We made it safely from the Czech
Republic to Germany with only one minor mishap. Let’s just say, Franklin
learned the hard way that standing up too quickly causes the
weight-distribution of the shell to shift at a speed which makes it impossible
to right oneself. Obviously, I couldn’t see myself, but judging from what I
could see – namely the reactions of everyone around me – I was quite the
spectacle flailing around on the dirty train station floor. I couldn’t even
curl up into the foetal position and cry because I literally couldn’t roll over
from my back onto my side. Kaitlyn tried in vain to hoist me up, but all she
could do was spin me around on my shell like a recently-Mortined fly. I think
she quite enjoyed that. Eventually, she had to unclip me from the confines of
the bag so I could shimmy out and up, and hoist that mother back onto me.
Berlin was the first destination on
our travels which I had not before visited, and I was uber-excited: firstly,
because my friend Ricky is living there, and he was going to show us the
"local’s Berlin", and secondly, because I have always had a fascination
with Germany, in particular, with Berlin. I think this fascination is twofold:
the first being a somewhat morbid curiosity with World War II, and the second
being a childhood obsession with The Chipmunks, specifically the episode
where Alvin, Simon and Theodore make the wall fall down by "rocking
out" next to it. Classic.
It was excellent arriving at the
train station and seeing Ricky, because I was excited to see him, but
especially because he carried my shell for me. Ricky is living in an area of
Berlin called Prenzlauer Berg, and we were staying at a hostel about twenty
metres from his front door – the aptly named Alcatraz Hostel. I say aptly named
because, for the majority of the time we spent there, I felt as if I was
residing in a prison. And not a fun Chicago-style prison where Richard
Gere comes in, dresses you in sequins and belts out a few catchy duets. Getting
in and out of bed each morning involved an act of contortion more than worthy
of Australia’s Got Talent; if I slept on my side I woke up with a
body-length branding of bruised flesh, but if I slept on my back, I ended up
with splinters in my nose – and I threw out my box of those ridiculous
pore-cleansing strips in the late 1990s, so those wood chips would have been
crossing the Channel with me. And I’ve blown my nose on tissues thicker than my
“pillow”. However, I have since stayed at some phenomenally worse hostels, so I
do look back on Alcatraz with some fond memories. And I am saying that without
a trace of irony. Honestly.
After unpacking and escaping the
wardens, we got a tour of the local ‘hood. Prenzlauer Berg is a kind of arty,
indie area – an American Apparel and two-dozen Fixies away from being OTT
hipster. So kind of awesome and completely my scene. It was this night I
discovered what were perhaps my three favourite things about Berlin: The
Kaiser, 60 cent beers, and Viet. When I say Kaiser, I am referring to Berlin’s
uber-awesome supermarket – 24 hour supermarket. However, to avoid confusion, I
shall henceforth refer to it as the “Weezer”, as this is what Kaitlyn called
it. We don’t know why. Neither does she. When I grow up, I am going to live
right next door to a 24 hour supermarket; that way I won’t even need to be
married to Isaac Brock to be happy…although I will be married to him, so it’s a
moot point. I would also like this supermarket to be a Weezer because, although
I don’t recall having ever shopped in a 24 hour supermarket sober before, I
doubt any could be as cheap or would stock such amazing things – but more on
this later.
In Berlin, €4.90 can buy you 8.1
beers. It can also buy you one of the best Goddamn meals of your life…if you
like Vietnamese cuisine. Although I am a carb-whore, even I need protein from
time to time. The tofu and vegetable wanton soup I had that night did things to
my body only illicit thoughts of Isaac Brock have managed to do before. And if
Kaitlyn’s facial expressions were anything to go by, her curry did things to
her body only fantasies of Christian Bale have done before. That meal was one
of the best meals I have ever had. And I still had enough change from a tenner
to buy 8.5 beers. #EpicWinning.
The next morning I discovered that
the literal theme of Alcatraz extended from the bedroom to the bathroom, as one
had to cross a vast expanse of water to reach it. The shower blocks were an
island unto themselves, surrounded by a quantity of water similar in volume to
San Francisco Bay. Without my snorkel it was tough-going. There was a mop and
bucket in the corner of the room. However, unless Hermione Granger had
magically expanded the bucket’s interior, it wasn’t going to do shit.
