Sunday night, Moviemento Kino on Kottbusser Damm screened the film, We Want (u) to Know.

The film has only been shown a handful of times in Berlin theaters, which means if you want to see it, you have to keep your eyes open.

We Want (u) To Know is a participatory documentary film not originally for the Western world. Rather, the intended audience is Cambodian, and the film has been used over the last couple of years by NGO's and outreach programs to teach villagers about the Khmer Rouge regime and about the country's ongoing Khmer Rouge tribunal.

The Khmer Rouge (KR) was a communist organization lead by Pol Pot who wanted to make Cambodia completely self-sufficient by rebuilding the country from the ground up, starting at what they called "Year Zero." On April 17^th, 1975, the Khmer Rouge soldiers defeated the oppositional American-backed Lon Nol soldiers and fought their way into Phnom Penh. Within a number of hours, they emptied the capital and forced all its citizens into the countryside.

Survivors recount harrowing stories of patients being evacuated from hospitals, IV's still in their arms, children crying for their parents who had been lost in the commotion, and the frightening and mysterious KR pointing guns at anyone who asked questions.

The regime lasted just under four years, and it is has been estimated that some two million people were killed or died from starvation.

Thirty years after this traumatic event, the country is trying to heal, and the film We Want (u) To Know is one of the methods used to help survivors confront their past.

The directors, Ella Pugliese (Italy) and Nou Va (Cambodia) were attracted to the idea of using film as a method of healing due to its capacity to reach anyone, regardless of their ability to read or write, a common problem in rural Cambodian villages.

They approached the town of Thnol Lok, spent a few weeks getting to know the villagers, and once everyone felt comfortable, they handed the cameras over to them. To reduce the risk of reopening traumatic wounds, the directors and villagers worked closely with psychosocial counselors.

More on We Want (u) To Know, after the jump...

Just three short years ago, if you wanted to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Berlin, you were faced with a few measly options: head to the closest Irish pub, throw on some green clothes, or grab a couple of Guinness at the store and enjoy them at home.

It wasn't until last year that Berlin finally got a St. Patrick's Day parade, and like everything else in this city, it's original, quirky, and growing.

It's hard to believe that it took Berlin this long to get a parade. It's especially confusing to those of us from North America; on March 17th, there's a parade or two in every major city. The day is a huge event.

New York boasts the largest St. Patrick's Day parade with over 150,000 participants and 3 million spectators. Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day, everyone wears green, and everyone drinks a couple (or more) green beers.

So why did it take Berlin so long to get its own parade? It's not as though there aren't any Irish people here. The Irish Embassy in Berlin estimates the numbers are between 1,500 - 1,700 people, and they've noticed an influx of Irish immigration to the city, and to Germany in general, over the last couple of years.

The majority of the Irish move to southern Germany in search of work to escape the dire economic situation in Ireland, but many others head to Berlin, due to its artistic, independent, and alternative vibe.

The large number of Irish in the south partly explains why Munich has the largest St. Patrick's Day parade in Germany - and they say, one of the largest in Europe.

It started in 1996 and now has an average of 20,000 spectators. The parade has a more religious tone than here in Berlin. The day begins with an Irish mass, and the parade is ordained by a priest. Everything is wrapped up at 6 PM so as to not disturb the neighbors and interrupt the church services next door.

Last year, Dara Drea O'Neill and a small group of Irish entrepreneurs from Kleine Reise and Loftus Hall started the Deutsch-Irische Gesellschaft Berlin and decided it was time Berlin had its own parade and celebration.

O'Neill has been living in Berlin for five years and has witnessed more and more young Irish people moving to Berlin.

"Before now, there hasn't been a want or a need for an Irish community (in Berlin)," O'Neill says. "But now, we're the new generation of expats. The Irish economy is in ribbons (awful), and we have to stick together. We're stronger together."

Berlin's St. Patrick's Day parade is very different from its counterpart in Munich. O'Neill describes it as a day of Irish pride that's not associated with religion.

"It's a fresh take on the Irish parade," O'Neill says. It's relaxed, open to everyone, and still utilizes the fun Irish things that everyone has come to love, like dressing up like St. Patrick and hitting fake snakes over the head with a stick (legend has it that St. Patrick rid all the snakes from Ireland).

"This is my first year celebrating in Berlin, and I'm really looking forward to it," Irish expat, Emma Griffin, says. She's been in Berlin for almost a year now and would always celebrate the holiday back home in Ireland by wearing green and heading to the pub with friends.

When she was younger, she would attend mass in the morning. This year, Griffin will be heading to the parade.

"I love all things Irish," she says. "[and] St. Patrick's Day is a celebration of my Irish-ness."

Fellow NPR Berlin contributor and Irish expat, Jennifer Collins, watched the parade last year. When she arrived, she was told, unexpectedly, that she was the parade, and was handed some green material and Irish flags.

"I was a bit surprised, but I didn't mind. It was actually good craic (fun). Especially as when I was a kid, I always wanted to be in the parade."

Collins and the other spectators joined in with those dressed like St. Patrick and leprechauns and marched together from Spreewaldplatz into Görlitzer Park and back again.

It'll be the same idea this year, albeit a little bigger and better. O'Neill and the rest of the organizers will have costumes on hand. The Irish Ambassador will kick off the parade before everyone marches together down the same route as last year.

In the middle of Görlitzer Park, there will be a performance from The Berlin Pipe Band. From there, the party will head to Morena Bar for a free buffet-style feast of Irish cuisine consisting of beef stew (yes, there will be a vegetarian option), mashed potatoes, and tarts. For sports fans, the Ireland vs. England rugby game will be playing in the background. Musicians and dancers will also be on hand to ring in the evening and spread the Irish cheer. After everyone's had their fill, the party moves to Loftus Hall with some Irish DJ's performing and continues well into the night.

