OBSERVATIONS OF SARDINIA and CORISCA

Many moons ago I used worked in Sardinia. I loved it so much I tried to get a job there so I could live there on a permanent basis. Alas it didn’t work out. But I was excited to be able to go back and explore the parts of the island I didn’t get a chance to see when I lived there. Corsica had always been on my list and I decided it was now or never. These are my observations of these two incredible islands that even though very close together are worlds apart due to their food, culture and landscapes. 

SARDINIA

When I worked in Sardinia I was always at the very south, Cagliari. On this trip I decided to explore the North around Olbia. Here are the things I noticed about North Sardinia. Well, the first thing I noticed was on the plane from Berlin and it wasn’t a very nice observation for me. There were A LOT of young kids on the plane ride over, young meaning 5 and under. “What’s his problem with young kids?”. Nothing, I have absolutely no problem with young children. I hope to have at least one of my own one day in the near future. But I can’t STAND loud screaming obnoxious  spoiled kicking my seat like it’s a football rotten kids. Luckily the flight was only about 2 hours. Any longer and I might’ve hurt a parent for allowing their little monsters to run around the plane like that. Another passenger told me that a lot of German families hit Costa Smeralda for their vacations. Costa Smeralda is close to the major city of Olbia and very close to the airport. Needless to say I knew I wasn’t going to be spending too much time there. I did however spend most of my time in a small town called San Teodoro. It’s about 30 minutes south of Olbia and in my opinion the best place to use as a base to discover the Northern part of Sardinia. 

As I used to live and work in Italy I learned enough Italian to get by without any problems which is always helpful in Italy. If you don’t speak any Italian you’ll be able to get by, but you are going to have to work for it. Most menus are in multiple languages, but whether or not the waiter will be able to understand your questions about the menu is a totally different thing. But hey, vacation stories are always better with one funny story about misunderstanding something on the menu. I lucked out through and my roommate spent many summers in San Teodoro and told his friends to expect me. The town was READY when I got there. At the restaurant he told me his friends owned they had a table reserved when I got there, WHA WHA!! Seriously, what is in the water that makes island people so dang nice!? I have yet to visit an island where the people weren’t super friendly and welcoming. Somebody needs to breakdown the chemical components so I can bring it here to Berlin and sell it! Friends of my roommate dropped by to talk and give advice on the best places to go and compare schedules to see if they had time to give private tours. Lovely lovely people all of them. I went at the end of May beginning of June so the island was preparing for the tourist season. When I’d worked in Cagliari it was always the end of August beginning of September. This leads me to my second observation of Sardinia.

End of May/early part of June take a sweater or light jacket. It gets a bit nippy in the evenings. On the very tip of Sardinia where you can see Corsica in the distance it was even dare I say, cold in the evenings. That wind is no joke! I’m not a bodybuilder, but I’m not small either. The wind was strong enough to push me along a few times. Bring something warm or you’ll be adding to the local economy buying warm clothes for the evening. I came from Berlin so I had a jacket and sweater but there were a lot of tourists who were surprised.

Me at Santa Terese di Gallura

The beaches in Sardinia are some of the best I’ve ever seen. Period. I haven’t visited Southeast Asia yet or the Philippines. Hence me using “I’ve ever seen.” You could go to a beach, be amazed, then go to another beach just 2 minutes away from that first beach and it would look totally completely different! Felt like you were moving from country to country and not just beach to beach. Another great thing about Sardinian beaches is the color of the water. Whoa! I’ve seen photoshopped images of water that color before but in real life? The greenest greens and the bluest blues I’d ever seen. And CLEAR! Went on a boat tour and you end up at a secluded beach you can only reach by boat. One poor kid thought since the boat was close to shore he could just jump out and walk the rest of the way. It looked like knee deep water and I almost did the same thing he did. Luckily I move slower in my older age and the kid jumped out first. WOOSH! Looked like he was in a special effects movie with how far he kept going down. Talk about a WTF moment! Boat driver said the water was over 6 meters deep! That’s almost 20ft for my US readers ;-) But that was the only beach like that. All the other beaches I visited you could walk out half a mile into the sea and still be only in waist deep water. For a black person you can’t ask for better beaches than that! Super clear water so I can see sharks and super shallow so I can run back to shore just in case I do see something I’m afraid of. Only sorta kinda bad thing? The water was COLD! I think in the 6 or 7 days I was in Sardinia I went into the water maybe 2 times. When I say in the water I mean walking into it at all. My feet went instantly numb the first time I went in so that was pretty much enough for me. I took some nice photos of me standing directly at the waters edge. More than enough thank you very much.  

I know I already spoke about how nice the people are but it deserves special attention. The people were so nice a part of you thought they were trying to scam you. At one point I missed a bus I needed to catch after the rental car was turned in. No surprise I missed some form of transportation. A taxi driver offered to drive me where I needed to go but it was like €85 for what was a €7 bus trip. I decided to wait for the next bus which was like 5 hours later. When the taxi driver realized I was OK with waiting he kept on trying to give me tips for things I could do while I waited. At first I was like, “Back up homie.” I get uncomfortable when people invade my personal space! But he kept recommending and I finally relaxed and caved. He told me about a restaurant close by and I went. One of the BEST decisions I made on the whole trip! Was a REAL husband & wife place. While the wife cooked the kids did their homework in the kitchen with her. Talk about home cooking! The husband was telling me about all these places I needed to visit and people I should call once I got there. It was like visiting cousins family introduced you to online and you were meeting for the first time. In other places I visited things you had to pay for were not only free in Sardinia, but they were a little offended you thought they would charge you for it. How can you not love that!? 

