I had a very bad night at the recommended ‘hip writers’ and artists’ bar’ Zwiegelfisch, where I was surrounded, just as I had feared, by middle-aged men with beards. There were two interesting looking guys, both gay, with short hair wearing heavy make-up, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to them. I did overhear an American soldier telling two German girls “America is a drug society, everybody’s into drugs.” I wonder if he knew that Berlin is a central point for drug traffic coming from the east on Aeroflot flights?
Quote for the day:
“In Berlin a guy can live in the same apartment for forty years, there isn’t the same pressure …”
Iggy Pop in conversation, New York 1978
Saturday
I got up fairly early this morning and went along to breakfast, the only meal this hotel serves (for $3.00 extra). A waitress approached me with “Ja?”
“Er, sprechen sie Englisch?”
“Nein.”
I presumed there was either a set breakfast of scrambled eggs or at least a menu, so said “Tea.”
“Zo.” She returned two minutes later with a big bowl of rolls, a big jar of jam, two small pieces of butter, a small plate with some cheese and coldcuts on it and a small bowl of fat black grapes, accompanied by a pot of tea. I got hold of a couple of Kraut dailies from the sideboard – at least I could look at the pictures and make out the captions: “Today Princess Margaret is 47. Her boyfriend has internal bleeding. She returns from the hospital after visiting him.”
I laughed through the complete breakfast, collected my equipment and hit the Kudam, smoking the second half of the joint – snapping pictures of passers-by, telephone boxes, street signs – heading for an 11 am glass of sherry at the Kempinski. Unfortunately I had borrowed the camera from a lady in England who had failed to inform me that it didn’t work, so, while sitting in the lobby of the Kempinski waiting for my sherry, I found myself unwinding the totally exposed role of film and pulling it out of the sprockets. Next time, I decided, I will stay at the Kempinski, where the whole staff speaks English. It felt very comfortable, international and discreet. The lobby is decorated in black with dark browns and greens, but all three colors are picked up by heavy gold lights and fixtures. It’s a presentation of stolid elegance. I mean, I think the Germans are a little heavy. Everytime I go out I run into stolidity. And the standard smart thirty-year-old German is a pretty brutal-looking character, with his curling lip and blond wolf-do (Deutsch version of the shag cut)…
All the pieces that make up a city are beginning to appear. This morning I actually saw a beggar sitting on the Kudam (very rare), and three excited kids jostling in a pinball shop next to the peep show (promising young models from all over the world) opposite a cinema showing Achilles, a very violent German film. The waiter brought the check: it cost $3.25 to have a glass of sherry in the foyer of the Kempinski Hotel.
I met Kepi Herbach (who turned out to be a jovial public relations man from The Academy of Art) at the Autoren Buchhandlung. He introduced me to the Turkish poet Aras Oren, and the two of them gave me the following pertinent information about West Berlin.
1 There are 2,000,000 people in Berlin and it was built for 4,000,000.
2 It’s very important to understand that Berlin life functions around social clubs (called Kneipes) and that these, though often informally based in bars are strictly divided among the working-class, older people, and artists (who think of themselves as ‘the outsiders’). There is only minimal social exchange between these two groups.
3 The ‘working class’ are the people who run (as in ‘work’) the city. There is no industry except the nightlife.
4 The rest of the West Germans are a little pissed off with Berliners because they realise that they’re paying for this city which has no means of supporting itself. West Berliners are aware of this disdain and return it.
5 On television they run their commercials in fifteen-minute blocks so as not to interrupt the programs/there are a lot of political discussions, and the news comes on three times a night.
6 Berlin is an extremely well organised metropolis. Everything is very fine and runs smoothly. Berliners were astonished by New York’s inability to deal with last winter’s blizzards.
7 Berlin and Berliners lost their identity when the city was pounded into “a sea of flames” and they are always looking for a new one, this makes the inhabitants of the city very open-minded.
