Mauer Park Flea Market

Busking in Mauer Park. It seemed like a good tip at the time. Until we arrived at the park late and discovered that all the good busking spots had already been claimed. There had to be at least ten musicians spread out along the thorough way. Some were amplified and performed as a band (and were quite good, I might add) and some were lone crooners. We gave up after 20 min. There was just no way we could compete with a five piece amplified funk/punk band.
The day wasn’t a total bust, though. The Mauer park flea market was a kaleidoscope of clothes, house wares, gadgets, food stalls, and miscellaneous craziness. I was in heaven. My only purchase, however, was a vintage key with my lucky number three engraved on it. I bought it for 50 cents. The key reminded me of my friend, Mei, who has about 30 or so vintage keys. Mei and I used to live together. The keys for the locks on the inside doors had long been lost, but Mei discovered that she had a skeleton key that fit all the locks in our house. I think she really loved having the power to lock us all in our rooms if she ever so wished (but she loves me, so she never did!).
Of course, I have to comment on the food. I always have to comment on the food. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to eat. And eat and eat and eat. San Francisco dining has made me a food snob, too, so when I can find quality food, it makes me oh so happy. At the Mauer Park flea market, I felt like I could orgasm just from the smells coming from the food stalls. Part of that may have to do with the fact that I don’t eat meat, but I love the smell of it. My mouth only waters more knowing that I can’t have it (or I could, but it’s not worth the guilt or the stomach ache). There was every kind of “wurst” you could think of. All sizzling and popping on the grills. Mmm, and freshly grilled corn on the cob. The smoke from all the BBQs that people had brought with them to use for their picnics in the middle of the park definitely added to the delicious smelling fumes. I think I need to go BBQ something right now!

Dancing with the Gypsies

Busking in the subway stations has proved to be quite the adventurous endeavour. First, you should be aware that Berlin has a fantastic and immense system of underground and above ground trains. Almost always on time and available to take you anywhere you need to go. This also means that a lot of people use the subway as their primary means of travel- which is to say that certain stations are very busy.
We like the busyness. Lots of potential contributors! There is an art to busking. It turns out that you can’t just stand there and play and make money, no matter how good you are. No, even the best musicians have to work the subway goers the way they would work a crowd at a rock show. Which is what Wilson and I have been doing. He’ll start off with a ballad and then jack it up with a rock song. I’ll dance for a minute to the rock song, and then I’ll dramatically take his cowboy hat from off his head and I’ll shimmy through the crowd with it to earn extra tips.
Passing the hat is key. Apparently, so is almost getting your hand bitten off by a dog. Wilson bent down to pet a dog and almost got quite the bite! I think everyone felt sorry for him, because almost everyone left a tip before they boarded the train.
We’ve been shut down by the cops (but they’ve been very nice about it), had money thrown to us from across the platform in appreciation, saved a dad from the ordeal of his two year old throwing a tantrum (she stopped crying the second she saw Wilson in his cowboy getup), and a few other crazy experiences. My favourite thus far, though, was when a family of gypsies from Bosnia stopped to dance with us. Well, at first they only asked us for money. But they really liked the music and my dancing. One of them was wearing almost the exact same skirt as me. A lot of the moves you see in belly dance originated from traditional gypsy cultures. I’ve always wanted to learn from actual gypsies and thought that I might have my chance while being in Europe.
As I was contemplating on how to ask them what they thought of belly dance and if they could show me a dance step from their culture, one of them piped up and said, “You dance just like…. Shakira! You do Shakira dance!”
Horrified, I tried to explain that belly dance did not originate from Shakira, no matter how well she can shake her hips. But they gypsies insisted. “No, no, you Shakira.” And then they asked, “Teach us how to dance like Shakira!” I didn’t know how to tell them that the dance Shakira does probably originated from their ancestors. Instead, I grabbed one of the children’s hands and we twirled and shimmied and then I grabbed Wilson’s cowboy hat, gladly accepted tips from the bystanders, and then gave the tips to the gypsies.