Dixieland Jazz and Whores

Every Wednesday, the Goethe Institute (where I am studying) has a meeting of sorts for the students, called Stammtisch. One translation is "table reserved for regular guests." I suppose that's not far from the truth, in that it is a regular occurrence for us to be there. I don't know if anything is resevred, though.
I had not gone the first 4 weeks I was here. I knew it was a bar atmosphere, with lots of Goethe people, but the middle of the week was a hump I could not easily surpass. I tended to take "naps" during that time, great big 4+ hour naps. And then I would miss the party.
I heard there was live jazz played there, and I dedicated myself to go. Live jazz? Yes please.
Having never gone before, I made sure I had the correct address and so on before leaving. As it would happen, the address I was given was either crap or an estimate, as I would find out later. I spent about an hour walking back and forth up and down this street, looking for the bar. I shared the street with a great many party people, and quite a few ladies of the night. It must be a popular spot for them; they were everywhere.
After a long time of fending off surprisingly bilingual requests to spend the night with these women and becoming more dejected as I could not find the bar I sought, and therefore my friends, I began heading home.
"Where you going tonight, honey?" one of the women asked me. Now, I knew what she meant, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I told her where, and then said I couldn't find it. She smiled. I think she'd seen me wandering back and forth a few times. After asking if I'd rather go with her, and me reassuring her that while she was very pretty (much prettier than whom one might find on the streets in the US, and not just her, all of them) I just wanted to find the bar. She was nice enough to tell me. It wasn't even on the street I was told, but rather a side-street nearby. I found the bar in quick order and joined my friends. I was instantly reminded of a Lewis Black quote, "If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college." Except for me it was "If it weren't for helpful whores, I'd never find my friends."
Take note, dear readers. If you ever find yourself unable to find something, and even asking locals doesn't help, find a whore. They likely know the area very intimately, and probably won't even charge you if all you want is directions.
When I arrived, somewhere around 10:30PM, there was no band but a great big pile of people in the bar, full beyond what any fire marshal would allow back home. Probably here, too. I grabbed a beer and ended up having to sit on the edge of the stage, and chatted with friends (although in order to chat I pretty much had to yell.)
Around 11, some mostly older guys came up to the stage, taking their time to set up. I was very excited. My friends didn't seem to care too much for the music, but I couldn't wait. A trombone, trumpet, clarinet, piano, drums, bass, and a... banjo?
I'll admit that while I knew I'd end up seeing some live music here in Berlin, of all the instruments I expected to see the banjo was not among them. Yet here it was, in Berlin, Germany, and they were all warming up.
A few minutes later they opened up, with a song whose style I could instantly describe as Dixieland or New Orleans Jazz. It was mostly in a standard blues progression, each song starting and ending more or less together with some semblance of a tune, but each song most of the players would take 16 or 32 bars or so for soloing, then passing off to the next. It was amazing. It was completely unexpected. I had a big silly grin on my face that wouldn't go away.
Berlin continues to surprise me.

This next bit certainly isn't big enough for a whole post, so I'll stick it here, almost as a postscript.
The day before the Stammtisch I went to Potsdammer Platz, a revitalized part of Berlain (as best I can tell it used to be somewhat cruddy and has had a lot of development to bring people in) and went to a TV and Film museum. It was fascinating, though I couldn't so much as bring my phone inside. Very serious about taking no pictures there. Two things stuck with me from that. One, WWII was none too kind to TV and Film people in Germany, and it was interesting to see how people from all walks of life fled the country, not just "ordinary people." The other thing was that apparently a lot of early, B&W films were actually in color, but not from color film. They were hand-painted, frame by frame. Mostly by women, and stencils (they didn't specify what type) apparently helped speed up the process. I even got to see an example, in motion. It was amazing, to think that was once how things went.

That's all for now!