8 100,000 Turkish people live in West Berlin. Beginning in the Twenties the Berliners imported Turks to work but “recently a very big number of Pakistanis came to Berlin and it caused a problem because they imported too many of them, so the government put them back in the airplane and paid them all some money to start again in Pakistan.”
9 Samuel Beckett has been personally directing his plays in Berlin since the late Sixties, has a flat in the Akademie Der Kunst, and can be seen walking daily the four kilometres from the Akademie to the Schiller Theatre. If approached, he will speak.
10 Two good magazines to buy are TIP and ZITTY.
11 There is a special desire on the part of the government to promote arts here. After New York, London and Paris, Berlin is the most important cultural centre.
12 David Bowie’s favorite restaurant is Exiles, a place where Austrian writers, who find their own climate extremely puritanical, gather to eat Wiener Schnitzle. In the German edition of Playboy, Bowie said he considered Hitler to be the first rock star. “We were quite surprised by this, we couldn’t understand it,” Herr Herbach tells me.
13 In Berlin, there is no closing time.
14 The best Drag Queen Club is Chez Romy Haag’s on the Fuggerstrasse. There are a lot of gay restaurants and a big number of gay people in Berlin. “One place you might think interesting for very simple people is the worker’s drag queen clubs,” Herr Herbach tells me.
Before saying goodbye, Kepi and Aras invited me to a party at the atelier of a writer who was leaving Berlin the following day. After the party, they suggested, we might go to the Zwiegelfisch and then onto Romy Haag’s.
I went back to the hotel, made some notes, and hopped a bus down the Kudam towards the Tiergarten: the buses are slightly more spacious and modern than the London double-deckers with cream exteriors and red interiors. The receptionist at the hotel gave me the wrong directions so the bus didn’t take me to the Tiergarten, but it was fun to ride. The driver had a very clear intercom system through which he told the passengers which stop was coming, and not to misbehave. I got off halfway to Kreuzberg – the ‘hip’ section of town – and walked across town to the Tiergarten, Berlin’s version of Central or Golden Gate Parks. At one end you can stare across the 100-yard dividing-point into East Berlin.
I walked back along the historic STRASSE VON 17 JUNI in a blazing sunset which illuminated the black and gold Wagnerian statues of gods in the gardens on both sides of the avenue, and then suddenly came upon the spacious modern-office-buildings in the centre of Berlin in the twilight. There was just the thinnest slice of moon as I walked and walked looking at every sign, building, pedestrian, car, and getting, what Jamie Wyeth refers to as, “indigestion of the eyeballs”.
I particularly enjoyed the large dinner I just ate at the Bratwurst Stand. I had two big sausages each accompanied by a crispy roll and a big spludge of mustard with a side order of French Fries covered in a white sauce that looks and tastes like a cross between fresh whipped cream and mayonnaise. I was standing around an outdoor counter in a light rain with a bunch of people all sniffing and going mmm mmm mmm as they munched on their brats, brots and brunts. It cost $2.50. The patron asked me if I was French and when I said “Amerikan, aus New York”, he launched into a panegyric saying now that the airfare between New York and Berlin had just been lowered to $325 round trip he planned to go for his summer vacation. Another man eating a bratwurst chipped in his two cents: “I was there for a week and it only cost me $1,000, very reasonable.”
This afternoon I felt that it was probably someth
ing of a privilege to be a Berliner – at least, within the confines of Europe, they seem to have a more realistic financial scene than most. I have to count every pfennig and plan my excursions like minor military operations to make sure I don’t get stuck with a big bill I can’t pay.
Quote for the day:
“No place that I have been to exhibits more democracy than West Germany, but the eyes of the world are watching to see if they can deal with this problem while at the same time increasing democratic liberty.”
Max Frisch in conversation, Berlin 1978.