If the noise of the pub is too much, another option is to head out to any part of town with a view of the TV Tower and watch as it turns green at 6:45 PM as part of Tourism Ireland's Global Greening Initiative. It is one of the many famous landmarks taking part in the worldwide celebration of Ireland, the largest of which is Niagara Falls, which will be lit up in green on both the Canadian and American sides.

So if you don't want to sit at home with a pack of Guinness this year, head out to Spreewaldplatz on Saturday, March 17th at 4 PM and join in the Irish fun. Although, I'm sad to say, the weather is supposed to be beautiful this weekend, unlike last year when it was cold and rained, and according to Collins "was just like being at home."

Google tells me that there are approximately 150 shisha bars in Berlin.

However, considering my favorite one isn't listed or on the map, I have to assume that there's a lot more. In fact, the wandering pedestrian can't spend five minutes in the heart of Turkish Neükolln without smelling one.... or two or three.

For those not familiar with the practice, shisha, hookah, or Wasserpfeife (water pipe), is used to smoke flavored tobacco.

A decorated glass vase is filled with water, a pipe or two come out the middle (from which one inhales), and a ceramic bowl placed on top is stuffed with tobacco. Fiery coals on the bowl ignite the tasty experience.

It's generally accepted, although commonly debated, that shisha originates from India during the reign of Mughal emperor Akbar (1542-1605 A.D.). After tobacco was introduced to India by Europeans, smoking took off amongst the higher classes.

Physician Hakim Abul Fath became concerned with the growing trend, and, so they say, invented the hookah, touting that tobacco smoke which passed through a water filter was healthier.

Of course it's important to say this is not true. Studies have shown that smoking shisha is quite unhealthy.

But Shisha's popularity grew and spread throughout the Middle East before being imported to just about everywhere.

Today, much like it was hundreds of years ago, smoking shisha is a social event. Take a couple puffs of the pipe and pass it on to the next person. Nowadays, small plastic mouthpieces are given out to individual smokers so as to prevent the spread of germs.

Unlike many of the shisha hangouts in Berlin, Sehraya, Berlin's biggest shisha lounge is Egyptian, not Turkish, and the owners are obviously very proud of its heritage. It opened in Berlin six years ago, and according to its staff, it's quite similar to shisha spots that one would find in Egypt.

The decorations and atmosphere of Sehraya are exotic and enchanting. The front door is guarded by a shiny gold statue of a pharaoh, and, once inside, visitors cross over a small bridge surrounded on either side by Egyptian paintings, statues, and ornamental water pipes.

Sehraya, in Egyptian, means "comfortable evening with a few friends" and the plush embroidered couch seating spread out over the two story indoor courtyard and carved wooden room separators to section off groups certainly promotes such an expression.

The menu boasts over 40 different types of shisha tobacco, from banana to cappuccino to bubblegum. Alcohol is not served. Instead, the menu bursts with an array of teas, shakes, and traditional homemade food such as besara (pureed beans with garlic and onions), kushari (a famous Egyptian dish consisting of rice, lentils and noodles), and baskets and baskets of pita bread.

With such a selection and a cozy ambiance, it's hard to pull oneself up off the couch and leave. That is until later on in the night when the air gets too thick to see, the music turned up too loud to hear normal conversation, and the inevitable smoke induced headache sets in.

But until that happens, it's pure magic.

Sehraya is located near U-Bahnhof Mehringdamm.

It's hard to say what's so amazing about Mongolia- truly a toss up between the people and the landscape.

The scenery is wide open and breathtaking. It ranges from rolling valleys to the choppy Gobi desert. The cities can be crumbling Soviet relics or a simple assemblage of yurts (a traditional Mongolian tent) surrounding ancient monasteries.

The people are famous for their hospitality and are outrageously friendly. When I left Mongolia in May, I cried. I'd met the kindest people, and I didn't want to leave them. But, of course, they have to be hospitable to one another; Mongolia is the 19th largest in the world and the most sparsely populated.

Many of its citizens are still herders and mostly nomadic. While traveling through the largely unpopulated countryside, herders are forced to spend the night in a stranger's tent so as not to endure the oftentimes harsh weather conditions.

Until January 6th, Berlin is presented with a rare opportunity to experience a little bit of Mongolia, and in the oddest place... Globetrotter, the outdoor adventure/clothing store.

Although, Globtrotter is a fitting choice; Mongolia is an outdoorsy person's paradise. They offer horseback riding, camel riding, hiking, and trekking, just to name a few.

So amongst the wind-proof jackets, thermal toques, and shiny climbing gear, Globetrotter, with help from the International Intellectual Museum in Ulaanbaatar, has set up a yurt.

The yurt is furnished with traditional Mongolian furniture, as well as toys, clothing, jewellery, puzzles, children's toys, paintings, and CD's. To my surprise, the prices were actually equal to or less than they were in Mongolia.

My favorite purchase? Ankle bones. Inside a little woven purse are four small ankle bones (normally from sheep or goat). Roll the ankle bones on the table, and each combination of how they roll tells a fortune.

Maybe it sounds a little unappetizing, and admittedly at first I was reluctant to touch them, but this game is huge in Mongolia. I was overjoyed to find them here in Berlin and, perhaps a little too eagerly, bought my own set.

It brought back amazing memories of a cold and snowy night in a yurt in the middle of Mongolia, passing the time rolling ankle bones, playing various games, drinking Chinggis Khan Vodka, and trying to decipher which side of the ankle bone was which.

On the evening of December 20th, for even more of the Mongolian experience, the yurt and Globetrotter are hosting an evening with Sarah Fischer, a travel writer, photographer, and a German with Mongolian background. She'll be giving a presentation (in German) about Mongolia and her experiences, and the evening will be accompanied by live music.

