X83

The X83 connects Dahlem on the western border of Berlin with Lichtenrade in the southern of Berlin. It intersects three Sbahn train lines, which branch out from the inner city like spokes on a bike wheel.

The X83 stops at Simpsonweg and Schichauweg, which are both about the same distance from my apartment. Actually, Simpsonweg is a little closer, but the bus arrives at Schichauweg one minute later than Simpsonweg, so when I'm late, I end up running with the bus to the Schichauweg stop. Jordan and I almost always have to run to the bus at the Schichauweg stop on Sunday mornings because the bus comes a little earlier because there is no traffic on Sunday mornings.

In addition to stopping at the different connections to the Sbahn, the X83 takes us directly to the stop where our ward meets for church in only 18 minutes. I can also use the X83 to get to my Monday and Wednesday classes in Dahlem.

In 2010, the Berliner Travel Organization, the BVG, decided to have double-decker buses run the X83 line.

Before the change, the line was run with jointed buses with two parts. The front part had two doors; a wheelchair and stroller entrance, and a regular customer entrance. The rear part was composed of normal seats facing forward, until the rear door. After the door, the seats were arranged along the windows in a raised platform over the engine and rear axle. The rowdy kids sat here with their dogs. This place was also the most susceptible to graffiti. The jointed buses were almost always full, and I ended up riding standing up in the joint area of the bus, which was usually empty because it was noisier or bumpier than the rest of the areas in the bus.

Unfortunately, the joint bus suffered from one major problem: Crowding. Passengers are supposed to enter the bus in the front door of the bus. After they enter, they mosey toward the back of the bus, looking for empty seats. If they don't see any seats in the back of the bus, they stop and camp out at the wheelchair and stroller section. When more people get in, standing passengers who have filled the wheelchair and stroller section block the new passengers from moving to the back of the bus. Eventually, the hooligans in the back of the bus with their dogs get done with their graffiti, and leave the bus. And before anyone notices, the back of the bus is completely empty, with everyone crowded in the first third of the bus.

Double decker buses have reduced this problem with the addition of the stairs to the top level at the front and back of the bus. Passengers who are only riding for a few stops can ride in the bottom, while those riding for longer distances climb to the top level.

The ride to the University is relatively interesting. There's the old bunker that has been turned into a youth center, the German church, the Lankwitz city hall and market, as well as an alterations shop run by a man named "Mustafa".

As I was riding home today from class, I realized how different the view is from a double-decker bus. Behind the parked cars and fences that line the street, there are even more interesting things. Like the old ice skating rink, or the 'ward park' behind the church. It's a nice ride. I sit up in the second deck, reading my latest novel, "Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo", and look out at the houses flying by, wondering how many families are as dysfunctional as the one I am reading about, and hoping that some of the parents are doing a good job.


Of course, on Sunday mornings, a normal bus takes us to church at 8:32, with older ladies who are hoping to get a jump start on their grocery shopping for the day, as well as plastered party-goers who are looking forward to getting home.

Yurt

This weekend, there were yurts in the Sony Center. I heard about them through "Culture Radio" one night. As described on the radio, authors read excerpts from their books to people sitting in the yurts. Readings happened every hour on the hour from Thursday until Sunday. I was first attracted to the event because of its possibility of being similar to the Timpanogos Story Telling Festival from back home. I never really "attended" the festival, but I caught the last two performances of an evening after a night at Ben's house, which was a block away from the Scera Shell. It was good.

So I mustered up the strength to leave the house and trek out into the frigid winter wasteland an hour before class started, to see if I could see a reading. I forgot that I'm in Germany, and should have expected that the doors were shut exactly at the top of the hour according to the official nuclear clock in Braunschweig.

Being shut out made me want to attend a reading even more.

Oh, and one of the tents was the infoyurt, where they had the schedules for who was reading in which tent, as well as books for sale from the authors. The infoyurt was warm, and that also contributed to my desire to attend a reading.

So I planned to go on Saturday. I invited a friend from my German class, and got Jordan and another friend to go with us. Due to a spontaneous omelet breakfast, we missed the train for the 2:00 reading. We arrived 2 minutes before the 3:00 reading, and the tents were all full. Shoot. Now I really wanted to go. So we went to the infoyurt, and tried to register for one of the readings that day. The only one was the reading of a children's book. I signed us up, and we went shopping in the Arkaden next door.

