Rat Dream Club: What do you do in Berlin? 
 
I copyedit book manuscripts for a New York-based editorial services firm, and I’ve done a bit of freelance editing for German students who need to write their graduate theses in English. 
 
I’m still trying to learn what Mark Twain referred to as “the awful German language.” Ha ha. It’s not awful, but it’s been a real challenge, more difficult than I expected. But it has to be done. I want to feel fully integrated, and that won’t happen until I can pick up on conversations in cafes, understand German TV and news on the radio, read signs and posters, etc. And while people are generally happy to speak English with you, I don’t want them to feel obligated just for my sake. Sometimes in a group I’ll just sit and listen, try to catch the general drift of the conversation, pick up the rhythm of the language. Then someone will say something and everyone will laugh except me. That can be disheartening. At times like that it’s very apparent that I have a long way to go, so much to learn. It will take some time.
 
A few months after I arrived I took a six-month language course with a bunch of fellow immigrants, which was fascinating. I was the only American in the class; my classmates were from Syria, Russia, Libya, Greece, Poland, Iraq, Iran, Brazil, the Philippines, Australia, Vietnam, Turkey, France, and Lebanon. And I may be forgetting a country or two. 
 
I had thought that for sure after six months of four hours a day, five days a week of instruction, that I’d be at minimum conversational. Leider, nein. But I made some close friends from that class and learned a lot more than just German grammar. 
 
I don’t have a particular go-to hangout place yet. I’m still exploring. I like to go to outdoor cafes, in any part of the city. I’ll often bike to Lietzensee and sit and read, watch people, look at the ducks and swans. I like to pop into bookstores, even if the books are in German and I can’t read them yet. European publishers make really beautiful books. There’s an English-language used-book shop in Prenzlauer Berg that has a pretty decent selection, so I go there from time to time if I need something new to read. I have three library cards—for the public library, the Freie Universität, and the Staatsbibliothek. I like libraries; it feels like a way for me to be a part of society.
 
Berlin, geographically, is still bewildering to me. I have about zero sense of direction here, so I get lost a lot. I can be within blocks of an address and have no idea which direction to go to get there. It’s very frustrating sometimes, but that’s how I’m learning my way around. New discoveries all the time. I go for a lot of walks. Sometimes I’ll ride the train or bus and get off in a place I’ve never been and just walk around and see what’s there.
 
What did you do in Chicago? 
 
I lived in Chicago for thirty years. At first I worked in bars and restaurants, as a bartender or manager, then at a used-book shop, then for the Chicago Reader for more than fourteen years until I burned out, then at a marketing firm for my last couple of years in the city.
 
I spent time with friends, of course, went to movies, particularly at the Music Box and Davis theaters, played golf on occasion, spent time in bookshops, went to author events, lingered in bars, saw concerts, usually at the Metro or the Aragon or the Riviera.
 
Although Berlin has a lot of water, I do miss the immensity of Lake Michigan. I miss the Music Box. I miss my lovely apartment overlooking lovely Winnemac Park. I miss my neighbors. I miss bookshops, particularly the Bookworks, where I once worked, now unfortunately closed, and the Book Cellar in Lincoln Square. I miss walking around downtown. Michigan Avenue at Christmastime. Neighborhood festivals. I miss Chicago sports. I miss my local Dollar Tree, my local liquor store, my local restaurants. In general, I miss familiarity. I was terribly homesick for a long time. I miss running into people I know on the street. I miss the squirrels.
 
I don’t miss Chicago winters. And I don’t miss the CTA.
 
When, how, and why did you move? 
 
It’s a long story, but about fifteen years ago the receptionist at the Chicago Reader called up to my desk and said, “Jerome, there’s a woman on the line for you. She sounds German.” This woman was named Brigitte Kather. Brigitte was a schoolteacher in Berlin; she was in Chicago visiting a former colleague from the John F. Kennedy School. My brother James lived in Berlin at the time, he and she knew each other, and he had given Brigitte my name as a contact. So I served as a tour guide for part of her visit. When she got on the train to go back to her friend’s place on the last day of her trip, I presumed we’d never see each other again.
 
