Neukölln:
So the journey begins in my hometown Neukölln; known for many things. Amongst others, multicultural, great food, fantastic markets, small families (and extremely large families), murders and döner shops. I have decided to split this into certain categories that I experience in order to show a comparison of both worlds:
Religion: From my front door to the bus it is not unusual that I encounter several mums with headscarves and children. Religion is big in this area and the deeper you go into the heart of Neukölln the more elaborate and colorful headscarves you will see. The closer I get to Kreuzberg the more I encounter others. Particularly interesting is the probably around 65-year old woman standing at the Görli train station with some sort of brochure in her hand talking in strange tongues about the end of the world. But with music on my headphones I decided that today I am not going to let myself be converted.
Clothes: It begins again as soon as I leave my front door. Most interesting is the football fan that seems to live outside the off-licence infront of our home. Come rain or shine he is stood there with a beer sometimes with an equally horrifically dressed woman in his blue and white scarves jabbering something about the team that no one really cares about. He is not the only one that cares for following a tribe of lemmings. At the bus station I encounter the typical young turkish man: jeans casually slung around his hips, sports jacket (smelling ridiculously clean) puffed up around his slender body. He's joking with his pals and they're mumbling incoherent, discriminating trash about each others' mothers. Once in the train the scenario changes ever so slightly. There is a young girl with a woolen orange headband, a norwegian, washed-out jumper, denim shorts, thick grey, coming apart tights and trekking boots. I look down at my tidy shirt and jeans and polished boots and sigh. Either I'm not going with the trend or I don't want to look like I'm about to climb Mount Everest and have a hippy party at the top of it. Either way: the fashion is eclectic in the train.
Smells: enough said, actually. From the hobo in the corner of the row of seats with his minging foot, rotting under a blue plastic bag to the 80-year old, coated in cat hair, bedraggled and falling apart woman muttering to herself under her breath and reaking of everything from cat to perfume from a few decades ago. It triggers an urge to puke every morning: my stomach is just not that strong at eight a.m.
Bus drivers: my final anecdote to the morning in Neukölln. It's not as if I want everyone to be happy all the time. But I like it when some people are happy most of the time. And it's not as if I skip and prance at 8 a.m. but when the bus driver cuts the corners and three kids and an old woman go flying through the bus and you're lucky if you find a seat before he sets off and sends you flailing from seat to seat in a mad frenzied attempt not to run into other people or trip and fall I wish for just one minute that somebody had given the bus driver a kiss and told him he's a good dog.
So, it takes about an hour until I reach Charlottenburg. And the people coming and going certainly change over time. Here goes:
Charlottenburg:
Religion: upon arriving in Charlottenburg I immediately run into a nun. That was so predictable. On the morning that I am cursing and screaming blasphemous nothings into the cold autumn air I just happen to run into a nun. Damn it. Ooops. Needless to say, she smiles at me and I feel even worse for being such a bad person although hey, everyone needs to swear sometimes. And it wasn't my morning.
Clothes: now this is the most obvious change. As soon as we hit the beginning of the shopping mile the scene changes drastically and I begin to feel like the girl with the norwegian jumper and denim shorts. From left to right all I see is Wellensteyn, Louis Vuitton, gold, Swarovski and heels. Clackety-clack with their underarm, sweat-catching handbags. Bleurgh. I hate them for their manicured nails and perfectly applied make-up. I want to chuck a bucket of water over them. Sorry, nun.
Smells: these are also a change of night and day, urge to puke and urge to run. It doesn't get better: it's just different intense smells. The first woman to plop off the bus is doused in what smells like three bottles of different perfumes. Clearly her nose must be bunged up because she hasn't noticed that everyone in the bus is moving seats to get away from the putrid smell. And it appears as if her male pendant is stood infront of the BMW Showroom as I get out of the bus. In his Barbour jacket he also appears to have bathed in some ridiculously biting and intense cologne. I forget how long I've held my breath and quickly exhale and cover my mouth with my scarf to hinder any further stench seeping into my lungs and nose. Yuk. I can still taste it now...
Bus drivers: what shall I say- this is Berlin. Bus drivers are annoying, speed-raging maniacs everywhere in town! No difference in Charlottenburg!
From one world into the next. And the only thing that stayed constant was my smile. Because let's face it: what's the point of frowning? From one world to another I wish you a good day: whatever world you're in...
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