I asked what they do to show their gratitude for Imram's hospitality, he said, They don't do anything! And blamed their lack of education on their rude manners.
Despite his extensive travel, Imran has been bound by the cultural norms of his upbringing and hasn't experienced the world the way you and I have. His extremely inquisitive mind is often masked by his timid and shy nature, but it was not long before he felt comfortable enough to begin asking questions about my culture, such as Where do the old people live in your country? Or better yet, What is marijuana? (We were in Amsterdam.)
We started our evening together by going to one of the many coffee shops in Amsterdam. Coffee shops, where you can buy and smoke (or eat) many different types of marijuana, are distinct from the more commonplace cafes, where you cannot. I bought a pre rolled joint for €4 and struck up a conversation with two attractive British girls. Imran sat next to me smoking cigarettes. After a while, I asked Imran if I seemed any different to him. Barely audible, he said, Yes, you are funnier.
I suggested that we leave the coffee shop and head to a club that we had passed on the walk over. As we walked in the direction of the club, Imran kept making fun of me, telling the girls that I had no idea where we were going. I was so proud to be witness to his first official act of flirting. (Did I mention that his marriage was arranged to a second cousin? Shannon and Ariel, now don't be getting any ideas...)
After standing in line for about twenty minutes, right when we're about to get in, the two British girls bounce. Why did they leave, Imran asked. I donno, I said. They could be tired, bored, not want to dance, not like us... Who knows? Imran wasn't satisfied with any of my answers. At the front of the line, Imran paid the €8 entrance fee for me, saying how grateful he was that I was showing him this new experience. He had never been inside a dance club before.
The club Paradiso can hold about 1400 people between the ground floor and two balconies. This Wednesday night was on the slower side with probably 700-800 people all on the ground floor. When we arrived, there were two guys on stage trying really hard to get the audience into their not-so-great songs. The lead singer would actually teach the hook to the audience and then try to get everyone to sing the anthem together. This probably worked really well in a smaller venue, but not at Paradiso, where the strength of the music in addition to the strength of the singer's personality needs to capture the audience's attention. Not wanting Imran to think that the club was lame (which was impossible considering that he had nothing to compare it to), I decided that I was going to help the singer out.
I pushed my way to the front, jumped on stage, and starting pulling more and more people on to the stage with me. Suddenly, the entire stage is packed with people all struggling to sing that unmemorable hook that the singer had just taught us. The stage had effectively become the smaller venue that was the right size for this band.
Imran was in disbelief. I bought two beers, but drank both of them because Imran is Muslim and doesn't drink alcohol. He then leaned over to me and said--and this is a direct quote--"I want to see how you trap a girl." I know it's what he said because I wrote it down and showed it to him to make sure I had understood him correctly. Oh, Imran, you have so much left to learn....
After that, I never saw Imran again. I hit the dance floor Chien Fou style and ended up closing down the club at 4am. A group of super friendly Dutch kids invited me to go with them to the park to watch the sunrise. As we sat on the grass under a tree, watching mist roll off the pond and the ducks take their early morning bath, feeling the first rays of sunshine, and (I'm not joking) hearing Hotel California playing off in the distance, I felt so happy to be alive and have the opportunity to be on this trip. When I got back to Hotel Janson, Imran had already check out in order to catch his flight back to Italy for his research. I didn't get to hear his impressions of the evening, but I'm hoping it was as memorable for him as it was for me.
Imran is a PhD mathematician who, though he lives in Lahore, Pakistan with his wife and two kids, spends much of his time in Italy and at the University of Minnesota on collaborative research projects. He has a large research grant, I believe funded by the Saudis, and therefore has traveled far more extensively than most of his fellow countrymen. When he's in Pakistan, he told me that he has a continuous stream of guests at his house. Distant relatives show up on his doorstep everyday expected to be taken in, given a place to sleep, given food to eat, and driven around town. They come without any advance warning for anywhere from one to seven nights, and may bring with them their entire family of four. When I asked what they do to show their gratitude for Imram's hospitality, he said, They don't do anything! And blamed their lack of education on their rude manners.
Despite his extensive travel, Imran has been bound by the cultural norms of his upbringing and hasn't experienced the world the way you and I have. His extremely inquisitive mind is often masked by his timid and shy nature, but it was not long before he felt comfortable enough to begin asking questions about my culture, such as Where do the old people live in your country? Or better yet, What is marijuana? (We were in Amsterdam.)
We started our evening together by going to one of the many coffee shops in Amsterdam. Coffee shops, where you can buy and smoke (or eat) many different types of marijuana, are distinct from the more commonplace cafes, where you cannot. I bought a pre rolled joint for €4 and struck up a conversation with two attractive British girls. Imran sat next to me smoking cigarettes. After a while, I asked Imran if I seemed any different to him. Barely audible, he said, Yes, you are funnier.
I suggested that we leave the coffee shop and head to a club that we had passed on the walk over. As we walked in the direction of the club, Imran kept making fun of me, telling the girls that I had no idea where we were going. I was so proud to be witness to his first official act of flirting. (Did I mention that his marriage was arranged to a second cousin? Shannon and Ariel, now don't be getting any ideas...)
After standing in line for about twenty minutes, right when we're about to get in, the two British girls bounce. Why did they leave, Imran asked. I donno, I said. They could be tired, bored, not want to dance, not like us... Who knows? Imran wasn't satisfied with any of my answers. At the front of the line, Imran paid the €8 entrance fee for me, saying how grateful he was that I was showing him this new experience. He had never been inside a dance club before.
The club Paradiso can hold about 1400 people between the ground floor and two balconies. This Wednesday night was on the slower side with probably 700-800 people all on the ground floor. When we arrived, there were two guys on stage trying really hard to get the audience into their not-so-great songs. The lead singer would actually teach the hook to the audience and then try to get everyone to sing the anthem together. This probably worked really well in a smaller venue, but not at Paradiso, where the strength of the music in addition to the strength of the singer's personality needs to capture the audience's attention. Not wanting Imran to think that the club was lame (which was impossible considering that he had nothing to compare it to), I decided that I was going to help the singer out.
I pushed my way to the front, jumped on stage, and starting pulling more and more people on to the stage with me. Suddenly, the entire stage is packed with people all struggling to sing that unmemorable hook that the singer had just taught us. The stage had effectively become the smaller venue that was the right size for this band.
Imran was in disbelief. I bought two beers, but drank both of them because Imran is Muslim and doesn't drink alcohol. He then leaned over to me and said--and this is a direct quote--"I want to see how you trap a girl." I know it's what he said because I wrote it down and showed it to him to make sure I had understood him correctly. Oh, Imran, you have so much left to learn....
After that, I never saw Imran again. I hit the dance floor Chien Fou style and ended up closing down the club at 4am. A group of super friendly Dutch kids invited me to go with them to the park to watch the sunrise. As we sat on the grass under a tree, watching mist roll off the pond and the ducks take their early morning bath, feeling the first rays of sunshine, and (I'm not joking) hearing Hotel California playing off in the distance, I felt so happy to be alive and have the opportunity to be on this trip. When I got back to Hotel Janson, Imran had already check out in order to catch his flight back to Italy for his research. I didn't get to hear his impressions of the evening, but I'm hoping it was as memorable for him as it was for me.
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