Something like summer

Summer comes and summer goes in the blink of an eye. Below's a little photographic evidence that it did, in fact, happen (this photopost comes at least partly to confirm this to myself). Having left with a neat little parting wave of its sombrero, its afterglow still lingers with me in the fog descending on Berlin,  largely

Jahrestag

Jahrestag. Year day. Or, as we might say in English, anniversary. One year to the day another expat fell into the arms and irresistible charms of this 'poor, but sexy' bohemian capital. To say that today was one year ago to the date, to the  day a kindly, middle-aged banker dropped her hitch-hiking charge in

New Exposure

Wake up, it's summer. The ability of life to rush by with alarming acceleration is hard to ignore. Turn the calendar page again. The dates on the pages remain empty, who actually has time to write on a calendar these days? Actually, I'll add a date now. Mid-December 2014. Return to New Zealand for the

Tag der Arbeit

Last week I 'experienced' my first Berlin Tag der Arbeit, or in English, Labour Day. Back in New Zealand we also have Labour Day - a public holiday now noted primarily for the three-day weekend it allows, rather than the struggle that led NZ workers to be among the first in the world to claim

Meet Heinrich

Meet Heinrich. Heinrich is dead. Paradoxically, Heinrich is also rather alive, especially in rush hours and in the early hours of Sunday morning. He was a writer of poetry and controversial texts, yet also boasts one LIDL, a Kaisers and a bunch of Spätis. I met him a few months ago when I moved to my

Kohlfahrt in seven easy steps

What is a Kohlfahrt? That, my friend, is a good question. Unless you are from north-west Germany, chances are you will never have heard of this flatulently-suggestive German word. It was the same question I had several weeks prior, when some friends invited me "to go on" one. This further deepened the intrigue... What does

Arrival of Arschkalt

The until-recently benevolent weather gods have relented in their delay of winter and have over the last week well and truly opened the fridge door. Herren and Frauen, I give you the arrival of Arschkalt. For those of you pondering the meaning of this lovely German phrase, I would invite you to divide it into

An open Christmas card

Writing Christmas cards is a personal tradition I'm attempting to forge. It started off with such promise at primary school where, covered in green and red glitter, clothing blotched with PVA glue, we would proudly take self-made cards home to our parents. It died off somewhere between then and the point where we began to