Ok, my last observation of Sardinia is the food. Very very simple menu but always cooked with such a high skill it made it seem like you were eating at a Michelin restaurant. Perfect example of why people should be using fresh and local ingredients when they cook. Basic stuff I cook myself just tasted 20 times better when I was there. 

CORSICA

Ok, so let me begin my observations of Corsica what I ended with Sardinia, food. But before I begin I

Bonifacio, Corsica

have to say I didn’t spend as many days there as I planned. Due to loving Sardinia more than I thought and staying an extra day I didn’t see nearly enough of Corsica. Also an unexpected French holiday which meant absolutely no public transportation happening also limited my Corsican experience. 

So, Corsica is a French island while Sardinia is Italian. Italian food is amazing. I love it thru and thru. French food is a cuisine as I always tell people. It’s more complicated with many more layers. Some people like it, some think it’s too much. I lived in France before so I knew what to expect. In saying that, the food in Corsica was on some nother other level! Steak was rarely on the menu in Sardinia, but in Corsica it was always one of the main dishes. When in Rome.. Lord have mercy that steak I had in Corsica! If my mom would’ve asked me for a bite I would’ve had to think long and hard before I gave her a piece. I never knew beef could melt in your mouth like that! I could cut the dang meat with my SPOON it was so tender! Every restaurant had proper COURSES. The last place I ate in Corsica I ordered Guinea fowl on what I would have to describe as a golden lawyered potato cake. The waitress tried to take it before I’d eaten licked the plate clean and I almost karate chopped her in the throat! When food makes you consider resorting to being stingy with your momma and violence you know it’s good! Say what you want to about the French, but they throw DOWN in the kitchen!

Another thing you notice very quickly about Corsica is that it has more class and this definite elegant undertone that Sardinia doesn’t have. It’s not better, just different. Without anyone saying anything you automatically want to dress up a bit more when you go out for dinner in the evening. Coming from Berlin with its constant laid back casual style it was a nice change. I personally liked it and appreciated the people there stepping out looking well put together. Normally island folk are always casually dressed, not so much in Corsica. If anyone was dressed super casual you knew they were a tourist and not a local. All the time would be a bit too much for me but for the time I was there I appreciated it. 

The people. Yes. Well Corsicans are certainly nice, I mean it is an island after all. But at the end of the day they are French. There was still this very palpable distance with the people in Corsica. Could’ve had something to do with the language. Very few people spoke English and I don’t speak French. Normally you go somewhere where you don’t speak the language you ask young people. In this day and age most young people listen to English music and have contact with the language often enough they have a basic command, normally. No, not in Corsica. I would ask people, in French, did they speak English. They would answer “A little bit”, then proceed to speak in very fast French to answer my question. Wait. What? How does that work?? I ask you if you speak English, you say yes then proceed to only speak to me in French? And they didn’t even try to speak to me like I was deaf and dumb, meaning veeeery slooooow and loudly. Nope. They just spoke to me like I was born and raised in Paris and would understand everything they said to me. The only places people spoke English was in the hotels. As soon as you left the hotels French. Yeah, a bit more difficult to communicate than in Sardinia. 

What’s interesting is, as cultured as the cities and towns of Corsica are, the nature and landscape is WILD. In Sardinia you get the feeling the island has been run through with a comb. Like it’s been tamed to a certain degree, not in Corsica at all. Has this very real sense of wildness and rawness to it. I personally loved the contrast it creates between the cities and open spaces. That wildness though? Fucked my allergies UP! The last time I had an allergy attach THAT bad was well… in France! Years ago when I lived there near Lyon. I took allergy medicine the entire time I was in Corsica and double the normal dose when I felt the attack coming on. Didn’t help in the least. My eyes swole up so bad it looked like I’d smoked out on purple haze for 2 days straight! I was so congested I had to breathe through my mouth and still sounded like Darth Vader. I sneezed 19 times in a row with no break, TWICE! Just achooachooachooachooachooachooachooachooachoo. I was a HOT mess! To make matters worse, that was the day I was trying to catch a bus to another town and no one told me that it was a French holiday so nothing was running and all the car rental places were closed. I was standing at a bus station all alone looking like homeless junky cause I couldn’t see well enough to walk back to the city center to get another hotel. I had to wait it out until the swelling went down in my eyes enough for me to see which was oooh about 3hrs. Surprised no one called the police on me! Not the best memory of Corsica but I go back I’m taking a kilo of medicine in case that happens again! 

RUNNING MY FIRST 5K RACE

Here is the second part of my observations on that God forsaken 5K. Friday came all too soon. I was stressed because I went to bed late and had to work all day at a different client’s office from 8am – 5pm. All day I used every opportunity to minimize using my legs to conserve as much energy as possible. I used the elevator to go one floor up or down, pulled myself around the office in a chair with wheels using only my arms, hell I even sat down to pee. I was desperate for any small boost! During the day it started to rain. The first time I’m meant to run a 5K I have to deal with cold and wet conditions. Not to mention possible rain puddles along the course. I was sooo not feeling that race. I ended up leaving the client’s office way later than I planned and had to take a taxi. I changed on the way there. While changing, the taxi driver was asking me the most random questions. I don’t know if he was mildly autistic or gay. He asked if I’d had sex 48 hours before the race because that could affect my performance. I mean.. for real?! After a couple more RANDOM questions and comments he asks if I knew tomorrow was the CSD parade in Berlin. CSD is the Christopher Street Day parade in Berlin which is the Gay Pride Parade. I actually didn’t know that but he asked me because?? I finally had to just ignore him when he asked me what I’d wear to the CSD parade. Lord Jesus all of that before I even got to the race.   

