Fish Market

Apparently there is a tradition in Hamburg to stay out all night on Saturday and then go to the fish market (open only on Sundays) just as it opens. Originally, we were informed that they opened at 5, then around 4 AM we were informed that the fish market actually opened around 7. At this point, we figured we were pot committed, so we kept out dancing until 6:30 and SHUT DOWN the club. Sans red bull, I don’t know how I would have done it. Managed to dance with about ¼ of the club, and speak about 3 languages as well as a drunken 2 year old native (*Including English, sadly). After we flooded out of the club, a group of about a dozen of us sloshed down to the waterfront. The fish market turned out to be a glorified flea market—the same chatchkas I could have bought in China town in SF were sold on the Hamburg Harbor. At this point in the night/day, I was unwilling to select from the display cases of gamey, uncooked fish sandwiches. Overall, though, the night/day got an A+--great folks, hilarious antics, non-facebookable pictures, and dancing. On another note, this was all done in the Reeperbahn, the red light district of Hamburg. Fun fact: when Hamburg was at its height as a national harbor, 1/3 of the female population were prostitutes. Currently, it's legal and taxed (there is a box you can check on your tax return for pro). But best of all is how you can identify the bulk of prostitutes here—they wear fanny packs. That’s right—that same object of clothing that identifies overweight tourists in the states, when found in Germany, is perched inches away from sexual service.

Returning at 8 AM to the dormitory I’m staying at, I couldn’t help but harken to the days of undergrad, and realize that I was not nearly as nostalgic for them as you’d suspect.

SMOKE!

In the last week or so, I have had the overwhelming urge to smoke cigarettes. I attribute this to several factor:

1) German cigarette advertising is AMAZING. Seriously, everything features rugged, outdoorsy figures—a couple who have gone camping, and wake with what appears to be a post-coitus glow, enhanced by the sunrise, a coffee, and a cigarette. What better to complement the beginning of a new day? Ads for menthol cigarettes feature a fresh sprig of mint, still dewy from the morning air. In some ways, the ads are just ubiquitous—every wall is plastered with brands I don’t even know—John Player’s Special, HB, and West. West is especially interesting to me, and not just because it appears to have the same lettering as Newports in the states. From what I understand, Germans are kind of obsessed with the American west (as were we, until the 60’s), which would make the West brand an attempt to connect to sprawling landscapes, manly men and…um…cows?

2) Much like the advertising, smoking itself is ubiquitous. Everyone is lighting up, and everyone in Germany looks healthy—what could be the problem? Octogenarians are lighting up, then doing swing dancing in the park (no joke). Then again, maybe they just look like octogenarians…

3) I need something to do with my mouth, ‘cause it ain’t talking. Again, relating back to language—I can’t speak to people. So when I’m alone, and I don’t have a book or food or something to occupy my time with, something needs to keep me busy. It’s less about the smoke or the look, it’s something to fill the silent gaps with. Maybe I should try gum or carrots.

4) I’ve noted this before—smoking is so freakin’ social! What better way to meet Germans or anyone else at a bar re on the street than to learn the simple phrase “Do you have a light?” (Haben Sie Feuer?) or “Can I have a cigarette?” (Kann ich eine Zigarette?) Further, it works both ways—if you’re out smoking, someone will come and do the same—from what I understand, the tax on any loan like this is that during the minute or two that you’re smoking, you’re partially obligated to stand there and spark up a conversation. Not the same with booze—no one just comes up and asks “can I borrow a pint.” Booze is usually done indoors (yet far less regularly in Germany, a plus), and is far more expensive a gesture.

I’d totally be all over this if it weren’t for the whole cancer thing.

HAMBURG

The first few days in Hamburg felt like taking a test that everyone else has studied for. Finding housing, manipulating the transit system, meeting with people without the aid of a phone—all of this in a language I know a few dozen words in. The stressful atmosphere was heightened by the fact that, from a distance, Hamburg emergency sirens sound like the first few notes of the Jeopardy theme song. Order a donner kebab? Double Jeopardy. The nice thing is that I received rewards every time I succeed in using the German language—when I learned the word for chocolate (Schokolade), I felt like a puppy that had learned a trick and earned a treat. Hopefully, this will instill a Pavlovian response, and German words will pour forth from me like drool. My lack of language lead me to spent my first weekend here virtually silent, which meant that when I finally met up with an American friend, I found myself gushing, talking about anything, just enjoying the fact that I could talk and be understood.

Being isolated makes you realize how many hours there are in the day. Without people to chat with on my cell phone, the internet or an ipod, I found myself with enough time to write the great American novel. Of course, as soon as I got my housing set up, a LAN line and a converter, I saw the great American novel disappear and become a series of short stories. When the other students in my program, all English speakers, began to show up, short stories transformed into blog posts.