Virginia is for Lovers; Berlin is for Virgins

Anything is possible in Berlin.

Berlin is raw. Real. Berlin is everything Williamsburg wishes it was and tries to be - or perhaps what it once was. Berlin would swallow Williamsburg whole. Especially East Berlin.

Art is everywhere and doesn’t need to be called Art.

Artists are everywhere and don’t need to be called Artists.

These streets are oozing individuality, creative expression abounds, people do whatever they feel like doing (not quite to a level to breach the lowest common denominator of German civility, however).

Some neighborhoods expose a stifling, confused history - others breathe. Many are up-and-coming. Most are inspiring…welcoming. The people seem themselves. And don’t really care too much about what anyone else is doing, e.g. rock stars shoe shop without flinching, movie stars buy homes sipping coffee on their front porches.

Though, there is certainly a “scene” here: there are devils wearing Prada in Berlin, too. But even those, I know, are probably going home to do their German things. This division between public and private life has thus far held true in the daily lives I so luckily have windows into, and a role to play.

And despite the bad rep Berliners get as being stingy, cold and peering down their noses at you (is there an adjective for that?)…well, outside of a few cranky Philharmonic concert goers and a.m. shift café waitresses, I have found Berliners to be a friendly, funny, spritely bunch.

So between the swirling city landscape, the Berliners’ pulse and German engineering, it is quite easy to have lots of “firsts” here.

As a (temporary) farewell to Berlin, I’m sharing a few virginal moments of mine (in three parts):

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