The event starts at 20:00. Globetrotter is located at U + S Bahn Rathaus Steglitz.

Snuggled quietly in a small upstairs room in the Palais am Festungsgraben, behind the German Historical Museum and the Neue Wache, is a room of wonders.

From inside comes the soft sounds of relaxing jazz, the clinking of tea cups, and quiet, calm conversation. A small heap of shoes guards the entrance way into the tiny room. Once inside, beautiful woven Persian carpets, intricately detailed carved sandalwood pillars, and colorful murals greet the eager explorer.

Take a seat at a coveted and lavish floor table and grab a menu. This is the famous Tajikistan Tearoom, once a carefully guarded secret to Berliners, which, for better or for worse, has become quite popular. Fortunately, the increasing awareness and love of the Teestube has in no way taken away from the cozy and intimate atmosphere.

The tearoom dates back to 1974 when Tajikistan, then The Tajik Soviet Socialist Republic, was still a part of the Soviet Union. It was displayed at the Leipzig Fair in the Soviet Pavilion and was then donated to the Society for German-Soviet Friendship (an East German organization meant to encourage relations between the two countries). It was later moved into the Palais am Festungsgraben, where it now resides.

The tearoom serves delicious teas and a selection of Russian cuisine. You can discover teas from China, Japan, and Russia, with an impressive array of around 30 types of teas, ranging from sweet to smoked. Indulge in a Russian tea ceremony, complete with vodka, a samovar, cookies, and rum soaked raisins.

Tea is an important part of Tajik culture, and is often enjoyed with every meal. Green tea is the national beverage. The traditional tearooms of Tajikistan stem from a nomadic and Islamic culture where men would discuss politics and important issues over tea. (At the time, women were not allowed.)

This culture is displayed on the beautiful walls of the tearoom, with colorful murals depicting a life of constant movement; men sit alongside flowing rivers and drink their tea leisurely, dressed in ornate traditional garb.

Despite its large windows facing the incredibly touristy Museum Island, the tearoom feels like another world. Today, the tearoom remains a place for quiet conversation, somewhere to relax over a cup of tea and forget the increasingly cold weather outside.

Their motto, "Tee trinken heisst die Welt vergessen," which can be loosely translated as, "Drink some tea and forget your troubles," is exactly what's offered. In the winter months, you can lie back on the woven pillows, wrap your fingers around a steaming mug of rose petal tea, and listen to some fairy tales by candlelight, courtesy of the Berliner Märchenfrauen, a family of German storytellers who tell fairy tales in German from all over the world on Monday nights starting at 7:30 pm.

On the morning of September 24th, I stood outside the Babylon Theater in Mitte with a handful of other journalists who were eager for the day to begin.

A shiny black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up, and four citizens from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) stepped out. They were impeccably dressed, each wearing a pin of Kim il-Sung pinned to their lapels. We followed them inside.

The interviews kicked off the first annual DPRK Film Week at the Babylon Theater, which came to a close this Saturday. Twenty-one films from North Korea were screened for German audiences- the first film retrospective of its kind anywhere in the world. The films spanned over 50 years, from 1949, just one year after DPRK became a country, until 2010.

Once inside the lobby, the confusion began. Each journalist wanted, and was promised, separate interviews, but a North Korean embassy representative was adamant that we would, instead, have a small press conference.

After much discussion, separate and supervised interviews were agreed to. A Japanese news crew went first. I squeezed in my interview during a smoke break between filmed news interviews.

So, on the steps of the smoking area outside, I met with three North Korean film industry representatives from the most closed off country in the world.

Ryom Mi Hwa, the manager of Korea Import and Export Film Corporation in Pyongyang, answered most of my questions. She looked quite young, and was dressed in a pinstripe black pantsuit. Her English was almost perfect. She spoke softly but was surprisingly chatty and very friendly. Hwa had already been to Berlin twice before, as well as Moscow and Shanghai, and was eager attend the Toronto Film Festival one day.

Ri Gwan Am, a well-known film director and head of the Korean Film Studio in Pyongyang, was also with us. He was tanned with a lined face, which easily broke out into a grin when we talked about films. Jang Yu Son, a scriptwriter and head of the Korean Scriptwriting Company, also stood with us. She was eager to contribute and answer my questions.

It was very obvious that certain topics could not be broached, and if they were, would not be answered. We were told the experts were there to talk about film, not politics.

Some of my questions received predictable responses. When asked what they were most excited about doing in Berlin, Jang Yu Son talked about the opportunity to further develop the friendship between the two countries (DPRK and Germany), which is celebrating it's 10th anniversary of diplomatic relations this year.

I asked what they hoped people would learn from the film week; Ryom Mi Hwa told me the films can contribute to the mutual understanding of the two countries.

However some of their answers did seem to hint at a darker side of the film industry, one that attempts to portray an idealized image of the country.

When I asked how films in North Korea are different from films in the West, Hwa said that in North Korea, "films are not just a commodity. In the West, films are a little silly." The films are "focused on educating young people," and the main theme, she explained, is justice, with good overcoming evil.

Finally, my last question.

"What's your favorite movie?"

The three North Koreans chatted amongst themselves, smiling and laughing.

"In Korea?" Ryom Mi Hwa asked.

"Or outside..." I tried.

They thought for a little while.

Finally, Ryom Mi Hwa said "Zero Zero Seven."

I thought for a minute. Zero zero seven...

"You mean James Bond?" I asked.

They burst out laughing. "James Bond!" they said nodding their heads, and I joined in the laughter with them.

I guess James Bond is popular everywhere, even in North Korea.

North Korea is not exactly famous for its films.

