Kemstone's Journal

If all goes as planned, 2011 should be one of the most interesting years of my life, so I wanted it to start with a unique and worthwhile experience. Last night’s New Years’ Eve party with Lena’s communist friends was everything I could have hoped for and more.

I haven’t been feeling all that healthy this week—probably a combination of the weather, lack of exercise, and much more alcohol consumption than usual—so I hardly felt like going out last night, but I knew after a few drinks I’d barely feel it. The night started shortly after 6, when I went to meet Oliver at the train station and ride the tram to the party’s location, the same bar/restaurant from Lena’s birthday party where I went dressed as Jesus.

Upon entering, I discovered that this was not just a party for the Marxist-Leninist Party of Hannover, but a joint celebration between the German communists and another organization of Turkish communists. It was the first and only completely multi-cultural gathering of Germans and Turks I’ve ever been to, with the Turks just slightly outnumbering the Germans. Considering how most of the time Germans and Turks keep to their own cultural groups and often speak ill of each other, it was quite nice to see a large group of them deliberately intermingling for the spirit of “Internationale Solidarität”.

Naturally, there were plenty of gorgeous women and girls there. Middle-Eastern being my favorite ethnicity with regard to women, this was naturally to serve as one of my main focuses of the night. At first it was hard, as during the period of time between finishing dinner and getting enough of an alcohol buzz going, I felt overwhelmed by unquenchable desire and felt as though my isolation-demon was roaring back to life. Was I just going to stare at them all night and not talk to any of them, lamenting the insurmountable gap between myself and any chance of getting to know them more personally? Would the new year begin with a slide back towards the past, or would my newfound confidence win out?

There were a few speeches made throughout the night at which the Germans would speak in German and the Turks would translate or vice-versa, and the first of these was given by Anka, the beautiful German girl from the protest back in the summer. She was looking absolutely stunning this evening, but there was nothing I could do about that because her boyfriend was also there. Translating for Anka was an even more beautiful Turkish girl, whose name I later found out was Merve (pronounced mare-dva).

After dinner I just happened to be sitting right next to Merve, but that’s when my demon was at it’s strongest so I didn’t take the initiative to say anything to her. But fortune was to smile upon me, as the man sitting across from her—possibly her father—had overheard me speaking English with Oliver and Lena and asked me where I was from. I said I was from America and Merve said, “You came all the way from America for this party?” to which I jokingly replied, “yes, I’m a huge fan of the MLPD.” The guy didn’t speak English so I switched to German to answer his question to me: “Is there a socialist party in America?” I explained that there is but it’s very small and nobody who is a part of it admits in public because in America socialism is considered extremely evil (ganz böse).

The conversation fizzled out from there, and I continued talking to Oliver and Lena and the German guy sitting near us. We’d started with beer but Oliver bought a couple of bottles of wine which I tried to drink quickly enough to develop a stronger buzz because people were dancing and I needed to loosen up a bit if I was going to join them. They were playing Turkish music and most of the Turks were gathered in a circle dancing Turkish-style. Before I could develop a buzz, however, the leader of the Turkish communist group came up to me and invited me to join them. Anka had pointed me out earlier as I was the only one there from America, so I guess he wanted me to join to add an extra bit of Internationale Solidarität (which is as fun to say as it is to write).

So the Turks dance by standing in a circle and joining hands (or just the pinky), moving around by taking three steps in and three steps out. I found myself joined at the pinky on both sides by two adorable Turkish girls, an experience that even in my awkwardness I had to make sure to appreciate. My dancing was definitely fucked up, as instead of three-steps in and three-steps out I would take four little steps in, five smaller steps out, two big steps in, a couple of steps out, stand still for a moment to even out the space in front of me, and so on.

When the Turkish music ended most of us went back to our tables and I drank a little more, finally getting to where I wanted to be. I found myself alone but sitting next to Merve, and I decided this was as good a time as any to bash the demon over the head to keep it from bothering me for the rest of the night.

“So you speak English?” I turn to her and say. Yes, she has to learn it for school. She’s now in her second year at the university, studying psychology. She says that English is currently her most important subject, and I compliment her on speaking it well. She asks me the basics about myself and I tell her about teaching English and the possibility of moving to Japan, and get the sense that she’s not interested in me so I don’t keep the conversation going very long once we reach an awkward pause. It’s enough that I summoned the nerve to speak to her.

And now I’m feeling quite good and I’m ready to get up and dance some more. Now they’re playing Western music, and I’m a bit disappointed that only Germans are dancing. A bunch of us white people got up to join the Turks for their music but apparently none of them want to come and join us for ours. (Later on more of them would dance to white music too).

Oliver and I go out for a cigarette and we agree that when we go back in it’s time for something stronger. We order a round of a cocktail that I think is called “caperinia” which basically tastes like Sprite. That goes down nicely, and the night starts to get a bit blurrier but not by much.

There’s a long period of time when we’re all back at our tables, the music has stopped, and a couple more speeches are given. They send the kids away to go for a walk during this serious portion of the evening (apparently they’ve decided to forego the communist indoctrination of the youth for now), but a couple of little boys remain and run around chasing each other the whole time.

Pamphlets are distributed with song lyrics—both Turkish and German of course—and we sing a few communist anthems together (or at least one ethnic group at a time). I’m just admiring Anka the whole time. Finally a Turkish woman with a lovely voice gets up to sing a couple of very sad songs, one in German and one in Turkish, but the only lyrics I can really make out are “dead children”. The little boys running around suck a bit of the emotion out of it, but it is really nice.

