Atlantica - 01.01.2006, Blaðsíða 36

34 AT L A N T I CA
can best be described as an overall feeling of malaise. Apparently, so
many Germans share a dissatisfaction with the affairs of the State that
one of Germany’s leading advertising agencies produced a free national
TV, print and billboard campaign to cheer up the nation.
“Du bist Deutschland!” (“You are Germany!”), according to a New York
Times article, was conceived by a group of media executives who decided
that the mindset of Germans needed to be changed in order to spark a
national recovery.
The ads feature various Germans, some famous, like the Olympic fig-
ure skating champion Katarina Witt, others not so famous, like a young
Asian woman holding a baby, all sending out positive affirmations to
cheer up the nation.
Are Germans really that depressed? Besides, how do you measure the
mood of a city, let alone a nation? Easy, you go out drinking with as
many locals as you can.
I dutifully took on this responsibility. I called up my new friends
Hanna and Jana, and we agreed to meet at what is my favorite spot in
all of Berlin, the metro stop at Eberswalder Strasse, where an elevated
track is built over a kiosk, a place where Berliners loiter, meeting up with
friends to then go tramp the downtrodden streets of Prenzlauer Berg.
But before catching up with my friends for beers, I decide to explore
the neighborhood on my own.
While construction goes on and on in Berlin, the neighborhoods
surrounding Prenzlauer Berg in the East remain shoddy in a decrepitly
elegant way. Here you find buildings plastered in graffiti; they appear
derelict from a distance, but walk past and most contain funky bars,
cafés and galleries. East Berlin is the center of bohemia. But many East
Berliners frown upon the development spreading from Potsdamer Platz
into the heart of East Berlin.
“Berlin is changing non-stop,” says Isabella, a 32-year-old art historian
enjoying a falafel at Dörtebecker, a Lebanese café located at the intersec-
tion of the Mitte neighborhood and Prenzlauer Berg. “Everything is
being refreshed. Soon everything will look nice, which won’t be good.”
I can’t notice any real difference in the chic urban decay that perme-
ates the East from when I last visited Berlin. It’s still bohemian – so much
so that I feel as if I should start humming the tune “Bohemian Like You”
by the Dandy Warhols, what Europeans might recognize as the jingle
behind numerous Vodafone ads.
One change to the neighborhood that I do notice is that 15 months
ago, Dörtebecker café was owned by Anne Seidel, who named it after
her daughter. Today, it’s owned by Taleb, a 31-year old Lebanese man
who moved to Berlin 15 years ago to escape the Lebanese civil war. Taleb
who “feels at home here; feels like a Berliner,” has only a few complaints
about the changes taking place in East Berlin.
“Berlin is so competitive,” he tells me. “There are so many new places
opening up, it’s like a new café every day.”
The pubs are far from new. Some drinking holes are downright
sketchy, populated by revelers who appear to be underdressed artisans.
But don’t let looks deceive you.
Walking with Hanna and Jana down from Eberswalder Strasse, Hanna
explains the name of the place we’re going to in broken English.
“You know, when you go to a bar and meet someone and decide you
like each other and want to go farther,” she says.
I didn’t understand. But it all makes sense when we get to the pub Zu
mir oder zu dir, which translated means “Your place or mine.”
You’ve got to think a name like that might improve my odds of meet-
ing Germans to…er, talk about their national mood.
Inside the pub, located on Lychener Strasse, everyone is huddled
together on couches, dressed down in their favorite grungy attire. But
Hanna explains to me that these beautiful people are members of the
“it” crowd. They have lots of money.
One supposed member of the “it” crowd is Anna, a 30-year old who
teaches English part time, and spends her spare hours writing. I ask her
about the name of the pub, and she jokes, “I live across the street, so I
guess the answer to the question is always my house.”
Sounds good to me.
Anna loves Berlin. “You can do whatever you want here. Many people
do unusual things. I have a friend who is a trapeze artist,” she says with
a chuckle.
After a few drinks amongst the privileged who are dressed like beg-
gars, we stumble down to a major dive bar with no name on the door,
a smoky joint where I feel overdressed, despite my wardrobe of jeans
and a tee-shirt.
“This is typical for Germans,” says Cristian Segura, a Spanish journal-
ist living in Berlin who is friends with Hanna and Jana. “It’s no longer
fashionable to wear a brand-name shirt. It’s not fashionable to consume
anymore.”
Cristian insists that Germany is the only Western European country
where consumption is actually decreasing.
Hanna is proud of this statistic. “Everything I consume takes away
from what somebody else can enjoy,” she argues.
Cristian takes a more capitalist stance, and disagrees. He insists that
these German attitudes are what’s stagnating the economy.
“We in Germany don’t think like you guys do in the US,” Hanna says,
grouping her Spanish friend with me.
As the conversation turns to slogging off the US, I begin to look
around at the young crowd, most holding conversations that are some-
how going to change the world. Thankfully, Pearl Jam’s Ten drowns out
Hanna’s questions about why Americans re-elected President Bush. (I’ve
heard it all before, and the discussion tires quickly.)
What I notice is that while the Berliners who live in the East might not
be throwing down that credit card to purchase the latest Hugo Boss jack-
et, drunk on fine German beer they are anything but melancholy. a
034-41ATL106 Berlin.indd 34 16.12.2005 12:09:13