Instead, when one mentions North Korea, other, more disturbing images may come to mind: the bizarre leader Kim Jong-il, suspected nuclear advancements, widespread famine, propaganda, and so on.

Not surprisingly, as I discovered this weekend, the truth behind North Korea's iron gates is also not depicted in their films.

This week, the Babylon Theatre in Mitte is hosting the first annual DPRK (Democratic People's Republic of Korea) Film Week. The event was coordinated by Dr. Uwe Schmelter, the former regional director of the Goethe Institut in East Asian Studies. The film week includes the screening of 21 films made for North Korean audiences, from 1949 until 2010, and the participation of three North Koreans who work in the film industry.

The event is the first of its kind anywhere in the world, and it marks the 10 year anniversary of Germany and North Korea's surprising diplomatic relationship.

I talked to Dr. Schmelter a few days before the opening to understand the goals of the film week. Granted, little is known about North Korea, and many things we do know are negative.

Dr. Schmelter argued that the presentation of such films presents the public with a small glimpse into the country.

"The Western film audience is experienced enough to see what is propaganda, what is reality, and what is fantasy," Dr. Schmelter says.

He also told me the film week aids in the mutual understanding of the two countries.

"Artists are the same all over the world," he tells me, "no matter the political system behind them."

Saturday night was the grand opening of the film week, which was attended by not only curious members of the German public, but also by many North Korean men in finely pressed suits, wearing conspicuous Kim Jong-il and Kim Il-sung buttons on their lapels.

They seemed to place themselves strategically around the theatre, which added an incredible sense of uneasiness to the evening. Ri Gwan Am, Director and Head of the Korean Film Studio in Pyongyang, said a few words to start off the evening and praised the partnership between the two countries.

The opening film, The Wheels of Happiness (2010) was chosen, Dr. Schmelter says, specifically because "it depicts a situation in Pyongyang which also happens in Western countries."

The film follows the story of a woman who leaves her job at a successful architecture firm to take care of her family. Years later, she decides to go back to work but has to start over and once again build up her credentials. She only finds happiness once she discovers how to successfully manage both her family and her job.

The film sounds relatable, however, the dialogue was a string of propaganda-like proverbs, such as "One without ability is to be forsaken," and "A woman finds happiness in society as a societal being," and "A woman should find her true happiness by working hard for her country." The movie chastised women who took care of their families, instead placing an emphasis on caring and working for the state.

Contrary to news reports about North Korea, the society depicted in the film was plentiful. Fruits and vegetables were flashed across the screen and people played guitar and sang in courtyards on their coffee breaks. The 80's style clothing, old-school 4:3 format, and strange dialogue such as "Where have you been all this time? Traveling the world?" would have been entertaining if the situation in North Korea wasn't so tragic.

After talking to Dr. Schmelter, I was convinced that the DPRK Film Week was valuable because of its ability to potentially bring two countries and two different groups of people together, and in doing so, could maybe even help North Korea in some strange, idealistic way.

But after attending the opening, my mind was changed. Instead, I realized the film week is important because it's so rare for Western audiences to view these films and get to see, let alone meet, North Koreans. The films, according to Dr. Schmelter, show "a glimpse of how the country understands itself, and how it wants to be seen."

They provide an interesting look into a closed off country, albeit a very small one, but I agree with Dr. Schmelter that a glimpse of the country is there, hidden behind the propaganda.

As for me, I sat in the theatre and felt that everything I already knew about North Korea was confirmed.

The DPRK Film week is running until October 1st at the Babylon Theatre in Mitte.

Later in the week, I'll have a second article about my interview with the North Korean film representatives.

"We don't expect to win," Mathias Helfert says.

"There's a lot of competition this year, but the most important thing is just to do it."

As I chat with Helfert, teams dressed like flowers, farmers, and comic book characters practice pushing enormous hay barrels around historic Richardplatz.

The long awaited 178th annual Rixdorfer Strohballenrollen Competition, also known as "Popráci" was finally here.

Last weekend, I headed down to the festivities to take in the exciting action.

Helfert and his team, employees at Rixdorf's local 109 year-old butcher shop, Blutwurstmanufactur, have competed for the past four years, since the festival's revitalization.

"Last year, we came in 14th or so," Helfert says. "But the year before that we came in 4th."

The team from Blutwurstmanufaktur are not the only repeat rollers. Last year's winners, a team from Neukölln's Rue Bunte, were dressed like characters out of a Western film, with cowboy hats and handkerchiefs around their mouths. The Green Party Neukölln team, also celebrating their fourth year as participants, were dressed like sunflowers.

"It's harder this year," Jochen Biedermann says, from Green Party Neukölln.

"It's been a wet summer, so the hay barrels are heavier. But we're not here to win. It's just fun."

The day opened with a welcome speech from Norbert Kleeman of the organizing committee. Captains from all the teams, 20 in total, got up on stage and introduced themselves. In keeping with the festival's history, the Czech Republic was heavily represented, with the Czech Ambassador Rudolf Jindrák present, the mayor of Neukölln's sister city, Ústí nad Orlicí, and two Czech teams.

Ústí nad Orlicí's team was dressed like big Czech beer bottles, and another team from Prague dressed like sailors. Zdenek Ešpandrem, Mayor of Ústí nad Orlicí, said he was excited to be present at the competition for the first time.

"And of course, I hope that our team wins," he said towards the end of his speech, eliciting good-natured boos from the crowd.

"People have a negative view of Neukölln," Marion Wegner, of the organizing committee, says.

"It's our goal to invite people from other neighborhoods of the city, show them what Neukölln is like, and to improve its reputation." Zelheldorf's participation was not overlooked, and, at the end of the day, they received a special prize for bravery.