Sunday
Apparently I didn’t plan last night’s excursion very carefully because I woke up this morning very angrily and had no idea where I was because I was dreaming about renting a car in England and these two girls are giving me a hard time about getting a nice car because they think I’ll smash it up so I go down to the local cafe for a coffee and they give me their last cup which some mad lady snatches and runs away with so I go back up to the office and the girls are laughing hysterically, but actually this was the hysterical laughter of three chambermaids who had turned on six vacuum cleaners outside my room in order to WAKEN ME UP! And were now hammering on my door yelling WHEN ARE YOU GETTING UP? (in Kraut). I winced and moaned, searching for memories of last night’s bash, and mumbled “Soon, soon” but Germans are determined to get a precise answer. So I yelled out “IN EINE HALBE STUNDE!” and started to have a hate affair with the maids.
I took the fall and landed next to the lamp and my wallet, which was luckily still filled with money. Stumbled into the bathroom, took a look at myself, screamed, climbed into a pair of jeans, pulled on a shirt, slammed sunglasses around my face, yanked open the door and stared at THE MAID, dangling the key in my hand. She threw up her hands, shrugged her shoulders, and said “Ja, aber jetzt ist est ganz genug” (“Yes, but it’s already too much”), and turned on her vacuum cleaner. So I went out to the receptionist and threw the key into her face and ran out the door and she chased me down the street yelling “WHEN ARE YOU LEAVING?”
I had to go to East Berlin. There was no orange juice, no eggs, no refreshments for this research. I miss everyone in America. Today I started to think “Berlin sucks”. The party I went to last night ‘for artists’ was the same scene you see everywhere. Here was the same man hating the same woman and later dancing with her ecstatically, the same overweight men with mustaches, complaining about the success or failure of their latest book, asking to be interviewed. “Berlin attracts many people who never made it,” Edgar Hilsenrath, a German-Jewish author (of The Nazi and The Barber) recently publically interrupted by the NPD., which he said is made up of very young or very old people and is not really a serious threat but something to pay attention to, told me. I felt as if I had seen enough.
I got a bump on my head last night, must have fallen over, came home and wrecked my room, it’s a wonder I got here and I don’t remember how. Rudolf Hess is still in Spandau. There was this guy last night telling me how successful he was so I said “Yeah, but how come you have hair on your nose?” I don’t like the People who run my hotel. The thin blonde behind the counter is giving me these “I know your number looks” and I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable.
These are some notes I made this afternoon while taking the subway into East Berlin:
This subway is by far the best in western world, ranks second only to Moscow’s/clean fast efficient neat. The trains are bright yellow and the seats are green. I haven’t paid yet – don’t understand that bit. They sell alcohol on the subway platforms in little bottles. Stops as I pass them: Blissesstrasse/Berlinerstrasse … It’s very easy to use because everything is very clearly signposted in big letters and numbers. A Turk just got on beating up on his kid who didn’t want to get on. No smoking on the subways/no cigarette ads in Berlin. Automatic photo machines on every platform, we just stopped in a station but the doors didn’t open. Berlin, cradle of electricity, city of machines. You open the subway door yourself. A guy just did it. Everytime the train pulls out of the station a cat shouts “ZURUCK BLEIBEN!” (Stand back.) The thing about the Germans is they understand machines, as do the Japanese, and that is why they are so far ahead of everyone and proud of it (“You might know of course Germany is the richest country in Europe and with the lowest unemployment”, Kepi Herbach told me yesterday morning). A beautiful chick just got on with her DOG who is leaping about playfully, amusing the passengers. A really cool guy wearing high heel shoes, red socks and a short corduroy zip up jacket just got in and sat (the train is getting crowded) next to me. He’s reading an occasional romance comic book, the dog is barking. Here’s my stop.
I am cool because I just got off the train and I could have gotten on the wrong train but I felt deep down inside CAUTION, read the sign, and it said “Go upstairs and get on the other platform for Tegel asshole”.