Got there and what I thought was a small group of companies turned out to be a massive event with thousands of runners. THOUSANDS!! The client I was running for had t-shirts made that read on the front, “Sometimes we win…” And on the back, “And sometimes the others lose.”  Or something like that. It was in German so who the hell really knows. I personally didn’t understand why they’d want to antagonize the other runners like that. What if people took it personally and it made them run faster?? Pissed off people run faster right? And I had a number. You know ish gets serious when they give you a number. I was the fourth runner on my team so even though I was late I had enough time to relax and mentally prepare for the race. To make matters worse, whenever there is a sporting event white people always assume cause you’re black you are the best at that sport. Random people were joking with me about not making them look too bad, and keeping it interesting until at least the last kilometer. I felt like I was running for the entire black American population! Then I started seeing other black people at the event. To me, every single last other black person looked distinctly Ethiopian or Kenyan. They were warming up like paid professionals! I saw on guy sprinting around the warm up area for 10 minutes and he didn’t even break a sweat! Oh HELL no! I acted like immigration services around there, “Excuse me sir we’re gonna need to see some identification. How long have you resided in the country?? Do you have a valid work contract with this business? Are they holding any of your family members hostage during the running of this event??” Bastards! Cheatin as Mercedes and Edarling! Ya’ll KNOW ya’ll don’t have that many damn Africans who work for your company who are that fast! And I saw you too Bosch! Need to be shame! I almost turned them in to the race officials for that B.S.!

Clock was ticking and getting closer and closer to my turn to run. I warmed up, went through my paces. I have to admit, I started having flashbacks to when I would warm up for my events back in the day. I realized how much I missed it! I started remembering exercises and drills to do. Muscle memory is a beautiful thing! I was killin em! Too bad there is no lung memory cause I was pooped after I did all that mess.  Then the Senior Partner kept asking me what time I thought I would finish in. I’d never run a 5k before so I didn’t know what slow or fast. So I just said I’d do my best. Which is all anyone can really do right??

Finally it was time for me to take my position. It was a relay race so there was an actual baton that needed to be passed. I saw the familiar logo for the company coming towards me and I kept thinking, “Just make it through the first 100 meters. Just make it through the first 100 meters.” I wasn’t trying to psyche myself up or use some psychological trick. The first 100 meters ran past where the company I was running for was situated. I knew I could fake it like a motherfucker for the first 100 meters. And I did. It was a thing of beauty! My form was TIGHT! I looked like a damn gazelle separating from the pack! As soon as I got past where no one could see me from my team I went back to running like the guy who hadn’t trained and hated running. I almost caused a 10 runner pileup with how fast I decelerated.  I ain’t trying to kill myself for NOBODY. Shiiiiiid! Then I started trying to think of excuses I could give for the slow time I was sure to have. I tripped and twisted my ankle, the course wasn’t properly marked and I ran the wrong way, I had to help someone who fell. I literally played all of this out in my brain. Since I was running so damn slow I could easily run through all of the possible scenarios.

Like most things in life there are good and bad things to every personality trait. I’m actually very competitive. So competitive I have to limit who I play/do certain things with so I don’t get too hype. All these people were passing me. It started rubbing me the wrong way.  Then a woman passed me. I might have been able to let that pass cause she did look like she was in hella good shape, but the heffa had the nerve to say something to me as she went by! It was in German so I’m not 100% sure what it was, but I recognized the tone. I recognize indignation. This biatch had the nerve to be indignant with ME?! Not all black people train in the thin mountain air 6 days a week! That mess fired me UP! For me, anyone else could pass me, but not that lil ugly midget. I chased that biotch down and passed her! I even said, “Now what!?” when I passed her. And then my legs said the same thing to me right after. “Yeah, now what negro!? If you don’t keep up this pace she just gonna pass you again! Your ego just killed us. We gonna die if we keep running like this!” I’m so competitive the thought of that woman passing me again was too much to bear. I was determined to not let her pass me again! The dumbest decision in the history of dumb decisions.

I tried every trick I learned from my years of running track to just keep moving, focused on moving my arms, leaned forward a bit more so my momentum would propel me forward, focused on lifting my knees up high. That got me through about 500 meters. As I’m puffing my way through the course trying to stay ahead of my nemesis I see a number on a tree.. “2”. WTF is that meant to be?? That’s a problem with being an over thinker. Most might have ignored it and kept focused. I was utterly confused. “Soooo does that 2 mean I’ve FINISHED my second kilometer or I’m just STARTING my second kilometer?” It had felt like I’d been running for days by that point so if I was just starting my second kilometer I didn’t think I was gonna make it. For a while I’d heard this pounding in my ears. I assumed it was my heart working double time. Then I realized it was drumming. The race organizers had set up different drumming groups at various points along the course. Most of them were African drumming groups but it didn’t matter. I know it sounds crazy but those drums gave me LIFE! I started matching my steps to the beat of the drums. It gave me a little oomph in my step! When I realized there was more than one I pushed it a little harder so I could get within earshot of the next one that much faster. I started passing people! Ok, there were still hella people passing me but I was actually passing healthy men and not only special needs children and the handicapped. I’d found my zone! I was in my little 5K groove putt putting along. Then I saw a water station. I mean, great idea in theory. People are running, exerting themselves, they get thirsty. You provide water for them to quench that thirst. Wonderful! They should provide a pre-race seminar on how to drink water from a plastic cup while you’re running. When you’re out of shape and race tired you can focus on running or focus on drinking, you can NOT do both at the same time. My brain chose to use all functions to keep putting one foot in front of the other. So I damn near drowned myself. I squeezed the cup too hard and water shot down my throat and up my nose at the same time. I snoughed; that’s snorted and coughed at the same time. I had one thought in my brain as this is happening, “Only a dumb MF can drown in the middle of a 5K race.” F%ck me and this damn 5K.