Continuing with the theme, there was about as much privacy in the showers as I
expect there would be in a prison shower block. The showers had doors, but they
were glass – TRANSPARENT GLASS. And it appeared to be the only element of the
bathroom they religiously cleaned (or, arguably, cleaned at all) as they
sparkled like a damn Swarovski crystal. There were two strategically placed
frosted strips on each door…strategically placed in the shittest positions
possible at the very top and very bottom of the panel. Advice From an
Objective Foreigner: I realise that Europeans are supposedly far less modest
about their bodies and sexuality than we are, so I’ll give you a head’s up –
when we attempt to preserve our modesty, the body parts we primarily attempt to
cover-up are NOT our foreheads and ankles.
On the
day we decided to do the free walking tour of Berlin, it
absolutely poured. Fortunately, the day before I had visited “First
Class Second Hand” – the sweetest second-hand clothes store I have ever been to
- and found myself a jacket from the Kinder section. So although I couldn’t
take photos for the first hour of the tour, I was warm and toasty, if a little
soggy. The walking tour was fascinating although, when we first rocked up, I
nearly turned back around because as well as being put-off by the rain, I was
put-off by the obnoxious Australian guy organising the tour. We asked him if
this was where we met for the tour, and from the reaction we got, you’d have
thought we’d asked him for a kidney. I never cease to wonder why such surly,
rude people constantly choose jobs which obviously involve working with people.
In a stroke of luck, we didn’t get stuck with him as our tour guide, but a
British guy called David. At first he kind of reminded me a bit of those ADHD
children on Today Tonight, as he bounded around us and rapidly spewed
out information about each site we passed. But at least he didn’t look pained
to be spending time with us.
We heard about and saw some fairly
disturbing things on the tour including a recreation of the Death Strip at the
Wall, the location of Hitler’s Bunker, and the only remaining building of the
Third Reich on which remains bullet holes and the imprint of swastikas.
However, the two most distressing things were not remnants of Germany’s sordid
past, but British and American things of the present. The first was the
somewhat larger girl wearing the jeans-leggings. Let's break this down: those
of us with acceptable levels of taste and human decency know that leggings
should never be worn as pants unless you’re at the gym –and even then, one
should have been religiously attending the gym for a minimum of six months
prior to forgoing the baggier track-pant; if one is going to insist on wearing
leggings as pants, they must be black, as black is the most slimming colour;
the best denim has lyrca IN it, it is not MADE from lycra; putting fake
stitching on material is ridiculously pointless; skinny jeans are flattering on
skinny people – and jeggings are not the ultimate in skinny jeans – THEY’RE
FREAKING LEGGINGS; and if your rear-end makes Serena Williams’ look like Kate
Moss’, you should maybe be cutting down on carbs, and you should definitely NOT
be wearing "jeggings" in PUBLIC.
The second alarming thing we had to
witness on the tour was the painful, awkward flirting of our tour leader,
David, and his not-so-secret American admirer, Ginger. Continuing in the
tradition of nick-naming people whose names we don’t bother to learn, Ginger
had red hair. She also had the most annoying voice I have EVER heard. Remember
Janice from Friends? Comparatively, Janice has the dulcet tones of
Morgan Freeman. Ginger took an immediate shining to David, beginning her
flirt-fest within the first five minutes of the tour, interrupting his
explanation of the Brandenburg Gate to ask, ‘Sooooo….Dayyyyyvid, how long have
you beeeeen doooooooing this?’ She was batting her lashes at him so ferociously
she must have had bruises underneath her eyes. My inner-ear canal definitely
had some. I really didn’t see the appeal. But I guess if short, scrawny,
greasy-haired guys were my thing, I’d have been fighting that mole off.
To begin with,
Daaaaayyyyyyyyyvvvviiid seemed to spurn each of her horrible advances. ‘Whaaat
dooooooo you get up to in your sppaaaaarrreee tiiiiiiimmmmme, Daaaaayyyyyyvid?’
‘Where’s your faaaaaavourite place to eaaaaaat, Daaaaayyyyyvvvid?’ ‘Wheeerrrreee
abouts do you liiiiiivvvveeee, Daaaayyyyyvvvvviiiiiiddddd?’ ‘Caaan I have your
chiiiiiiildrennnnn, Daaaaayyyyyyvvviiiid?’ HE KNOWS HIS NAME IS DAVID. THERE’S
NO CONFUSION AS TO WHO YOU ARE ADDRESSING BECAUSE YOU ARE HUMPING HIS LEG - YOU
DON’T NEED TO SAY HIS NAME EVERY TIME. Eventually, however,
Daaaayyyyvvvvviiiiddd must have decided he quite enjoyed having a ranga rubbing
up against him, because the flirting was reciprocated. Unfortunately, it didn’t
improve. The most awkward moment came when we arrived at the Opera House, and
he offered a prize for the first person to correctly guess what happens there.
