Go to Amsterdam and Berlin

When I come back home don’t be surprised if I have an urge to shake your hand. Germans (and prolly Europeans as well) can’t get enough of it. When the boss comes into work every morning, he shakes hands with everyone. When you turn up to soccer training, you shake hands with everyone, and once again when you leave. If you score a goal you shake hands with everyone (although I was rarely the cause of this particular hand-shaking reason). When you see your friends, you shake hands, and then when you part ways you shake hands again. In fact, even if you only part ways for 15 mins, you shake hands on leaving and on seeing them again. When your mates come back from the bar with a beer you shake hands and then when you’ve finished the beer you shake hands. If you see a hot chick you all shake hands, and if someone says something funny, you all shake hands. The only time you don’t shake hands is when someone has just come back from having a piss. Also, it’s customary to kiss all the chicks. So don’t be surprised if I shake your hand whilst snogging your girlfriend - I just can’t help it, it’s second nature now.

And so without further ado . . . . . . . I present to you Europe’s finest city, Frankfurt! Where the streets are paved with gold, the grass is always green, the people are beautiful (and always smiling!), the birds sing you to sleep, the streets are clean, flowers adorn every window – in fact many people think Frankfurt is the German word for utopia!
You may have twigged by now that all that was complete cobblers.
Frankfurt is a city that shamelessly places a Chris Rea poster right next to a Manic Street Preachers one, and that shows a distinct lack of self-respect if you ask me. And if you think that’s bad, you should see the river, the streets, the people, the buildings, and the strange cars that can only negotiate corners while honking the horn. So I don’t give Frankfurt a big rap. I’m certainly glad I live in Stuttgart rather than Utopia - oh sorry – Frankfurt. It did actually grow on me slightly over the w/e I was there, but not much.
Enough of slagging off Germany’s “Jewel in the Crown” (hmph) – I actually went there to play footy. Aussie rules footy. You could count the number of times I’ve played competitive Aussie rules footy on one hand, even if that hand is missing three fingers. But, not to worry, competence was never demanded nor expected, so I thought I’d go along for a bit of a laugh, and to see Frankfurt, the Golden City (hmph).
After arriving, I had a bit of time to kill, so I wandered the delightful streets (hmph) like a hobo. It was when I was strolling the enchanting (hmph) banks of the river Main, when I noticed two characters sitting forlornly on a bench, next to a rather large and expensive looking video camera. As I walked by, one of them said, in halting English, “Do you speeeek Engleeeesh?”
“Ja.” Dammit, I’ve been in Germany too long, “I mean, Yeah”.
“Could you help us pleeeese?”
“Ummm, I spose”
“Could you hold theeees paper pleeeese, and pretend to reeeeed it, while we feeeelm you”
“Yeah, alright. What’s this for?”
That’s when I look down, and notice it’s a Turkish paper; ahhh, he’s got a Turkish accent.
“It’s for a teeeveee show in Turkey.”
“Oh, righto. And all I have to do is pretend to read the front page?”
“Yes.”
So I sit down, in Frankfurt, and start to pretend to read a Turkish paper. And, all modesty aside, I was pretty bloody good at it too. The camera guy did his job, a nice shot over my shoulder, getting the dirty river in the background, and then coming in for a close up of the paper, just to assure the viewers that I was really reading a Turkish newspaper. Because I’m not your average Turkish guy am I? Surely all the Turks watching the show would be wondering why a pasty-faced skinny white guy with no moustache is reading a Turkish paper??? Anyway, with my job done (and what a performance too!) I left them to it.
(That was several weeks ago – soon afterwards I was contacted by a Turkish agent who liked my work, signed me onto his books, and got me some more reading-Turkish-papers-on-the-telly work in Turkey. I became an instant hit, with thousands of fans flocking to see me in action. I had to take a few weeks leave from my job in Germany, and moved to Turkey to film on location. I was a big shot in Turkey, and I would love to chronicle all my Turkish exploits for you, but sadly I am unable for legal reasons. Unfortunately my time in the spotlight came to an untimely end in the Turkish scandal of the year, when I was caught reading a non-Turkish paper whilst on the crapper. I still have a few publicity t-shirts with my face on them left over, so if you want one, they’re a bargain at $30 each. Just reply to this email with “Yes! I want a t-shirt!" as the subject)

So, Footy in Frankfurt. I met the head honcho in charge of the AFLG (he decided against calling it the GAFL) on Fri evening, and myself, the guy who dragged me along and Head Honcho went and had a few drinks, then a few more, and finally ended up in a Goth club somewhere in Frankfurt. On Saturday arvo we had the Big Match. But, there weren’t enough players (a coupla Aussies, including one from Berlin, a coupla Germans, and a few Irish), so the ball only got a brief kick around. We still got a few strange looks from Germans who had no idea what the hell we were doing. Thankfully (for me anyway), sanity prevailed, and we had a game of soccer after the Irish blokes pissed off. Germans against Aussies, and the Germans narrowly won (I had to let them win – they would’ve cried otherwise). I can cross Footy in Frankfurt off my list, and move onto the next item - Cricket in Cologne (below that is Tennis in Tübingen).

Amsterdam
The first thing I noticed when I left the train station in Amsterdam (after an exhilarating and captivating 8 hour journey) was the smell. Weed. The place reeks of dope. Some people might like this, some people might hate this. I think I’m near the middle, but slightly on the hate side. I think it might even be possible to get high just from walking around a lot, and following your nose. But, I decided to find my accommodation instead.
(I will skip the boring bit of me finding hotel, waiting for my sister to arrive, going to the loo, waiting for my sister to arrive, picking my nose, reading, waiting for my sister to arrive, scratching myself, waiting for my sister to arrive, picking some scabs, waiting for my sister to arrive, contemplating popping out to take in a sex show when my sister finally shows up).

