overseas briefing Pirates of Berlin

Author: Tyler Lohman

BERLIN - Living in East Berlin, my travel to school in the mornings is rather long and full of trains, buses and the transferring between the two≠ - about an hour combined. This ride occasionally becomes quite monotonous as I listen to my iPod, read or simply wait. However, on some days, like today, a little deviation is greatly accepted. On my last stretch, an approximately seven minute bus ride from the Lankwitz S-Bahn station to the Freie Universit‰t Geography department, I was accompanied by about 20 German kindergartners. I've been learning German just about as long as they have, so I feel some sort of mutual bond between us. I even willingly allowed one of them to hold onto a strap of my backpack so as not to become a victim of the face to floor club, or Zughybris (train hubris) as I like to call it, as the bus sped its way through the city streets.

This Zughybris came to my attention one of my first days in Berlin as I was riding the U-Bahn, most likely in the evening as I was forced to stand due to the large number of passengers. Intently listening to my recently acquired and recently understood German hip hop, hands stashed in pockets, rhythmically bobbing head, I casually perused the nude advertisements that bedecked the inside of the train.

The train stopped, and in one sudden and brutally cathartic moment, I had entered into the realm of Zughybris. Falling, struggling, hands inconveniently trapped in pockets, I awkwardly made my way to the floor, taking out any and every German man, woman, child or dog that blocked the inevitability of this embarrassment to occur. Praise Zeus that, aside from my pride, everyone was okay that day. Though I spent the rest of that trip clinging tightly to the overhead rail, I vowed from then on to never experience the tragedy that is Zughybris ever again.

Now, back in the bus, the kindergarten class and their three teachers were going on a field trip using the public transportation system of Berlin, one of the largest and busiest in Europe, as their means of conveyance. This fact alone seemed a little odd to me, but wait, I forgot to mention that they were all dressed as pirates. I kid you not. Legit pirates.

The kids - nay, the pirates - flooded the bus like water, quickly occupying every open crevice whether that an open seat next to the really old guy or the spots next to the high schoolers in the way back - there was a pirate everywhere. However, many were left standing, unbelievably susceptible to the movements of the bus, much like my little buddy holding my backpack. Before every turn in the road, the teachers, each of whom having probably experienced Zughybris much like myself and not wanting liability, would yell "halt fest" (hold on tight), causing a scramble as a bunch of tiny Germans found something to grasp accompanied by screams and laughs. Totally amused by all of this, though not quite in the Schadenfreude sort of way that I have occasionally enjoyed, I laughed the entire seven minutes, amazed, pleased and thankful that I was able to ride with the tiny pirates of Berlin.