OBSERVATIONS ON MEETING PEOPLE IN BERLIN

I’ve lived in many different countries and visited countless cities. Anyone who experiences multiple cultures and is comfortable being on the outside looking in becomes more adept at observing the subtle nuances and flavors the residents of a city may miss. Now, I’ve lived in Berlin for almost 7 years. I love this city wholeheartedly. That love is the only thing that keeps me here at times. As we all know, just because you love something doesn’t always mean you like it. These are observations I have asked other expats about, discussed at length with German clients, and even specifically broached the subject with born and bred Berliners. Not all agreed with the motives behind the actions, but they did feel my observations about the occurrence of these things were spot on.  There are a few things I’ve observed about meeting people here in Berlin. Did you ever notice...

It’s really hard to find an apartment in Berlin at the moment. Many lament the skyrocketing rents and lack of affordable housing which contribute to the situation. But those are people attempting to rent or lease an entire apartment. I am speaking of the difficulty in finding a room in a shared apartment. It is an adventure akin to Frodo taking that damn ring back to Mordor! As an American, we tend to conduct roommate searches in the following manner; we tell friends that our current housemate is moving out and for them to let anyone know who may be looking there is a room free. Then, the person contacts us, we set up a meeting, they come over and see the place, and if you really feel like they are cool you might offer them something to drink or some snacks over small talk, then they say they will get back to you and leave. That’s it! No complications! In Berlin, it’s just a taaaaad bit.. uum.. special. FIRST, you have to get an appointment. That first email is more stressful then writing an essay for your college entrance application! You have to explain why you are in Berlin, what you hope to accomplish during your time here, what you did before, what are your hobbies, do you have any communicable diseases. Ok, just joking about the communicable diseases. It’s intense! As stressful as getting an appointment is, it has nothing on the actual interview. Trust me; it is an interview and NOT a casual meeting for you to see the apartment. I asked my German friends why this process is so intimidating here in Berlin. They explained it like this, in Berlin roommates aren’t just someone you want to have sharing your apartment, it is someone you want sharing your life. Meaning they want that person to hopefully become their friend. Ooooooh Okaaaay. Well then it makes perfect sense to stress me out to the point I’m getting cold sweats and about to hyperventilate! You want to be my FRIEND! So THAT’S why you ask me if I’m a loud breather and how often I get up during the night to pee. On the other hand though, it does make a lot of sense.  Everyone has had a roommate we didn’t really like. It’s a roll of the dice whether they are truly normal or only acting normal to get the room. Maybe if we put more effort into the process, we could eliminate the ones who sit at the kitchen table and gnaw on their toenails while you are trying to eat dinner. Or the ones who leave the bathroom smelling like they hid 3 or 4 decomposing bodies in it. And we ALL know the roommate who eats up all your food and doesn’t replace it and makes you believe you are going crazy. “Now I know I had some BBQ chicken and a Müller Milch in here!” We’ve all had them!

Yet another thing I have observed about meeting people in Berlin is, as an American, I totally understand how our culture is much more receptive to speaking to strangers. For example, the layout of bars in the U.S. is conducive to standing which allows for greater mobility to interact with other people not in your immediate vicinity. You hear a group speaking about something interesting it is not SO strange to join the conversation. Not exactly the case in Berlin. If you are new to Berlin and go out alone, you quickly get a sense things are not quite set up the same way. Many bars have seating arrangements that make it almost detrimental to your health to stand. It’s sit down or be trampled. Even if it is a “typical” bar layout one is accustomed to, that ease of conversation hopping is painfully lacking here in Berlin. From what I can gather, these seem to be the rules:

·        Position your seats in such a way that it is obvious to outsiders they are not welcome.

·        The people you are with are the only people you may engage in conversation.

·        Exceptions are the bartender, wait staff, and to ask someone for a light. Failure to adhere to these rules shall result in a sever reprimand from the group.

·        Exceptions to rule number three are only valid for people asking, “Do you have a light?” acceptable variations of this question can be found in the German Civil Code. Any deviation from the acceptable form is met with icy glare and stony silence.

·        A person is considered an outsider until a C.V. and two references are submitted three weeks in advance of a scheduled night out for the group to approve their admission.

·        If an outsider approaches your group, meet them with an icy glare and stony silence until they feel extremely uncomfortable and inadequate and slinks away rejected.

It is not Berlin culture to have a stranger attempt to start a conversation. I have German clients who have worked over 10 years with their colleagues and didn’t know simple basic information like the other wasn’t German, but Hungarian, or one co-worker was an amputee! The way he walked reminded me of an ex co-worker of mine who had an artificial limb. I asked him about it one day. He wasn’t embarrassed about it, just was never asked. The other students laughed! They thought he was joking! He then took off his prosthetic to prove he really had a fake leg... Only then did they believe him. The looks on their faces! Took everything I could not to die of laughter!

