Last weekend I found myself lying in the barely-dried spring grass along the riverfront stretch of Treptower Park. Lots of other critters broke out of their winter caves and sprawled out in the sun in the grass in the park on the waterfront in Berlin. Dogs, ducks, swans, punks, breeders, children, joggers, drunks and sausage vendors all broke out of their zoos and hit the open air last weekend. God DAMN, Berlin winters are long. But so are the Prague ones, so after 10 years spent there I should be used to 6 months of cold, gray, frozen hovno/sheise weather. It makes me appreciate the sun even more when I don’t see it for several months.
The shack shutters were flung open and wares were peddled. Bier und bratwurst, ja, but more mysterious foodstuffs could be had by the brave—or locals from a very specific mountain range in Germany specializing in snacks with names like ‘Niedersachsenisch Kugelfliegeln’ or ‘Thuringer schweinenkrustenbraten.’ Of course I made these names up because I can’t remember the original names of the mystery meats. But trust me, unless you wear lederhosen you would have no fucking idea what this food was. We looked at it. We smelled it. We STILL had no clue.
We had our bottles of cheap beer by the river’s edge; me, my girl, the dog and her brother. The brother was sprawled out on the grass wearing the previous night’s hangover like a cement trench coat. The dog watched the swans with curiosity. Or hunger. That little bastard will eat ANYTHING. Couples giggled and smooched on blankets several meters from us even though we had tried to escape such obvious teenage tomfoolery to get down to the serious business of sun-soaking and suds-sipping.
With the river and the sun and the cloudless sky overhead, I welcomed Spring along with all the other animals on the grass.