'Riding black'

Berlin’s public transportation system is justifiably acclaimed. The trains, trams and ferries run on time, they’re all integrated, there’s no excuse not to use them. I’m a fan of the 7-day card, which allows unlimited travel for a week. Having traveled 9,000 miles to get here, it seems silly to now start rationing your trips across town.

My card expired Wednesday at midnight, it’s now Thursday morning, and the only place I know where to get another is a newsstand at Alexanderplatz, about five subway stops away. I could spend the 2.10 euros to buy a single ticket to get there, or I can practice schwarzfahren, or “riding black,” under the radar, without a ticket. There are no turnstiles or controls -- we’re completely on the honor system and I haven’t been asked to produce a ticket in the past week, so I confidently hop the U-2.

You know where this is going. We pass Eberwalder, Senenfeld, Spittelmarkt, Markische, and we’re pulling into Alexanderplatz, when this guy in the black jacket gets on board.


You have got to be kidding me. This is a transit cop. They board your car two at a time, at opposite ends. There’s really no escape. The fine is 40 euros for traveling without a valid ticket. If you don’t have the money, they’ll drag you to an ATM. If you have insufficient funds, they turn you over to the police. I’ve crossed Berlin back and forth for a week without being checked, and now, 300 yards from my destination to buy another ticket, they board? The timing is too great to bear.

I blame her, -- remember her? -- the one who gave me the ojo malo the other day.


Maybe there’s hope. I casually pull out my expired ticket and show it to The Man. He looks at it, looks at me … and moves on. WTF? I’ll never know. Maybe he saw the “Wednesday” stamp and assumed it was recent. Maybe he’s not used to seeing the 7-day cards. They are pretty expensive and I doubt a lot people carry them around. Perhaps he did a quick calculation that I’d spent 26 euros in the past week on his employer and that I was only a few hours in arrears. Don’t know, don’t care; don’t ask, don’t tell.

This lady wasn’t so lucky, and she was in my car! She's coughing up 40 euros.


Lesson: If you’re in Berlin and gonna ride black, don’t be like her and try to talk your way out of it. At first she shrugged her shoulders and started making excuses. Then she started rummaging through her stuff in an unconvincing show of innocence. No. Carry around an old ticket and produce it as if you don’t have a care in the world. At least you’ve got a fighting chance.

When I resumed my journey, a guy hopped on board and started playing “Those Were the Days” on the accordion. To set the cosmic scales right, I dropped 50 cents into his cup. Phew!