Hamburg: A City of Two Tales

Tale #1 in Present Tense:

My Guardian Angel or: You Only Get One Chance to Make a First Impression

So the first place I seek out when I arrive at the airport is the information booth. I have a general idea where I am going, but would love the reassurance that comes with the input of an official looking person.

The woman at the information desk is very helpful. “You will take bus #110 to Ohlsdorf and then take the U-3 to Feldstrasse,” she says, smiling. “You can either purchase a one ride ticket or an all day ticket.”

I am about to nod and say my thank yous when I hear a man from the other end of the counter. “Or, you can take my ticket,” he says, also smiling.

And then he gives me his ticket. A 5 Euro all day pass for the bus. He has already arrived for his flight so it is not a problem. He strongly resembles Michael Stipe.

“I love Hamburg already,” I say excitedly, punctuating the remark with an American-sized thumbs-up. The two Hamburgers wave me goodbye as I make my way to the bus stop.

What a charitable, friendly city, I think as I walk away, ticket firmly in hand. I am so amazed that I quickly lose my way.

“Over here,” says a man. It is Michael Stipe again (although from this angle he bears a closer resemblance to Moby). He is waving me over. He politely explains my error and then, lest there be any confusion, personally walks me to the bus stop.

In our 45 second walk he explains that he is a student at the University of Hamburg and that I am going to love the city. This kind of thing (helping people) is not at all unordinary in Hamburg, he explains. Then he shakes my hand, says “Have a great life,” and walks back into the throngs of the airport, eventually disappearing into a delicate mist (vaguely resembling gossamer wings) that floats slowly into the sky.

How’s that for a first impression. Hand that man an ambassadorship.

Tale #2 in Past Tense:

My First Foray into Vigilante Justice or: When Things Become Hostel.

On Thursday night I came back to my hostel at around 11:30 after going out to a bar with some of the Bucerius University people. When I arrived, I was delighted to find that I was the only person in the 8-bed room. No people, no bags, nothing. I had the entire room to myself, which was great because I had Orientation early the next morning.

It seemed almost too good to be true. . .

And of course, it was.

At about 3:00 in the morning, 4 loud, drunk Germans came into the room. They immediately turned on the lights, cracked open their beers and began singing (the song had no lyrics just “na na na na” ). They also began to--and I’m not exaggerating-- POUND ON THE WALLS.

Now, I’ve slept in my fair share of hostels. I am aware that a certain amount of partying and noise is unavoidable (details here). That’s part of the risk of staying in a hostel. People talk, people come in at late hours; they trip and fall and swear and, occasionally, hook-up. But this was far beyond the pale of what is acceptable behavior, even for a hippy backpacker hostel. This was a grave breach of hostel etiquette.

I sat up in my bed, looked at them and said “Seriously guys?” The four of them gave me one of those “what’s the problem?” looks. I explained, as I would to a four-year-old, that it’s harder for some people to sleep when there is singing and pounding than when there isn’t.

“Ja Ja Ja,” they replied, “We turn off the light.”

Great. The light.

The light went off, and there was a reduction in the brouhaha, but the singing did not end. And it took about 30 minutes to completely wind down.

Bide your time Gregory, I said to myself. And bide my time I did.

At around 6:30 am, when my alarm went off.

On waking up I saw that the four young men, having sung and drank themselves to sleep, were now snoozing away like babies. It was adorable.

And more importantly, it appeared that the tables had now turned.

Advantage: Gregory.

I savored the process of getting up and packing my bags. I slammed lockers, kicked empty beer bottles, and opened the window so that the human and automobile traffic could be heard at full volume. My fits of coughing were prolonged and intense; I even unnecessarily zipped and unzipped my backpack. Absolutely no action was too trivial to be done noiselessly. I ran around the room like the proverbial bull in the china shop.

“Was?” several of them said, confused and sitting up in their beds.

And that’s when they saw me in my vengeful, noisy glory and hazily began to recollect their offenses from the previous night.

Having apparently recognized the genius of my plan and righteousness of my cause, they were generally good-natured about their premature awakening. Two of them clapped and chuckled. Another simply couldn’t be bothered.

I wish I would’ve said something cool or memorable as I left. Maybe something that some exotic, evil-genius villain would say in a movie (“It appears, my friends, as if zie hunter has become zie hunted”).

But I opted for the significantly more prosaic: “Have a great day friends.” And then I gave everyone a thumbs-up (again, American-sized) and left the room confident that justice had been served.

It was a very exhilarating and inspiring start to my day. Like having two extra cups of coffee.

And now, I leave you to contemplate a relevant quote by Bill Murray in the movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (paraphrase):

Reporter: “If this is the only shark of its kind, what would be the scientific reasons for killing it?”

Bill Murray: “Revenge.”