So, 8 hours later, or what felt like it, I heard one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard in years, “Last kilometer!” Oh sweet baby Jesus the end is near! The entire course had been mostly just the runners and trees. We were running through a park. But the last kilometer there were more bystanders and co-workers of the runners. I have to admit it was kinda cool to have people cheering you on. Then I turn around one corner and it became something out of a dream sequence. The lane narrowed and on both sides of the running lane it was packed with people waving flags and cheering and yelling. I felt like Superman! Ok, a crippled Superman. I used every last bit of my energy to pick up some speed. I switched into sprinter mode! I was pumping my arms and running on the balls of my feet. I heard the wind whooshing past! I was zooming past people! The theme song from Chariots of Fire starting playing in my head and everything was in slow motion. I’d done it! I’d not only finished but finished strong! Then SCREEEECH! That running lane? There was a turn hidden by all of the spectators. That wasn’t the end of the race! I literally said out loud, “Da F&CK!?” What sadistic bastard would design a course like this?? I still had like 400 meters to go. I was done. FINISHED! I had nothing left to give. I didn’t walk, but that beautiful form I’d had just a minute ago was out the window. My head felt like it weighed 8,382 pounds. It was leaning so far back I could see the moon. My powerful arm motion was reduced to doggy paddling. My legs were so swollen from lactic acid I thought I was going to start a fire how hard they were rubbing together. I looked a hot mess. I finally saw the last runner on my team and lurched and wobbled to him and passed off the baton. I walked to the course exit like a new born baby elephant. Back at the client’s station and these MF’s are asking me about the part of the track they call the “fan mile”. Apparently every rookie makes that mistake on the course. All those people I thought were cheering us on? They were former runners laughing at our ignorance. Sure a few were probably yelling out warnings but who can concentrate that late in the race! That’s some old B.S. that my own team didn’t warn me. Stuff like that makes me not trust Germans.

Prologue

After an hour of stretching and relaxing I’m able to stand again. Everyone is leaving and I see the woman who started this whole thing. She recognizes me and comes up to me. For all I know she passed me at the end when I shot my load too soon and she’s coming to gloat. She says something in German but by this point my brain is barely able to register English. So in English she says, “I told you to keep up at the start and you passed me. I wanted to make sure I had a chance to speak to you after.” Wait, wait, WAAAAAAIT a minute! You mean to tell me she was trying to holla at a brotha?!?! She was trying to flirt and I misinterpreted it??!! Are you f#cking kidding me? All that pain and suffering for nothing?!? See, that’s why I hate running.

TRAINING FOR MY FIRST 5K

As a teenager I was fast. I mean turn off my bedroom light and in my bed before it was dark fast. Ok, I’m exaggerating, a bit. I did have world class speed though; AAU Junior Olympic medalist speed. Now, you would think one blessed with all of this natural ability for running would enjoy it as a past time or look at it as a comfort. Well if you thought that you’d be wrong. I hate running. Matter of fact there are certain times I detest it. Personally, I see it as a pointless activity that major shoe companies concocted as a means to sell overly expensive excessively specialized shoes. Absolute waste of time. With that, these are my observations on me training for and running my first 5K race.

Now, why did I run a 5K race if I am so strongly anti-running? I was tricked! A client of mine, law firm, casually asked what my late afternoon plans were for the third week of June on Friday. I often schedule appointments with clients casually so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. I was honest and said nothing. Next thing I know I’m signed up for a corporate 5x5K race. Bastards! Never trust a lawyer! Some of you might be inclined to say a 5K race isn’t long at all and I’m being a big baby. Well f#ck you. Matter of fact, f#ck you and yo momma. Her momma too AND ya uncle and aunties. I told you how much I hate running dammit!

At the time of the announcement of my inclusion on this team I had exactly 3 weeks to train. In addition to my world class speed I also have super human procrastination powers. The first time I motivated myself enough to train was 2 weeks before the race. For a normal 5k this would’ve been enough to prevent embarrassment at coming in last. Unfortunately, the employees of the law firm told me the Senior Partner who “asked” me to run is extremely competitive and doesn’t believe in any ‘just finishing is victory enough’ bullsh%t. To add to that, the other Senior Partner is in a running club and consistently clocks in at sub 22 minutes for his 5k. This guy is easily pushing 50 also. I felt like I had to step up my game!  My first training consisted of the treadmill. I hate running so I don’t need much of an excuse not to run, but constant rain and chilly temperatures made it clear the treadmill was as good as it was going to get that week. I made it through about 2 kilometers then literally said “This 5k can suck a dick”, then I went and lifted weights. If I passed out during the middle of the race I could at least look good when the EMTs wheeled my black behind to the Ambulance. With that thought I went shopping after and bought some new running gear, some nice running shoes and running shorts. The shorts were the perfect length to show off my nicely muscled thighs that are absolutely useless for running a 5K. 