That “No talking to strangers” we learn as children in the U.S. is taken to an entirely higher level here in Berlin. Apparently, it’s also includes, “Don’t talk about strange things” as in the case of the leg. All of this leads to it being very tough to meet people here in our city. Yes, there are bars and clubs where the status quo is more open, I know those establishments quite intimately, but I was hard-pressed to even remember my own name afterwards let alone someone else’s.

The no speaking to strangers thing is highly unusual when you notice that Berliners don’t have the same sense of personal space as most Americans. I mean, in Berlin the tables at restaurants are smaller and MUCH closer together. As in it is not uncommon to literally be eating elbow to elbow with a complete stranger. Germans don’t think that is the slightest bit weird but find it horrifying if I try to ask casual questions at the bus stop? Really?? So you can sit down next to me so close that our knees are touching and if you turn your head too suddenly I get a mouthful of your hair, but you act like I tried to reach into your plate to try your food after picking my nose if I ask you a few questions? No comprendo. BUT, you will listen to my conversation at MY table and then talk about the conversation at MY table as if there is some magical sound barrier that blocks your conversation but not ours. This ain’t Hogwarts people! Focus!

So, from what I have deduced is that it is Berliners bark is worse than their bite. Meaning they come off as being hella cold and distant.. Ok, ok, they really are cold and distant but they aren’t really so mean. It just takes a lot to get close to them because there is a huge gulf between stranger and friend to them. You are either one or the other, no exceptions. When you finally cross that ginormous distance to the friendship shore you are IN! As in they would do damn near anything for you! “Hey Jürgen, I’m moving into a new apartment and I sure could use an extra set of hands.” Jürgen will be there Saturday morning, ON TIME, not only with his hands but his tools to help you install your lights, bathroom mirror and kitchen if need be. Berliner friends are on POINT! It’s just getting past that initial obstacle to find out how cool they can be! Someone really needs to create a FUNomenal location where it’s easier to interact with Berliners so us expats can fit in easier.. I’m just saying...

OBSERVATIONS OF NAPLES, ITALY: Part II

Here is part two of my observations of Naples, Italy. Again, let me reiterate in case you’re just tuning in, these observations are of SOUTHERN Italy, specifically the Naples region. There are big differences between the North and South of Italy, the same as in any country actually. So here are some additional things I noticed about Naples.

I previously spoke about how loud are Neapolitans. Let me expand on that. Neapolitans seem to have a certain affinity for yelling. They revel in it, snuggle up to it like a warm parka in the dead of winter. Now, black people can also be loud, but the act of yelling in black culture generally accompanies laughing or fighting, i.e. extreme moments of excitement. For Neapolitians it accompanies more mundane acts, eating, or walking, even breathing seems to illicit yelling episodes. The number of times I've been speaking to my girlfriend and she started yelling at me for no reason! Of course I start yelling back because well... I’m black and these count as extreme moment of excitement for me.  We've had countless “arguments” where I’ve had absolutely no clue how they began! One time we were talking about milk. Yes, milk. Not about what milk philosophically represents, or the history of sustenance.. just milk. Next thing I know we are screaming and yelling... about milk. After a moment I realize the madness going on and had the sense of mind to ask her why she was so angry over milk. She looked at me like I was the crazy one and said she wasn't angry at all. Talk about a WTF moment! I thought she was joking for a second, using reverse psychology to win the “argument”! But she was being sincere! Apparently yelling does not equal angry in Naples. So that of course begs the question, what happens when they actually are angry??!! My girlfriend and her sister will often sound like they are up in arms over something ready to kick off their shoes and roll up their sleeves! Catfight! Nope. Just talking about the weather...

Ok, so even though they can be ghetto and yell entirely too much, Neapolitans’ bark is much worse than their bite. All in all they are extremely nice people. I mean, everyone drives like a maniac here. Red lights don’t mean stop, apparently they mean access the situation and decide on the best course of action while still moving, terrifying for the uninitiated. After a while, you begin to notice the insanity is infused with niceness. Pedestrians always have the right of way, even if they are in the wrong. I live in Berlin and pedestrians are treated only slightly better than gypsies; real talk. Another thing is, they’ll yell of course, make wide arm gestures naturally, but no road rage. Not saying it doesn’t exist! But I haven’t ever seen it myself in Naples. The people accept the chaos of the roads and work around it and use being super nice as the common denominator through it all... and it works! Throw in how you are always greeted with a smile and kisses..  even from men, which is still taking some getting used to but hey, coming from emotionally void Berlin it’s a nice change,

