And boy, is she something.
The owner of the cafe across the street from my dorm told me she was the architect of it as well. She comes in every morning at five so she can set it up with the cook, who she calls her husband. When I asked her how long she was married for, she responded never. They’d just been dating for 18 months and well, she couldn’t just call him her boyfriend anymore.
My neighbors and I had an impromptu jam session in the dorm with a guitar, ukulele, empty bottle of Club Mate, trash can and a spoon ladle. We plan to perform Springtime for Hitler at the next open mic, as soon as we can figure out that damn key change.
I went to an ex-pat bar and realized the importance of the Superbowl. It brings Americans and Swedes and Germans together with the power of Sasha Fierce.
The baristas here are more than the people who make you tea. They’re the people who invite you to their art shows if you have something more to say than about how the wifi doesn’t work to them.
I don’t have a smartphone when I’m on the streets of Berlin but that’s alright. I have the people here as my map. I still get lost everyday, but I find something every Hallo along the way.