Me during that first practice 5K

Running is so boring to me! People tell me how running is like yoga. Their brain turns off and they got lost in the mindlessness of the act. Well those people are brain damaged. Irreversibly brain damaged. My thoughts become laser focused. “Negro WTF are you DOING!?! There is no police chasing us so for the love of God STOP!” After a couple more attempts on the treadmill I figured it wasn’t the best place to always train and I needed to run outside to get a feel for the terrain. The first time I decided to run outside the weather was decent, not too hot or cold. I had €20 tucked inside my sock in case I needed to catch a taxi to get back home. I had my iPod full of old school tunes. I was set! I got about 5 minutes into my run and my legs and lungs started fighting like a bunch of 5 year olds. “That’s my oxygen! Give it back! I had it first! He took my oxygen!!” I knew I was in trouble if 5 minutes in I was having difficulty. I mean, if I live to be 100 I can finish a 5K. The problem was there were 4 other people depending on me to not only finish but get a decent time. The fact they believed their jobs depended on me having a good time was motivation enough. I learned something else during those first 5 minutes also. My ear canals are deformed. I mean, why else would my expensive running earphones keep falling out of my ears after every three steps. Almost 40 years old and I’ve lived my entire life with deformed ear canals. No way are my earphones pieces of crap that I wasted my hard-earned money on. Needless to say I didn’t run a full 5K that day.

So, the Monday before the race I decided to run a full 5K no matter how long it took me. If my memory serves me correct I finished on Wednesday afternoon. At least that’s what my legs felt like. I was DONE after that practice 5K. I live in a 5 story walk up which is more like a 6 story walk up because in Germany the ground floor isn’t counted as the first floor. I am not religious in the least but I almost found Jesus walking up those stairs. Or I was hoping he would find me and help carry me the rest of the way up. I might have offered up my first unborn child for bottle of cold water and a push too. I lift weights, regularly. But the pain I felt after that 5K was a whole nother other as we say where I’m from. I wasn’t even running fast! For the first time in like 17 years I took a bath. I had to cause standing up to take a shower was not an option.  I was not looking forward to that race. The next observations are on the actual race itself. To be continued...

TO MY EX...

About three months ago my ex and I said our final goodbye. I wish I could say we ended our relationship as adults who still have a lot of love for each other but… Maybe that’s why it ended the way it did, in a storm of confusion and uncertainty and lightning strikes of pain and anger. Now that the tidal waves of my heart have once again settled into a restless calm can I write these words…

Often, when a relationship ends one is quick to apply the salve of blame to their own ego. We tell ourselves he or she didn't have this or that essential quality or he or she couldn't do this important thing. I’m as guilty as anyone for committing that sin. However, in reality I owe my ex so much. I cannot remember the last time I began a relationship wanting instead of hoping, or believing instead of wondering. With every part of me I truly WANTED us to work. I wanted us to be… together, married, a family, just be. Hollywood has brainwashed so many of us into holding half-truths and myths as facts. The reality is, real desire isn't craving another’s body, it is making a conscious decision that you want something and doing everything in your earthly power to make it so. Unfortunately, these days it seems this type of want is only attributed to creating monetary wealth but not to building a lasting relationship. Being with my ex taught me that. She awakened a desire that wanted to be with one woman and build something lasting on a foundation so strong that not even Hercules himself could shake.

So often we confuse what we want someone to be with what we ourselves need from a relationship. My ex fulfilled many of my wants, it’s just.. I finally learned what I need to have. In the end it wasn't about her, but all about me. What I need is so simple and uncomplicated and I never realized that before my last relationship. I need to be able to be me in a relationship. It sounds so obvious, yet how many people are 100% themselves in a relationship? How many act a certain way not to cause ripples or agitate their supposedly impenetrable connection? If one does not feel comfortable being themselves around the one they love than true intimacy is impossible.  I’m painfully aware I’m not the easiest person to date let alone be in a relationship with. All of my exes will vouch for that. I appreciate anyone who puts up with me for a day let alone a year. I’m still figuring out how to learn life’s lessons without hurting those I love. And I loved my ex, still do. I rarely let people close and I didn't let her in, I pulled her to me and enveloped her completely. She allowed me into her world, made her family my family and gave her love freely. That we ended in no way diminishes the significance of the journey we shared together. We are on different life paths now, such is life. She needs to be with someone who she can feel totally at ease with. She deserves that just as much as I do.

I often think of my ex. Natural considering the profound effect loving her had on me. Once the haze of a past relationship clears and hindsight can cut through the fog of regret is often when one has real clarity on an event. I was provided the opportunity to get to know an amazing woman who underestimates her greatness. Our time together taught me invaluable lessons about life, love and myself. The universe brought her into my world for a reason and I am forever altered, for the better. Sometimes lessons involve tears. I now believe that to be so that the knowledge we require is imprinted on our hearts forever.  So to my ex, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, for everything. 

FINDING A ROOMMATE IN BERLIN (My Story)

So, it may seem like I don’t blog anymore since this is my first post in AGES! I do post, just more on my business blog at blog.funomenal.com. Starting a business is a lot of work and can be time consuming. As a result my personal blog posts greatly suffered. But I made a point to drop a couple of personal posts before 2015.

With that, I've been in a new apartment back in my favorite district of Berlin, Kreuzberg, for a few months now. My new roommate is cool as hell! He’s a writer. Often he’s in his room writing what I assume to be the next great German novel. Or a screen play about a roommate who kills and cooks his black American roommate. No idea but I hope it’s the first. He loves classic 90’s Hip hop and black women ALMOST as much as I do! I appreciate him. Seriously. I remember quite vividly what I went through to find this apartment before I lucked into this place. Let me tell you about a few of the people I met while looking for a new apartment…

