‘Thank you very much’ I said gratefully, shaking the geezers hand as helped me get my bag out of the boot. ‘No problem’ he replied then got back in his car and drove off into the night. He very helpfully dropped me off at a metro station on the outskirts of town, so my only challenge now was to figure out just where exactly the centre of Hamburg and what was I to do when I eventually got there. Just an hour and a half earlier I was left wondering whether I had just made my very last terrible mistake when we turned onto that pitch black industrial estate, but as it turned out that incoherent grumble my new friend was giving me was actually him trying to convey that he needed ‘petrol’. We drove around Bremen for a while until he found a petrol station, It was only when he got out of the car to ask for directions, leant into the back seat and sheepishly took his bag with him, apologising as he left that I suddenly realised he was just as apprehensive of me as I was of him. This put me right at ease. Over the course of our journey I learnt from his very limited English that he was in Germany to see doctors for his heart condition, and that he’d traveled all the way to some far off German town to buy up the car were driving in. I particularly enjoyed us knocking 180K on the Autobahn for the final few kilometers of the journey.
I’d arrived in Hamburg city centre suddenly realising that it was 2am on a Saturday night and I was in a city I knew absolutely nothing about. The first thing I noticed was the amount of homeless and generally shady looking geezers loitering in the streets and doorways to buildings, secondly the city is filled with prostitutes! And I mean hundreds of them! At first I thought I was just attracting attention when the odd bird would smile at me and say hello, then through my exhaustion I realised that in fact the majority of the women on the streets were in deed ladies of the night. One even took me by the arm and tried to drag me into a hotel explicitly asking me to fuck her, despite my knackered and sweaty appearance and the huge bag on my back.
After a good while of walking into every hotel in site and hopelessly requesting a room for a night I eventually found one place who offered me a room in one of their sister hotels just a few streets away. The room had no bathroom but I did have air conditioning and breakfast in the morning all for €60. There are a few things I’ll always say with complete earnest that Britain does better then the rest of the world and one of those things is breakfast. To this day I still cannot fathom how an entire continent gets by on a breakfast of ham and cheese rolls, croissants and cold cuts. I couldn’t imagine what eating that on a hangover must be like. More disappointing then a vegan fry up.
The following day after checking into The Generator, the fancy hostel right opposite Hamburg Central station, I contemplated hiring a bike but reconsidered for the sake of my funds. Of course I regretted this straight away when I decided to see the city on foot. The afternoon was hot and humid and I didn’t take into account just how large Hamburg was. My goal was to reach the St Pauli district. I’d been recommend the Reeperbahn by the car of geezers that took me to Bremen, I also wanted to have a look at the St Pauli football stadium and see if they did stadium tours (I couldn’t find any) a little bit of reading also told me that this was the red light district of the area and as loyal listeners already know I always feel a lot more at home in the seedier parts of town.
Walking through what was a mainly shut Hamburg city centre (it was a Sunday) I stopped at different food markets for Wurst and half litre of beer and was already warmed by the much healthier price tags on booze and food. I listened to a fair chunk of the David Sedaris audio book ‘Naked’ and eventually found myself in the historic port district of St Pauli.
My first stop was in a Celtic/St Pauli crossover bar. I wasn’t aware of this but apparently the two teams are sister clubs. It was a small gaff with a couple of surly looking locals propping up the bar. All they seemed to sell was Astra by the bottle, which was a refreshing €1. I roamed around the area walking up and down all the different lanes admiring all the sex shops, brothels and strip clubs and the council notices stating that the district doesn’t accept sexism, homophobia or racism. No wonder everyone loves the football team of the area, it’s got the potential for a lot of fun. St Pauli FC seems to dominate the area with nearly every building displaying the skull and cross bones insignia and stickers representing the football club stuck to nearly every lamppost.