The last thing I have to mention and I’m sure many of you may have expected it is the mafia, or as it is known in Naples, the Camorra. No one ever really sees the Camorra; you just see their hands, if you know what I mean. Now, in Naples, if you want to do anything, and I do mean anything that is a money making venture, you have to get permission from the Camorra. Period. PERIOD! You want to start painting pictures of tourists near the beach? Yep, you need approval. You want to help people find parking spaces in crowded areas and hope they give you spare change? You got it, needs approval. To an outsider it makes you wonder how anything gets accomplished in the area. But when you look more closely at Naples, there are a lot of empty dilapidated buildings and vacant lots teeming with potential. In no other city do I know are prime real estate plots with views of the sea undeveloped. Just wouldn’t happen in New York or London or Sydney. In Naples it is an epidemic. If someone does open a shop or center or even children’s museum that doesn’t have approval or doesn’t pay enough.. it gets burned down. Yep. They fire bomb the place. The smell of burnt concrete in Naples is just as common as the smell of sea water or the catch of the fishermen.  And it is so engrained in their culture. One would think that at some point people would rise up and say enough is enough! There is a huge scandal in the region at the moment because it was revealed the Camorra created fake holding companies to bid on European Union waste removal projects. They came in with the lowest bids so were awarded hundreds of millions of euros to dispose of the most vile and repugnant stuff known to man. Know what they did with it? They took it to the small towns and villages of the Naples region and buried it. Where people are living. The cancer rates in these areas are astronomical! Much of the ground water and farmed food is contaminated. People are dying and you can’t drink the water or eat the food, yet, other than a few protests (large) and decrees by local politicians, nothing has changed. Me being me, I asked. I wanted to know. From the answer I get the feeling that the Camorra is as much a part of the society in Naples as the air they breathe. Good or bad, the past, present and foreseeable future will include the Camorra. The anger of the people is more directed at the politicians for allowing this to happen when they were aware of who won the contracts in the first place. It is how it is here. This region is slowly dying with the lack of jobs and opportunities and now poison.  BUT there is real opportunity for revitalization which is cause for hope, and sadness if significant changes aren’t made. That is Naples. 

OBSERVATIONS OF NAPLES, ITALY

For many years I worked in Italy as a director for intensive summer English camps. It allowed me to extensively travel throughout Italy. Most of the sites I worked at were predominately in the North of the country. Now that I’m with someone from the bottom half of the country, Naples, I’ve had the opportunity to explore more of the South and observe the culture in a way I never could before. I’ve noticed a few things about Southern Italy...

I don’t consider myself the “average” American in the sense that I’ve lived in numerous countries, speak multiple languages and the majority of my friends are non-Americans. I am up-to-date on most international socio-political issues. One example would be why Spain is called the Balkans of Western Europe, or having the ability to explain the difference between Kurdish and Turkish cultures to confused Germans. So, imagine my surprise when I was instantly corrected when I called someone from Naples, Italian. “I’m not Italian, I’m Neapolitan.” And they said it with attitude! Like, “Get it right negro!” Well excuuuuuse me for not being informed about the underground resistance movement in the region fighting for more autonomy from Rome! In case you missed it people I’m being sarcastic. No such movement exists.  People from Naples first and foremost associate with their region. End of story. And you better not get it confused either! To do so might get you cut!

I’ve actually lived a few places where this is the case. Go to the Basque or Catalonian regions of Spain and you get the same thing. The difference in Spain is that the rest of the country vehemently fights to keep these regions connected politically, culturally and economically.  In Italy, it feels like the rest of the country could give a rat’s ass about Naples, seriously. I would even go so far as to say that if Naples decided to leave Italy and formally declare itself an independent country that there would be quite a few cheers and parties of celebration in the North. I’m almost positive Italian politicians would seriously debate if it were worth it to bring them back into the fold. No way would this happen in the states. If a city or state even JOKED about leaving the union the rest of the US would seriously get an attitude, hence why most of America distrusts Texas. 

My thing is, I think the rest of Italy underestimates the importance of Naples and all it brings to Italian culture. I also get why Neapolitans are so proud of where they come from. In a sense, their story is comparable to Black Americans. Hear me out now and let me break it down for you. I always thought I spoke Italian until I started going to Naples to visit my girlfriend’s family. I then learned I spoke Veneto which is a dialect from the North. As I worked there the most it made sense.  People in Naples have their own language. Trust me; it is its own language. When people speak it they might as well be speaking ancient Greek cause I get NOTHING of the conversation. Very similar to Ebonics in my opinion when white Americans with no contact to black American culture hear it. Many consider Ebonics to be a low-class, uneducated, bastardization of “proper” English. Same as how many Northern Italians consider Neapolitan. However, when linguists began studying Ebonics they found a complex grammatical structure with syntax rules that bridged certain deficiencies in modern English. I’m thinking Neapolitan has the same complexity if people took the time to study it. Ebonics was the natural evolution of a spoken language that African slaves were forced to learn and modified it to fit their personal needs. Look at the history of Naples and you’ll find a rich history of diversity from the people who lived and ruled there.

