Small World

Berlin is weird.

There is t much you don't see backpacking. From people dressed up as foxes on a free walking tour to people in suits digging out of the trash, you learn to not let much phase you. 

We've been a quiet bunch this time around, not really venturing out at night. Partly because our planes leave before the sun is up and we cram an entire city into one day, but in Berlin we have some time. Which is good cause apparently this city is known for partying.

Now, you all know I am not a clubber. Never have been, never will. Something about paying $15 to get into a bar then to have to pay $15 for a drink is just not my idea of a good time. That being said I enjoy sitting at a bar and hanging out for a while.

During this story I want you to remember Berlin has a population of 3.3 million people.

My friend Kaitlin and I decided we were not ready to go to sleep. We waived goodbye to our roomies for the week and wandered around this hip little district on the west side.

After walking down the East Side Gallery, through a thrift shop with some inventive tie dye t-shirts, and past a million asian restaurants we settled on a hole in the wall bar called OBE. We snagged a hi-top table and ordered two ciders, the strong kind (5%) cause we were feeling crazy.

When debating on a third drink a guy from England on his bachelor party struck up a conversation. His drunk cousin chimes in with "Hey, you guys speak really good English," hmm wonder why?

They begin to give us their best American impressions: deep southern accents and pretending to hold a shotgun in their lap while saying "Katiebob fetch me a beer," was definitely the most popular.

They were all from all over England, married or dating someone, big fancy lawyers, or selling footcare products. All friends from grade school coming together to send of one of their last single friends into the married life.

According to them Kaitlin is a surfer chick with no cares in the world and I travel the world doing nothing but liking Grantham, England. The more we got to know them the thicker their southern accents got.

Now for the real jaw-dropper.

My family- like most families in America- come from a small town in Scotland called Dumfries. Remember how I told you that Berlin is filled with 3.3 million people.

The drunkest one of the bunch was from a small town in Scotland called Dumfries with the last name Gibson.

(My last name is Gibson if you didn't know that)

After a few minutes of disbelief in his name I asked to see his drivers license. Government issued forms of identification don't usually lie.

It is then we decided that this blond haired, blue eyed Gibson with seriously the same Gibson noes was totally my long lost cousin.

You never let the facts get in the way of a good story but I am going to have to ancestry.com the shit out of this when I get back to the states. Either way, on my one night out in Berlin, I met my cousin.