At least ten people said ‘Opera’ before Ginger, but he literally waited for her
delayed-reaction and piercing screech of ‘OOOOOOOHHPPPPPRAAAAAAARRRRRR’ before
declaring her the winner. And guess what the prize was? A hug!!!! She tried to
pretend she was flushed from embarrassment, but she was clearly flushed from
arousal. I fully expected her to pull a fan out of her hideous VENEZIA canvas
bag and start fanning herself. Although she might have….I was too busy vomiting
in the gutter.
At the end of the tour,
Daaaayyyyyyvvvviiiiiddd managed to shake Ginger off long enough to sit us all
down on some steps like school children, so he could tell his final story in a
flourish of wit and humour in the hopes of winning us all over and scoring
himself more tips in the process. From the laughter around us, we gather he
actually did a fairly decent job explaining how the Wall fell down, but the
three of us didn’t catch a word, as our attention was solely fixated on a sign behind
him: sexyberlinevents.de – everyday from the Holocaust Memorial. Because there
isn’t anything sexier than the Holocaust... The sign itself was disturbing –
although I admit the image of the Brandenburg Gate made to look like a “sexy”
woman was amusing. However, our morbid curiosity led us to investigate further,
and we eventually hit-up sexyberlinevents.de. And it was pretty funny – in a
completely
ridiculous sense. There were a multitude of things on offer, essentially
basic Berlin tours, with “sexy” added into the title; Sexy Berlin Wall Tours,
Sexy Communist Berlin, etc. My personal favourite was the “Sexy Airport
Transfers”. As you can probably imagine, we proceeded to ensure everything we
did in Berlin from then on was Sexy.
The next day was Kaitlyn’s Sexy Birthday.
We started the morning off at the Weezer, selecting items for a Sexy Birthday
Breakast. I’m fairly certain we ended up with a subtly Sexy Breakfast of fruit,
yoghurt and bread. However, during our leisurely peruse of the aisles, we
happened across some amazing products on the Weezer’s shelves. Amongst my faves
were the chocolates shaped like kittens' tails, in a box with kittens all over
the front. However, the prize for best item undoubtedly went to Super
Dickmann’s. The only thing we could ascertain from the cake-sized box in which
they were enclosed, was that they were chocolate-coated somethings in the shape
of...well, male reproductive organs…admittedly, odd-looking ones, but they were
definitely phallic in nature. Obviously, we instantly knew we had to get some
before we left the city – if anything screams "Sexy Berlin", it’s a
Super Dickmann.
After breakfast, we embarked on our
own Sexy Wall Tour, taking in the outdoor Wall museum which runs along a
half-preserved section of the former Wall. Turns out graphitised parts of the
Wall are a great Sexy prop, as we took some supremely Sexy photos that
afternoon. We did also spend a great deal of time reading the exhibits, but
after a few hours of such heavy, powerful material, we needed a bit of light, Sexy
relief. And after our intense, Sexy Photoshoot, we needed something to cool
down. Advice From an Objective Foreigner: ‘Red Power’ is not a good name for
an ice-cream when your country is still recovering from the dark days of
Communist rule. Especially if you’re going to be selling them right next to the
Berlin Wall Museum.
Then it was back to Alcatraz for some
Sexy Shower Time to get ready for Kaitlyn’s Sexy Birthday Celebrations. We
began the evening with a few games of Sexy Pong in the park with a few
beverages, followed by another smashing meal of Sexy Viet. Then came some more
Sexy beverages (which resulted in another Sexy Photoshoot) at Ricky’s in
preparation for some Sexy Berlin Partying. However, as Sexy as our whole
evening was, undoubtedly the Sexiest element was Kaitlyn’s Birthday cake. It’s
virtually impossible to get your bake on when you’re backpacking, but even if I
could have, why would Kaitlyn have wanted me to make her my cupcakes, when I
“made” her a SEXY SUPER DICKMANN’S CAKE WITH CANDLES? One box of (nine) Super
Dicks, with candles lovingly inserted into each. At this point we still weren’t
sure exactly what a Super Dickmann was. When I went to purchase them, I
discovered that, as well as the actual Super Dickmann’s, there was also a
generic, Weezer brand. But these weren’t called Super Dickmann’s, and given
that it was her Birthday, I thought I better splurge on the expensive option.