Another parallel I found on the cultural level. Much of the culture we assume is Italian is actually Neapolitan. Much of what we consider to be American culture began as black culture before it was co-opted into mainstream U.S. culture. Gospel, Jazz, Blues, R&B, Rock&Roll, Hip-Hop and even Techno are all innovations of Black Americans. We hear pizza we immediately say Italian. No. The first pizza was made in Naples and it wasn’t until years later that it made its way to the rest of Italy. And lord do Neapolitans take their pizza serious! If it’s not made a specific way that meets standards set in like the 1700’s they don’t call it pizza. Really. Call it whatever you like but you bet not call it pizza! The number of arguments I’ve had over what constitutes pizza in Naples is mind-boggling. Most of the songs non-Italians associate with Italy are actually Neapolitan songs. Many of the country’s most famous actors come from the Naples region. The area is a powerhouse when it comes to anything connected to film and music. Who knew??

Another way that Neapolitans are like black people? They are ghetto. Oh my goodness are they ghetto! I say that with affection! Ghetto has become a code word for a host of negative assumptions, but in reality many of the most beautiful and fascinating things came from the ghetto; the Jewish culture often times flourished in European ghettos, the Civil Rights movement in the states started in the ghetto, music, food, art forms, all started in the ghetto. Neapolitans are ghetto in the ghetto sense of the word too, just like black people can be. They are loud! House full of people and everybody speaking like no one can hear properly.  And to prove your point one has to talk louder than the other person. Whoever talks the loudest wins the argument. Through all of this the TV is on full blast for “background” noise. Sound familiar black people?? Then they will talk mess about all their family, but if you say one bad thing about one of their crazy cousins that they spent an hour bad-mouthing you might get shot.  Just because they talk bad about their family, culture or region does not mean YOU are allowed to do it. Period. In this life or the next. Or you’ll die. Horribly. Twice. I get it though! It’s like how black people are with the N-word. There is a huge debate going on in the black community right now over its use. Everyone has their opinion on if it causes damage to us as a race and sets us back as a people. In saying that, if a white person EVER ever, evereverever used the N-word around a group of black people they would literally be taking their life out of their own hands and placing it in that of those black people. It would be up to those black people if that white person lived or died. I’m not joking. THAT’S how Neapolitans are and why I feel so damn comfortable there.

These observations are getting long! Gotta break them up into two parts, stay tuned for part two! 

FAMILY HOLIDAY 2013/2014

At this moment I am sitting at a desk in an Italian villa that rests atop a hill. There is a window in the room that overlooks the Bay of Pozzuoli and I can see the lights of Naples, Italy spread out before me like a buffet for angels. It’s breathtaking. It is not a bad place to be for Christmas at all. The food I’ve eaten today is the stuff of legends; four different types of home-made pizza for lunch alone. When I say home-made I mean the woman woke up at 5am to make the dough from scratch! For dinner we had three different types of salad, two different types of fish and breaded vegetables and that was only the starter! The main course was a lobster pasta dish. LOBSTER PASTA! Who knew that even existed!? All topped off with desert, wine literally made by the hands of my girlfriend’s father and limoncello. Amazing! Throw in the sunshine and warm weather and one could hardly ask for more! I can’t complain.. I mean, I shouldn’t complain. It’s not really complaining at all. It’s just... I miss my family.

The last few years I’ve made it a point to go home for at least 3 weeks to the states around Christmas. It gives me the time to meet up with friends, soak up the sun and most importantly reconnect with my family. Even kinfolks require the opportunity to reinforce bonds and strengthen ties. I expected this year to be no different, me flying home around December 10^th lounging around catching up on YouTube videos that are blocked in Germany, sneaking around trying to eat more than my fair share of my mom’s famous sweet potato pies, riding a bike and trying to explain to people I’m not gay for being 38 and having no kids and am not serving time in prison for staying away so long from my family. But as we all know, life often has other plans for us.

Living in faraway lands for the past 10+ years is something I regularly express in gratitude to the travel gods. The number of fantastic memories I have created are uncountable. At the same time, I am painfully aware of the missed chances to make memories with my own family. It is a delicate balance us wandering spirits must constantly be aware of to keep the scales from toppling over. In all honestly, the scales I speak of would probably be more manageable if I were able to express myself a bit better face-to-face as I am in the confines of my journals. I often see those posts on Facebook that urge us to let those we love know how much we appreciate them being in our life, yet how many of us truly reach out to our loved ones and let them know how we feel? I do try, but we all have our scars that hinder movement and prevent us from reaching out as far as need be.