For some reason whenever I saw an English or Irish themed pub on my travels I felt obliged to have a look. What did sway me with this particular establishment however was that it boasted €3 pints on beers from the British isles so naturally I thought I’d wet my whistle. The pub had all the usual British tat on the walls, Beef eaters, London Underground signs, Union Jacks and so forth. The typically German barmaid invited me to sit at the bar and chat with the locals. The geezer to the right of me was a shit faced German bloke who could barely speak English but tried his best to tell me about all the Canadian musics he liked. To the left of me was a Scottish sailor who was docked up for a few days. In the beer garden was a party of English geezers on a stag do or Birthday beano playing a rowdy drinking game, but things got properly surreal when I went for a piss, came out to the sound of Rod Stewarts ‘Maggie May’ sparking up on the jukebox and as I looked out of the window it started to piss down. I got so disorientated I thought that maybe the whole trip up until this point was just a day dream and I was in reality just sat day dreaming in some random pub somewhere back home. After a few pints and some good small talk with the sailor who told me about his tax problems I set off back to the hostel. Thanked the friendly barmaid and the pissed up German next to me, advised the Sailor to register himself as a resident in international waters as to avoid his huge tax bill then shot off onto the streets again to have a look at the dock.
The afternoon drinking had got me feeling all tired. I thought I’d utilise the hostels happy hour prices then get an early one. By this point I’d sold the idea to myself that the following night I’d wet my whistle on the Reeperbahn red light district, I’d checked my funds and noticed that I still had quite a bit of disposable income. All that abstaining from booze, drugs and meat in the lead up to my trip had afforded me enough funds to behave like a bawler for one night. I was only going to be heading further east from here on in so my trip was only going to get cheaper in theory. I went to the bar and necked a couple of beers. I felt too tired to socialise with the abundance of chatty youths congregating in the hostel bar so I went outside for a smoke and to call my folks to let them know I was still alive. I went for a walk to get myself a kebab, getting quotes from the pro’s who occupied the long road leading away from the city centre. Something about those curb crawlers didn’t sit right with me so I wondered into a sex shop, browsed the rang of smut on the shelves, then wondered into one of those wanking booths and pulled one off to a fiver’s worth of gay porn, because I felt that’s what one must do when one arrives in Germany.
The next morning I awoke with a spring in my step. I thought I’d take a walk around the back streets of St Pauli to see what little hidden bars and squats there may be for me to wet my whistle in, then move onto the Reeperbahn and wonder its inviting red light district. On the way I found some lovely parks to walk through and bars to sit in. At one bar I spotted a few cycle couriers finishing their shift with a beer, so naturally I approached them to ask how their days had gone and what the Hamburg circuit was like to work. When I mentioned to them that I spent nearly a year working the London circuit I was instantly the coolest guy in the group. With fist bumps an hand shakes all round even the offer of a beer. I always look back with a sense of regret at not getting more involved in the social aspect of the courier community in London, networking in a group that international and close knit could have really been useful for my travels. During my time on the road I never really worked up the social energy to get involved with all the socials and activities. I always would tell my self that I didn’t have the time or couldn’t really afford to go to any of the events, even when I was invited. Yet here I was, now chatting away to a group of foreign messengers from a completely different country to me.
I went for a drink at St Pauli’s football stadium, and then stayed for a bit longer once it started to rain. The football team of the area is famous for it’s liberal punk aesthetic, which it has cashed in on very handsomely. I would have liked to of bought a little souvenir but €20 for an ashtray was a bit rich for my blood. The wall at the back of the shop was covered with stickers from other ultra’s groups from around the world who have since followed in the same foot steps as the club, including that of the Clapton ultra’s who earlier this year kicked me out of their tree house because they felt I was a dreadful, evil sexist. They’d probably burst into tears walking around the Reeperbahn. What I did find food for thought however was the clubs ethos about the importance of the preservation and pride in the area and it’s workers, this meaning that the club essentially represents the dockers, strippers, whores, tranny’s and other working class folk of the district. I wonder what a Clapton Ultra’s thoughts was on the original left-wing anarchist club taking pride in their area of seedy vice. I suppose there could be a difference in one clubs ideals of taking pride in it’s historic working class area to that of the social dogma of a new breed of hipster football fans pissing about in the bottom tear of the football pyramid in gentrified east London.