Unfortunately, we were a little late in arriving back to the yurts, and in a wild chaos, I ended up jumping into the yurt for the children's book reading. I wasn't sure where Jordan was.. He said he was in the yurt... I couldn't see him. We were separated.

And as my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the yurt, I realized that I was stuck directly across from the door in a yurt full of children and their parents.

The author was dressed in a satin suit with flowers, and sported a frizzy doo that was back from the future. I also felt the urge to whip out my weedwacker and trim his eyebrows.

He began his presentation with by impressively sticking his hand into his magic satin flowery pants, wiggling his fuzzy eyebrows, and producing... a hand. Five fingers were produced from his other pocket.

I had overestimated the entertainment factor of the yurt reading for those over four years old. Across the tent, I could see in the eyes of a father, who was accompanying his daughter and wife, that he was also regretting agreeing to enter the yurt.

However it was warm. In fact, it was very warm. Warm air was blasted into the yurts for temperature control, and the chair I had chosen was empty when I dashed in because it was right in front of the vent blasting warm air.

For the next fifteen minutes, the man performed a variety of other silly tricks. I am almost certain that the kids present weren't laughing at his tricks, but because of his eyebrows. Which I also found mildly amusing.

The climax of the half-hour event was the reading of the story entitled "Mr. Cloud and Marie's Weekend with Dad," in which a the parents of a young girl, Marie, have a fight and the father moves out. The story concludes happily, with magical Mr. Cloud telling the girl that although the parents have almost nothing in common, they do have a common love for the little girl. I wasn't convinced. Perhaps I'm too skeptical.

I was also a little confused about the title.. In the story, the girl never goes to visit the father for the weekend. Perhaps this was a simple oversight by the furry-eyebrowed author. Or perhaps it wasn't. Maybe the title was a reference to the last weekend that the girl had with her father, before he moved out. After the departure of dad, mom and the girl never heard of him again.

However, the end made me happy because I could leave the yurt. I got up from my seat in front of the furnace, and walked across the tent to the door, avoiding eye contact with the parents, who probably thought I was there to kidnap one of their kids. Or perhaps they thought I was just a father who hadn't had contact with his kid ever since he had been kicked out...

It turned out that Jordan had jumped into another yurt, and had listened to a 30-minute reading of a book on global warming. I'm sure people promptly forgot about the global status when they exited the yurt and entered the frigid winter wasteland.

Berlin Stats

Deep in the Fathercity, I'm listening to "Culture Radio", while I work on my research. They just finished up with an enlightening smattering of record recordings from artists who studied at the "Sternchen" piano school here in Berlin, which was shut down because of ties to the Nazi regime.

And then they began a report on teenage pregnancy. A year ago, they covered the story of a girl who got pregnant at the age of 13. Her boyfriend was 14, and due to an excess of vodka, neither of them remember anything that happened that night... I wonder if they count as like half virgin because they don't have any memory of unvirgin activities.

Her child was born when she was 14. Her boyfriend said he only had 2 to 3 hours after going to school, doing homework, and playing soccer. However, he was excited for the baby to be 5. Then, he could be the soccer trainer for the young kid, and they could play soccer together.

This year, the girl was alone. The father hadn't been able to hold out.

In Hellersdorf, a borough in East Berlin, eight percent of mothers are younger than 20. When the reporter originally interviewed the young mother, she was the only mother in her school. However, now there are several other teen mothers. The interviewee stated that some of the other girls wanted to become mothers, and that not all of them were accidental pregnancies. The reporter suggested that in some instances, pregnancy was a means for gaining attention.. Crazy.

In looking for Utah teen pregnancy stats, google directed me to this blog for mature audiences that remarked that for the author, "Getting pregnant in high school was as much of an option as turning into a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger was."

According to national data in 2005, Utah's pregnancy rate was
3.34%.

However, I can imagine the German government, particularly former Chancellor for Family Affairs, Ursula von der Leyen, is happy for any births they can get. According to reports released in August 2009, the birth rate in Germany is the lowest of all 27 European Union states, at 8.3 kids per 1000 people in 2008. The death rate is 10.3 per 1000 people.

Speaking of death rate...

In June 2009, Joanna K. couldn't take it any longer, and stabbed her boyfriend with a kitchen knife. They had been living together since September 2008, after two of Joanna K.'s previous marriages had failed.

For the death of her boyfriend, Joanna K. was charged with murder.

Guess what her penalty was?

Lifetime in Prison.

Just kidding. Four and a half years. That's it. The judge stated that because her boyfriend had told her that she was "too old, too fat, and too ugly," the "massive insults" had placed her in a state of decreased accountability. And she was drunk.