This blog entry is me trying to reach out as far as I can, as far as need be to reach out to my family to let them know why I make the effort to be around them every year, even if I don’t express it verbally enough.

To my mother.. at this point I should just take the sun, dip it in chocolate and then drizzle honey all over it and attach it to this post. There is no way to express in words how much I love my mother, but that image that may have flashed through your mind’s eye with that description you just read might give you an idea. The sun not only warms, but provides nourishment, it brings life, and it raises spirits. That is my mother. Then the chocolate cause I mean, who doesn’t love chocolate! And who doesn't love Ms. White!? For real though! Then honey because I believe we forget how great honey is at times. Honey is like nature’s super food. There are all these healthy benefits they contribute to honey and the public tends to forget that at times with all the commercials for supplement this or enhancement that. Honey is natural, wholesome, under-appreciated and if more people used it in its pure form we’d all be better off. Skype is fine with my mom, but I’d much rather have a real hug. Or just to lay my head in her lap for a few minutes... yeah, the sun dipped in chocolate then drizzled in honey.. that’s my mother and I love her immensely for that.

To my sister Niki, Nikki, Nicole or however the heck you spelling your name these days! I don’t think she realizes how much I love her. When I am home I am always reminded of how much she impresses me. I appreciate St. Petersburg more and more as I get older, but I don’t hide my... ambivalence for it at all. The city isn’t exactly a mecca for high fashion and creativity, nonetheless, my sister finds a way to be on point with anything she does. She walks around and I have to remind myself I am not in New York, London or Paris but South St. Pete with her fashion sense. She has taken a hobby and turned it into a profession. Even her peers recognize her vast talent and that’s saying a lot cause you know how brown people can be when it comes to acknowledging others! And her daughter, my niece... Talk about an amazing young lady. I joke that her Uncles have a huge influence on her awesomeness, but in truth, she is just emulating her fierce mother. Love you to death...

To my brother Corey who is the epitome of an Aries. I don’t always agree with my brother’s views on history, or politics or social commentary, but I can appreciate the fact that he isn’t accepting what the mainstream says and is rightfully questioning everything. It is much easier to accept the status quo than it is to seek the truth and find your own answers. His answers are not mine, but that’s probably because we are asking different questions. I respect him because he is asking questions. The day we stop questioning is the day we stop improving and the day we stop trying to improve is the day we begin to die. I embrace my brother’s will to keep living. That and he can keep his mouth shut. Oh the secrets Corey has about me and never shared, a very rare trait to have these days. That’s probably why I consider him to be one of my best friends. I love you.

To my brother Ryan who thanks to Facebook surprises me at least three times a week. He posts these random quotes and stream of thought updates that I have to catch myself from liking because more often than not I should be working and don’t want people to think I’m available. He has this way of cutting to the heart of the matter that I love. The other thing that impresses me is he’s fearless. He posts things that are windows into the very fabric of his thoughts and heart. At 24 there was no way I was capable of doing that. Hell, it wasn't until I was well into my 30’s before I could even begin to fathom that and he does it so effortlessly at such a young age. Damn that is extraordinary. Love you like a fat kid loves cake. And you know I love me some cake!

This blog entry is starting to get long, but it’s the holidays and everyone has a few days free so I have to also say:

To my brother Dana who somehow finds a way to constantly smile and be positive no matter the situation and being a good father in the absence of a positive father figure growing up. That is another entry all in itself but you show up every single day to put in that work. Utmost respect.

To my aunt Ms. Doris (Tiki) Who has shown me what “Ride or Die” truly means. This woman has taught me what sticking up for your family is meant to be about. I need somebody to have my back when we gonna be in the thick of it? I’m calling my Aunt Tiki. Bet.

To my cousins:

To Sir Brock who isn’t waiting for his dreams to become his reality, but turning his reality into his dreams.

To Nico who has raised the good husband and father bar to a whole nother other level!

To Yook I’m Him for keeping it real... since the womb. Real talk.

Every Christmas time my family gathers, we eat a lot of great food then we retire to the family room and play Taboo together as a family. All told it’s at least 15 people including wives and children. By far it is the highlight of my holiday. It’s that release of energy that is expressed through laughter and squeals of delight that manifests itself into the intangible bonds that bind us together as a family. Immersing myself into that is why I try to get home for Christmas every year. It is to be a part of that love and add my own to the pot. I don’t say it, but I love each and every one of them more than they will ever know. I am not with them this Christmas, but I do believe I love them a little bit more this year than I did last year. 

OBSERVATIONS OF CHICAGO

Last month I went to Chicago for the Fall Urban Land Institute (ULI) conference. The reason I went to this conference is for a completely different blog entry. Going to the conference did give me the opportunity to visit Chicago again after being away for over ten years. Me being me, I noticed a few quirky things about this city.

