Meeting a Dork in Hamburg, Part One

I call her after getting off the train.

"When are you coming?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I say.

She is my couchsurfing host.

I am in Hamburg. In the middle of the Ecoli scare. Perfect timing, Paul! Haha.

I venture off the station and look at my Google Map snapshots (like a dork). "Go this way, Paul." says my iPod.

Along the cozy German street, flower stands and deli shops eagerly greet me.

I come to her address, a little apartment between buildings.

Seeing her name on the display, I activate the button. Buzz! I push the entryway in, revealing some old-style stairs. I walk up; clickity clack. It's dark up there. A motion light switches on. My heart beats faster. Meeting new people does that. Will she be a sweet German host? Or a serial murderer?

A voice emanates from above; the floor above prevents me from seeing the source.

"Hello!" says the friendly female German accent.

"Hiya!" says the firm American voice.

The dark-haired, fair female stands at the top of the stairs. Her smile is contagious, and I feel welcomed.

Click clack clack.

"You're carrying a ton." she says.

"It makes me strong," I counter.

The cozy entryway greets me. You could fit six people in the hallway, squished like sardines.

A quick scan of the kitchen puts me at ease. A rectangular wooden table stands there, holding a tea water-heater. A toaster sits quietly on the ledge. Spices, herbs, glasses, and potted plants. Plants...are on the windowsill too. This is a greenhouse?

And a dining room. And..a shower stands boldly in the corner. This is like three rooms in one. A metal circular sink with wooden countertop, and a dishwasher. And a rack for drying plates.

"And this is your room," she says, guiding me from the kitchen. I see microphones. A music studio. "Thank you, careful..I might sing in my sleep."

I sleep on this thing. A fold-out cushion. Whee!


My backpack plunges to the floor.

We retire to the kitchen. Slash dining room. Slash shower room. Slash greenhouse.

Her name is Julia.
She takes a seat and kindly offers me bread and cheese. I accept.

"This is my breakfast and lunch, you know," she says in a cute German accent.

She places two circular wooden boards in front of us. Then opening a bag 'o bread she retrieves the loaf and slices a few pieces. Cheese and butter selections soon litter the table. We eat. At first in silence. Then I break it.

"So how do you like living here in Hamburg?"

"I like the city, but this particular area..it's quite posh, haha. I like Altona much better. I like it so much I'm moving back there soon."

The subject changes to German people. "Germans can be very direct," she says. I am too. Sometimes it can be taken the wrong way."

German honesty. This is part of the reason I'm here. Let's see if it's all it's hyped to be.

We finish our bread.

"Shall we go for a walk?" she asks.
"Sure!" I say.


I put on my jacket and we head out. Or we start to.
"May I use the restroom first?"

"It's not much of a restroom," she laughs.

I enter the small doorway on the end of the 'hall.' I duck to enter.

She's not kidding. In the room is a toilet. And that's it. Close the door and it's the size of a small elevator, curved like an igloo. But a nice homely one. Fish are painted on the 
 walls, giving color to the whitish-cream ambience.

"Where's the flush?" I think. I close the lid and no luck. I look and duck and check above me.

Ah, I spot a pull-string on my left. A satisfying flush activates. Hey I've been operating 'normal' toilets for thirty years. Anything different is good.

Like huh? Paris metro door handles and German flush pull-strings? Europe is a scary place.