Boomer in Berlin

I dropped ten years on the first day. Yes, it's paradise. The sounds of the city. The all-night "Spätis," meaning "Laties"--they're open 24/7. Lots of them, too. Restaurants: the Uzbeki one, the Brazilian one, the pizza place. A Lidl and a Rewe a short walk away. People on the street look purposeful and stylish--or stoned and stylish. A woman ran up to compliment me on my velvet cancer lady hat--I did not inform her it was just a cancer lady hat--because she admired the way the deco butterfly went with my scarf. Which it did. 

Where I'd been living for the last twenty-odd years, that scarf/butterfly combo would have been considered eccentric. Or disreputable. All the other ladies wore S. Oliver and Jack Wolfskin and similar brands--expensive and unflattering. 

I love thrift and second-hand clothing stores.

 "But the clothes could have come off a dead body!" said one of my German lady friends. I did not say, "there are these things called washing machines." But I continued to buy everything at the second-hand store. There was only one good one in all of that small city.

But here! Flea markets galore. Second-hand stores all over the place. For furniture, too. 

A committed New Yorker, I used to mourn the loss of what I considered the best city in the world. 

Berlin isn't second-best. It's better. Paris a close second? Maybe. New York is all about the very rich, the very poor, the ugly hypodermic needle skyscrapers puncturing the air over Central Park and casting long shadows. The $19.00 glasses of wine in very ordinary restaurants. The potheads toking away on Central Park West--and everywhere else. No, thank you. Yes, I know there are potheads here--but it's still possible to escape the smell by walking fast.

I live on the ground floor in an apartment that was apparently unoccupied for a long time. Beer bottles, worn-out shoes and occasional unidentifiable detritus appear on my window sill. This evening, two drunk dudes were whooping it up right outside my window--beer bottles clinking, whoop, whoop, har-de-har-har. 

I Googled "drunk dudes outside window, Berlin--call Police?" Not a useful search term. Then I tried translating, "Excuse me gentlemen, could you be a bit more quiet? I live here and need a bit of quiet."

Entschuldigen Sie, meine Herren, könnten Sie bitte etwas leiser sein? Ich wohne hier und brauche jetzt etwas Ruhe. 

"Oh, yeah!" said one, when I asked. "I saw the light in your window." His companion smiled, apparently too plastered to speak, but they were both very sweet and offered to drink across the street. La la la la la!