After a few more beers and a Thai meal at a restaurant I just had to eat in due to it being named after my spiritual home of Pattaya – which incidentally just happened to the be the city on the football jersey I was wearing, I stumbled down the main road and was quickly ushered into a strip joint by a charismatic doorman. Within a matter of minutes I was taken into the back by 2 birds and had bought them both drinks, just as things were starting to steam up, with one of them shoving her hand down my pants and the other letting me have a feel of her tits, the madam popped in to ask if I wanted to settle the bill now. I agreed and when I caught a glance at the receipt the scene was reminiscent to that of one the final moments in the Big Lebowski, where Walter and the Dude are given the bill for Donny’s ashes, only for Walter to reply with a bewildered ‘What’s this?’
The tab came to €360, €180 for each bird. I wasn’t carrying that kind of cash on me but the staff insisted that I must pay it, all the way to point of having one of the big bouncers frog march me to my hostel so I could reclaim the funds. Now such a situation sounds pretty intimidating and un savory and something that could really ruin a mans vibe. but in fact was made all the more pleasant by the monkey man who was enlisted with the task of reclaiming my debt being a really lovely bloke. ‘Did you read the card when you first came in?’ he said to me, referring to the price listing, clearly I had not. ‘You’ve got to read the card man!’ Our whole journey together was a bit of a jolly, so much so I almost forgot that the purpose for us enjoying each others company was so that I could be extorted by his employers. But for the whole journey he gave me some fags, let me use his phone to get on the internet, told me about his kids, chatted about music and got his thoughts on Brexit…’it’s a very, very bad idea’. It was by the far the friendliest bouncer experience I have ever had.
By the time I eventually settled my bill I was in no way willing to part with any more cash, so naturally they made me feel as unwelcome as possible until I left. Pissed off by the experience I decided to withdraw a handful of more money and take my frustrations out in the big pink 4 storied brothel with ‘Sex House’ written in meter high letters on the front of it – there was only one thing I could possibly get in there!
The set up was 2 corridors on each floor with women of all shapes, colours and sizes trying to lure me in with their services. I settled for an attractive older number who promised sex, massage and even anal for €100. However I was to quickly learn that the process of paying for sex in Hamburg was to be a much more frustrating and costly process then anywhere else I’d ever experienced in the world. The first 10 minutes were essentially an induction where the pro in question gave me a run down of the rules of the house and her prices for what particular services, all this whilst slipping a sheet on my knob then and wanking me off, which was whe she told me that the money I had already paid was only enough for a short amount. Once I told her I was happy to settle with the basic service she started to nosh me off and up sell me at the same time until I agreed to pop to the in house cash machine to pay her more money. Made me wonder why Guantanamo Bay don’t use such a technique as an interrogation tool. Get a prisoner drunk and get a relatively attractive bird to nosh them off and they will pretty much say and do anything you want. It be a more humane way of obtaining information then waterboarding at least…
My form of poor decision making didn’t stop there though since of all the saucy services on the list that this professional of her trade had offered me I went straight for a bit of pegging to start things off. Completely over seeing the fact she was very willing to let me fuck her arse first. What long poor form did decide to change at the worst possible time was my long time dysfunction of retarded ejaculation. Apparently all I had needed to do for the last 11 years of sexually active life was to have an older German bird shove a vibrator up my arse and call me an ‘arse-cunt loving slut’ and I’d cum in 15 minutes. Unlike the UK though my €200 was a pay2cum service and she was quickly ushering me out the door. For that amount of money I’d felt like I’d walked into a mediocre restaurant and paid over the odds for an knickerbocker glory as a starter then left after only finishing half of it.
So over €500 down and I still hadn’t even got laid. I was disheartened and in need of more booze. I wondered over to another square of pubs and ordered a drink from one where The Popes version of ‘Nancy Whiskey’ was playing which I found very fitting. I sat watching the band set up to a totally empty pub, feeling a bit sorry for myself. I got on the messenger to Deirdre to tell her about my shambles of a night on the tiles. Then she dropped a line in regards to my brassing that caught me off guard ‘You’ll have more luck with them girls then you will with me, I just want to have friend vibes with you’…. Then my phone died before I could reply… That was weird! She’s never taken that tone with me before. I thought our vibe was always friendly together? Aint that what our relationship is? I thought it best not to think too far into it, finished my drink and then took up the offer of the first curb crawler to catch my attention.