And so the excitement began. Each team raced and rolled against one another, and the six teams with the best times competed in the semi-finals. Indeed, some races were incredibly fast, and spectators were warned to keep out of the way of speeding hay barrels. The team from Ústí nad Orlicí was particularly fast, and perhaps they were at an advantage considering they had just won the Hay Barrel Rolling Competition in their home town the week before. As teams neared the finish lines, cheerful spectators applauded, ran alongside the exhausted participants, blew whistles, and banged on pots and pans with wooden spoons.

"The first 10 to 50 meters are the most important," Biedermann explains. "You have to have a good start and be the first one on the curve. I've never seen a team win that wasn't the first one on the curve."

Mathias Helfert tells me his secret plan to win the race: "We have to get on the inside of the curve," he says "and be very quick in the first 50 meters."

In the end, Helfert's strategy pays off, and the team, clad in their butcher uniforms, rolled their way to a second place tie with Rue Bunte. The Beer bottles from Ústí nad Orlicí were the excited winners with a final time of 1:52, and they left the festival carrying an enormous trophy. The grand prize? An all expense paid trip to the Czech Republic.

Next year's 179th annual Strohballenrollen will take place on September 8th and 9th in Rixdorf.

Last year, while wandering around Neukölln, I found myself in historic and beautiful Rixdorf.

The area has the feel of a small village, with a blacksmith in the middle of Richardplatz, the main square, a horse stable off to the side, and surrounded by beautiful ornate buildings with meticulous gardens.

It's one of my favorite places in Berlin. But on this occasion, I was astounded to be faced with men and women dressed like superheroes, angels, and sheep who were pushing hay barrels around the square.

Crowds of young and old were cheering and running alongside the exhausted teams and yelling encouraging words.

The streets were littered with hay. Ska music was pumping from a stage in front of the corner church, the beer was flowing freely and stands of multicultural cuisine had sprouted up amongst the excitement. Goats from a petting zoo were baa-ing down a side street, and neighborhood children were rapping and breakdancing.

"What is going on?" I wondered.

It was the annual Rixdorf Strohballenrollen Festival (Hay Barrel Rolling Festival), which is celebrating its 178th year this Saturday, September 10th. The festival has many elements, though the thrilling hay barrel roll competition is the main event.

A team of four to pushes a 150-200 kilogram hay barrel (roughly two metres in diameter) around Richardplatz as fast as possible. It's not the speed that matters, although it helps.

At the end of the night, extra points are awarded for costumes (the winners last year had an angel/Alex from The Clockwork Orange theme), fairness, participation of women, gracefulness, and knowledge of Rixdorf. The team with the most points wins an enormous silver trophy which they keep for a year.

At the moment, 21 teams are expected to participate, although teams of four are welcome to register on the spot at 1:00 pm in front of the Rixdorfer Schmiede (Blacksmith) and then have an hour to practice their rolling skills.

At the moment, ancient looking banners strung from lampposts around Richardplatz advertise the event with the word: "Popráci," which is Bohemian for "after-work."

Why Bohemian? Well...

On Wednesday, I met with the festival committee, and they maintain, somewhat humorously, that in 1737, when Rixdorf was just a small farming community on the outskirts of Berlin, the first Strohballenrollen festival took place. At the time, Rixdorf was populated not only with Germans but also with Protestant Bohemians (from what it now the Czech Republic) who had been invited as part of an incentive program to bring skilled craftsmen to the area and to spur growth.

As a result, the Bohemian immigrants were exempt from taxes and military service. Because of this, and also due to differences in language and culture, the two groups were constantly fighting. When the Germans tried to invite the Bohemian settlers out for drinks, the settlers would make up excuses and would say "popráci," thereby always putting it off for another time.

Finally, fed up with all of the hostility, the Bohemian community leader and the German village elder held a secret meeting and planned the festival in order to bring the two groups together. It was an opportunity for everyone to get to know each other, shed their cultural differences and stereotypes, and to have fun. The festival continued for 174 years until it was banned in 1911 by Kaiser Wilhelm II.

Then, in 2008, a Rixdorf-based artist's group decided to reinvent and revitalize this long forgotten tradition, and Neukölln, the heart of multikulti Berlin, is still the perfect place it.

Marion Wegner, one of the event coordinators, says the message of the festival today is the same.

"It's about people from different places living peacefully together." She says pushing hay barrels is "something that people can do together. It requires teamwork and cooperation."

Indeed, the festival is a perfectly bizarre metaphor for what's needed in today's society. The festival is 100 percent a community event.

"It's a big network," says Norbert Kleemann, another coordinator. The organizers are all Rixdorfers, and community businesses in and around Richardplatz are involved, either as sponsors or contributors. The hay barrels and the petting zoo are supplied by local Berlin farm Milchhof Mendler. There's even a children's stage to involve and motivate the local kids. Rap and breakdancing contests will take place and be moderated by Maradona from the successful local film Neukölln Unlimited.

Keeping with the story, the event also works in conjunction with the Czech Embassy (representatives will be present on the big day) and Neukölln's Bohemian sister city, Ústí nad Orlicí.

This year, two Czech teams will be competing. Apparently, according to Kleemann, Ústí nad Orlicí loved the idea of the festival so much, they have since started their own. Ústí nad Orlicí's other sister city, located in Poland, has also gotten wind of the event and are thinking of starting one in their town too.

Hopefully this strange little German Dorffestival will spread, bringing cultures together through humor and communal hay barrel pushing.

Keep your eyes on this blog for my exciting follow-up and news of the special prizes, events, guests and winners!

The 178th annual Rixdorfer Strohballenrollen starts at 1:00pm in front of the Rixdorfer Schmiede with team registration. For a full schedule, please see the website.

Closest train stations are S-Bahnhof Sonnenallee and U-Bahnhof Karl Marx Strasse.