So late Friday night we head out into the dope-laden air of Amsterdam. And what an amazing city it is. Unbelievable. Like nothing else I’ve ever seen before - the shop windows alternately display dope and prostitutes. This is many people’s idea of heaven (not mine though). The only problem was, blokes kept thinking I was a gay man called Charlie (and that has never happened to me before. No really, it hasn’t). Everywhere I went, blokes would whisper seductively into my ear “Charlie, you want some?”. I’m not sure who this Charlie bloke is, but when I find him he has a lot to answer for. What the hell has he been up to??
Our main goal was to spend the evenings Coffee Shop Hopping, and enjoying the, ermmm, spacey delights of Amsterdam, and maybe take in a famous Amsterdam show. I’m happy to report that we were successful. I won’t go into detail because it would make this account very susceptible to censorship.
Also achieved was a visit to Anne Frank’s house, and the Van Gogh museum. And a guided cruise along the canals, during which time we saw such famous Amsterdam landmarks as The Twin Sisters and That Big House Just Down The Canal from The Twin Sisters. Yep, it was one of those guided tours where they point out the most useless and boring stuff. It was so forgettable that I had to make up that second one, because the only “landmark” they mentioned that I could remember was the Twin Sisters (two houses with somewhat similar gables. Whoop-dee-fucken-doo). But cruising the canals was nice, despite the crap commentary. So although I haven’t said much about Amsterdam I do have this to say: Go there. Go there now.

Schnell! Schnell! Berlin!
The following weekend was Berlin. It was me, my sister again and two friends of hers. First on the Berlin agenda was a walking tour, which was amazing. It was really freaky seeing the remnants of the Wall, and standing right next to thing that divided a city for years. More about the walking tour later.

Another highlight was the new Jewish Museum. It is housed in an absolutely incredible building, which is one of the main attractions in going. In fact, after the building had been built, but before the museum was put inside it, people were paying a lot of money just to see and tour the building itself. Designed by Daniel Libeskind, this building defies description, so I won’t bother. However, I will say this – there were two, ummm I’m not quite sure how to describe them, monuments, or sculptures, or rooms, or pieces or whatever that sent shivers down my spine. So I really recommend visiting the museum. I won’t elaborate because it would take far too long and I'm far too lazy.

Too many things about Berlin to mention in detail, so I’ll be brief – we saw the Pergamon museum, which houses some of the world’s greatest artefacts from the Middle East and places like that, and also the Reichstag which once again has features that are rather hard to describe – a glass dome that you walk up and around, and you look down onto the German parliamentarians at work, plus Potsdamer Platz, a collection of rather fancy and shiny and brand new buildings. Also we went to the site of the SS and the Nazi headquarters, and yep, that was also spooky.

I also took a side trip to the Musical Instrument Museum, in the hope of seeing a decent violin or two. Sadly, most of the museum was pretty average – all they did was display the instrument, with a short note of who made it and when. Whoop-dee-doo eh?
The only saving grace was the presence of a violin made in 1703 by a certain Antonio Stradivari, who is etched into history as the world’s greatest luthier (for all you philistines, that’s the arty-farty-pooftah word for violin maker,). His violins are worth a lot of money - I’m talking millions here people. Which might explain why there were seven security guards patrolling the displays, keeping an eye on the visitor. No, that wasn’t a typo – I was the only one there. I was tempted to grab the Strad and do a runner . . . but I didn’t. I’ll leave it until next time I’m there, when I can plan my getaway better.

Okay, back to the walking tour. During this four hour trek we visited Bebelplatz, a square just off to one side of Unter Den Linden (kinda like the Champs Elysées of Berlin). The Humboldt University frames the square, and several buildings built by one of Germany’s most famous architects, but unfortunately I’ve forgotten his name. (No of course I haven’t, it was Schinkel. Thank you Google). In 1933, the Nazis staged a famous book burning in this square (and in others like it all across the country). They burned books by authors they deemed inappropriate or immoral - around 20 000 in this square alone. In the square now is a memorial to this event, and it is one of the most chilling memorials I have ever experienced. Although it’s fair to say I haven’t seen that many, I think that even if I had, this one would still have given me cold shivers. I’m not sure if words can do it justice (particularly my words), but I’ll try.

First you encounter two plaques in the square, side by side. One reads (and I’ll employ my amazing powers of German translation for you):

In der mitte dieses Platzes verbrannten am 10. Mai 1933 Nationalsozialistiche Studenten die Werke hunderter freier Schriftsteller, Publizisten, Philosophen und Wissenschaftler. (In the centre of this square on the tenth of May, 1933, National Socialist students burned the works of hundreds of free authors, publishers, philosophers, and scientists.)

Next to it, the second one reads:
Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo Man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt Man am Ende auch Menschen. (That was merely a prelude. Wherever they burn books, eventually they will burn people too.)

This was written in a play by Heinrich Heine, a German poet and playwright, over 100 years beforehand. His books were burnt that night as well as countless others.

And then you walk a little further, to where the memorial actually is. It is simply a window in the ground, perhaps 1m square, made of perspex. Through this, you can see into the empty white room which is below you, with the walls completely lined with white bookshelves. And the shelves are all empty.


Hmmm, I don’t really want to end on such a sombre note, so I will mention Weihnachtsmarkt, or Christmas Market to those who don’t speak German. Basically the name says it all, a market, held at Christmas time, with all sort of goodies and whatnot available to peruse and purchase. It puts a glow back in ya heart I tells ya – Germans really know how to do Christmas!