Daily routine (Vol. 5-7 am: Waking up and going to sleep)

Depending on time of the day, the behavior of people in a city and consequently the atmosphere in the underground trains changes. As if it was a mirror of the societies feelings and activeness, it is almost possible to watch a scene of people in the train and immediately know the time of the day. Every part of the day brings with it the kinds of people and their median behavior.

On weekdays in the very early morning, from five to seven am, it is most likely to encounter the ‘busy as a bee’ workers. People who are employed as postman, craftsmen- with already dirty uniforms in the very early hours of the day, tired eyes because of one beer too much the evening before, and seeming as sleepy as not to be able to do any physical job until noon. Moreover security personnel, secretaries- in their imitation leather briefcases carrying  three or four sheets of pro-forma paper, in their hand maybe a cup of coffee, and a tabloid for the newsworthy horoscope.

On weekdays, preferably wednesdays and friday mornings, from five to seven am, the underground means furthermore a very common mean for hip-berlin-neo-bohemians to get home, or to take home after a long night of clubbing. Ten hours ago, they probably could all have taken a catwalk at  bread&butter, but at this time of the day, with their make up smeared, dark circles and bags around their eyes,  latest fashion trends smelling of sweat and smoke and alcohol, their eyes staring into space, they rather look like zombies.

Sometimes, if members of one particular group don’t stay within their time frame and overlap and cross with the next group, it happens that very strange but  funny scenes take place.

With a shrill sound, the doors of the circle line close- almost. Ten centimeters before one door touches the other, slap!, a hand whooshes between the two doors. Under loud giggling the doors dehisce again to let in the owner of the hand and its accompangion- both zombies. He, still a bottle of trendbeer in his hand, she a bottle of Clubmate enter giggeling the in other respects very quiet train. Heads move up very slowly, in order to glance sceptically over their newspaper at these two creatures. The two, still flushed by their night, and not recognizing either the morning sun, nor the other passengers, start talking.

“So where do you live?”. “Shall I show you?”. It  rather flirting than talking. Rather dump than smart. Definitely direct, not subtle. An older women sits near them. Her light gray curls piled up with a ton of hairspray, her wrinkles filled with make-up, her surrounding smelling Yves Saint Laurents ‘Opium’, this trashy version of the British queen looks at her poodle- as chique dressed to kill as herself. She looks deeply into the eyes of the animal, which is stuck into a pink- caramel Burberry-tartan patterned dogs pullover, and she says seriously: “I wonder what he sees in her. Probably only her willingness- she neither has a proper haircut, nor does she figure an eloquent lady. I wonder where this world is going. And I tell you” her head now very close to her poodles eyes , “you can be so happy to be a poodle who does not see all these precipices of our society- your life is only about food and the dog hairdresser.”

Past and Future

In the morning, two pm, driving through Kreuzbergs underground. A young man enters the train. Over his close-cropped hair a basecap, baggy pants and white flashy sneakers. An elderly, somewhat shabby looking man enters and takes a seat opposite to the man.

“Oh! Good morning!”. The two seem to know each other.”Hello, long time ago since we chatted. How have you been?” The young man tells: “Yes, good good. You know, I haven’t been there for a while. But it’s good, I am very fine now- I mean, er, except my arm”. Furrowing his brow he shows to his right, taped arm. “I am on the way to the doctor. That shit happened to me two weeks ago. In Torstrasse. Not here, no, here is my block. These things don’t happen to me here. Imagine, I just walked along the street. Just walking, and four guys crossed my way. One had a really, honestly, really strange looking basecap. With the kind of tiger glitter tattoo on it. Honestly embarassing”. When telling, the man smirked. ” So our ways passed and we walked on. Then, suddenly, the man with the strange looking basecap came back. Two meters in front of me, he suddenly pulled out a knife, and ZACK! – my arm started bleeding. He shouted, ‘do never look at me again, son of a bitch’.  As in trance my arm immediately hit his nose, once, twice. This fucker! He cut my arm! Then his gang came back, shouting out loud. Getting him away from me, this fucker…”