When people are offering a room in their place I totally understand setting rules. A non-smoker saying you can’t smoke inside, or someone banning pets. I get it. Life is about compromise and you move in with a person you have to concede some things. What I don’t understand is a person trying to dictate how I can live my life if I live with them. I looked at one place owned by an older French woman who was an artist. This woman was a FRENCH ARTIST. She had the super strong accent and the airy whimsical way of describing a situation. Her apartment was well… it was minimalist at best. I thought she’d just moved in and was still figuring out the furniture arrangement. She’d lived in the place for 15 years! The only real furniture was a small kitchen table with two chairs and a desk in her bedroom. That was it! No sofa, no other chairs, tables, nothing, just that! In both bedrooms were a single thin mattress on the floor. Let me repeat that, a SINGLE THIN mattress directly on the floor. Not two mattresses, not one on top of a raised platform, just a lonely twin size mattress on the cold hard floor. When I asked her about the lack of furniture she said that’s how she wanted it. Too many man made things in her apartment “disturbed” her creative energy was her response. Ok, ok. Creative energy flow disturbance is the issue. But that disturbance can also go through walls from the other bedroom that a person is paying for and interfere with your art all the way on the other side of a rather large apartment? And does a second mattress also sends out bad vibes too? Does the brand of mattress help at all? And do synthetic material also affect your brain waves? Only cotton and wool clothing allowed? I can compromise to the Nth degree, however, I cannot pay someone to live like I’m in a Thai prison.  Needless to say that apartment was never really an option.

The second room I saw already was sketchy to me from the start. It was cheap, like super-duper cheap. I’m from the school that if something is very cheap then something must be wrong with it. But I decided to check it out anyway. Went to the apartment and sure enough.. very cheap often times is equal to super ghetto. The door to the building was locked, but there was a huge hole in the glass to the front door so someone could just stick their hand through and unlock it. I have to say though, the building itself wasn’t really the problem. It was the guy who lived in the apartment that was the problem. He was like a human Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh. He was so freakin depressing! He was about 50 years old and sounded like his entire life had been one big “Fuck you buddy!” from the universe. He was a private music teacher because he couldn’t get a band to accept him as a member, he wasn’t making enough teaching music so that’s why he needed a roommate and even then he might not be able to afford the rent. If he couldn’t get more private students he’d have to move back to his small village and live with his mother who had dementia. The last roommate had left without paying the rent for the last two months. He was OK with that because he must have done something to offend her. Why else would she not pay the rent? So he believed. He promised to stay out of the way if I brought a woman around so he wouldn’t scare them with his looks. Me being me I tried to be polite and offer words of encouragement. Get him to see things differently you know? But maaan, after like 10 minutes I had to get the HELL out of there! I almost ran into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon to try and slash my wrists! A lot of people have self-esteem issues and are insecure. It’s just, when you are talking someone into taking a room by saying they can pay less because you are such a horrible person when you’ve already said you can barely afford to pay your share as is.. It’s not really a convincing sales pitch. Poor guy. I searched the news for a week after that visit expecting to read about a single man around 50 who hung himself with guitar string in his small shabby apartment.

The last apartment I saw can best be described as all that glitters isn’t gold. Set up an appointment to see this place and I walk in and the place is DA BOMB!! It’s a very nice, totally renovated apartment. Everything is top of the line, custom fitted, just unbelievable. What would’ve been my room is HUGE! Had a massive plasma flat screen, separate seating area in the room with a sofa and table, nice little balcony. Kitchen had a gas range like you’d find on a cooking show with a fridge that would be at home in an American kitchen. I had stars in my eyes! I just knew I was moving in! Even did the “I found my apartment dance.” So, the owner of the apartment, a younger German male in his late 20’s, says he wants to get to know me better. Fair enough, that’s normal in Germany. They view the person who might live with them as more a potential friend than just someone who pays to live with them. My Spidey senses did start to tingle when he offered me a white wine in a glass the size of a baby’s head, but that shower! It’s the type with the massive shower head so it feels like you’re in a rain forest when you’re showering! So we’re in the living room talking and chitchatting watching TV. He asks me what I do blah blah blah. Then I ask him what he does. He’s a flight attendant. My Spidey senses are buzzing at this point. Now, I’m sure there are men who are straight who are hair dressers and flight attendants. I’m positive they exist. I personally have not run across any yet in my life. And that alone is not enough to worry me. Even if he is gay, it doesn’t mean he finds me attractive and wants to get in my pants. I pushed aside my homophobic thoughts and relaxed. This guy excuses himself and goes to the kitchen again and comes back with shots of Jägermeister. Shots of Jägermeister?? At an apartment viewing?? Mhmm.. I say I need to use the bathroom, but take the shot before I go into the bathroom, didn’t swallow it and then spit it out in the bathroom sink. Something told me being drunk around this dude might not be a good idea. I still was trying to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. This apartment was too nice to give up on! I composed myself in the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and came back in the living room and sit back down on the sofa.  On the flat screen TV looks like a penis. My brain and my eyes started having this conversation between themselves.

Eyes: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! That’s a dick!”

Brain: “No, no. Couldn’t be. Contacts must be cloudy, look again.”

Eyes: “Muthafucca I know what a dick look like! It’s dick goddammit!”

Brain: “Are you 100% sure? Cause if that’s a dick then we are in trouble and we need to make damn sure that’s a dick before we react.”

Eyes: “Hmm.. Ok. Let’s see. No, actually, I was wrong it’s not a dick. It’s TWO dicks! IT’S GAY PORN, IT’S GAY PORN!!”

At that point my brain went into self-preservation mode and did all it could to protect my innocence, my eyes shut involuntarily as tight as possible and my hands went to my ears to block out all noises. I started humming gospel songs to prevent random sounds from the television making their way through my hands and I slowly rocked back and forth trying to find my happy place. Situations like that show a person’s true character. Maybe another man would’ve punched him in the face. Hard. Repeatedly. I honestly didn't want to hurt the guy’s feelings! Dammit I am so not a thug! If I remember correctly I believe I told him the wine didn’t agree with me and I needed to go because I was gonna be sick. What I DO remember is him saying I might feel better if I got undressed and laid down in his bed.. (-_-) That was the end of that apartment. There was even heated flooring in the bathroom! *sigh. After I’m out of the apartment this guy texts me, “Oh why did you leave? You could’ve slept over.” Etc etc. Again, I tried to be uber polite and explained I had a girlfriend AND I wasn't gay. At all. Like, not at all at all. He said OK and that he understood and the room was mine if I wanted it. He then proceeded to send me Whatsapp photos of his ass… Since then my phone hasn't worked the same since. His ass broke my phone!