When we’re approaching midnight I go outside with Oliver for the last cigarette of 2010, and when we go back inside I see that just about everyone is going to remain inside for the countdown. But I think “fuck that” and go outside where a bunch of kids are already out there playing with fireworks.

I greet the boys and girls with cell-phone in hand, announcing that there’s one minute left in the year. When my clock strikes midnight the alarm goes off, and we all shout “Happy New Year” and watch as the fireworks erupt all around us in the distance. This place is kind of secluded in a small patch of woods outside the main part of the city, but fireworks are still visible over the treetops in every direction. The sound of fire-engines roaring is ceaseless. This is what I’m talking about—a real German new year. I’ve got nothing against Ichenheim but nothing beats New Years’ in a city. It sounds like a warzone.

So for the next half hour or so I help the kids play with their fireworks and sparklers as some of the adults come out to set off rockets as well. My cigarette lighter is in high demand, so my smoking has come in handy.

When we go back inside there’s a little game of bingo that every team pays €5 to play with the possibility of winning much more, but my team loses so my euro went to the communists.

I’ve now drank beer, wine, caperinia and a couple glasses of Sekt for midnight, and I’m about ready to start the Revolution. Oliver is totally down, but the other people we grab and ask don’t seem to think now is a good time. I insist that now is the perfect time—nobody would suspect it. Just imagine this group of drunken Germans and Turks raiding the City Hall and declaring it the official headquarters of the new International Communist Party. First we take the Rathaus, then we take Hannover, then we take Germany, and finally the world. Simple.

But nobody takes the idea seriously so I suppose the Revolution will have to wait. They insist that tonight is for coming together and sharing each others’ cultures. So in that spirit, Oliver and I invite a guy to sit with us whom Anka also pointed out before because he’s from Iran. He came to Germany twenty years ago but he’s still technically Iranian. I think his name was Iraj. We have a nice discussion with Iraj, who is the first person to ask me directly if I’m a Marxist. (Usually when someone asks you if you’re a Marxist you’re expected to deny it and say that’s crazy, but this was quite the opposite circumstance). I explained that I like the communist philosophy but I don’t think it works in the real world. Iraj insists that it does work—that it’s working right now. That if enough of us come together and the workers of the world unite, we can really achieve global equality.

To demonstrate his passion for multi-culturalism, he invites us to the dance floor where he will demonstrate his mixture of dance-styles from all over the world. He turns out to be a pretty good dancer, and I don’t feel awkward at all when he takes my hands and shows me the basics of two-person dancing, something I haven’t done in years. So now I’m really in the spirit, and I start grabbing others on the dance floor to dance around with, including the lovely Anka and the beautiful Merve, who is laughing and smiling the whole time.

Towards the end of the night they play a couple more Turkish songs, and I once again find myself in a circle, hands enmeshed on both sides by lovely young Turkish girls with whom I manage to exchange a few smiles. For the last song, everyone is invited to come dance and now there’s no room to hold hands so we all lock shoulders. When it’s over, Anka says a few words to close out the night and we begin the long process of saying goodbye to everyone.

As Merve is getting ready to leave I summon one last bit of will and approach her again, this time offering her my e-mail address if she ever needs any help with English. I explain that I’d be happy to help her with writing papers or whatever free of charge, and she politely accepts my offer. I get the feeling that she is just being polite and I’ll never hear from her again, but I type my e-mail address into her phone anyway. She gives me a warm hug goodbye with a “nice to meet you” and “happy new year” and that’s the last I see of her.

On the way out, we say goodbye to Anka, and I can’t resist the urge to give her a big hug and warm farewell under the pretense that I might never see her again. In German I wish her luck with the Revolution, and that’s the last I see of her.

Now there are four of us—myself, Oliver, Lena, and a German guy named Kay (along with his dog)—walking back towards our respective locations for where we intend to crash. Oliver and Lena will sleep at Amanda’s, and Lena has offered to let Kay and the dog crash there as well. Of course we look for a pub for one last drink first, but the only open pub we cross is the Böse Wolf and they’re not letting anybody new in because they’re trying to get people to leave now.

Since my flat is sorta kinda on the way back to Amanda’s we all wind up coming back to my place. Kay and I drink from my stash of beers, and Oliver and Lena make use of my rarely-used wine-glasses to drink another half of a bottle of wine. We stay up talking and laughing and listening to music until after 6 a.m. when Kay goes to catch a train home. Oliver and Lena stay a little while longer and I offer to let them sleep in my bed while I take the couch, but Oliver decides they should go to Amanda’s. So I wish them a very warm goodbye, then eat some bread and aspirin and chug lots of water before finally crashing myself, beating the sunrise by probably less than a half-hour.

Having mixed every type of alcohol known to man and consumed a great deal of it, I was expecting the worst kind of hangover today but it’s actually not all that bad. Certainly my high spirits from having such a fantastically awesome New Years’ Eve helps a lot. That was definitely one of the best New Years’ Eve parties I’ve ever been to. In fact, it was easily one of the best parties I’ve ever been to period. Between the intercultural mingling, spending time with Oliver and Lena, the spirit of Internationale Solidarität, and my confidence around the beautiful women, it was definitely the perfect way to begin the year.