Four and a half years is how long it took me to get a Bachelor degree. Granted, the time didn't exactly fly by, but I'm not convinced that's long enough to teach someone not to kill. Perhaps I shouldn't judge... but I'm definitely not moving in with any anyone who meets the description "too old, too fat, and too ugly."

In fact, instead of moving in, I'm actually looking forward to moving out, or at least getting out. We just booked 70-euro flights to Athens last night. We don't leave until March, but even looking at the sunny pictures of Athens makes me warm inside.

Here in Berlin, we just finished the 14th day without sun. According to an article in the free newspaper I subscribed to as a student at the Free University, the weather in Berlin, and the surrounding state Brandenburg broke a weather on Sunday, with only 12 days without sun. The previous record was 11 days without sunshine which was set in March/April 1964.

View of the sky from my window

This article reports that Berlin has only seen 1.7 hours of sun in the whole month of January. That seems a little depressing to me.

Oh, but our Turkey trip came through. 7 days in 3 cities in Turkey in 4- and 5-star hotels with breakfast. 149 euros plus 30 euros for the flight from Berlin. Right now, it's 17C degrees in our destination airport. However, that trip's also not until March. I still have to try to stick it out until the end of February and do well with my finals.

Well, here's to more sun, fewer teen pregnancies, and fewer old, fat, and ugly murderesses.

Jena

Over New Year's (called "Sylvester" here in Germany), I went to a little city called Jena. It's in the middle of former East Germany, and was considered to be the edge of civilization by my friends from Berlin.

After a lively Sylvester party in Berlin, 7 friends and I packed our stuff into a little Chevy Matiz and another car and took off, heading south.

On the way down, I sat in the front with this cool girl. For privacy purposes, I'll call her Tony. She is studying medicine in Berlin, and originally comes from the eastern part of Berlin, although I get the feeling she feels "Westernized" enough.. at least enough to make jokes about the East-Germans, or "Ossies". On the way down, Tony told me that her family had a hard time during Soviet control of East Berlin, especially because they were members of the church, and refused to enter "the party" of the Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands (SED). I guess in the equivalent of high school, each student had an appointment with a school counselor, in which they were haggled into joining the SED. Those who did not join the SED were discriminated against, and the fact that they were not in the SED appeared on their public record, which was viewed by employers, court systems, etc.

The Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, or "Stasi" was the secret police service of the East German government that was responsible for national and international intelligence. One of the famous repressive activities they participated in was spying on East German citizens, and punishing those who spoke against the government. After the Berlin wall came down, the Stasi records kept about East German residents were made available. Tony's grandfather requested a copy of his records. When he received them, he was surprised at how many of the people he thought were close friends were actually spying on him as "unofficial workers" of the Stasi. It was an interesting conversation. But not romantic.

The real romance started that night when we arrived in Chemnitz, which used to be called "Karl-Marx city" when it was in East-Germany. The youth from former East-Germany were having a multi-day seminar/social gathering for young single adults, and were having a New Year's ball that night, so we joined in. Unfortunately, we had to pay 15 euros for entry. Luckily, that included dinner and drinks. Jordan and I got our money's worth with several plates of Knoedel, Gulash, potatoes, and Red Cabbage.

At the dance, one of the Berlin girls kept clinging onto me whenever another male came near. I'll refer to her as "Jenny". Throughout the evening, I danced with Jenny a couple of times so she didn't have to dance with the guys she didn't want to dance with. I thought nothing of it. I didn't think she thought anything of it, either. We barely knew each other. And I was pretty sure she liked my roommate, anyway.
After the dance, we drove from Chemnitz to our sleeping place in Jena. One of the Berlin girls was going to school in Jena, and was moving into a new apartment with three friends. The other friends weren't going to move in until the start of school, so for a couple days, the whole 3-bedroom apartment was empty. A perfect crashing place for the eight of us for the weekend.

On the drive to Jena, I made a mistake.

I could try to blame it on the fact that it was really late.. it was after 2 in the morning, after getting very little sleep the night before because of the Sylvester party. I could also quote my mom in saying that the Holy Ghost goes to bed at 10.. so he had been sleeping for 6 hours.. I could have also probably blamed it on the fact that I was in the back seat with a girl that was pretty attractive, and that Jenny was laying on my shoulder. I could also probably blame it on the fact that I am a free-agent man on the prowl for women. Perhaps it was the romantic music on the radio. Or maybe someone had spiked the red cabbage at the dance.