The people are nice. Seriously, the people are really nice. I am painfully aware that me living in Berlin, a city famous for the cold and harsh demeanor of the residents might have significantly skewed my niceness meter in Chicago towards friendly and cheery but hey, it is what it is. The people in Chicago were in my opinion extremely agreeable.  Case in point, drivers in most major cities exercise their right to run down pedestrians caught out in the middle of the street when the light changes to green. If they don’t run you down they honk on their horn long enough to alert everyone within a 12 block radius that they spared your life. Quite often they will roll down the window to explain at the top of their lungs how you are forever indebted for their act of mercy. Not in Chicago. Not only did I notice cars not accelerating into defenseless crowds, but they didn't even blow their horns to hurry people up! They waited patiently for the people to cross then went on their merry ways. Amazing! In turn, pedestrians just meandered across major intersections with no fear at all. In Berlin, when the crossing light turns red half the people immediately break out in sprint to escape the coming onslaught of traffic. The other half TRY to act all cool and nonchalant knowing in theory they still have time even with a red light to cross safely. At some point though their nerves break and they too end up dashing those last few feet. Berlin drivers do not play that! Move or get ran over! And if you take too long walking across the street some will rev their engine to warn you they coming! Then when they drive pass they’ll stare at you to make sure you get the point! None of that stress crossing the street in Chicago. Loved it!

There are about 10 million people who live in the Chicago metropolitan area. That’s a lot of damn people! But you don’t ever get the sense there are 10 million people around when you are in Chicago. I was downtown for my conference and never felt I was surrounded by a mass of people one gets in New York City, London or even Madrid. Spoke about this sensation to Chicagoans and they agreed. There isn’t an area or district in Chicago that is always consistently packed with people they told me, unless there’s a sporting event. But in general, it’s a rather laid back quiet city. Ten minutes travel time from the financial district on public transportation you are in areas that feel like the suburbs. You’d be hard-pressed to find that in any major city in the world and I lost count of areas like that in Chicago. Different, but kinda nice.

There are homeless people everywhere in the world unfortunately. The number we have in the states is nothing compared to say India for example. What I did notice about Chicago is that the homeless are so present. I don’t visit Wall Street so often when I’m in New York, but I don’t recall seeing dozens of homeless people when I am there. Even in Berlin, a city with almost double the unemployment rate of Chicago, I don’t see that many homeless people around the downtown area. Maybe it’s smarter for them, higher foot traffic and all. Other thing I noticed is how many black people were homeless. In New York City I see homeless people of all colors... well except Asian. Has anyone ever seen a homeless Asian person in the United States? I know they exist, but I’m just saying. But in L.A. or New York it’s all races on hard times. In Chicago I only saw black people. That’s it, just black homeless people. 

My next observation might be connected to the number of homeless people I saw in Chicago. The energy of Chicago is flat. In New York for example the energy is alive and pulsating. You can easily get caught up in the “Go, Go, Go” of it and not even realize it. In Berlin the vibe is, “Do whatever the fuck you want as long as you leave me the fuck alone.” In Chicago it was more... flat. Almost like people couldn’t be bothered, or even slightly depressed. Again, could be related to the area I was in, but I felt it everywhere I went, this palpable undercurrent of... hopelessness just under the surface.

Last thing I noticed, I live in Berlin and went to University in Boston. I know intimately what winter cold is. But Chicago weather is an altogether different beast. Chicago weather is like a bitter ex who is unhappy and bitter over the break up and made it her mission in life to ensure you’re gonna be unhappy and bitter right along with her. Cold is one thing, but that wind?? Lord have mercy. It was the first week of November and that wind was already serious! Chicagoans were out in long sleeve t-shirts and shorts like it was NOTHING! They were laughing at me because I had a scarf and jacket on. It was in the low 40’s people! I was choosing my walking paths based on which streets offered the best protection from that sadistic bitch they call wind. No way I want to experience that in January or February. Nu uh, no way. 

So, I was in Chicago for about a week. With the nice people and all the yummy food I had, I hope it's not another ten years before I get back. But it will be late Spring next time I visit. Indeed. 

OBSERVATIONS OF ISTANBUL

In October of 2012 my best friend and I went to Istanbul for five days. A few of my Adult German students joked that I was already in “Little Istanbul” by way of living in Kreuzberg (A district of Berlin). While corny, my students did make a valid point. Berlin is home to the largest number of Turks in the world living outside of Turkey. Still, my experience in Istanbul was nothing like I expected and I am making plans to visit again in the near future.