Then, the man got calm again. “You know, I don’t do these things anymore. Not anymore. That was my past, but now I am growing. It was such a damn incident. One or two years ago, I would have had a blade with me. You know, that therapy really helped me. Now I am okay again. When you get older, duties arise. You cannot just do whatever you like anymore. When I was in prison, life was so different, you know. And these things that I have done, that’s over now. I even don’t carry a knife with me anymore. Now, not anymore. I am over with it now. I have a women and a small boy now. You know, that means I have a lot of duties now. I mean I love my women, and I have to look after her now. And my boy too. His first birthday is next week. He is a very good boy.”

With humor and devoid of humor

The U5 is the main connection for freaky, funny, fantastic- always majority green party voting- Friedrichshain people  to Alexanderplatz. It is around 8pm and three hip looking guys early twenty get in. One rather quiet guy has his hair made to a quiff, wears suspenders and tapered shoes. The other two wear Kate-Moss-Style lumber jack shirts and skinny jeans.

“Oh this year the election campaings are just fantastic!” says the lumber jack shirty in a very ironic tone. “Hmmm”, the other one replies, not quite sure what to answer. “Ulla Schmidt has gone on holidays to Spain with her official car. I should not vote her.” The guy with the quiffed hair: “Mhm”. The lumber jecked finds another argument: “And even worse: Angela Merkel threw a birthdayparty for Ackermann in the Bundestag”. The otherone, not understanding his complaints and astonished about the affair: “Why so many complaints about the party? Was the food that bad?”

Controlls and Compassion

The doors close. A ticket inspector. “Your tickets please.” Bags and purses are gotten out, nerved glances, rummaging. “Don’t you have a ticket?”. A 20 year old men: “I am sure I have one. One moment please.” Rummaging in the bag, in jacket and trouser pockets. No ticket seems to be there.”Okay, then please get out with me. We will do the data aquisition outside.”

An old man gets up. “Oh, hey Gerhard, where are you going? Did you already forgot? I have a double ticket, it is valid for you too!” Shortly silence. Then the young man: “Oh John, I totally forgot! Must have drunken too much yesterday!”

"Underground Fotoediting" Photgraph and copyright by Loredana Nemes

Sometimes I believe more than in other places the underground is a spot where one can clearly experience compassion- or not. For example people let strangers ride with their doubleticket, when a ticket controller appears. Or when a controller appears and I recognize somebody gets really nervous because he doesn’t have a ticket it takes me extraordinaryly long (until the next station, where the fare dodger gets out) to find… Read more!

Fate and Poetry

Wednesday rush hour in the U7: “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I prepared a little poem for you for tonight. Just lean back and let your thoughts work:

It is a long time ago that life meant it good with me. Next to our house was huge walnut tree.

As long ago, as that my thoughts are fading, as long ago that the light is shading.

We were two young souls with four good friends, no human would have though it ever ends. But times went by, journey went on, on midway lost, a life foregone.

Taken was my house and yard, shooed from home, lost and marred. Gone the days, useless the prays, gods disappear, dark thoughts interfere.

Trusted in the wrong, trusted too long.

We were two young souls with four good friends, no human would have though it ever ends. But times went by, journey went on, on midway lost, a life foregone.

Away flew the white dove, took with her my love.

Taken my senses, setting up fences, humanity gone, all alone.

We were two young souls with four good friends, no human would have though it ever ends. But times went by, journey went on, on midway lost, a life foregone.”

"London 01-2005" Photograph and copyright by Loredana Nemes

Art in form of busker musicians can be seen very frequently in Berlin. As frequently, as that one is thankful when people are creative enough to cite a poem. But there are different forms of art in the Berlin undergrund, you might not even not about….read more!