Maybe it’s not a good idea if my current roommate reads this post. He might raise the rent on me knowing what I went through to find where I am now!

Epilogue

About a month ago I’m in my favorite café in my neighborhood. I’m relaxing, doing some work on my laptop. Two guys come in and sit across the room at a table. I pay no attention at all and only look up because they walk past. I only take notice when my ears pick up, “Flight attendant for a major German airline.” Then I paid attention. Yep. It was him. Mr. Gay-porn-showing-break-a-phone-wit-his-ass in the flesh! I started having flashbacks and almost hyperventilated on the spot! I had a hat on and pulled it as far down as it would go. Because of course that is disguise enough for a muscular black man in a café full of white Germans. Idiot. I didn't know what else to do! I packed up my bag as slowly and quietly as I could. I literally took the form of Voldemort in the first Harry Potter movie and slid out my chair. I dropped my jacket but because I was afraid bending down to pick it up would ruin my perfect disguise I didn’t try to pick it up. I had hid my face but not my ass! I kicked my jacket all the way through the coffee shop until I got outside. I picked that bitch up and ran home like the police were chasing me. At one point I thought I heard somebody yell out my name and a “Momma!” escaped my lips. I couldn't help it! I admit it! I was scared!  Besides, everybody know yellin’ “Momma!” creates a force field of protection around you. Say what you want to, but I made it home safely.  

Epilogue Deluxe

This guy now follows me on Facebook. Great. Just f*cking great. 

OBSERVATIONS ON BEING "UN-AMERICAN"

I am recently getting over the death of a loved one. My computer hard drive bit the dust last month. It was a very emotional experience for me as I had saved a significant amount of data on my external drive and the cloud network, but I still had some important things saved on my desktop that will be missed. Namely, a few personal blog entries I was oh so close to finishing. I am old school in that I write all of my blog entries out in longhand first and then type it out. My cleaning lady, who I am convinced is sadistic, “accidently” threw out all of my notes for my blog posts. I could rewrite them again, but you know how it is, wouldn’t be the same! There is a silver lining though, one post was specifically about my observations on US culture when it comes to sports, a la the Super Bowl. As I held out hope that I would be able to save my hard drive, a few events have taken place that allowed me to broaden my perspective a bit on that blog entry. I am American of course, but living outside of the states for over 10 years has… altered my views on some quintessential American ideas and concepts that make me almost, dare I say un-American.

I am starting a business here in Berlin, FUNomenal GmbH, and recently saw a post in an entertainment industry forum titled “New minimum wage scare you?” The author of the thread wanted to rant about the big government liberals who had the audacity to raise minimum wage and how communist it was to not let the market determine what a fair hourly wage should be. Now, where my observations come in to play aren’t about if raising the minimum wage is right or not. What I observed is how individualist and self-centered the American responses tended to be. Really, I observed, how most Americans, and this is a very small segment because most of the participants in this forum are entrepreneurs so I get many of their fears, but most of the posts were all about their bottom line and how the government had no right to change their way of life. Now this forum is quite international so the Australians commented that the $10.10 the federal government was proposing paled in comparison to the $16.88 mandatory hourly wage that is in place there. The British contingent reminded the Americans that they only had to worry about an hourly wage and not an additional 15% tax on top of the wage for the social benefits they are required by law to pay. Someone from Belgium chimed in about the much lower taxes Americans pay than most Europeans. The Americans were hearing NONE of that. It was all about how they were going to have less profits, how they were going to have to cut back on personal spending, or how raising prices would drive away business. The Canadians, bless their hearts, commented that they already paid their workers above minimum wage because they extra wage they gave allowed them to expect more from their workers  which in turn provided a more fulfilling customer service experience for the guests who in turn spent more money at their locations. It was such an interesting dynamic taking place in the forum. It made me wonder when did the culture of the US change that even common people have lost the feeling that we are responsible for our fellow citizens?

The discussion wasn’t about welfare but paying workers a little more. As I said, I understand the apprehension of the American business owners, but international owners were trying to describe how they automated some attractions to decrease the amount of workers they needed, or how the extra pay attracted higher quality applicants, or explained how US business owners still had it easier than their counterparts in Europe or Australia. It was falling on deaf ears. It became a ‘bash the government in office’ thread. I made the mistake of calling out one person who said that, “This current administration has no right to dictate what I do in my household or my business. Liberals always fail to realize the danger of big government.” This is where the impish instigator in me came out. I asked the author of that comment if determining the level of pay for US citizens was the same level of government interference as deciding if homosexuals can marry, what a woman can or can’t do with her body, going to “war” on terror and monitoring our phone calls, emails and mail without a search warrant. Yeah.. kinda stirred up the hornets’ nest with that comment. But point still being, when did the land of the free become so.. German?