Spreewald is not just a pickle brand, but it's easy to make such a mistake considering Spreewald is perhaps more famous for its delicious preserved goods than its many labyrinthine canals which sprawl over a distance of 475 kilometers.

Located approximately 100 km southeast of Berlin, (about an hour on the train), Spreewald, which translates to Spree, the river that snakes through Berlin, and "Wald," which means forest, is an excellent description of what awaits the eager traveler.

Legend has it that Spreewald was accidentally created by the Devil himself. While he was plowing the Spree, his oxen got tired and wanted to stop. The Devil got angry, threw his hat down on the ground and screamed at them. The oxen became frightened and ran away, creating a series of intricate waterways with their plows dragging behind them.

The Spreewald Biosphere Reserve is UNESCO recognized and officially became a protected area at the end of the GDR's reign at the Council of Ministers' last meeting in September 1990.

According to Spreewald's tourism board, the goal of the reserve is to "conserve the diverse cultural landscape of the Spreewald, shaped by man for centuries, together with local people and to fashion it to meet the needs of the future."

Indeed, local people play a large role in such an undertaking; they are just as important to Spreewald as the pickles and canals. Their presence is quietly obvious from the minute one steps out of the train station, due in part to the abundance of bilingual signs in and around the towns.

The locals are called Sorbs, or Wends, depending on the region, and speak the Sorbian language. They are descended from Slavic tribes who settled in the area over 1,400 years ago. Over the years, their settlement areas were reduced and many assimilated into German culture, leaving only a tiny pocket of the culture remaining in Spreewald.

A visit to the town Lehde (Lĕdy) and its open air museum (the oldest in Brandenburg) or participating in one of Spreewald's traditional festivals is a great way to catch a glimpse of how this rare and slowly diminishing culture defines and celebrates itself.

The major form of transport on the canals is by Kahn, a traditional punting boat. The boats used to transport cucumbers, hay, and cattle, but now with the influx of tourism, they paddle visitors from small town to small town, and from farm to farm.

In the town Lübbenau (Lubnjow/Błota), numerous elderly Kahn drivers with white hair and bushy beards line up in their captain hats, pot bellies protruding, and hand out brochures about various rides and events.

Meanwhile, small wooden stands lining the harbor sell pickles by the bucket load, linseed oil (a specialty in Spreewald), varieties of horseradish, of the likes I had never seen before, and of course ridiculous pickle souvenirs like stuffed toys and key chains. The town seems cheesy and touristy, and indeed it is, but it's so beautiful and quaint it's hard to really complain.

There are innumerable activities in Spreewald. Canoes and kayaks can be rented from stores lining the canals. Gliding through the shallow water along the Hauptspree, with the weeping willows bending overhead and the Kahn drivers punting by, is a must for any day trip or weekend away.

Beautiful old cabins line the waterfront and makeshift honey stands set up by locals is an unexpected way to do a little shopping and to support the local economy.

Of course there are many hiking paths in the area, and a cycle along a portion of the picturesque and 250 km long Gurkenradweg (Cucumber Bike Path) is also a great way to spend the day. There are also museums devoted to pickles and farming, as well as castles and Slavic Forts in the area.

Visiting Spreewald is a great way to cap off the summer. One can sit at a beer garden along the canal and munch on potatoes and quark doused in linseed oil, or feast on local fish.

It's also a perfect way to start the fall.

The Lehde Festival is taking place on the last weekend of September, which includes fireworks and a Kahn parade. On the first weekend of October, Lübbenau will host a fall market. In fact, the harvest has already started in Spreewald, with a number of storefronts and houses displaying locally grown pumpkins and squash, both for sale and for magnificent display.

A visit to Spreewald is a visit to another time, one that is peaceful and quiet, when nature was beautiful and serene, and the people were friendly and jovial. On Saturday night, I walked through the deserted little town and watched the tourist stalls pack up. The air smelled like pickles, and it felt like all was well with the world.

The International Berlin Beer Festival celebrated its 15th year this weekend with sunny weather, countless bottles of beer, and bizarre bands covering music from around the world and throughout the ages.

The festival had a typically German feel; candy stands sold Germany's famous gingerbread hearts, sausages were served fresh off the grill, and the smell of fish sandwiches and roasted garlic lingered in the air.

But the International Berlin Beer Festival had more to offer than the normal German fare.

On Saturday evening, I stepped out of the Frankfurter Tor U-Bahn station onto Karl Marx Allee. The famous and grandiose domed towers loomed overhead and the music of Muse, the clanging of beer glasses, and the noisy cheers from a suspected 800,000 drunk beer enthusiasts echoed in the background.

I weaved through the tight crowd, claustrophobic at times, through the over 2 km long beer mile, which strives to be the longest in the world. On every side of the walkway was a different beer stand serving over 1,800 different varieties from over 300 breweries in 86 different countries. There were a variety of well-known beers from Germany, like Becks, Flensburger and Astra, as well as many different international beers for those looking to try something a little different.

The St. Louis Brewery of Belgium served cherry beer. The Guinness beer stand was accompanied with a serenading Irish folk singer and a guitar player strumming well-known Irish tunes. A quarter of the way down the beer mile, bamboo stands with paper lamps served Vietnamese cuisine and Saigon, Habeco, Sabeco and Hanoi Beer. Baltika Beer from Russia had a large beer garden close to a stage pumping Elvis Presley songs.

The International Berlin Beer Festival is an exciting, albeit somewhat exhausting event. As the day lingers, the crowds get larger, drunker and more rowdy. In addition, although entrance to the event is free, the beer is quite expensive (at least 4 euros including deposit).

But when the weather is warm, and the music is playing from 18 different stages, there's nothing better than sipping an unconventional beer and spending a night wandering along the former GDR's majestic boulevard with 800,000 of your closest friends.