€30 was the quote given to me for a simple sex session. There was no need to pay for a hotel like the pro’s up by the city centre had quoted me. Apparently this bird had a place. After the night I had I was ready to settle for 20 minutes of the simple ol’ in out in out. But again all this €30 paid for was an induction of getting rubbered up and wanked off and delivered a spiel which whenever I tried to interrupt with ‘Don’t worry about that love, just take your knickers off’ she’d stop me with a very abrupt ‘listen darling’ when I kept telling her I was fine with the basic package she then told me that my time was up and anything else would be a substantially more amount of money, she even gave me the offer to pay on card, which even in my inebriated state I thought was absolutely insane so made for the exit as quickly as possible, a simple task made all the more harder by this particular cat house being a total labyrinth. Once I made it out to the hot summers Hamburg air the first thing that flew through my mind was that I’d just burnt €600 and all I got in return was a couple of hand jobs, a feel of some tits and a filthy older German dildo my arse whilst hurling abuse at me. Then as I crossed the road I got shouted at by the police for jay walking… It was time to call it a night.
The one positive I will take from my catastrophic night on the Reeperbahn was that I made those mistakes so you dont have too! I walked onto that red light district thinking I was a savvy sod because I may have done a bit of brassing in Thailand a couple of years back. But in truth I’m not savvy I’m stupid and in comparrison when you get burnt out in Thailand it’s usually for the equivalent of about 40 quid, where as here I’d chucked 2 months worth of rent at the sex industry and I still didn’t managed to get laid. I did have a little chuckle of the irony of when a country completely decriminalizes sex work it is the punter that ends up getting exploited. This all being said I highly recommend Hamburg. Lots of bars with cheap booze and the food is good on the both the pallet and the wallet. There was also apparently a lot of cultural shit to do but I couldn’t be arsed with it on this whistle stop. The people are so great that even the bouncers are friendly but if you are going to go brassing always remember ‘you got to read the card man!’
The next day I was up early to check out of the hostel and head to the bus station. The shambles of the previous night combined with Deirdre’s peculiar tone made me think that this tour was going to be a baron one in terms of sex. Not that it really bothered me as shagging was never really one of my goals on this adventure, and anyway I was just about to head off to a city I had waited years to get the chance to visit. There was still so much fun to look forward to on the horizon.
Considering the hype from so many people I dont really know why it had taken me so long to visit the German capital. About 4-5 years ago there was a mass exodus of friends and acquaintances from the UK who fled to the city in search of new begginings. One in particular always used to tell me that I’d fit in right away. I never really found the time to plan a short break there but was always advised that if I was ever to do it I should find a local to show me around. Unfortunately all those contacts had either moved on from the city or indeed out of contact with myself, but when I told Chris about my plans he put me in touch with Phil. An old face from raves of days long since past. When told about my pending visit he replied by saying that he didn’t have many memories with me, but every memory he had was a happy one and would be delighted to host me for a few days. He’d made a deal with his girlfriend for me and Deidre to use her room for the time we were staying there and had offered to give me a tour of the city on his rickshaw as well as hopefully get a few raves in also. I was already overwhelmed by Phil’s hospitality and I hadn’t even arrived yet.
I was met by Phil at Berlin central station and was straight away offered a beer, a joint and an offer of lunch. When we got back to the flat the first thing Phil did was offer me his bike and a map with different points of interest he had marked out. So straight away I headed out in the direction of some of the cities many green spaces to enjoy some afternoon sun, stopping for a bottle of beer at any neighbouring shop (70 cents! In one shop) and enjoyed the weather whilst people watching. People of all walks of life from a variety of different countries, colours, sub-culture all integrating and conversing with one another. There was a vibe of unity between people that not even London could match. Just a couple of streets over I ended up at Tempelhof airfield, an operating airport up until 2008 which had recently been opened up to the public and was now an epic community space filled with allotments, gardens and many folk having a kick about, chucking Frisbees, walking the dog or in my case riding bikes really fast around the runway. I sat at the top of the airfield and had a smoke whilst soaking in the ambience. Already I could understand why people loved this city so much.