In Berlin I always express to people I love Germans as individuals. Very nice and honest people who are quite open minded and sincere. Put them in the context of their culture and it is very difficult at times. They tend to be very rigid and don’t allow for creativity or alternative ways of thinking. That is what the US has become? It was like a pack of hungry wild dogs were thrown a piece of steak the way the American participants ganged up on me. Honestly, I LOVED it! I’m logical to a point so countering every argument with irrefutable fact brings me an unnatural and perverse sense of joy. At the same time it made me feel extremely out of touch with my own “people”. When I actually can stomach watching CNN, NBC or FOX online here in Berlin it seems stories presenting just the facts are in short supply. I can form my own opinion thank you very much and so just do your job and give me the information I need to do that. Has the US as a nation lost the ability to feel empathy for our fellow citizens? I believe it’s sad when a story of a Hollywood couple separating tops the news instead a possible war in the Ukraine, or Miley Cyrus kissing Katy Perry on the lips lights up the blogosphere but nary a word on the riots going on in Venezuela. But I GET it because it’s not happening in the United States where people can actually see it or record it and post it to YouTube or Facebook.  But McDonald’s and Wal-Mart workers picketing for sustainable living wages is happening there! We’re talking about people you see on your way to work, who you pass in the streets; your kids probably even play together!

As I said, I understand the fears of a small business owner, and I said as much in my posts in the forum. I also included that an entrepreneur by the very definition of the word tends to be able to adapt to change and see it as an opportunity not a detriment. A single mother working trying to make ends meet on $7.25 doesn’t have too many options and just wants to be able to take care of her family. Is it now in the states that one is for or against with no hope of being in the center on an issue? And it seems a very vocal minority in the states has made it perfectly acceptable to label people as "un-American" which they use as a derogatory slur. That is extremely disheartening in my humble opinion.

So, my observations on the United States at the moment? We are lost as a nation. The principles that once use to guide our us, real or imagined, are no longer a factor in our decision making process. No matter if it is the government deciding on foreign or domestic policy or our interaction with fellow Americans we have forgotten that our nation is only as strong as the bond the people share in that country. When I first began to travel in 2001 there was a sense of power and majesty bestowed upon me when I said I was from the USA. Now, I am more likely to get hard stares or smirks. I cannot blame a particular administration for the change of heart I notice in my travels. But I can question my fellow Americans when did it change so drastically? When did we lose faith in our fellow Americans? And more importantly, what can we do to get it back? Or is all lost? And does it make me un-American to even ask these questions? 

BERLIN. FUN and HAPPY?

While at dinner with my business partner and his associate we began discussing why we all decided to move to Berlin. During the conversation my business partner suddenly stated that Berlin is a city to have fun, but not a place to find happiness. He believes one must go elsewhere for that. His associate immediately agreed.  I’d never even thought of Berlin along those lines before, but after his comment I had to agree as well. Berlin is a great place to have a lot of fun, but it is not a place one searches for happiness.

Berlin as a city is perfectly suited to have fun. I’m not saying Berlin is the most fun city in the world, only that the infrastructure in place is conducive to having fun. It’s one of the few major cities in the world built around the public transportation system which means one is not dependent on having a car to reach your preferred destination for the evening. Additionally, there is never a need for a designated driver! No unlucky soul reduced to coca cola all night and fighting to keep inebriated friends from standing on tables to sing off key 80’s hits at the top of their lungs with a cocktail in their hand while swaying dangerously. Throw in the relatively low cost of living and calling in sick on Monday morning doesn’t affect your ability to pay rent as it would in New York. A true Berliner can take €40 and eat at a decent restaurant, go to a bar after for drinks, hit up a club later and still have enough for a döner kebab at 5am as you wait for the subway to take you back to your centrally located apartment. That same €40 in London gets you dinner at a dodgy restaurant with questionable meat, share a pint with friends cause a cocktail is too expensive, and then standing outside a club you’d love to get in. After that you have just enough to catch the train to your dark hole of a room that is located on the outer edge of the city that you slave away to be able to afford. Berlin is a city in old Europe with the energy of the new. This clash creates a truly intoxicating mixture that breeds...fun. But happiness?

Every city in the world has a history steeped in sadness and pain. Excluding the former Yugoslavia republic, Berlin’s is a little more recent. No major European capital was forcibly split in half and physically divided against its will. Maybe the sadness of those separated families permeated the very fabric of the buildings. Or it could be the Berlin culture that even by German standards is very cold and unwelcoming. People crave social interaction on a level deeper than what a night at a club can provide. Berlin has the highest percentage of singles in Germany. Not surprisingly Berlin also has the highest rates of online dating in Germany. In a city known for having fun, why would people need the internet to meet people to date? That’s a second blog post but you can see where I’m going with this. Fun requires very superficial things while happiness requires some sense of connection.

This should probably lead to how I define happiness. Someone said to me that it is impossible to ALWAYS be happy but being content is perfectly realistic. I don’t know about that. It’s a conversation to have sitting around with friends debating over a good bottle of wine. Happiness, contentment or whatever word you decide to use is difficult to find in Berlin. My dinner companions suggested one needs to consistently take “breaks” from Berlin. Taking time off from work is obviously necessary, but they are convinced a Berliner literally needs to get out of the city limits. Get on a plane and go to an altogether different location and breathe non Berlin air. It is the only way to rid oneself of the disconnection and antagonistic mood that pervades the streets, according to them. It does alter my way of thinking about Berlin. I realized I have been chasing happiness in Berlin lately while not having any fun. How would my experience in Berlin change if I only expected fun but tempered my hope on happiness? For one, I probably would be less bitter and spend more energy on having fun. With starting a business my fun quotient has drastically dropped of late. Throw in most of the people I considered friends moving away and I rarely if ever go out in Berlin searching for.. fun. On the other hand I am constantly lamenting my unhappiness with certain aspects of the city. I need to just accept Berlin for what it is.. a mistress with some great qualities but she’ll never be wifey material. I’m OK with that. Some love affairs last longer than marriages. It gives me a much healthier perspective of my lover. Berlin, she doesn’t make me happy but she’s always down to have fun. I can live with that.