Concerns about Order

One warm day in the U2, Potsdamer Platz Station. Some people are sitting in the wagon. A man gets in, the doors close: “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen.” He gets out a thin booklet and a pen and checks a women sitting opposite to me. “Signorita, you know that this nailpolish is not allowed in here?”The women,  suddenly opening her eyes widely from astonishment- as all other passengers too. Then smiling shyly. “Oh.”

The man, very concerned and serious: “But you know that it is regulatory offense?” The women shrugging her shoulders “Phew.” “Because of this I will now have to give you a ticket! There is no way around it.” The man gives the thin memoblock to the women asking her “What is your name?” Well-behaving the women answers “Monika Schmidtz.” “Date of birth?” She answers “April 19, 1960″. Then he hands the booklet to her and advises: “Put into that collumn ‘red nailpolish’ and then please sign in the last cullumn”.

Then he turns to me. “Young lady. I think I have to give you a ticket as well.” I am smiling at him. “Why that?” He looks at my feet. “You wear sandals. That is a strict prohibition when using the underground services. And you have red nailpolish, too. It is a warning colour and may not be abused for fashion reasons. Also your scarf is read.” “Oh, I am sorry.” He asks me for my name, my birthdate. I answer “Erika Hellman, August 12, 1989.” The man is astonished “So young and already violating so many rules.”

He gives me the memoblock. Rough lines drawn with a pen divide the page into several collumns. The whole left page and a few lines on the right side are already filled out. In the collumn ‘kind of infingement’ I read words such as: too short skirt, too much perfume, it’s not allowed to wear sunglasses in the train, a few times red nailpolish, basecap. I willingly write down my offenses, he takes back the booklet. “Because you are so young you will have to go to the central office tomorrow. It is undergroundstation Potsdamer Platz.” He gives me a pencil scibbled noteb with all necessary information on it.  “Come there tomorrow at ten and the we will see what to do. Oh, I think you need to come too.” The other women gets also a note. Then he gets out with the words “Have a good day, and always remind yourself  ‘taking care is better than taking risks’”.

Friendliness and gaffe

In the crowded tram, an old lady enters. A young, well-fed women, gets up: “Please, sit here.” The old lady thinking: ” Umm”. Then the younger women again: “No problem, just sit down. I can stand.”

The old lady nods, and sits down. Then the younger women again: “Eventually you are older…” Then the lady, looking at the women: “But you are pregnant”. The younger women surprised. ” Oh no, I am not pregnant.” The old lady blushes from embarrasement: “Oh, I am sorry.”

Danger and Fear

One morning at the platform, waiting for the train to arrive.On the platform is a shop selling bakery products, newspapers and some other bits and pieces. In front an elderly man getting het up:

“This is unbeliavable! It is a crime! Didn’t you see him? He had a gun! He carried that gun openly!” Two sales women from the shop stood next to him, listening. They were quite young, around twenty. One said “yes, that was the man from the security firm.” The old man very outraged: “This is not allowed!! You cannot carry a gun with you openly just in a halter!!” The young women, not understanding his point: “Don’t worry, he comes here every morning like this”

“Whaaaaat? Every morning? With an open gun??!!” “He just get’s the money from the cash desk.” “But do you know how dangerous that can be?? Walking around with a gun openly in Germany is forbidden!! Can you believe how dangerous it is, if he walks around here with an unsecured gun?!”

“Mmh, I think it is allowed if you have a gun licence, to carry it around with you.” “No. He had a gun openly and possibly ready to fire!! Can’t you imagine how easily something could happen? Just imagine two guys. One holds his arms, the other one gets the gun!!” “I think it is okay, I mean, nothing did happen until today.” “I cannot believe it! You don’t know what carrying a gun means! I was born 1925. Believe me, I know what it means.” “Never before anything happened.”

“It’s not about me. I almost don’t have any eysight anymore and I cannot walk properly anymore. But it’s about the women there with the buggy, about that young boy and about you, who will have to be sitting blind in a wheelchair until the end of your life!”