When I lived in Madrid I had a Turkish roommate. He was there part of the European study exchange program. He was one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Because of that, my initial generalizations of Turkish people were warm, caring and sincere. Naïve I know. Then I moved to Berlin and my myth was completely destroyed. Reasons why are for a separate blog entirely. In saying that, I was admittedly apprehensive about visiting Istanbul. Then I arrived and the Turkish people I met were so damn nice! No matter how many adjectives I use I couldn’t overstate the genuine affection my best friend and I encountered from random people, extremely refreshing for one who lives in Berlin. Turkish people are quick to smile and I never felt like I was given fake customer service empathy we know all too well in the States. That realness might also explain why the customer service in Istanbul was top notch. It didn’t matter if it was an expensive restaurant, stall at the spice market or a guy selling boat tours, superb service each and every time.

Something else I quickly realized about Istanbul and I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s probably this way in most of Turkey, very attractive people. Honestly, no idea why we aren’t consistently mentioning Turkish people as some of the most attractive in the world. I’ve travelled extensively so I know what I’m talking about! In university there was a Turkish exchange student. She and my roommate from Madrid didn’t quite fit my expectations of what Turkish people would look like. She was very fair skinned with red hair and green eyes. He is also quite fair skinned with reddish hair and hazel eyes. What? That’s not how Turkish people looked in all those movies from the 50’s and 60’s I saw as a kid growing up! But then I moved to Berlin and most of the Turkish people I saw were quite brown skinned with dark hair and eyes. Huh? Well, when you have a culture that spans two continents you’re going to get a wide range of skin shades and eye colors. That’s what I saw in Istanbul. The diversity isn’t the same as we have in the United States, but then what country does? However the spectrum was quite wide and easy on the eyes!

In every large city you see buskers. Busker is the official term used to describe people who perform in the streets or public in general for money the audience gives them. It might’ve been because it was the Muslim holiday Eid and people didn’t have to rush off to work, but someone brought out a guitar, ukulele, flute, didgeridoo or spoons to play on their knees a crowd formed around them. Not tourists! A crowd of Turkish people interested to see what the person was going to play. They seemed to love to be entertained. I mean that totally complimentary. Istanbul has over 14 million people living there so we aren’t talking about a village where nothing new ever happens. People from villages get excited and crowd around when Cousin Jed excitedly explains how big his turd was that morning, different story in a metropolis. People would not only stop, but truly pay attention and wait for the performance to end. Or they would just join in and start dancing with friends as I saw on occasion. Felt like they appreciated the artist instead of it being a distraction. I could totally be wrong and they would stop to discuss how sad it was people couldn’t get normal jobs and had to be out on the street playing instruments for money. I didn’t get that sense however.

Right, a little history lesson for people before this next observation. The döner and dürüm are Berlin creations, hence the “Ö” and “Ü” in the names. A döner is nothing more than a kebab in pita bread, while a dürüm is the same ingredients, but wrapped in this large thin pancake looking thing. They are so prevalent in Berlin we call them Kreuzberg burgers. When I went to Istanbul I wanted to try one of these to compare the difference. Well it wasn’t even CLOSE! They are a sad copy in Istanbul. In Berlin, a dürüm consists of them taking the Turkish pancake that often times was baked that day, brushing it with oil then heating it up. Next, they slice GOOD quality meat onto the warmed thin pancake and add your choice of sauce (herb, garlic or spicy). After that, your choice of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, or red cabbage and some even have grilled eggplant, peppers or potatoes if you want! Let’s not forget the crumbled feta cheese and splash of lemon juice and pinch of Turkish spices before they expertly fold the pancake and wrap it all up in aluminum foil and you are SET! Getting hungry just writing that! The finished product is this yummy creation that’s an entire meal in a handy edible carry case! In Istanbul the pancake thing is some grocery store brand and to add insult to injury it’s small! Then there are no vegetables, none, zero, zilch! Not even a damn single piece of soggy lettuce or a bruised tomato! I mean, unless you count the French fries they put on without asking you nothing that grew from the ground is on that thing. And really?? French Fries on my damn sandwich?? WTF?? By the time they squirted the ketchup and mayo on to the thing I was practically crying. I came to Turkey and you put ketchup and mayo on my dürüm with all the ancient cooking recipes you have at your disposal? Madness! Then the bastards semi wrap it up, throw it in a sandwich presser and give it to you in wax paper that soaks through in about 36 seconds so you gotta walk down the street like a bent-over stiffed legged idiot to not drip ketchup, mayo and meat fat down the front of your shirt or pants. Only disappointments on my entire trip those damn dürüms. But every other thing I ate in Istanbul was da booooomb!

