Katamari in Berlin

Berlin has its own pre-black hole formation and Mel and I found it. Though neither of us succeeded in our spontaneously produced goals, we retrospectively count ourselves plenty lucky for not getting trapped in its gravitational pull.

Mel unsuccessfully attempts to free a watering pot.

I try to roll the whole damn thing home,
but I don't get it more than a couple of blocks before giving up.
I'm not sure how I would have fit it in my luggage, anyway.

My Highest Day

Dear Curious,

So I've done a couple of posts without any pictures and I know I'm losing those of you that are either visually stimulated or don't read so well. So here you go, lots of pics.

These were taken atop the tallest building of Potsdamer Platz. Here's the wiki link, which is worth checking out if a) you'd like to see there area from an aerial view or b) would like to read about all the history I'm not mentioning.

But I will mention that we rode up the fastest lift in Europe to get to the top of this building. Twenty-four stories in about 10 seconds, or 8.5 meters per second. No, that's still not comparable to Six Flags, but it's not too short of the elevator in Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory where they shoot out the roof.

Anna and I recline because it's been two hours and we're still looking at how far away the ground is.

The people I went with: (from right) Thomas, Romeu, Anna, and so-and-so.

Remember the Brandenburg Gate (Tor)? That's it, just farther away.

Remember the giraffe? Yeah, that's it, but way smaller. But so are the people.

This is the Sony Center from the inside.
We went here to see Harry Potter 7: Harry Kicks Voldemort's Ass.

This is the same place from above. You see how it's the same?
The disappointing part is that you can't see Harry kicking Voldemort's ass from here.

This doesn't look particularly interesting, but it is. Berlin is a very flat area. No mountains, hills, speed bumps.
This bump on the horizon is actually man made. Of what you ask? (or perhaps didn't)
It's made of the rubble of Berlin, after WWII.

This is the Panorama bear. It has "PANORAMA" written from shoulder to shoulder, wrapping around its butt.
I tried to get a panoramic camera shot of it to catch the spirit, but my camera told me I had to stay still.
You get it anyway.

This is another monument dedicated to some aspect of WWII. I can't remember which.

Surprise! Here it is from far away.

This building is strange. It was once a real tent that stood for years.
After WWII they decided they wanted a permanent tent.
They got it.
The place isn't even for anything anymore, it's just there so they can have a permanent tent.

Berlin makes a big deal out of their super pointy TV tower the same way
Dallas does about their Reunion Tower and Seattle does about their Space Needle.
That's why Godzilla doesn't terrorize places like these.
There's actually something large enough and pointy enough to damage him.
Smart lizard, that.

Ne kedar?

Dear Curious,

Mel and I have learned a new survival phrase, "Ne kedar?" Before I relate the meaning, allow me to briefly tell the story leading up to its necessity.

We were passing some time while waiting for the ferry to depart for the island. I had expressed a need for some UV blocking sunglasses so we set off to find a suitable pair close to the docks. While walking and generally conversing with one another, I noticed a brush drop off of a boy's shoe shining kit just ahead of us (I'd guess his age to be 19). He seemed not to notice. Being a Texan, with all my ingrained manners, politeness and friendliness, I picked it up for him and said, "Sir, you dropped your brush," having no idea whether he understood even a word of what I'd said.

He turned around and looked at what I held in my hand and then down at his kit, suddenly looking relieved. Immediately, he sat down on the curb and beckoned me over, indicating that I put my foot up on his wares in thanks. I declined as I honestly didn't really want my shoes shined. They were running shoes. You don't shine those. He continued to gesture at me, and Mel, bending to her Texas-grown politeness said to me that he wanted to clean my shoes in return and urged me to just let him. Okay.

While he took what looked like a toothbrush dipped in dirty water to my shoes he conversed with me briefly about where we were from and how he was from so-and-so and that his father was in the hospital. Then he offered to do Mel's shoes as well, and she politely went along.

When he finished, he announced that that would be 25 TL (about $15) each. Both Mel and I were dumbstruck. Mine was twofold. First, of course, was the surprise that he was asking for payment when we thought he was simply returning kindness. Second was the surprise that this is what people paid for a shoe cleaning in Istanbul. The boy saw our hesitation and reconsidered, offering us 25 TL for both together. This seemed more reasonable and I felt a certain level of relief, but I still didn't even want the shoe cleaning in the first place!

