Welcome to Berlin

March 22, 2013 (continued)

The outskirts of Berlin were very industrialized. There were billowing smokestacks and factories everywhere. To the sides of the highway were dozens of gas stations and car dealerships. One Volkswagen dealership had a glass tower with cars in it all the way to the tenth story.

As we got into town, it became very metropolitan. There were office buildings everywhere and apartments lining the street. It was sort of odd. The layout and look of the city felt very modern, but the architecture was articulate and crafted. There was an overhead metro, but it ran along a track atop a stone overpass.

Lubos and Ivana were pointing at things and talking to each other at Czech. Ivana switched to English as we crossed over the bridge. “Look!” she said. “The river.”

“We are almost to the hostel,” Lubos added, before switching back to Czech.

Driving around town, there was graffiti everywhere. Back home, I’d have assumed we were in a rough part of town, but I wasn’t sure what to think here. If I suspended my prejudice, some of it was quite artful. At the same time, it made me a little nervous.

We pulled off the main street and into an ally. I was again a bit antsy, but I had faith they knew what they were doing. Ivana had emailed me last night about the hostel. It had come with good reviews, and was one of the top rated “student hostels” in Berlin. She and Lubos had wanted a private room, so they booked me one too. They said we could split the cost by three since we didn’t have a fourth person to share the cost of my private room.

Walking into the tall brick building, the lobby was far more impressive than I’d expected. Behind the counter were clocks showing the time from around the world. Overhead, blue Christmas lights hung from the ceiling. Murals, which also looked like graffiti, decorated the walls.

Lubos had made the reservation, so he checked us in and paid. He told me the price was 80 euros for both rooms, and I could pay him back my third when we got to Prague. While he paid, Ivana went to the restroom. I sat on one of the white leather couches in the lobby and waited for her to return. When she did, Lubos went to the restroom, while she grabbed a map and we looked at it together.

“Where do you think we are?” she asked. “Maybe some place by the river?” That made sense, except the river ran across the entire city.

When Lubos got back, we went out to the car to get our stuff to take it to our rooms. We were on the second floor (which is really the third floor) in rooms 246 and 247. The elevator was tiny, with mirrors on all sides. When we got off, we walked down the long, dimly lit corridor to our rooms. The walls were dark shades of pink and purple, and the chandeliers were set to a low setting. I don’t know if the lighting was for atmosphere or if they were just in disrepair, but it felt kind of cool.

The first room we came to was 247. We’d decided this one would be mine. Ivana opened the door and went inside. There was a little slot in the wall. By inserting the card key to the slot, it functioned as the light switch. She put the card into it, and the room lit up.

Surprisingly, there were three beds in the room.

“Three beds?” Lubos said. He and Ivana started talking in Czech. Then they went to check the other room next door. I stood in the doorway of my room waiting. They came back out of their room after a second, still speaking in Czech. Lubos set his bag down, walked past me, and back towards the elevator.

“He’s going to see if we can cancel one room because we don’t need two,” Ivana explained. “We thought there were only two beds in private rooms.”

Ivana pulled out her iPad while we waited in the hallway. “There is free Wi-Fi,” she said, “but it has some sort of password.”

“Plus four free,” I said.

“What?” she said.

“That’s the password,” I explained. “Plus4free. It’s one word.”

“How do you know this?” she asked.

“I saw the sign in the lobby,” I said.

“And how is it spelled?” she asked.

“P-L-U-S. Then the number four. Then F-R-E-E,” I said.

She typed it in. “Thank you!” I pulled my iPod out of my pocket, and I too logged into cyberspace. Lubos came back before I connected all the way.

He spoke to Ivana in Czech, then said, “It is same price to cancel as to keep room. We had to cancel it before 6:00 in order to not pay money. Now is too late.”

“Ok,” Ivana said, handing me the card to 247. “This will be your room and we will go to that one.”

“Ok,” I said. “Do you guys just want to knock on my door when you are ready?”

“Sure!” she said. And with that, we went into our rooms.

The room was so much nicer than I had imagined. There were three twin beds, two against one wall (as in any normal hotel) and the third perpendicular to them. Each bed sat in red wooden frame, and the floors were made of white hardwood. The mattresses had a sheet on them already, and there was a pillow and quilt available for each, as well as two towels folded on the foot of each bed.  A TV was mounted on the wall over the perpendicular bed, and a red wood closet sat against the wall.

The bathroom was huge! There was a walk-in glass shower, in which the shower head was mounted from the ceiling (literally “over-head.”) The toilet had a button that had to be pushed repeatedly to create the suction that would “flush” it. In both the shower, and next to the toilet were red pull chords with white nurse icons on them (perhaps for handicap guests, I assume.)

