A curse upon Germany and its late opening, fun bars. If it wasn’t for their irresponsible hours and competitive prices I’d have felt as fresh as a spring meadow this morning but as it turned out we were all the worse for wear. I was woken by a knocking at my door and opened it to find Mel, up, dressed, and wanting directions to the train station. Because of some commitments back in Manchester she could only come out to Berlin for the one night and now had to catch a flight home.
I accompanied her to the train station where we waited for the airport train. Time was starting to run against us and her flight’s check-in had already opened. A sign in the station said that trains to our airport would be coded S9, but when the S9 turned up and I asked a fellow passenger for confirmation it would go to the airport he said that it wouldn’t. We’d have to change somewhere.
This was starting to get a bit worrying now, even though I wanted Mel to inconvenience herself by missing her flight so we could enjoy the pleasure of her company for another couple of days. She also had a flight booked back with us on Monday, today’s was extra, so if she were to miss it, and work, and a friend’s party the following night, it wouldn’t end up costing her any more.
I made the executive decision of getting a cab to the airport because despite wanting her to change her mind and stay all weekend, I was also charged with the responsibility of getting her to the airport on time and as unofficial group leader this is a task I intended to see through. So a taxi we did hail.
The thing was, as the slow, lethargic taxi driver took us on what was perhaps a merry dance around the centre of Berlin before heading towards the airport, time continued to tick by and Mel had started thinking dangerous thoughts about staying anyway. She would say “Would it be a good idea to stay?� before saying “No – no I have to get back.�
But I liked the sound the seeds of doubt were making in her mind. I told her it would be a great idea to stay – indeed, it would be silly not to. But still she relented and still the taxi made late headway towards the airport. Mile after mile, minute after minute, her arguments to herself for perhaps staying became more considered and powerful. I told her she’d probably missed the flight anyway.
She rung her Dad for advice who told her she should come back if she had work, which swayed the scales a bit in favour of doing so. Eventually though, she said “To Hell with it. Let’s go back.� And so about a yard from the airport I tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to turn back to Berlin. It was an excellent victory.
We soon realised that the girls would assume she was now boarding the plane and so we could surprise them. We got back to the vicinity of the apartment and had a sandwich. I rung Athena and told her I was in a bar with a girl I’d just met and could I bring her up to the flat to introduce to everyone? Athena was very objectionable, saying that it wasn’t appropriate and that they were all in a state of undress and not in fit shape to receive guests. That’s a fair point, but what she meant was I had quite obviously just met a Czech prostitute of some description because what sort of girl is drinking in a bar at midday and agrees to go back to a strange man’s apartment within five minutes of meeting him? I found Athena’s objections amusing and it was the basis to really get at her.
Mel and I walked back to the apartment and up the stairs to Athena’s door. Mel hid around the corner whilst I knocked. Athena answered and I said that, so long as she really didn’t mind, I’d brought my lady friend home anyway to meet her. Athena looked genuinely mad. She said “I told you not to…� but I beckoned the prostitute up from the stairway by saying “It’s okay, come in, they’re very friendly.� The other girls were sat around the table and were probably fearing the worst when the friendly sight of Mel appeared instead of some Czechoslovakian woman of the night.
Ha! Our little joke worked and Athena’s relieved face proved this to be so. We are good at Germany located – missed plane – prostitute based practical jokes. We are the best at them in the World.
Our afternoon was spent doing a spot of sightseeing in the freezing afternoon. Berlin really is cold at this time of year, with the temperature not getting above freezing. I’ve taken to wearing a rather dashing green felt fedora hat which I happened to buy when I was last in Berlin to help keep out the cold. I like the hat but unfortunately, unless you’re looking for people to make amusing comments at you all the time, you can’t really wear it in Britain. Not in Liverpool, anyway. I got told off by a stranger on the street for wearing a SCARF in Liverpool last week, did I tell you? He called me a ‘scarf-tw*t’. Getting told off for wearing a scarf in January… It’s things like that which make foreign travel all the more refreshing.
We saw the Brandenburg Gate, which is interesting historically but underwhelming when next to it, sorry to sound hard to please. I don’t wish to damage international relations by saying that one of Germany’s most recognisable symbols is just a bit okayish, if you like gates, but that’s the truth of the matter.
There was some lovely mulled wine available to keep out the bitter cold and after a while A and I split from the others to embark on a chavvy mission, of A’s making, which involved trying to buy a Euro Lottery ticket because her boyfriend Steve and her had decided they’d definitely win it. The irony of being in one of Europe’s great cultural centres and spending our precious time looking for a newsagent to buy a lottery ticket was not lost on us. Our secondary mission was to find some underwear and tights for Mel who’d naturally only come out with one set of clothes for her planned one night.
We were unsuccessful with the lottery but a call home to Steve told us it had been drawn already. We were also unsuccessful with the underwear. We found an unsuitable and inappropriate lingerie shop, but the woman who worked there told us there was a department store merely a few meters down the road on the left. There wasn’t, the lying cow. On more than one occasion during this trip we’ve been given entirely false directions and it makes me angry because I fall over myself to help whenever someone with pigeon English wants to find something in Liverpool or London. If only the wicked, cruel German’s could be as kind and considerate as me.
Drinks tonight were more subdued and classy. We found an excellent bar called 103 which specialised in the most remarkable and well made cocktails. The Hemmingway Sour, a gin-based beauty, was maybe the best cocktail I’ve ever had. A champagne based one called a Pick Me Up was also worth noting. If you ever go Berlin you must try this place.
We closed the joint and walked out onto the ice at 3am to go home. Germany do a fine line in chicken kebabs, I must say. They come as a delicious wrap.
No – not interested in the Brandenburg gate, no. But a chicken kebab? That’s worth mentioning, yes indeed.
Pathetic.
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