ON NEXT TRAIN: I just saw on the Friedrichstrasse platform there’s a guy with a microphone directing the whole thing. We just passed the first stop in East Berlin without stopping, a totally wrecked derelict station covered in dirt and broken pieces of wood presided over by a fat guard slumped against a pile of rusty boxes. I have to stop writing now because I’m about to go into East Berlin on the subway and I don’t want to make a fool of myself or get arrested for taking notes …
40 MINUTES LATER/ABOVE GROUND/EAST BERLIN:
I’m here. This is really weird. I’ve walked about two blocks and keep reflecting on the weirdness. First thing strikes you is silence of East Berlin because many fewer cars and less excited chatter. Next thing so many more older buildings that look like they were once grand and think “This is all because of Hitler”.
Coming across is also eerie. They take your passport away from you and give you a piece of paper – oh by the way I never did pay the subway, it seems like you can choose not to (but if you get caught it’s a $10 fine) – with a number on it and you stand in a room with fifty other people until they call out your number (takes 15 minutes) and give you all these other pieces of paper and you give them 5 marks ($2.50) and then you walk over to a stodge face guard who looks at you to make sure you’re you. If it is he stamps all these pieces of paper and gives you some of them.
Then you go to another fat soldier and give him 6.50 West German marks and he gives you 6.50 East German marks (which you have to spend) in a little cellophane bag. Real cute. Then you come out past a bunch of thin teenage soldiers in hats that are TOO BIG. Then you’re here blinking in the sunlight on the Friedrichstrasse. There are punks in East Berlin – kids wearing jeans rolled up to mid-calf, bare leg, some sock and big big black boots. They look dirty and good. Intellectuals here wear long black leather coats and are unshaven. Basically you can always tell an adult communist because of the grim look, shabby clothes and stodgy gait.
I had forgotten how sad life is in a communist country, how the people get run down by their personal series of disappointments and of course the poor men drink surreptitiously out of little bottles wherever they are standing. I was just in a line in this cafeteria where I got an enormous plate of poor food for $1.25, so bought it just to taste, even though not hungry. The girl behind the counter – blonde and really very pretty eyes in a plain face – got very angry with the timid British couple who couldn’t understand the menu. She just threw up her hands in disgust and said “Das ist Alles!” (That’s it.)
A man comes to my table about 56–60 and poor, tries to talk to two old ladies about the pleasure of sitting in the sunshine, but they just stare moodily at their dishwater tea and think probably he is drunk. He just tried again. And the lady said “Zoo”. But now they have begun to chat about the patterns the sun makes in finished voices and suddenly it’s so horrible here I’m getting chills. Another thing I’d forgotten about the east is that there are informers everywhere. You have to be careful about who you talk to and what about especially in public because the waiter might report you …
The kids are very good looking though, maybe bett
er looking than in West Berlin, because they have that lean and hungry look which is always so popular. I wonder if there are any drugs here. Someone last night at that party told me, emphatically pounding a fist on the table “THE WALL IS OPEN NOT FOR PEOPLE BUT FOR DRUGS” (the 100 deaths from heroin in West Berlin last year is considered high). THE WALL is a wonderful symbol, but you can’t actually see it. I mean, it’s there, but you don’t keep bumping into it.
I came back from East Berlin via the subway and went straight to the Neue Welt theatre on Hasenheide to see Patti Smith’s concert. The group was doing the sound check. I bumped into J. D. Daugherty (the drummer) and he said “Welcome to Berlin, stay around I’ll talk to you later.” I sat down. Mario, the tour manager, asked me what I was doing and I said I was from High Times and could I have a backstage pass. He said sure (High Times has a very good reputation by word of mouth in Germany). Mario told me that every concert in Germany was sold out. Then this really beautiful girl called Rozi came over and told me all about her best friend Manuel Gottsching who was the originator of Ashra Tempel and gave me his address suggesting I call him tomorrow and go over for a chat before leaving town.
Howard the publicist from Arista records, took me up to the group’s dressing room from which I got expelled ten seconds into a conversation with Ivan Kral by a tight-assed English roadie. Howard came out with his mouth full of food frantically apologising and saying that he didn’t realise they wanted to keep the room very empty, but it’s actually better to get thrown out than thrown in.
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