First Love

A teenie girl,  roughly 13 years old, slobbering   to another girl, maybe two years younger:

“Yesterday I met my honey again. He is soo cute. I fetched him, and then we went to the lake. You know, it was so sunny yesterday. Silvie and Marc came as well. We even went swimming! Later, I brought him home. Maybe you could come with us to the lake next time!”

“Yes, I can ask at home. Are you in love with him? ”, giggeling. “Oh yes, I will merry him.” “Oh seriously? You cannot merry him.” “Mmm, maybe I can. You know, he is called Marek. But sometimes I call him Tarek – or Sharek”.

The younger girl asks then: “What do you think about now?” Very fast she answers “About Marek”, both giggle. “And now?” Fast again “About Marek.“ “And when you eat something?” “I think of Marek”. “And when you go to bed?” “I dream of Marek” Giggle, giggle. “Really?” “Yes, he is soo cute. I can’t stop hugging him.”

“Did I tell we went by train together?” “Really?” “He actually sat on the same bench were you are sitting right now.” “How did he manage that?” “I lifted him there.” “And he wasn’t afraid?” “Only when we got out he started barking!”

Wat janz dollet

„Bitte beachten Sie, der Zugverkehr der U8 ist zur Zeit unregelmäßig. Ich wiederhole, der Zugverkehr der U8 ist zur Zeit unregelmäßig“ hallt es durch den Bahnhof. Rollende Augen statt rollender Räder. Ein älterer Mann:

„Na so wat, dit is ja wat. Sowat ham wa ja lange nich mehr erlebt.“

Sein Freund: „Ja, ick fahr ja jetzte schon siem Monate mit imma der gleechen Bahn mit, sur gleechen Zeit. Und dit war noch nie so!“

„Jaja, dit is ja schon wat außerjewöhnlichet.“ Der eine Mann holt ein Handy aus der Tasche.

„Wat solln dit?“ frag der andere.

„Dit isn Handy. Dit hab ick mia neulich uff’n Alex jeholt. Dit jeht sojar ins intanetz!“

„Ja, denks’e ick wees nich, dass dit’n Händy is? Ick bin doch nich stulle.“

„Aba du has doch jefracht. Da hab ick dir jesagt, wat it is.“

„Mensch Kalle, ick meente doch och warum de dit Ding da jetze rausholst. Dit brochste doch jetzte ja nich.“

„Ick wollte nur ma kieken, ob mich meene olle anjerufn hat.“

„Aber hier im Unterjirund haste doch sowieso keen Strom.“

„Dit hat doch nischt mit Strom zu tun. Dit jeht doch üba de Luft.“

„Achso? Dit is ja knorke, wat die Berlijiner Luft allet so kann.“

Trust and dependence

Today I went home by underground U7. Next to me sat a young girl with her boyfriend. With all her make up and fancy clothes she looked like 18- but I bet she was only 15. She seemed very sad. At that time of the day whole train is always almost empty, only a few more passengers were in the cabin.

The girl spoke very quietly to her boyfriend: “Something is not right. It just doesn’t feel good”. Her boyfriend put his arm around her, saying: “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine”. The young girl looked very unconfident lending slightly forward with the upper part of her body. She seemed as if she was in pain. “But I am so afraid. Didn’t you see, it is not normal.” Her boyfriend didn’t really know what to respond just saying “don’t worry”.

The she again: “Didn’t you see. It looks so weird and it hurts so badly.” When saying that, she tore down her shirt a little bit, showing a tape on her shoulder. “Leave it. Not that it gets worse” her boyfriend fastly said, interrupting her from pulling the tape down. She already had tears in her eyes. “I should have known that it wasn’t clean.”  The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot show it to my parents. They will kill me.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to do, it hurts so badly. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have done.” Her boyfriend, being overextended just kept repeating “Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” “But my parents will kill me.” “Don’t worry, they won’t kill you because of a tattoo.” “It’s not about the tattoo. It’s about I faked their signatures. I cannot tell them”.

