Dear M.

I’m moving on. Before I do, I wanted to show you a couple of places that tell a story of a city that has rained everything it possibly could on me. I arrived a sapling, and I leave it a tree. A couple of days ago, in amongst the culling and sorting that goes with any move, I recorded this months radio show which serves this letter as a little companion. Consider these reflections as little windows to the lives I’ve lived here, the city I’ve loved and now leave behind.

Rose of fame Antik-Schmuck An-und Verkauf. We start in Schöneberg. My favourite shop in the city. I used to have an hours lunch break when I worked at a call centre further down Kolonnenstr. A kumpir from Tuana Feinkost Kumpir and then a rummage in Rose’s before spending 20 mins in the serenity of Alter Friedhof der Zwölf-Apostel-Gemeinde, a cemetery round the corner, would be the usual hour spent. Chainsmoking away, the lady whose shop it is (Rosie), would usually be in black, a happy chaos around her. Amongst the artful clutter of clothes, crockery, jewellery and the hazy gimcracks and gems, is a collection of cigarette cards that is unmatched. She must have more than ten thousand. Here’s a favourite she sold me.

Once common, these antique bric-a-brac spots are increasingly rare, and she has always radiated a certain closeness to death that makes this one a treasure to find still functioning. If I didn’t buy anything she’d always uncover some over-articulated golden lighter to try and tempt me with. My German would stumble as I tried to politely say I didn’t smoke quite as much as her. Indeed I don’t think I knew anyone who smoked quite as much as her. The only shop I shall truly miss.

Dirk Kogler Kohlenhandlung. The flat I lived in, that now houses my studio, is heated with the original late 19th century coal stoves. If you are economical about it you keep the fire burning all winter. Why? It uses less coal to do so, as letting it die out means the stove cools down and requires a lot more coal to get back to its best. So, before bed, stoke it and gather the ashes around the fresh coals. First thing when you awake put another brickette on, and the stove will constantly radiate the dry warm heat that makes the miserable winters bearable. It takes just over half a ton of coal to get through to April when the evenings begin to shed their icy lows and you can forget about the fires for another 6 months at least. Those blocks of sooty lumps are delivered by Dirk Kogler, and you’ll need to pay his smudgy basement a visit to arrange for his menacing 1960s lorry to deliver you what you need for next winter.

Kraut and Rüben, the female only food co-op. The first few years in this city were an exercise in frugality. €5 a day was the budget that allowed me to optimize my work/life balance and so local, organic vegetables were obviously beyond my means. But on a good day, listening to Barbara Morgernstern whilst cycling back from the Maybachufer market with an exceptionally cheap haul, I might have done well enough to allow for the occasional treat from K&R. The store was the first place in WestBerlin (1978 they began) to start bringing the vegetables grown on smaller local holdings into the city and store them in sand in the basement to sell to Kreuzbergers.

“Together with other collectives, we made regular tours to "organic farmers" and brought the vegetables, some of which we had harvested ourselves, to Berlin, where they not only had to be distributed but also stored during the winter. A common winter job, for example, was to first plant Wendland carrots in self-made sand heaps in the basement of a squat and then dig them up again for sale, or to wait at night in a bar for a truck full of potatoes to arrive for unloading.”

It made me so happy that the patriarchy could be corroded using groceries. It taught me something and was a hallmark of the city I had fallen in love with.

Nachtigall Imbiss. Food in the Hauptstadt has changed dramatically. For the better! Nachtigall Imbiss has remained undisturbed by these advancements. The only decoration is the beautiful sign. Inside it’s simple. A counter and my favourite falafals and chicken shawarma.

The city gave me a career, and that career started with two big helping hands. The first is harder to quantify as it was my friendship, a kind of brotherhood, with my dear TJ.

The second is easier to pin down. I had written a song called Vertigo. My friend Jakob played it to Torsten Pröfrock who worked at Hardwax, and he told us he would sell 100 records if we had them made. The story of how that record developed into the thing I do today is too long and too boring for now, but I always felt the deepest of debt to the record shops here. Torsten has gone and Hardwax has moved on to a new location, so here is another unchanged favourite. This one I recommend for the purchasing of new wave and kosmiche music - Heisse Scheiben.

Having become an internationally touring disc jockey I found myself having to make a great deal of travel plans. These were all conducted at the Turkish Airlines Sales Agent on Oranienstrasse. Many hours discussing routes and timetables were spent here. I sat and stared at the passing Kotti scenes of survival whilst the agents spent countless hours at the computer scheduling my impending months.

Olmo Alimentari. This newfound success meant my budgets increased, and I could buy myself delicacies. Olmo served good olives and artichokes, every pasta shape you had ever seen, and if you needed lunch a bowl of it nicely cooked in the back. I felt a kinship with the name too - it split the difference between Elmo and Ondo.

If these places are intact when you return here my dear, then something remains of a world I cherished. I hope they are and that you in turn can use them as a portal to this dear city that swept me away in my 20s, turning me into the person you know.

Much love,

JRS

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