The people of a metropolis are always fascinating. In Berlin a large number of these people are to be found on the trains every day. The various stations are therefore extremely interesting slices of real life. There are working class districts and there are of course more exclusive districts and between the two you’ll find the city. We could conduct entire sociological studies on the trains and from them attempt to derive certain laws. And then, for good measure, all the exceptions to those laws. A great city like Berlin naturally has rules and structures, but somehow it manages to escape from the trappings of regularity. On the trains its citizens mix with one another more than you might think. At a station in one of the blue-collar areas an elderly woman who could be Queen Elizabeth’s twin gets on – snow white curls, a leather handbag, which is beige as are her jacket, gloves, and shoes, a blue dress, sheer stockings – and goes to sit next to a man of similar age with a silver ponytail and shiny black leather pants. In front of them there’s a Middle Eastern woman in a hijab gesticulating and chattering away with her neighbor, not because she’s angry, but simply because she’s saying something interesting. Her baseball-hat-wearing interlocutor simply nods, unable to get in a word edgewise.
If the people in the U-Bahn once read books, even if only a line a day because their journey was short, today they type continuously and frenetically away on their various gadgets. Many of them have earplugs wedged in, one rather eccentric person is actually crocheting, and of course there are the young body builders who show off their biceps doing chin-ups on the overhead handrails. Those who do continue to read books are now reading I-Books, I-Pads, or taking breaks to talk on their mobile phones. Nobody looks at the subway maps anymore. Every tourist has an app telling them where they are. But many don’t even care about that. Now and again you might even see someone collecting money on the platforms.
Which leads us to another observation. There are three categories of panhandlers on the subway cars: the classic kind with trembling paper cup, alcohol-scented breath and empty eyes, ruined teeth, and either emaciated or swollen body; buskers both amplified and not; and the sellers of the Motz. Motz is a newspaper concerned with social and political themes that is sold for 1.20 euros of which 80 cents go to the seller. Motz is a large social cooperative based in Kreuzberg that aims to help the homeless and the marginalized by organizing jobs for them or places where they can find shelter and essential goods. The Motz sellers all attract people’s attention in a similar fashion: “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, apologies for the disturbance. My name’s Hans and I would like to offer you the latest edition of the Motz, which talks about the Tempelhofer Feld, a very important subject for the city and for all of us. With your offering you will be helping the socially disadvantaged. Thank you for your attention. Have a great day.” The sellers, however, are by no means all alike. There are those who reveal themselves to be full of culture and schooled in dialectic and one suspects that some of the young unemployed who receive welfare top it up a bit by selling the Motz. Though this doesn’t seem to be a major problem for most citizens, between these people in need it is very serious indeed. Those who apparently have less need of help always seem to be better dressed and to speak more eloquently and thus sell more copies than those who are really living on the street. This battle among the poor is perhaps the thing that strikes you the most when travelling on the rails of Berlin.
When not presented with a rudimentary concert, a presentation of the Motz, or a simple request for money, you can quietly dedicate yourself to the art of observing your fellow passengers. Among the liveliest are always students just out of school and tourists. Adolescents, as everyone knows, will always be adolescents. They’re always a bit loud, a bit morose, and a bit rowdy. When they’re in a group and there’s a bit of love in the air, one of the ones in love will try to show off by acting the buffoon and the object of his admiration will do their best to ignore him by acting aloof.
But tourists are often far more interesting. Just like their adolescent counterparts, they have the tendency to sneer. Sometimes they’re even taken by irrepressible, nervous laughter. It could be due to fatigue, it could be due to cultural differences, but there’s always a good reason to laugh. “Crap! We’ve gotten off at the wrong stop!” Laughter. They sure do have a good old time, but end up being distracted and start to tell stories like how they were in Prague for three days, or a day and half in Paris, or happily declaim how there’s no sea near Berlin, while in Barcelona, of course, there is. Maybe one day the BVG will come up with a new educational campaign with the heading: “Are you a tourist? There’s nothing to laugh about!”
The romantic poets of the 19th century who wandered about Europe alone weren’t gripped by the same laughter as today’s tourists, that’s for sure. Today everything makes tourists laugh. The fact is that within the cars of the U-Bahn people dress however they want, according to their own philosophy and season and for some reason this fact seems to strike a certain note of hilarity in the merry tourist. In the same day you can see a person dressed in a heavy coat, one in floral shorts, someone in running socks with boots going up to their knees, someone in flip-flops with a long skirt covering the tops of their feet…Certainly more than one reason to be happy with the variety of the world.
Despite the sneers and jeers, one thing no one can say anything about is the U-Bahn’s punctuality. The trains come and go regularly and smoothly. Trains literally dancing over the tracks are few and far between. When it does happen, however, it’s something you remember it for a long time.
One train that dances is the one leaving the Olympiastadion full of Bayern fans celebrating their victory over Borussia Dortmund in the DFB (the Deutscher Fußball Bund) in 2014. The Lederhosen– and red-jersey-wearing fans fill the cars to bursting while singing and giving quite a challenge to the cars’ soft shock absorbers. Then the police get on in their anti-riot gear, but nothing can stem the overflowing happiness of these numerous beer-fueled revelers. The cars continue to bounce, the doors remain open, and the young police officers keep the fans barricaded inside. A dancing train doesn’t move. It simply continues to bounce and the songs become a roar. Plain-clothed police – with handcuffs dangling from their belts – pretend to bite their nails while sending excited orders through the microphones contained in their earpieces and covering their mouths with their hands.
Whatever orders they may be giving, the train doesn’t depart and the cars continue to dance. A river of even more fans arrives on the platform in the company of even more police officers and undercover agents. The situation could turn dangerous at any second. No matter what, they have to make sure no more ululating fans get on. The rising tide is threatening to overwhelm the banks. The great number of police is always too little in the face of the Bavarians’ enthusiasm, and they fail to stop them from getting on. The young agents’ eyes are wide with panic and at that very moment the train’s doors shut and it takes off, dancing.
Translated by Alexander Booth