My first night in Berlin was seen through the filter of a ketamine lense. We all hit the town on the quest to find some music and along the way bumped into some friends of Phils and found ourselves up in a lovely flat somewhere down the road. I sat in silence as the folk around me reminisced and gossiped with each other, in awe of the flow of the German language. It’s funny because it’s a language thats always had a reputation for being harsh and abrupt but I found it flew from these peoples mouths like poetry. Our walks through the city were reminiscent to that of a Gasper Noe film, all my perception of distance and depth was completely warped and contrasting colours were spectacular, yet I didn’t have that feeling of helplessness that sometimes comes with ketamine, this stuff that Phil had was clearly very clean. Even though I was in a foreign city I had never visited before, with a host who I only hung around with in passing a number of years ago and his friends who I had only just met, I felt not only safe but euphoric. I recall after one huge dose in a venue toilet we started to walk back and Phil walked on ahead and to my vision disappeared into a wall. I couldn’t find him anywhere and I was alone in the middle of the night with absolutely no perception of where I was even if I was sober, but again this didn’t bother me I felt like everything would be fine. The city already embraced me with an energy that made me feel like I had nothing to fear, I felt like this was a place I’d know all my life. Eventually I heard my name being called and was found. Even that walk home in the early hours of the morning felt like some pivotal scene from a big budget movie. Although I had only been there a matter of hours, and even though we hadn’t actually made it to a rave like we had planned I was already blown away by Berlin.
The following day was spent recovering from the night before. Phil had business back in his hometown of Potsdam that afternoon, but invited me over the following day for a cycle tour. In the mean time he showed me the venue that he was involved with, a wonderful space with marvelous sculptures and decor made from recycled materials. He talked about putting on a party there for his Birthday the next year – watch this space. Later he marked out a few more places of interest on my map and left me with a line of k and the leftovers of the previous evenings coke. I set out for Riager Stasse, a street to the north east of the city that is almost entirely squatted but in recent years has faced an uncertain future due to the ever-creeping plague of gentrification. I walked into a building with a few typical squat types lingering outside – those people look the same no matter where in the world you go. The chap on the door told me there was a punk gig going on that night, I asked how much and he said it was entirely up to me. I decided to give him a tenner and he was very grateful for it.
The gig was exactly what you’d expect from a crust punk gig in a small venue. A lively crowd jumping into a wall of distorted sound. It was fun, but I left after the first band to catch the end of a jazz night back Phil’s venue. Another aspect of this fling with Berlin that I was enjoying was the variety and the quantity of things to do, it reminded me of London when I was a teen. That potential to do whatever you wanted no matter what day of the week was something I hadn’t experienced from a city for many years.
The following afternoon I got the train to Potsdam to meet Phil, he had sourced me a bike and after a spot of lunch we stopped back at his flat to stock up on water, weed, ketamine and beer. The rest of the afternoon was spent with Phil expertly narrating the history of the different sites and landmarks of the former home of the King of Prussia. We saw the castles and their gardens, the building where the Potsdam conference was held and stopped off by the lake for a litre of wheat beer another line and a joint. We sat by the water and talked about our expectations from life, our families and all that nonsense. Then after another line we went for a dip in the lake and then dried off smoking joints, drinking beers and talking about how we thought civilization will crumble one day. The marvelous opera that was my trip so far had reached its first crescendo.
As the afternoon turned to evening I set off to the bus station to collect Deirdre, and got a bit more of a perspective on that message she had sent me in Hamburg. Due to her primary relationship commitments she had decided to go platonic on all her other intimate relationships for the time being. A decision I found very noble and was only happy to comply with. Later that night we had a very overdue ‘what are we doing’ chat. My honest account was that my feelings were just as strong as they’d ever been and that she was still one of the most important people in my life. She agreed with my sentiment and assured me that even though she was having to tone down the intimacy and the feelings between the two of us that didn’t exactly mean it wouldn’t change later. For some reason it was the line ‘I was not worried about this conversation’ that really put me at ease. Probably down to the fact that for the entire time I’ve known her I’ve never had to question any situations like this because she’s always been bluntly honest with me. If this current situation was nothing to worry about according to her then I weren’t going to worry about it.
