April 3, 2010
Last night, I finished up my work and we went out. The previous night, a handful of people had found a little hole-in-the wall bar and wanted to go back. On the way there, Tim commented that the bar was very small, and very low-key. We arrived, and it was about a third the size that I thought it was going to be. It was a little building with some chairs and a fire pit outside. Inside every one of the six chairs were taken, and about twenty people were hanging out in this bar the size of a bathroom. I pressed my way to the front and paid five euro for two beers, and Allen, Matt and I loitered outside while Tim chatted up the locals. It got a little cold out, so we squeezed into the bar and joined Tim’s conversation with Max. I got a second beer, and I thought that it would be perfectly fine to bust out my awesome German. I asked everyone I could what they called themselves, where they were from, and how they were. I apologized for being in the way when somebody wanted to get past, and then I stared dumbly when they started talking back to me in German. Tim stepped in for me. “Nich sprechen gut.”
I went to the bathroom, expecting it to be a little dismal. The bar tender gave me a key, and I stood outside the bathroom for several minutes before a helpful man came and helped me open the door. Inside, the bathroom was pretty much as large as the bar, the toilets had a cord hanging from the ceiling that you pulled to flush, there was a rack of magazines featuring attractive men, and there was tasty peach hand soap and strawberry hand lotion. I was very impressed. I returned, and talked to a guy named Sven for a bit, then we went back to the hotel.