At any rate, at one point in the car trip home, I had my hand on my knee, and I guess it was close to hers. Eventually, Jenny slid her hand over so it was touching mine... just a little bit... the people in the front seats could have heard my heart pounding... What was I to do? How was I to proceed? Although I had my eyes closed, and appeared almost asleep, my senses were heightened, and I felt as she slowly slid her fingers over mine.

I plead irrationality, and provide as evidence the fact that my response was to the unexpected hand-to-hand contact was to play the opossum card: fake death. I tried to think... I honestly didn't like this girl very much.. I had no intention of starting a serious relationship. I could see myself unhappily forking out my "Vienna" money on dates, trying to postpone the pain of breaking up. I also remembered the words of President Kimball who said we shouldn't hold hands like pretzels.

Unfortunately, the tender caress of her slender fingers overwhelmed me, and I succumbed. We participated in a two-finger hand hold until we arrived at the apartment in Jena.

The next morning, we slept in until like 10, at which time I was put in charge of making pancakes. While everyone else slept in, I got up to go to the store to buy ingredients. I was surprised to find Eier aus Kaefighaltung... Eggs from caged chickens. Printed on every egg produced in Germany is a code, with the first number representing the way the hens were kept. A 0 represents OEkologische Haltung, or Environmental. 1 is Freilandhaltung, or roaming. 2 is Bodenhaltung, meaning the chickens were kept on the floor. 3 is the lowest rating, for hens that have been kept in cages, Eier aus Kaefighaltung. Honestly, after my experience raising chickens when I was young, I don't care how the hens are kept, but I know that higher numbers mean that the eggs are cheaper. And I have never see '4' eggs in Berlin... Must be an Jena thing.

Anyway, I returned to the apartment to start making breakfast. When Jenny waltzed into the kitchen, I was glad for President Kimball's advice. And that I had not participated in any activities beyond the two-finger hand hold (three-finger hand hold, etc). I can't imagine what it must be like for people who wake up next to someone with the awful realization that they must have been REALLY REALLY drunk the night before..

I tried not to pay her any special attention, but it became awkward when she announced to the people awaiting breakfast that she had a dream that she was married to me... the activation of my gag reflex as an involuntary response to her disclosure was additional grounds for belief that this relationship was going nowhere. Vienna, here I come!

Luckily, I am not a native German speaker, so when she came into the kitchen - which was separated from the living room by a wall with a large window-sized hole - and asked me whether I had understood what she had just said, I kindof lied and innocently said "no.. what?". She said "good". She was in a pretty good mood, and flitted back and forth between the living room, and what she referred to as the "honeymoon room", where I was cooking pancakes.

I was able to successfully avoid her throughout the rest of the day, doing various activities such as sledding, and hiking up to some castle ruins on the top of a hill.

Unfortunately, we got pretty wet and cold on the castle hill, and came home to eat dinner and get warm. For dinner, the girls bought 3 bags of chicken sticks from the store. Unfortunately, somehow (I was in the other room), plastic got into the heated oven, which aroused a whole bunch of superstitious/scientifically derived prejudices against eating anything that has been in the same heated oven as plastic... so we tried to deep fry the chicken sticks. Unfortunately, the girls ran out of oil after the first two bags. I volunteered to go to the store to get some more, so the third bag could be prepared. I was partly relieved when Jenny offered to go with me.
Unfortunately, in Jena, everything closes at 8 on Saturdays. No more oil.

On the way walking home, I gathered my wits, and began to apologize. "Sorry about last night. I di..." "Shh", she said, trying to hush my words by putting her finger against my lips. Unfortunately, we were walking, evidently out of sync, and she ended up sticking her finger up my nose. I was silent.. Mostly because I had never been silenced in such a manner.

I thought everything was going to be fine, and that she understood. Unfortunately, she thought everything was going to be fine, too.



We arrived home, and the friends had started watching Ice Age 3. We shared our bad news with our cooking friends, and the 6 of us who lived in Berlin rejoiced that stores don't close at 8 on Saturday in Berlin.

I sat down in a chair in front of the TV, and began watching. Jenny pulled up a chair next to me... I folded my arms. When dinner was ready, we paused the movie, said a prayer, and began consuming the chicken fingers. My chair was next to the table, which was a good thing, because I had easy access to the chicken fingers. I figured as long as I had greasy fingers, Jenny would leave my fingers alone. Unfortunately, it didn't stop her from getting a blanket, sharing it with me, and laying on my shoulder. Also, due to the lack of oil, the grease from the chicken fingers would disappear after a while, so I was forced to continually refill my plate with greasy fingers. I figured that I would rather live with the consequences of a potential heart attack induced by the overindulgence of chicken fingers, than those of letting Jenny get a hold of my fingers.