Do you know of unexplored neighborhoods, markets, or hole in the wall spots I should visit in Berlin? Send me an email at tam.berlintravel@googlemail.com and we'll talk.

Not too long ago, a friend told me about the vast warehouses of Lichtenberg that are home to Berlin's little known Vietnamese market.

Nestled within an industrial area, surrounded by abandoned and crumbling brick buildings, and plastered with advertisements for Vietnamese driving schools and nail salons, is the Dong Xuan Center, named after Hanoi's market of the same name.

The arched entrance way on Herzbergstraße opens up to an immense parking lot, framed by four large warehouses, which are home to Berlin's little taste of Asia.

After picking up a bag of Vietnamese organic mixed fruit chips, I set off exploring.

I entered through a cloud of incense, emanating from a myriad of storefront shrines. Around me flowed the sound of a language I didn't understand, and ahead of me was row after row of clothing stores, bedding supply stores, grocery stores, and Vietnamese restaurants.

Cheap anything-and-everything stores sold the likes of rice cookers in a variety of sizes and flasks with the face of Lenin emblazoned on the front.

Other halls were filled with fake flower stores, clothes, shoes, and a huge nail salon supply store, which stocked manicurist tables, lamps, nail polish, and ceramic hands for displaying nail designs.

One store stocked Asian DVDs, CDs, newspapers and magazines.

Dragon fruit, golden mushrooms, bitter melon, carambola, and the infamous durian spotted the fresh fruit and veggies aisles of the grocery stores. Herbs were kept damp and fresh with moist tea towels, draped over cardboard boxes.

Canned winter melon tea and grass jelly drink were stocked in abundance in the cold drinks section, and deep within the store's freezers, everything from taro, coconut, and pandan nata de coco popsicles to shrink-wrapped frozen baby octopus wait to be discovered, and experienced.

Outside of the grocery stores, food kiosks, and restaurants, small tables displayed a variety of Vietnamese cakes like bánh.

To finish off the day, I stopped for a strawberry yogurt bubble tea at Bobo Q, a small bubble tea cafe, equipped with an outdoor sandpit with chairs and umbrellas.

It's the perfect place to sit back, relax, and reflect on the exciting experience of the Dong Xuan Center. One truly worthy of an entire day of window-shopping, bargain hunting, exploring, and eating.

Dong Xuan Center is accessible from the M8 Tram line direction Ahrensfelde, tram stop Herzbergstraße/Industriegebiet.

Do you know of unexplored neighborhoods, markets, or hole in the wall spots I should visit in Berlin? Send me an email at tam.berlintravel@googlemail.com and we'll talk.

Berlin's data protection ombudsman has criticized Berlin's transport authority for failing to properly address data privacy issues related to its new mobile phone ticket service.

The BVG's Touch&Travel service launched earlier this month allows commuters to pay for transport tickets using their iPhone or Android smartphones at all 7,500 stops in Berlin's AB zone and Potsdam.

(Zone C will be included upon the completion of Berlin Brandenburg International Airport.)

Although, for the time being, only those on Vodafone or Telekom contracts will be able to avoid the frustrating experience of seeing their train or bus ride off into the sunset just as the vending machine dispenses their ticket.

To avail of the service, commuters must download the free Touch&Travel app and activate their account with a PIN and customer number.

The user then logs into their account while boarding a bus, tram or train and logs out upon exiting. Their position is pinpointed and tracked via GPS or alternatively by scanning the QR codes located at the station.

At the end of the day, the app calculates the cheapest fare – single, short trip or day ticket – with the commuter receiving a bill at the end of the month. Users can check their account status online at any time. The BVG sends a reminder to those who forget to log out upon disembarking. The program continues to track the user's location until that point.

It is what happens to the collected GPS data that troubles data protection groups.

The service does not pose any data protection or privacy issues as user movement profiles are saved anonymously for six months, according to the BVG. This is done in accordance with Germany's data protection laws, says Birgit Wirth, head of mobility at the Deutsche Bahn, which has been testing Touch&Travel for a number of months.

However, Berlin's Data Protection Officer, Alexander Dix, claims there are many open questions with regard to what happens to saved data. The BVG must also make efforts to better inform commuters about the implications, Dix says.

Such location-based ticketing services in other cities have previously come under fire from civil rights campaigners due to privacy concerns.

London's Oyster card system tracks commuter movements and retains user information, such as a unique ID number linked to the owner's name. The data is saved for years and can be handed over to law enforcement agencies under certain conditions. Collection of such seemingly innocuous information represents a threat to "locational privacy" (the ability of an individual to move freely without being subject to monitoring), argues civil rights group Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF).

Researchers at the University of Austin,Texas, and Stanford University have also demonstrated how anonymous data can be easily de-anonymised with the use of relatively little information.

About 300 km north of Berlin on the island of Rügen lies Prora.

Gazing out at the Baltic sea and lazily lying on the sandy beach makes it a great place for a weekend away.

Prora's beaches have been compared to the beauty of the Caribbean; it's serene, calm, and a well deserved summer break from the busy and noisy surroundings of Berlin.

That is, until you turn around and see the enormous structure for which Prora is so infamous.

The partially abandoned concrete building stretches along the beach for 4.5 kilometers and consists of eight blocks (five remaining), each six stories high.

Today, the majority of what locals call "the Colossus" is merely a skeleton of its original purpose; the windows are devoid of glass, and the facade is crumbling. From outside, the small rooms, with their walls covered in graffiti, are discernible and alluring to urban explorers. The building is eerie and disturbingly unavoidable.

It is in every photo, every memory, and every experience.

The building was built as a seaside resort to house 20,000 vacationing citizens of the Third Reich so that they could enjoy affordable holidays along with a steady stream of Nazi propaganda.

