Chapter 1: The First Escape
Hello noble reader. Before you get yourself agitated, contacting the authorities of the various countries in which this story will find its settings, allow me to let you know, that there never, in the real or imagined versions of this story, existed the intention to steal art. Whatsmore, no art was or ever will be stolen, unrightfully removed or relocated against the will of its owners by the author of this blog. And yet, everything that you read is true.
It begins with an escape.
It was a brisk March day when I woke up, looked around my room on Krossener Street and realized, what I needed was an escape. I had lived with the most awful roommate I could imagine for going on six months, and the prospect of even another day seemed suddenly unthinkable. I went to work. I began frantically emailing every apartment posting I could find online. That night I came home, sat my two roommates down, and broke the news. I would move out before the end of the month.
Chapter 2: The Search
Apartment searching is never an easy task. It is however more complicated when the search must be conducted in a foreign language on a tight time table. Fortunately, my standards were at an all time low. After living with a roommate who was so beastly, I was willing to live just about anywhere. But... not ANYWHERE.
The visits:
1) The bed with a hole: A tiny apartment being shown by a very nice guy who had built a non-removable high-bed which took up half the room. The only trouble is that the high-bed had a large, deadly hole in the middle. I would have fallen to a certain death.
2) Middle-aged chain spoking depressive: Nuff said. If you are older than 45 you should say so in your posting.
3) If it´s too small for a bed, you can´t list it as an apartment: Although this out of the way apartment got extra points for having an extremely attractive landlord who lives nextdoor and swore he "knew how to install a kitchen", you just can´t list something as a living space if it is not large enough to fit a bed.
Hello noble reader. Before you get yourself agitated, contacting the authorities of the various countries in which this story will find its settings, allow me to let you know, that there never, in the real or imagined versions of this story, existed the intention to steal art. Whatsmore, no art was or ever will be stolen, unrightfully removed or relocated against the will of its owners by the author of this blog. And yet, everything that you read is true.
It begins with an escape.
It was a brisk March day when I woke up, looked around my room on Krossener Street and realized, what I needed was an escape. I had lived with the most awful roommate I could imagine for going on six months, and the prospect of even another day seemed suddenly unthinkable. I went to work. I began frantically emailing every apartment posting I could find online. That night I came home, sat my two roommates down, and broke the news. I would move out before the end of the month.
Chapter 2: The Search
Apartment searching is never an easy task. It is however more complicated when the search must be conducted in a foreign language on a tight time table. Fortunately, my standards were at an all time low. After living with a roommate who was so beastly, I was willing to live just about anywhere. But... not ANYWHERE.
The visits:
1) The bed with a hole: A tiny apartment being shown by a very nice guy who had built a non-removable high-bed which took up half the room. The only trouble is that the high-bed had a large, deadly hole in the middle. I would have fallen to a certain death.
2) Middle-aged chain spoking depressive: Nuff said. If you are older than 45 you should say so in your posting.
3) If it´s too small for a bed, you can´t list it as an apartment: Although this out of the way apartment got extra points for having an extremely attractive landlord who lives nextdoor and swore he "knew how to install a kitchen", you just can´t list something as a living space if it is not large enough to fit a bed.
4) Mandatory Man-Hating Bonding Time: These two cat loving ladies, separated from each other by decades have a weekly appointment to cook dinner for each other and talk about how society plans to keep them down based on their reproductive organs. Sorry girls. This feminist declines.
And finally:
A last ditch effort. Just minutes after he posted, I called the writer of a no nonsense post, visited within the hour and had an offer to live with a totally normal person in a totally normal apartment that happens to be across the street from (ok about to nerd out big time) one of my favorite monument/historic sites in the city, which memorializes the Berlin Wall.
From there I just had to survive a few more weeks before I could officially move into the new place. Well, the idea of more time with just a door between me and my ogreish (it´s a word - i checked) roommate was more than I could handle. So, what did I do? Well first of all, as the holiday of Purim was about to take place, I baked large numbers of hamentaschen (triangular shaped cookies that recall another evil person, the antagonistic Haman of the Megillah) hoping to quiet the evil beast with and toss cookies at him, should he attempt to attack (i think it works with bears). I also invited dear Hopkins friend and former (good) roommate, Anna Y, for a last minute visit from London to Berlin.
Finally, a friend helped me move my things to the new apartment, and then it was so long to Berlin for two weeks.
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