I spent the rest of the evening with my greasy fingers held awkwardly in the air in front of me. That night, Jenny and I had a talk. She asked me what I wanted to say earlier. I told her that I didn't think a relationship would be good because she and my roommate had had a thing going on. She reassured me that they were now over. I knew that things were over from my roommate's side, but I wasn't sure about her side...

We all went to bed that night about 3. I shared a room with my roommate and another kid from the ward who just got back from his mission to England. That night, in our sleeping bags, we discussed the events, and I told them of my carnal blunder. I also gave them a press release -- an official statement to tell any girl that asked them about me.. I just didn't feel good about a relationship, and I only wanted friendship.

The whole time, I had a pretty sick feeling, which climaxed about 4, and coincided nicely with the time that Tony emerged from the shower. I'll spare you the details, but I came out of the bathroom feeling very relieved. Unfortunately, in about 30 minutes, I was forced to take another bathroom break. Everyone was asleep by this time, not looking forward to getting up for church the next morning at 8:30. And I was supposed to make pancakes again at 8 for everyone.

The night was a ferocious one for me. The next hour, I could no longer repress the urge to purge my stomach of some inner enemy. I hoped all were soundly asleep. Instead of going back to sleep in the bedroom, I camped out in the living room so I wouldn't have to wake anyone when I had to get up. I still felt pretty sick. In the living room, I heard the familiar noise of someone else puking... The mystery puker always returned to the girls' bedroom, so I wasn't sure who it was. We traded off time in the bathroom. I'm just glad we never had an urge at the same time. That could have been especially catastrophic because the new apartment didn't even have a kitchen sink. I guess kitchen sinks aren't generally included in unfurnished apartments.

When 8:00 finally arrived, I hadn't slept a bit, although my entire digestive track was bone dry. Jenny was the first to shower. When she came out of the shower, she saw me.. sickly laying on the couch with stomach pain. She claimed she had been sick during the night, too, and came and sat on the floor next to the couch, with her head next to mine. Totally unromantic.. the smell of her shampoo was powerful, and although it might have smelled good at another time, it was sickening to me as I lay there. I tried to scoot toward the other end of the couch. Unfortunately, this resulted in Jenny thinking I was trying to make a place for her to sit.. She joined me on the couch. I continued to scoot away from her, as she continued to fill space.. Eventually, I was bent over, sitting in one corner of the couch, and she was laying on the rest of the couch.

When it began to get light, I heard as another person puked in the bathroom. When they emerged, I was sorry to see that it was another girl. She joined us in the living room. Later in the morning, my roommate also puked...

With her medical training, Tony diagnosed us with a stomach virus. Which had hit four of the eight of us.

I'm claiming it was the chicken.

Eventually, we made it back home to Berlin. Land of the eggs from chickens on the floor. Tony, who claimed to be still healthy, drove us home with 5 people in her Matiz.. it was pretty crazy. No hand-holding took place. And no puking. It was good. However, when we got home, Tony reported that she was actually getting sick in the car, and was sick for a couple of days.

Of course, I had a lovely facebook message waiting for me when I woke up the next morning. From Jenny. She asked about "that thing" that happened in Jena. I told her pretty explicitly that I didn't think it would work out because of loyalty to my roommate, because I didn't feel like I was ready for a relationship, and because I just didn't feel right about it.

She told me to stop trying to analyze it.

I told her that it was just a gut feeling.

She told me to feel with my heart.

My heart is with my gut.

With the chicken nuggets.

Trash

New Year's is awesome here, but winter visitors are exposed to an ugly side of the Germans that summer visitors don't see.

New Year's eve, or Sylvester, is celebrated with a lavish firework display, most of it sponsored by private pyrotechnics. This year, it snowed pretty well, and the reflection of the fireworks in the snow was pretty cool. However, after the explosions were done, the firework stuff was left, strewn all over the street.

And when the snow melted, people put their Christmas trees out on the street.

This seemed to go against everything I knew about the Germans... usually, they're super clean. They even pick up their dog poop. Usually.

I spoke to a German and asked them about the dirt.

"You'll have to forgive us. Once a year, Germans just leave their trash on the street. But only once."