Clearly, I made the right choice because they were amazing. I think they
were supposed to be marshmallow, but they were essentially a wafer, topped with
meringue mixture, coated in chocolate. And boy were they Sexy. Even
unintentionally - you kind of can’t eat them without being suggestive.
But as Sexy as the Super Dickmann’s cake was, the Sexy kept coming. As hard as this might be to believe, Berlin’s nightlife is even better than Hobart’s. I know, right?! We partied Sexy, well and hard that night, eventually ending up at a place called Club Devisionaere. With our ridiculous OH&S rules in Australia, I can’t imagine there ever being an outdoor club set right on a canal, where you can literally sit drinking beers at 2.00am with your feet dangling in the water, while people around you liberally smoke weed. But everything goes in Berlin – so long as it’s Sexy. And it was here that I saw what is perhaps the Sexiest thing ever – and this time I am being sarcastic. Not long after arriving at the club, we were being Sexy on the DF, when this older woman came up to us and kind of started trying to dance with us. She was a very butch older woman, but what was more striking than her bulging muscles, was the way she glistened in the moonlight. Now, when I say “glistened”, I don’t mean the way my hair glistens after I use a Pantene Pro-V treatment masque, this woman appeared to be dripping with glistening beads of….something. Kaitlyn and I were so busy trying to ensure her glistening skin didn’t come into contact with our Sexy outfits, we failed to notice the way she
apparently kept looking back between
the two of us like we were food that needed to be immediately devoured.
Fortunately, Ricky did notice this, and was able to cut her off.
A little later on, I was desperate to
regulate my kidneys. As is always the case, the line for the ladies was insane.
But when you gotta go, you got go, so I joined the queue. At the tables
directly next to the toilets, there was a group of people smoking a lot
of pot. Kaitlyn and I were standing there getting passively high, and by the
time we reached the doors to the bathroom, we were feeling quite zen. As we
made our way deeper into the bathrooms, something in the distance caught my
eye. As well as being really not at all sober, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so
I had no idea what I was looking at other than red. As I got closer, it became
a little clearer, and it started to look like a steak. I asked Kaitlyn if it
was, but she couldn’t tell either. But from where we were standing it looked
very much like a piece of steak on a paper towel. The longer we stayed in the
queue, the more weird stuff I started to see in that bathroom, until it didn’t
really seem all that weird that there would be a steak on a paper towel next to
the sink. Then I kind of forgot all about it, because my attention span is like
high-school maths- limited when I’ve been drinking.
Eventually it was my turn, and then
when I came out of the cubicle, I experienced the epitome of Sexy Berlin.
Remember Glistening Grandma? Remember the steak on the paper towel? Turns out
it wasn’t steak, it was several slices of prosciutto. And these slices of
prosciutto were what was making Grandma glisten. She was standing there in
front of the mirrors, literally rubbing these oily slices of meat all over her
body. I don’t know if this is a common custom in Germany, but either it is, or
everyone else was as wasted as she was, because Kaitlyn and I were the only
people to give her even a second glance as she oiled herself up. And she wasn’t
just rubbing it into her skin the way you rub in a moisturising lotion after
showering, she was “seductively” (I think that’s what she was going for)
massaging and caressing the oily meat juices into her skin, gyrating up against
the sink. Eventually she hoisted her top up over her (really, REALLY
transparent) bra and moved from her arms to her stomach, which apparently was
in just as much in need of lubrication from pig lard as the rest of her body.
If I wasn’t a vegetarian before that moment, I certainly would have been
afterwards. Kaitlyn and I were staring at her, completely enraptured at this
point, and she happened to look up and mistook our open-mouthed horror as
open-mouthed excitement. She turned and started to make her way towards us,
proffering us sheets of prosciutto, obviously hoping we’d start stripping and
lubricating with her. I think the only time I have ever run that fast was when
someone told me they were giving away free Magnums in the Elizabeth Street
Mall.
And then I’m not really sure what
happened. I know that I started to drink a lot more in the hopes of erasing
Greasy Granny from my memory. That is probably how I ended up at Maccas at
5.30am. And it was incredibly exciting for me because Germany make VEGGIE
BURGERS!!! So for the first time ever I was able to experience drunken
McDonald’s. It was a real moment for me. I daresay, as I licked the final bits
of Toblerone McFlurry from my spoon, it was even Sexy.
Next Stop: LONDON. A hostel to make Alcatraz look like the Hilton, Ricky’s Riot and Royal Tours, and is there such a thing as sexylondonevents.co.uk?