Almost 10 million people visit Istanbul every year. Ten million! That many tourists visiting a place and salesmen are going to be attracted in FLOCKS! Happens everywhere so Istanbul is not the exception, it is the rule. But, there is something that makes Istanbul the exception, the Turkish have found this perfect blend of sales pitch and humor that totally disarms you. I can’t count the number of times my friend and I were walking and someone selling something made us laugh. Extremely difficult to laugh and walk at a fast pace. Always made us slow down and at least hear them out. They want to make a sale no doubt, but really feels like if you don’t buy anything that’s perfectly OK because getting you to laugh was also their intent. I’ve visited other countries where if someone was trying to sell me something I was immediately on edge and prepared for anything, negative and positive. In Istanbul it was more of, “Run cause if they make us laugh we’re done for! I can’t fit anything else in my luggage!” Wasn’t a negative feeling in the least.

Yeah, Istanbul has a lot of pussy....cats. No lie. The city is seriously teaming with cats! I’ve heard certain villages in Greece have a high number of cats as well, but a huge city?? Never ever seen that in my life or anything like it in any major city on the planet earth. But the clincher is, the cats weren’t afraid of people! Now, normally you run across a cat in the “wild” they want nothing to do with you, been burned too many times by people doing messed up things to them. Totally opposite in Istanbul from what I experienced. You squatted down and called to a cat and it would come with no hesitation. That made me believe that people in Istanbul like cats, but don’t like them in their houses. Most of them seem to be well fed, never saw anyone kicking at them or kids throwing rocks at them. I’ll be the first to say I’m not a cat fan, but it was kinda... cool. I liked it. Maybe that’s what made me at ease in Istanbul. If people are being humane and hospitable to animals they don’t own than surely they would more or less treat humans with the same respect.

My last observation is, Istanbul has a Popeyes Chicken place AND Krispy Kreme donuts! For you people who live in the states I KNOW you are thinking... And?? To me though, I thought I was dreaming! There are no Popeyes or Krispy Kreme located ANYWHERE in all of Germany. Unless it’s a military base which does not count. I know those two places are extremely unhealthy but still!! How can Istanbul have Popeyes and Krispy Kreme and not Berlin??? The fact that Dunkin Donuts is in Berlin but not Hamburg, the second largest city in Germany, shows you how weird the Germans are. I see people on the train to Hamburg with suitcases full of Dunkin Donuts yet there’s no Krispy Kreme??? WTF is up with THAT!?!? I’d just eaten a huge meal when I saw the eateries. I’ve never been so unhappy to have a full stomach in all my life. I’m starting an online petition this moment to bring Krispy Kreme and Popeyes to Berlin by 2014!

No city is without faults. I did see things that were strange and extraordinary to me; a woman slapped by her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded public park brought nothing more than murmurs and whispers. I’m positive the majority of the remarks were not against the act. You have to be careful who you speak to about the Kurdish “situation” as well. All in all, it was a magical city that called to me to explore deeper into its currents and tides. So much more to observe in this city and I will.

Boys To Men

The following is a contribution to the book Boys To Men: The Guide for African American Boys I wrote at request of my mother, Dr. Cynthia Parker White who provided Chapter 10: Dealing with the Pain of an Absent Parent.

We always talk of the negative effects of the lack of a father in a man’s life. Growing up without the influence of a father is well documented. I’m interested in when they will decide to research the effects of a father who is present, but should be gone. Surely those scars are just as prominent and painful. My father was a constant presence in my life until the age of 13, then sporadically for another 4 years and after that, a casual visitor until I was 20 years old. After which we had no more than passing contact until his death. In those first 13 years he taught me how to abuse physically and verbally, how to break promises and he sure as hell tried to teach me how to destroy hopes and dreams. Who is to say not growing up with a father is worse than having your own look you in the eye and state rather emphatically that he hates you. That is not a memory I will soon forget. Then again, who is to say having your father taking out all of his unfulfilled potential and unmet expectations on your ego is better than not knowing your own father’s voice, his laugh or the feel of your hand in his. I really don’t know what not having my father around was like; I do know it took him not being around for me to begin to heal, to begin to learn to trust men.

I surrounded myself with women for years hoping the scent of their femininity masked the scent of my unease and fear. I felt I needed female protection from those raw wounds that energetically caused me to flinch instinctively when men reach out their hands in friendship. Over 20 years later I still have to steel myself as a warrior of old to walk amongst my own gender. Old habits die hard. If my father sought to maim and cripple me, why shouldn’t men I don’t know attempt the same? Your father not being in your life isn’t the end of your world, however it can make your world incredibly small, the same as having a father around who actively seeks to shrink your world down to his size to appease his demons. Maybe one day we’ll only be raising the issue of loving fathers who protect their children not only from dangers outside the home, but also those that live within. When we begin to have that conversation, knock on my door and ask me to join you. But if you send a man, ask him to knock more than once though and be prepared to wait longer than normal. It still takes me time to quiet the voice of mistrust, but much less than it used to be now that my father is not around.