Construction of the building started in 1936 by the KdF (Kraft Durch Freude, Strength Through Joy) wing of the Nazi Party. Each room was built to look exactly the same, with standard furniture and all windows facing the ocean. The resort was supposed to operate like a city, with restaurants, kindergartens, hospitals- even a wave pool and solarium.

Hitler originally intended for there for be five such resorts around the Baltic region, however Prora was the only resort started, built with the hands of war captives and forced laborers. With the outbreak of World War Two, construction was halted.

Instead, it was used as a refugee camp, a hospital, and a training school for servicewomen. When the war ended, the buildings were used to station Soviet troops before falling under the control of the East German army until 1990.

Now, the building stands as an awkward and ever-present reminder of the past, much like Berlin's Tempelhof and Olympia Stadium, and the Nazi Party rally grounds in Nuremberg.

Similarly, in Prora such a large building cannot be ignored and is once again being re-used and re-appropriated. The New York Times reports that Blocks 1 and 3 will soon be converted into 3,000 apartments for vacationers once financing comes through.

A youth hostel was opened on July 1st of this year in the northern end of the structure, and a sign in the lobby boasts it is "the longest in the world." Visitors can also camp in front of the hostel on the lawn with a view of the building's open-air art exhibit, which is plastered to the outside of the building. The hostel works in association with the Prora-Zentrum, also housed within the complex, which was established in 2001. The Prora-Zentrum documents and educates those visiting the region about the structure's difficult past, and offers a variety of educational tours around the area.

But the recent renovation work on the site is not without controversy. A recent Spiegel article states that critics believe that Prora is "the last place where people should be spending their holidays," and that far-right bloggers have been "celebrating the opening of the hostel as a continuation of the Nazis' strategy of providing cheap vacations."

Indeed, upon visiting Prora, the confusion surrounding the building is alarmingly evident. Can one vacation responsibly in a spot plagued by such a history? This problem is not unfamiliar to those living in Germany, and only time will tell. But so far, the attempts to re-appropriate "the Colossus" as an educational tool, accessible to everyone of all ages and backgrounds, seems to be a positive one.

Last Friday, July 1st, Canada celebrated its 144th birthday.

Here in Berlin, I was determined to celebrate it. I wanted to do something Canadian, experience my culture, and be patriotic.

But what exactly is Canadian culture?

A recent article in The Guardian stated that Canada suffers from "mass insecurity, just this side of a fully fledged personality disorder," and that Canada "searches for a way to define itself."

When asked about Canadian culture, Canadians (myself included), need time to think before stating that it's a mixture of nature, multiculturalism, friendliness, camping, hockey and bilingualism.

This year, I decided to find out what Canadian culture was for myself.

My first stop was the German-owned Ron Telesky Canadian Pizza by U-Bahn Schönleinstrasse. With a canoe parked outside, skis lining the walls, Quebec license plates hanging in the bathroom, and an enormous stuffed moose head hanging on the wall, Ron Telesky takes on the feel of a small and cozy cabin in the woods. The fridge is stocked with Moosehead beer (brewed in New Brunswick), Canada Dry Ginger Ale, Dr. Pepper (a rarity in Berlin), and A&W Root beer.

Pizza is not traditionally Canadian, but the heartfelt sentiment behind it is. While studying in Canada, Sebastian Hunold, the owner, was inspired by a Canadian friend who became very creative with his pizza recipes. Four years ago, Sebastian opened Ron Telesky in honor of such creativity. The pizza titles are an obvious nod to Canada: Wayne Gretzky, Curling Curry, and Flaming Quebec. To top it all off is hot chili maple syrup, the restaurant's invention, with a sweet and spicy taste that will make any lover of Canada smile.

Next was Tim's Canadian Deli. This Canadian cafe is hiding in Erwin Shrödinger-Zentrum at the Humboldt Univ. campus near S-Bahnhof Aldershof. It is somewhat reminiscent of Tim Hortons, Canada's incredibly famous and loveable coffee chain.

Beware Canadians: This is no Tim Hortons, but there's something so typically Canadian and peaceful about a simple coffee shop with a linoleum floor, metal tables and chairs, a variety of coffees, bagels, and croissants, and a maple leaf on the window.

Sitting down for a coffee made me nostalgic for my university days back home when I would say "Let's meet at Timmies." It made me wish that I was enrolled at Humboldt just so I could once again utter those magical words.

Finally, no Canadian experience is replete without some good music, good friends, and beer. On July 2nd, Lido held a "Canada Day" bash in association with the Embassy of Canada and Canadian Blast, a "one-stop music import/export portal" for Canadian musicians around the world.

Through the ticket counter, and past the dance floor, the wet and rainy outside patio was decorated in Canada flags. Embassy officials in business suits and red ties mingled with music-goers ready to start the festivities. Waiters, weaving through the unlikely crowd, served Bison rag.

At about 7:45 pm (early by Berlin standards, but perfectly suitable by Canadian standards), a string of Canadian bands took to the stage. Bonjay, a duo from Toronto, was soulful and inspiring, with its "dancehall reggae-meets leftist soul" beats and some covers of Canadian bands like Feist. Rich Aucoin, an electronic-experimental pop singer from Halifax, enticed the crowd with confetti and an extremely high energy performance which demanded audience participation. Mocky, from Saskatchewan, finished off the night with their odd but exciting mix of violin, cello, rap, and puppets.

So what is Canadian culture? Was The Guardian right?

The beauty of Canada is that there is no one thing that defines us. Canada is weird, quirky, different, and itching to be explored.

To me, Canadian culture is doing something you love, feeling a sense of pride in one's country, and grasping a cold beer in one hand while throwing the other up in the air to some good Canadian tunes, which is exactly what I managed to find here in Berlin