"MO+MO" Photo and copyright by Loredana Nemes

Music to survive

In Berlin many different kinds of underground trains exist. There are the modern ones, without separated compartments and with long lines of seats opposite to each others. And there are trains in which there are always four seats opposite, creating units. In one of these units a young mother, around 25 with her son, approximately 5 years old sat. They didn’t seem if they were used to go by train. The boy was pushing his nose at the window, his mother somehow nervously playing with her ticket.

The next stop an older women, maybe around 65, entered the train. She wore beige trousers, a pastel-colours pattered blouse and a blazer. The eyeshadow fitted to the colour of her blouse. She was looking at the two opposite to her, smiling at the boy. “Exciting, eh?” She said. The boy, very shy just looked to the ground.

Next stop a busker entered the train. He had a guitar, unremarkable clothes in grey, khaki and beige- but all the more spectacular round blue glasses. With a strong British accent he announced: “Hello everybody listen up. My name is John, and I’ve got a song for you!” he seemed a little bit like Elton John. Wandering up and down the train cabin, he sung with a loud voice: “She never took the train alone; she hated being on her own; she always took me by the hands; and say she needs me…” The elderly women smiled. In front of her, John paused walking, coming very close with his face to her face, singing: “She’d look me in the eyes and say ‘believe me’”. She, a little bit surprised, instantly moving her head backwards.

John moved on walking and singing and the women, still surprised, shake her head. “Oh tonight you killed me with your smile; so beautiful and wild, so beautiful and wild.“ To the young mother, the surprised women said “oh, can you believe it?!” And again, in front of the women, John sung : “ She’d look me in the eyes and say ‘believe me’”, then he with a harsh accent ”in deine Augen gucken”. The women, was nodding, somehow hoping that with her acceptance, John would move back again. She must have really felt uncomfortable. He moved on and finished singing, took his cap and went through the cabin to ask for some coins.

When he came to the elderly women, she rummaged in her pocket, then fished out some cents. John thanked her. She blushed, and with very German pronounciation she said: “Yes, yes. Thank you.” And shouting after him: “Have a nice day” Then she smiled again to the other passengers saying:  “Music. Without music we would all have killed ourselves already.”

"LO+LO" Photograph and copyright by Loredana Nemes

Human bitterness

At the bus station, I am waiting for my bus to arrive, a 30 year old women with a blue turquoise pink sweat suit is waiting too. She seems a bit nervous, playing with the laces from her hood. The bus arrives. I get in, show my student ticket. The bus driver grabs it out of my hand, examines it carefully. “Passport”. I give him my passport so that he can check it. “Mph.” He is waving me through.

Then I hear the women with a nervous voice and and a strong Berlin accent : “You know when the next bus is coming to the north station?” The bus driver, around 50, potbelly, mumbling: “Mph.” Moving very slowly, he grabs a file out of the side control and studies the departure times. Again: “Mph.” The women, very nervous: “I really need to go there.” The bus driver quite nerved “Don’t you see I am trying to find out!!!”

The women quietly: “Last week a bus came at this time, too.” The bus driver arrogantly “Sure, there are all the time busses starting from here.” Then getting a little louder “Couldn’t you have looked by yourself!? There are timetables ev-ry-wheeeere.” The women “But I need to go to the hospital”. The bus driver turns over a page. “You know…” the bus driver interrupting the women: “Mph. Just open your eyes, can’t you see? You just have to look at a timetable! Didn’t your parents teach you anything?” The women “My mother” “mph”, “My mother, she’s in the hospital. She died yesterday.”

The bus driver quietly: “Next bus 234, 12:13 from here.”

Language

It might occur that you have problems understanding this entry. Visit this dictionary website for help.

Three young girls entered the underground. They were approximately fourteen years old, probably younger. The latest fashion trends sticking on their young bodies tightly, painted faces and noisy phones.