The room also was not very well lit. The slot by the door activated all of the lights, and then there were switches for them above the headrest of the one bed. There was a lamp between the two beds, and one by the turn for the bathroom, but the rest of the room was in shadows.

Once I was in my room, I went to the restroom, and then connected to the Wi-Fi. I checked email and scrolled through Facebook. I was also able to use the iMessage app (which didn’t work in Prague) to send a few quick text messages. I felt like a good America. Then, when I snapped a few photos of the room, I felt like a good American tourist.

After about 20 minutes, I started to get concerned. I’d assumed we were going out tonight. They thought so too right? I guess “knock when you’re ready” could have meant tomorrow, but none of us had eaten anything. I decided to give it a few more minutes.

Sure enough, after about five minutes, there was a knock at the door. I grabbed my jacket and opened it. It was Lubos. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yep!” I said, tucking my wallet and my iPod into my pockets. I pulled my room key out of the operator and stuck it into my wallet.

“Ivana is coming,” he said. Just as he did, she came out of the room.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked. I learned in my Czech classes that asking questions in the negative is considered more polite.

“I am,” I admitted. “I was actually getting nervous that you guys were going to go to bed.”

They laughed.

As we walked outside, Ivana explained, “Lubos has an application for Berlin. It shows restaurants and everything on it.”

“What kind of restaurant do you want?” he asked, showing Ivana the application. There were Italian, Vietnamese, Chinese, etc.

“We need German food,” she said. “How about this one?” She selected one that just said ‘restaurant.’ We walked along, navigating to it. To get there, we had to walk back across the bridge. The view was awesome, but the wind was so strong, I chose not to pull out my camera.

After walking a few blocks, it was obvious we weren’t finding the restaurant. Ivana and Lubos wnet back and forth in Czech, occasionally checking the iPhone to see where we were.

“Do you like doner?” she asked me.

“What?” I asked.

“Doner,” she said. “It is Turkish food.”

“I don’t think I’ve had it,” I said.

“I really like it. Is very popular in Slovakia. Do you want to try it?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

There was a Turkish deli at the end of the street and we stepped inside. There was a counter with various meats. This was where we ordered. The owners spoke German so Lubos ordered for all of us. We all got the same thing; the basic “doner.” Ivana got peach tea, and I got an orange soda.

Ivana paid for the food, and I gave her the few Euros I had to cover my portion. As Lubos continued talking to the owner, Ivana and I went to find a table. “His speaking was all in German,” she said. “I just stood and smiled but I didn’t understand what he was saying when I paid.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said. She laughed!

When Lubos came and sat down, they started talking to each other in Czech. They kept pointing at a woman outside and staring at her. Their conversation continued for several minutes as their glances shifted back and forth from her to each other.

Finally, I piped up. “I don’t think her hat looks stupid,” I said, pretending as if I’d understood the conversation.

They both looked at me for a second and then they started to laugh. “Sorry,” Ivana said. “We were trying to figure out where she is from. She looks Gypsy but I don’t think they are that common here.”

When the food came, I was yet again surprised. I think you could describe a doner much like a gyro in the US. It was sort of like pita bread folded in half around meat, dressing, and assorted vegetables.

While my pallet has expanded enormously since I started travelling, lettuce and tomatoes still don’t make the cut. This thing was mounted with vegetables. While I looked forward to the red cabbage and carrots, the lettuce was freaking me out.

But I decided to dive in. Taking a bite, it was actually really good. The mix of textures was interesting, but the flavor was very tender and refreshing. I ate most of it, but eventually veggies started to get to me. Both of them noticed. Lubos commented, “You don’t like tomatoes?”

“I’m learning to,” I said. They were both eating a lot faster than me, and I couldn’t figure out if that was because I was trying to deliberately slow down (like a “European”) or if I was still hesitant about what I was chewing on.

Having eaten most of the meat, and most of the veggies, I decided to bite into the tomatoes. Unlike the other risks I’d taken, this one didn’t yield favorable results. The texture really bothered me, and I had to really chew it up to swallow it.

I came up with a brilliant idea! If I rotated the doner, and bit at it just right, the tomatoes would “accidently” fall out the other side. Then I wouldn’t be able to eat them and I could finish off the meat and lettuce. Slowly, I turned it. Crunching the bread together, I bit into it. Sure enough, the tomatoes tumbled out.

Lubos started to laugh.

“What?” I said.

“You didn’t like them, did you?” he asked.

I chuckled. “Did you like that move?” I asked, demonstrating how I had just re-angled it.

He mimicked it too. “Was not so sneaky,” he said.

We all laughed.