Tuesday, March 25, 2008
North Korea Opens Its First Hostel... in Berlin
Where you sleep when you visit Berlin may just have become political again. According to Bloomberg News, the North Korean government is taking some of its unused embassy space, left over from when their operations were much larger in the former East German capital, and turning a section of their building into a Hostel.
Expected to open in May, Cityhostel Berlin will include a Korean restaurant and a Grand Piano apparently. The cost per night? 20 Euros a night (or roughly $31) for a bed. That's actually on the high end of competitive for Berlin, where even in high season, dorm beds generally run for about 14 or 15 Euros a night. But they don't get the added benefit of funding one of the world's most repressive and horrifying regimes in the process.
Sometimes it makes sense to consider where your travel dollar is going. A lot of hostels in the developing world can make you wonder if the money you are spending is going to the community around you, or going back to the owner's home country. In this case, where the money is being headed is most definitely worth consideration. After all, in this Korean restaurant it might be worth considering that eating Kimchi in this hostel isn't keeping North Koreans from eating tree bark to stay alive, even if the money is going to North Korea.
Expected to open in May, Cityhostel Berlin will include a Korean restaurant and a Grand Piano apparently. The cost per night? 20 Euros a night (or roughly $31) for a bed. That's actually on the high end of competitive for Berlin, where even in high season, dorm beds generally run for about 14 or 15 Euros a night. But they don't get the added benefit of funding one of the world's most repressive and horrifying regimes in the process.
Sometimes it makes sense to consider where your travel dollar is going. A lot of hostels in the developing world can make you wonder if the money you are spending is going to the community around you, or going back to the owner's home country. In this case, where the money is being headed is most definitely worth consideration. After all, in this Korean restaurant it might be worth considering that eating Kimchi in this hostel isn't keeping North Koreans from eating tree bark to stay alive, even if the money is going to North Korea.
Labels: berlin, germany, hostels, north korea, travel
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
In Over Your Head, Berlin: A Memoir
Long trips on the road in expensive places means getting your kicks by unorthodox means. When I felt the need for drinks, $25 a day budgets aren't going to get you much beer, even if you have a free place to stay. "If only I was a girl," I thought. "Girls always get free drinks." As I pondered my gender jealousy, a revelation appears. "I am gay," I thought, "and reasonably young. Maybe this could work to my advantage."
So it was settled, I'd find a gay bar to flirt for free drinks. This isn't the easiest thing in the world for a guy like me to do. Sure, I was in my mid-20's. But I was still a fat, balding kid - not exactly the most attractive fruit in the basket. I needed a plan... and the answer came to me with one word. BEAR.
BEAR is a gay bar in Berlin. It caters to "bears," or fat hairy men. Balding guys that are overweight and with beards are the ideal of beauty here... so this just might work. I'd go to the bar, find a friendly older gentleman and flirt for some beer. If more happens, more happens, but this should work.
About 11 at night, I walk in the door. The weekend of gay pride I figure might make for a large crowd. Except I was wrong, there was about 9 or 10 people there. I take a seat and order a Beck's at the bar. A man comes up next to me and sits down. He starts to speak with me first in German, then in English as he realizes that I'm American. I keep up the conversation, offering friendship and hoping for a beer.
He leans in. The guy is about 70 or so and oddly reminiscent of my German grandfather. He starts whispering to me a bit, and stinks of buttermilk. He tells me I'm sexy, I'm flattered. He tells me I have nice thighs and I start to get a little weirded out. His buttermilk breath gets a bit stronger as I feel his hand wander into my crotch.
Maybe if this gentleman was a little less forward, or a little younger, I might not have freaked out. Maybe if he just didn't really remind me so much of my grandfather. I jumped out of my stool, through a few Euro down for the beer and ran out of the bar. Shell shocked, and over my head. In my mind I was screaming, and I hit the first train back to the house I was staying in. This ploy worked well across Europe. Paris, London, Amsterdam, Copenhagen. But in Berlin, Europe's capital of smut, I was truly in over my head.
So it was settled, I'd find a gay bar to flirt for free drinks. This isn't the easiest thing in the world for a guy like me to do. Sure, I was in my mid-20's. But I was still a fat, balding kid - not exactly the most attractive fruit in the basket. I needed a plan... and the answer came to me with one word. BEAR.
BEAR is a gay bar in Berlin. It caters to "bears," or fat hairy men. Balding guys that are overweight and with beards are the ideal of beauty here... so this just might work. I'd go to the bar, find a friendly older gentleman and flirt for some beer. If more happens, more happens, but this should work.
About 11 at night, I walk in the door. The weekend of gay pride I figure might make for a large crowd. Except I was wrong, there was about 9 or 10 people there. I take a seat and order a Beck's at the bar. A man comes up next to me and sits down. He starts to speak with me first in German, then in English as he realizes that I'm American. I keep up the conversation, offering friendship and hoping for a beer.
He leans in. The guy is about 70 or so and oddly reminiscent of my German grandfather. He starts whispering to me a bit, and stinks of buttermilk. He tells me I'm sexy, I'm flattered. He tells me I have nice thighs and I start to get a little weirded out. His buttermilk breath gets a bit stronger as I feel his hand wander into my crotch.
Maybe if this gentleman was a little less forward, or a little younger, I might not have freaked out. Maybe if he just didn't really remind me so much of my grandfather. I jumped out of my stool, through a few Euro down for the beer and ran out of the bar. Shell shocked, and over my head. In my mind I was screaming, and I hit the first train back to the house I was staying in. This ploy worked well across Europe. Paris, London, Amsterdam, Copenhagen. But in Berlin, Europe's capital of smut, I was truly in over my head.