My head was swimming, and Mel and I looked back and forth at each other in confusion. We both pulled out our wallets and I went strait for the change pocket. I pulled out most of what I had and held out about 3.50 TL. Mel pulled out a five.

"This is all we have."

"This isn't much."

"That's all we have."

The boy looked extremely disappointed. How could we be so rude as to cheat him so badly? We walked on expressing how sorry we were, wanting to put as much distance between ourselves and him as we could. Mel thanked me for being such a good liar. We were both loaded down with enough cash for an island getaway.

In the following days a suspicion had risen in my mind, which was confirmed shortly thereafter. We related the same story to a few of Mel's friends at the school. We hadn't gotten but a few lines into it, barely enough to give context of what the story was about, when Andy, a slightly disillusioned but fun and nice guy with a year's experience in Istanbul, interjected with, "Oh, you didn't fall for the dropped brush trick did you?" We hadn't even mentioned a brush. "Man, when you see a brush drop off a shoe shiner's stuff, you should kick it out into the street." We had thought about selling it back to the kid. 25 TL.

So there you go. Swindled out of money (albeit a small sum). And here we are with the new knowledge that as a tourist, being nice can cost a fair amount of money, which is very sad to us. What we've simply learned, and what we now pass on to you, our readers, is that if someone attempts to return a kindness in Turkey, simply ask, "Ne kedar?" or "How much?" before any service has been rendered. It might sound rude, but chances are, that brush wasn't dropped by accident.

Here's a few additional links to show you what else we have to look out against:
Scams Scams Scams
For the Single Male
Traveling Partners
General Tourist Traps (forum)

Ah, Turkey

This week has been an entirely new experience. If I haven't made you entirely aware of my movements, last Friday I hopped on a plane from Berlin to Istanbul where I was picked up on the Asian side by my loving girlfriend after 3 weeks separation. Of course, now that I've gotten around to writing this, I'm about to board the plane, which starts another 2 weeks of separation.


I won't bore with details, I respect you the reader too much for that. But I will outline a few highlights and try to give you some sort of picture of this rather insane city I'll be living in for the next two years.


First, thanks to Mel, I can say that I've experienced my first island getaway. We travelled by ferry to the largest island off the coast of Istanbul where we stayed the night in a beautiful hotel and enjoyed a refreshing bike ride around the island, swimming with jellyfish, and strawberry wine with various chocolate deserts on a third story balcony overlooking the length of Istanbul's Asian shore. I think this is the first time I've experienced the word "relaxation" perhaps ever.


The rest of the week was spent visiting the Grand Bazaar, including the spice and animal bazaars (we couldn't find a skunk). Somewhat unfortunately, this all occurred during the Ramadan Byzantium, meaning that the majority of all the shops were closed. Nonetheless, what I saw was truly staggering. It's like the deepest, widest flea market you've ever imagined, full of cheap merchandise that is meant to be haggled down to about 25 - 50% of initial asking price.


Istanbul itself is a pretty nuts city. I've never lived in a more dense or hilly area. The public buses strain under the weight of a full load as they trundle up a 30 degree incline at maximum allowed speed. The streets are narrow and the cabbies are fearless. The street signs and markings mean almost nothing, and even the rule "drive on the right side of the road" is regularly violated. Mel makes the observation that there are no rules, but it works because everyone is super alert. No texting and driving here. They can't. Head-on collisions are risked every minute down every stretch of road.


At 3 am the main walkway leading to Taksim Square is still so crowded with people walking in both directions that forward movement is often impeded. The street is easily five lanes wide. Bars, clubs, restaurants, hotels, and apartments run down every side street of this half-mile trek of businesses and lights, topped by four additional stories of people crazy enough to rent apartments above this all-night-every-night madness. This is just one area of the European side. We haven't even touched the high class clubs or the Asian side.


It's hard to think of getting to everything in the city in the next two years, but finances allowing, we'll give it our best shot. Wish us some luck.