I am a person that likes to buy things. It makes me happy to consume, and that is usually not something you admit like that because it is totally against all things you should be doing. But I am brave now and I’ll tell you: Buying a blender makes me happy.
Today, I was planning to quickly pop into the closest mall, Hamburger Meile, before my friend Juliana was visiting. She’s a native Hamburg girl and I asked her if she wanted to tag along. I had great plans, buying a blender, a baking tin, a plastic bowl, raspberries. I should have become suspicious when she declined the offer and said we’d meet afterwards. I should also have figured something when I read online that Hamburger Meile used to be the biggest mall in all of Germany.
Not only is it big, it is also like a city that you have to understand before finding anything. If you only have 30 minutes, that’s very difficult. When there is bascially only 400 useless shops (at least for those who covet a blendet and not a piece of cheap jewellery or tasteless t-shirt), the mission is impossible. Only 20 minutes stressed me out completely (I am sure that is also due to the bad interior design and planning) and I had only a baking tin afterwards. I hope I never have to step inside the Mall of Consumer Horrors again.
I spent the rest of the day first with Juliana and then with my uncles who came to Hamburg and took me to dinner and a jazz club. Yesterday, Ingrid and I were also out on Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s infamous party and red light district that I can simply not connect to. It’s a large street full of people taking drugs, drunk middle-aged men from the countryside and bachelorette parties. We were at an expat party until 3. (That was way too late for me. Am I old now? Or do I just have too much household crap to take care of on Saturdays?) At the party we meet a Russian that massaged Ingrid’s head, a Swede that we introduced ourselves to by singing “Ja må hon leva”, a nice Englishman whose name Ingrid understood as “Scheiße” (really, his name was Jason) and a Romanian girl called Andreea who is the first Andre(e)a I met and didn’t like. We originally went to the party because I believed we could make new friends there because having less than five friends in a city after three months is, well, just not enough really. Since I don’t seem to click well with Germans (that I met after 2013), I thought maybe the expats would be a better chance. Jason felt very relieved when I told him the Germans I meet are quite svårflörtad, hard to get, and we developed the term of “upgraded German” which refers to more welcoming Germans.
I am still pondering if that is a politically acceptable concept.