Shipping off to Berlin

One of the interesting things about being abroad is that people you know from back home introduce you other ex-Pats to hang out with.  And this is how I came to be spending my weekend in Berlin with a few Americans I barely know.

I'll be taking off tomorrow morning and heading back Monday.

People are very hot on Berlin right now.  Someone told me its one of the 3 B's, along with Barcelona and Brazil.

I have no idea what to expect, so here's a stream of consciousness list of what I anticipate of Berlin.

• Lots of people trying to sell me bits of broken brick that were part of some wall Coca Cola created via CGI and then destroyed in the late 80s as an act of capitalist propaganda
• Blonde hair
• Skinny jeans...skinnier even than the British
• Great cars
• Subtle superiority
• Beer
• Blue eyes

This song

We'll also be going to a soccer game where I assume I'll make a comment about all the grown men wearing scarves on an 80 degree day that will get me punched in the face.

Till then...

Spanish Leftovers

Ham...the national treasure 

Front of Palacio Real

Its big

All the statues hold this little rod in their right hand...what is it?

Remote control?

Men in Black Mind Eraser

Chap Stick?

Palace Gate

View from the palace, over the plateau

Microphone

Elevation.  Day after Easter and still hasn't touched the ground

Heavy Competition for Christ

I was told the Spanish hate cowboys

Are you f--king kidding me, Episode 1

The trip's first documented instance of incredulity comes to you courtesy of Ryan Air, Europe's cheapest low fare airline.

50 pounds?  You're killing me!

Few things that stood out before I even got on the plane:

1. Flight to Dublin:  40 pounds (or $28).  If you don't check in online...50 pound surcharge.  Ka-ching
2. Carry on policy:  You get one.  But not a roller.  And I had to talk my way in to getting a regular sized backpack on it.  And nothing in your hands.  Literally.  They stopped me and had me put my book in the bag

The return trip was even better.  I ordered a beer from the charming air bartendress.  I let her know that I had no cash and only the credit card.  She said that would be fine.  I pointed out that it wasn't one of the fancy Old World credit cards with the chip.  She said it would be fine.

She handed me the Tuborg and started to work the card in the machine.  After I saw her swipe it the third time I popped the can and took a big sip.

Erin:  The card doesn't work

Me;  Oh?

Erin:  The card doesn't work.  Do you another?

Me;  No.  I told you that was the only one

Erin:  Do you have cash?

Me:  No, just the card

Erin:  Well, the card doesn't work in this machine

Me:  Well, didn't we just have this conversation?  You said it was fine.

Erin:  But we don't take the card without the chip

Me;  Well, do you have some dishes I can wash or something? Because I told you thats the only card I have

She stalked away, rather upset.

The situation got funny when they started rolling the merch cart down the aisle.  They sell flea market quality tat on the plane.  It was fantastic.  Trinkets, key chains and souvenirs that they wouldn't even sell in the airport terminal.  She stopped each time to ask if I wanted to buy some.  If only I had some cash.

The kicker:  They sell scratch tickets on the plane.  Ryan Air brand scratch tickets.  One of the prizes is Ryan Air bucks you can spend on the flight.  they cost a pound.  A portion of the proceeds goes to Ryan Air approved charities.  Those charities are:

• Preventable Blindness
• Terminally ill infants

I scrounged around in my bag and found a New World green back.  I asked if she could sell me one for that.  She seemed confused, thinking a dollar was worth less than a pound.  She seemed incredulous, in a rare Double Incredulous moment.  I said "But if I win the Ryan bucks, I can pay for the beer."  And she went for it.

I scratched the ticket.  Lets say, we both got screwed on this flight.

Are you f--ing kidding me?

An all new and recurring segment!   This is, actually, about my growth as a person.  I find I'm often thinking to myself, or saying out loud:  Are you f--king kidding me?  I find my base emotion is often incredulous. Like, I can't believe what's happening around me.  There are two things that contribute to this:

1. I tend to take things personal that likely aren't personal
2. I have a particular personality disorder that tends to land me in these situations where incredulity is the likely result.  This is probably related to #1 above

And while it often leads to great moments of awkward humor, and fun stories, its something I'm going to try to avoid more going forward. We'll see how that works out.  In the mean time, I'll document it.

Feel me, Sheed?

 This is what incredulous feels like.  Its perfectly personified by Rasheed Wallace, who's never committed a foul in his long NBA career.  I think we can call this ironic, as in his one year with the Celtics, Sheed made me feel incredulous 82 times, not including the playoffs.  The guy who sits behind me still reminds me of it, usually when Mikael Pietrus jacks up his 4th three in a row while Ray Allen runs the baseline.

For me, the root cause of the emotion comes from one of these categories:

1.  People who expect acknowledgement for doing what they’re supposed to do (the person who loudly says “you’re welcome” when they step away from the door so you can get on the subway)
2. People refusing to follow the social contract (ie, I’m not wearing shoes or socks in the office)
3. Tremendous professional incompetence.  This is a disturbing norm in our society, as not-knowing is becoming a kind of social currency.  
4. Inability to deviate from a written rule to make a judgment call on a situation (ie, asking a 75 year old man for his driver’s license when he orders a bud light at the airport)
5. Intentional and prideful tardiness.  "You know me, I'm always late!"  I also know you're a jerk

S   Stay tuned for more...

Farewell Beers at O'Brien's Ferryman

April 21, 2012 (Dublin)

Travel tip:  When you are asking someone to take a picture of you, pick someone who's
 fat, or drunk.  That way you can catch them if they take off.  In this case, I had both things going for me.  My camera was safe

Caught a farewell beer at The Ferryman while waiting for the airport shuttle.  There was no one there when I walked in and the bartender did not seem happy to see me.  There were two full Guinness on the bar, and I sat down and ordered a Smithwicks (my Irish go-to).

A gentleman eventually sat down next to me.  We chatted a bit, but I had a hard time understanding him, I assumed, because of his thick Irish accent.  He quickly drank both Guinness that were on the bar, and I realized, the reason I could not understand him was he was completely pickled at 3PM.  I talked to him for about an hour, and at different points,

• He was from New Hampshire
• His parents were from New Hampshire
• His ex-wife was from New Hampshire

I dont know if any of these things are true.  I do know he loves John Cougar Mellencamp (but not John Mellencamp) and hates Richard Branson.  He works at the bar, and they didn't charge me because I watched the bar while he and Jimmy the barman went out to smoke.  

Official pub status

A taste of home

Earning my keep

This made me nervous for the longterm viability of Google in Ireland.  I felt better when he couldn't answer easy questions like "How far is the airport from here?" and "Why is your 6 year old daughter in the bar with you, wearing a leopard coat?"