What was challenging though was the sudden intimacy boundary that was placed between us. Ever since we first met we’d hit off and that’s pretty much how it’s been for the last 4 and a half years, such platonic boundaries have never been in place. If you were to meet us and didn’t know the two of us you’d initially think that we were a couple. In fact on the lead up to Deirdre’s arrival Phil and his missus Lisa did ask what my relationship to her was. ‘Is she your fiancé?’ Phil asked, which I found quite funny. ‘An intimate friend’ was the best response I could give. But to be honest keeping my hands to myself wasn’t the hardest of tasks to overcome, although it’s nice to hold hands with someone you have feelings for when walking through a European capital city and although it is pretty cool to have someone you find really pretty give you a kiss and a cuddle on tap, I could willingly go along with it without judgement out of respect for her primary partner. What I did find genuinely difficult though was sharing a bed with her. She’s just too beautiful, especially when she sleeps. If I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see her there all adorable next to me I had to force myself to refrain from putting my arm round her and giving her a kiss. That’s when I thought ‘this is pretty shit’ and noticed that although I could play along with this platonic thing for now, one thing I was sure of was that I really wasn’t ready to be ‘just friends’ with her.
Our two days together were a fun adventure though. Phil’s rickshaw tour of Berlin was fantastic, full of interesting facts and humor with a view of all the different sites and historic monuments. After we again hit the town in the search of a rave but was met by either lack luster music policies or long door ques. Again though despite this I can remember having nothing but a good time and I don’t think that was down to the copious amounts of booze and the ecstasy we’d taken throughout the night. We ended up retiring in the early hours, Lisa happily giving up her room for us to sleep in and her and Phil going back to his place in Potsdam. A gesture both of us were very grateful for.
The next morning I was up to board a coach to Poznan. I gave Deirdre a kiss and a cuddle before leaving but failed to ask her one thing before setting off. Something that was playing on my mind the more time we spent together over the last couple of days. Despite her reassurance that this platonic phase wasn’t anything to worry about, she appeared to be able to turn the intimacy off too easily. A friend of mine told me that a female friend of his once gave him a theory that women tend to change their feelings or opinions for someone/thing and live a bit of a lie long before they actually action it, making their sudden change of behavior seem so sudden and easy. Was this a launch pad for things to come? I didn’t know and I should have asked her that morning before I left. At the time I felt like the discussion would have maybe put a downer on the vibe, and I didn’t want to do that as we’d had a nice time together and it wasn’t something I’d particularly want to leave on…
I loved Berlin! It was the bollocks! the highlight of the tour! Owed mostly to the hospitality, warmth and friendliness of both Phil and his beautiful girlfriend Lisa. To take us in and show us around like that solely on the strength that Phil thought I was a nice bloke in the brief times he saw me in London was a gesture so overwhelming it made me feel incredibly humbled and actually rather awkward at points. A wonderful couple who really represented the city well. The city itself however reminds me a lot like London back when London was really, really good. When you could smoke inside and every night you had so many options to do whatever it is you felt in the mood to do, and whats more it would also be of the highest quality. For a capital city it is also unbelievably cheap €2 for beer in bars and €2.50 for delicious kebabs. The people are beautiful, varied and very friendly and I felt like I could spend weeks just exploring all the different nooks and crannys in all the different districts. It felt like one of those one night stands where the two of you click straight away and have a whole night of hot, passionate, kinky sex! I will be back for a second date no doubt. Berlin was indeed a fantastic fuck….
My coach to Poland was almost 3 hours late and in this time I realised that I had misplaced my bank card and had no other money on me. At this rate I wouldn’t reach my next destination until the middle of the night when all western unions would be closes, the following day was also Sunday when again my options would be limited. How was I going to get by once I reached Ponzan? That was just going to have to be the next challenge I was going to have to overcome…