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.”

“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.”

“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?”

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!

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!

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’”.

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.”

“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!”

“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!”

„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.“