“Dang!!, did I tell yo? I wrote a letter, for my ex. Here, wanna see’t?” The other girl, sitting opposite to me: “Dennis? A’ight! Show it, oh no, jus’ read it”. Out of her huge, silver glitter bag, the girl took a rumbled piece of graph paper. From my eyes corner I could see huge, untidy, with a blue biro written letters. The girl began to read very slowly and a little bit stuttering:

“My baby-daddy boo. I am soo sorry. I’m fi’n to tell you everything [I will to tell you everything]. That night went out to that bang, and I ‘as cup cakin’ wit dat homie [That night I went out to this party and I was flirting with a friend]. I jus’ want chill-wit, [I simply wanted to "hang out" with no purpose or reason] I ain’t wanna creepin’ [I didn't want to cheat].  I’m srry.  I can understand yo about to smack me up for tryin to front on you in front of ya  peeps, you feel me? [I can understand that you then commented negative/ derogatory about me, when I was trying to run down on you in front of your friends, do you understand me?]  Hella, [used in conjunction with another word as an intensifier such as "very"] I don’ like him. Fo sho I luv only you [For sure I love only you]. I know I’m a bee-atch. You are my BOO.  Plz xcuse me [I know I am a bitch. You are my love. Please excuse me]. I srry I doggin’ on you [=being mean or cruel]. Maybe come thru at me crib tomorrow and we can chop it up [maybe you can come by my place tomorrow and we can have a conversation]. Ily fo’shizzle [I love you honestly].”

I looked around me, searching for a reaction of other passengers to that special speech. A man, around 40 seemed to have followed her reading too. He had a huge horn-rimmed glasses hiding behind his newspaper, shaking his head.

Then the other girl: “Man, you tryin to clown on me? You ain’t write dat shit? Coo. Sho’ me.” She took the letter and read it slowly again. Suddenly  thoughtful she loudly said: “Ey yo, isn’t chill-wit to write without minus?” The other one again: “Gosh, yo  right.” She packed out a pencil, and roughly  painted away the hyphen. “I ain’t want dat letter wit any mistake. Now is coo?” “Yo, dat’s blasting now” (=cool, that works out). The other girl, satisfied too: “Yo, I cool wit dat. Dat go” (Yes, I am okay with that. That’s really cool.)

Language is the most basic tool for communication among people, basically verbal communication. But beyond that, as Wilhelm von Humboldt stated…read more!

"New York 09-2006" Photo and copyright by Loredana Nemes

Perdition and habituation

There are certain things in life that we are condemned to use. And there are certain things in life that we are condemned to use every day- every damn single day. At least if you life in a city (like I do), if you are no CO² junkie (I hardly try not to be), if you have a lot of time, if you are not hyper sportive (unfortunately I am not)- what I wanted to say: As we all are politically correct behaving but lazy people – we are condemned to use public transport. So do I.

My Monday to Friday journey to university takes me all the way from upper north east P-Berg to the south-west Schöneberg. After two changes, the use of tram and underground, a tea and a croissant, at least five minutes longer than I planned, I finally arrive.

And as I want it or not, this journey became a constant part of my every day life. No chance to change it. But there is the phenomenon, also called the “habituation”- as we get used to disgusting things after a while (such as the smell of sweat and mouldy smoke in a dirty club). Thanks to that “habituation” I got used to this transportation catastrophe, with all its deterrent wasp yellow, with its scratched windows, beer and piss smelling grounds, with its awfully ugly patterned seat upholstery.

But there is one thing, one single thing, for what I really like that trip. It is the moves, the glaces, the behaviour, the words- the people. It is the unpredictability, the coincidences of meeting people without knowing them- but by eavesdropping their talks, by watching their behaviour, getting to know them within minutes- and forgetting them again after a few.

The next weeks, at this place I will tell each week a short story of some strange, sad, weird, funny, shocking adventures from the Berlin underground. Come back soon!

Hello

This is my first blog!  I’m amazed I made it,  I’m confused I made it! Anyway, probably you are done with this blog after skimming this sentence, so let me forward you to another great blog:  ideas.blogs.nytimes.com

See you soon!

Header photograph by “tophee“. Taken from:  flickr.com

Other photographs on the blog by Loredana Nemes.