I've been hard at work all week with new colleague and housemate Oli, but in between all the cascading spreadsheets and technical reviews, I've been out pounding the streets in an attempt to get to know my temporary abode.
My wanders so far have taken me to Potsdamer Platz, the Brandenburg Gate, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Tiergarten in its entirety, Charlottenburg Palace and gardens, Checkpoint Charlie and plenty of other far-flung locales. Of course as it turns out, Berlin is very big, so I'll have to pace myself a bit.
Other highlights to date include:
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- going to watch live jazz in a tiny bar under some train tracks, basically perched on top of the upright piano;
- hitting up a German language practice group only to find everyone there spoke much better German than me, and ending up talking to the organiser in English after a few cack-handed attempts to introduce myself;
- going to the best burger bar in town, in what used to be a public bathroom under more train tracks (I sense a theme developing here);
- going out for some damn good sushi with Oli and his wife; and,
- exploring my neighbourhood in search of ever more lavish kaffekuchen sessions, before settling on a relentlessly quirky café that plays Nick Cave deep cuts.
In the midst of all that I've made another compilation (may contain Kraftwerk... and Noah!), and my phrase of the week ("Paraguayan horse") refers to teams which begin a game or a season like a house on fire, only to run out of steam towards the end (ahem). The implication being that anything sold to you by Paraguayans, crafty scamps that they are, will be inherently dodgy and unfit for purpose, including racehorses.
Speak soon, for the next round of Teutonic tales and Wilmersdorfer whimsy.
Bis bald!
Freidrichstraße
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