im Kino

Last Saturday, I holed myself up to rest before I competed in a triathlon on Sunday morning. My friend/neighbor/colleague Robin and I sat on the couch, eating a hefty pre-triathlon meal of roasted vegetables and salmon, while watching “Aus Dem Nichts / In the Fade,” a German film recognized as the 2018 Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Language Film and as the German entry for the Best Foreign Language Film at the 90th Academy Awards. Naturally, with my German being still less than elementary, we watched the film with English subtitles. With myself and my instructor both on holiday, I’ve been without German lessons for all of August, so the subtitles were good practice to gain familiarity with words and tones. Without spoiling the plot, I’ll leave you with a recommendation to watch it and a footnote that I walked home a bit paranoid and not as relaxed as I’d hoped to go to bed. I’m glad to get into foreign films, to be the outsider who needs subtitles, and to see true stories reflected on the screen.

With today’s near repeat, maybe Saturday nights will be movie nights for the foreseeable future. The first time is an accident; the second time is a tradition. I spent a good portion of today running 30 kilometers around Berlin. Though my training has been subpar at best, I figured doing one long run two weeks before the event would be a worthwhile endeavor. With tired legs, I wanted relaxation for the afternoon and night, and decided to venture to the cinema – das kino – for the evening. I took the train to Hackescher Markt, a quaint series of connected courtyards in the pseudo-posh Mitte neighborhood and waited in line to buy a ticket for BlacKkKlansman, a 2018 film by Spike Lee and Jordan Peele. I didn’t know of the title before I looked at the movie listings today, but the ratings were high enough to intrigue me.

Scannable Document on 1. Sep 2018 at 23_31_19

Only one part of the cinema experience caught my attention: I bought the ticket at the same stand/counter where the refreshments were sold. There was no separate box office. They offered popcorn, bottled sodas, and beer, though the popcorn machine warned “sweet only!,” which I guess means they have kettle corn, not our beloved, buttered, lick-the-salt-off-your-fingers American movie popcorn. I took a rhubarb lemonade with my ticket, then found a seat in the theater, which was otherwise similar to American movie theaters.

Cut to the chase: this film is not for the faint of feelings. Be ready to feel history. BlacKkKlansman follows the true story of Ron Stallworth, the first African-American member of the Colorado Springs Police Department, as he goes undercover in investigating the Ku-Klux-Klan. It’s a timely and necessary story to bring to the surface, with the present day race conversations in the US. Aside from offering an intriguing historical narrative, the plot elevated my heart rate, my hands were clasped knuckle-to-knuckle, and I had to remind myself to let my head rest against the padded chair. It sounds bad, but I actually enjoy a movie when I am able to fear and feel for the characters.

Yet, these weren’t just characters, they are real people’s stories. I sat and witnessed behaviors – events that actually happened – that go beyond “discrimination” as we often see it. Discrimination is more than a white page with black text describing a company or organization’s commitment to not treat people different on the basis of x, y, and z. Discrimination happens every day in verbal, physical, and subconscious forms. The film brought subconscious realities into my conscience.

The German-language subtitles flickered consistently through each frame, reminding me of the city, the country, the history, the Holocaust that once happened outside of the theater. This awareness scared me. As an audience, we witnessed relentless derogatory comments that positioned people as lesser because of their skin colors and their religions. These atrocities rolled from the mouths of the actors like butter on a biscuit in the heat of summer. Meaning everything, but said like nothing. Let me say again: I’m in Germany. This country knows all too well the realities and effects of ostracizing certain races and certain people. Sitting in a crowd of Germans, I watched America with a different perspective. I saw the word “Führer” – compounded with another word – flash across the screen when describing David Duke’s role in the Ku-Klux-Klan.

The film ends with clips from recent events in the US. The sound of a glass bottle rolling along the theater floor. Otherwise, solemnity and air stale as popcorn from last year. I thought of the one character, a Klansman, whose dumbness, drunken stupor, and lack of common sense brought comic relief to the plot’s tensest moments. I’d heard people in the audience laughing, and suddenly, nothing was funny. This is a true story, and though I watched it on a screen, I watched it in a place where people know worse is possible.

Welcome, Home.

“So, here are the keys: two for the door, one for the mailbox, and three for the cellar storage.”

Nope, I didn’t buy a house. Yep, I’m renting my own flat in Berlin now.

When I moved here in October, I settled into a WG (a shared flat) with a lovely couple of guys and their yippy Dachshund. I experienced far better luck – or better strategy? – than most in the Berlin housing market. Within a week of my arrival in late October, I enjoyed my own large room with a balcony overlooking the park. We shared two toilets and an average size kitchen. When a friend occasionally visited, the guys let me borrow the spare “Schlafzimmer” (sleeping room), which functions as a guest room when needed. While it wasn’t my home, it was home for the time being, and I’m grateful for the soft and welcoming landing pad.

When the Formlabs office was slated to move to the far east side of Berlin at the end of May, I started eyeing other neighborhoods and considering a place for myself. While I thrived in a social home with 3-6 roommates in Boston, my first months in Berlin demonstrated that I valued alone time more than I realized, and a single-room or studio apartment is within my budget in Berlin.

Many newcomers and long-time Berliners have horror stories of the weeks and months that they jump between short-term rentals and desperately pursue a place where they can settle in.Can you imagine what my colleague endured, with this many people viewing a single apartment? Honestly, I’m not sure what made my search different, but I’m fortunate that I didn’t struggle. The WG where I lived for the first seven months was the first and only flat I visited on my arrival, and my recent search was nearly as simple.

I limited my online search to Friedrichshain, and contacted a handful of landlords whose listing descriptions and photos I liked. I visited one ground floor flat; though described as luxury and probably above my ideal budget, I applied and was rejected. The second flat I liked was nearby. I arrived on Thursday evening for the group viewing. Fear not, reputation of Berlin, I was ready to compete with dozens of people mingling on the sidewalk to see a flat. To my surprise and delight, me and one other guy waited outside until the English-speaking (lucky me!) landlord’s agent came to the street to let us in. Within a few seconds, I could see the apartment was exactly as described and shown: – a main room – a bathroom – an “equipped” kitchen – all clean and well-maintained – on the second (third, by an American perspective) floor – not on the street and not with a balcony – with decently-sized windows overlooking the garden courtyard.

The other prospective tenant looked around, asked for the application, and went on his way. Without much more to explore, I figured I was interested and may as well introduce myself. Hell, if it’s just me and him with equal credibility in our applications and paperwork, I automatically win by saying hello to the landlord. So, I talked with Frau Schroeder for a few minutes to explain who I was and what I was looking for. Then I was on my way “home” to compile the paperwork.

By now, the process has come and gone. They offered me the contract, and I accepted. I arranged to move my belongings on a Saturday morning. Friends referred me, and i contacted a guy with a moving van. With immense gratitude to a handful of close friends who helped me, we carried boxes, bags, and dismantled furniture up and down flights of stairs. We loaded the van, drove 10 minutes, and unpacked the van. Within an hour and a half, I was home again.

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Homemaking is a craft that takes time and patience. After a week, I received my refrigerator and washing machine by home delivery. I needed several weeks to make time to purchase a table and chairs. I’ve yet to procure a wardrobe, relying instead on two perfectly good clothing racks and a less ideal assortment of clothes piled into open duffel bags. Sure, there’s appeal to move into a fully furnished flat. I’m happy to accept the challenge to make my own home, especially when the doors sits between a bakery and a plant shop.