But we became regular correspondents, built up a friendship via letters and emails, and on her next visit, three years later, we became more than friends.
 
We spent the next ten years visiting each other, she coming to Chicago, me going to Berlin, as often as we could, and in February 2015, she took a six-month sabbatical to finish her doctoral thesis and came to live with me in Chicago. We decided that this living together thing was not too bad. Until then, we’d never spent more than two, three, or at most four weeks together at a single time. We got married in Berlin in March 2016. Even then, we weren’t sure if we would live in Chicago or Berlin—we like both cities—but eventually decided on Berlin. I knew I would need a good deal of time, months, to say a long goodbye to friends—and the city itself. I moved here in November 2016.
 
What's similar about the two cities; what's different? 
 
Both cities have so many cultural opportunities. Both are multicultural. Berlin is perhaps a bit more international. Similar music scenes. Berlin, of course, has a deep, inescapable sense of history. Both are quite green, lots of parks, lots of water. Chicago has taller buildings downtown, but I’ve grown to appreciate Berlin’s limits on skyscrapers.
 
I love the efficiency of Berlin’s public transportation. Trains are on time, quiet, clean. I still follow the CTA on Twitter, and every day there are multiple announcements of delays on every line: trains standing because of mechanical problems, door problems, signal problems. Not here, very rare.
 
Biking is better in Berlin. Safer. It’s respected here, commonplace. Bikers and pedestrians are generally given the right of way. Dogs are allowed everywhere, cafes, restaurants. There are lots of little dogs in Berlin. You can walk down the street with a beer. There are bars where you can smoke. And there’s not a neighborhood in Berlin that I feel unsafe in.
 
Chicago people are generally more open. Often when you walk past someone, there’s a hello or at least a nod, some kind of acknowledgment. Here, not so much. One time I said hello to someone walking past and he seemed so shocked that he started giggling. Then, “hello!” 
 
And then there’s FKK; the acronym basically translates as “free body culture.” I was kind of surprised to see naked people hanging out in areas of Tiergarten on one of my bike rides through the park. That’s how I learned about FKK. I wish I’d been aware ahead of time. And there are lakes where nude sunbathing and swimming is allowed. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel integrated enough to feel comfortable baring all in public. But it doesn’t bother me when other people do.
 
Beer bottles have a deposit. I like to save them up and recycle them at the store, get a little printout with the deposit back. Feels like a reward.
 
Tell us the story of the favorite mistake you've made. 
 
I’ve been fortunate not to have had too many of these, since I was already somewhat familiar with Berlin from my past visits. But yeah, it’s different actually living here than being in tourist mode.
 
One thing about Berlin: pedestrians and bicyclists absolutely wait at street corners for the light to change. Even if the path is totally clear. People in Chicago will cross against a red light under almost any circumstance. One time my path was clear: no cars, no bikes coming from any direction. I’m going for it. Sure enough, as soon as I did I was loudly screamed at by an older woman. I’m not sure what she said, but I think it was along the lines of “What the hell are you doing? Children could be watching!”
 
One time I met some friends from language class at a beer hall in Wedding. After we’d had a few, a waiter plopped a basket of big, soft pretzels next to us. “Ah, complimentary snacks, how nice,” I thought, and I grabbed one and started munching. Nein. A group next to us had ordered them. I got the famous Berliner Schnauzer look from the heavily tattooed server. I haven’t been back there since.
 
The public transportation system in Berlin works differently from the CTA in Chicago. There are no turnstiles. So there’s really nothing to prevent you from riding the train without a ticket, if you’re willing to run the risk. But occasionally the cars will be boarded by ticket checkers, who, by the way, wear no official uniforms. There’s an element of surprise, and the fine for not having paid a fare is substantial. The first time I was asked to show my ticket, I thought it was some guy begging for money. “Es tut mir leid, aber nein.” You can imagine the ensuing exchange, with me speaking my baby-level German. It’s funny now, but at the time I felt so embarrassed and ignorant. Stupid American!