Let's Be Strangers in Berlin

For weeks I've been stuck in a daily grind, and what's strange about being in such a grind is that, even though things are happening --very notable, interesting things -- they're happening within the context (or rather, confines) of routine, daily life. It doesn't seem as if there's ever a moment to take a step back, breathe, and see things as they are.

Tonight, while walking home from a workshop I've been teaching, I had such a moment of quiet and reflection. It didn't last nearly as long as I wanted, but it was just what I needed. I was walking down the street with my boyfriend, and I suddenly demanded that we walk in silence, as if we were participating in one of those weekend Buddhist retreats all of those stressed-out yuppies crow over.

I was walking along the same path I normally take home, but I wasn't listening to one of my many podcasts or attempting to make conversation with my boyfriend even though I was exhausted. Instead, I was swimming in the details of the things around me: all the little ways this seemingly familiar stretch of land remained alien and unfathomable to me.

It had stormed that day and the trees were still wet. The air felt lush and tropical. I noticed bits of street art that hadn't ever caught my eye before: a stick figure carrying the bar in a "Do Not Enter" sign; a poster advertising Barbie's Playhouse torn to shreds with the sticker "Sexistische Kacksheisse" covering Barbie's eyes; a piece of graffiti which read "LTRL WAFFLES."

There was a rounded, Bauhaus corner to a building I'd never noticed. In the driveway, a BMW sat next to a billboard with an image of a woman cowering behind a skeleton: an advertisement for the next album from "Queens from the Stone Age." Nearby was a strange half-street in which cars weren't allowed. It was filled with cobblestones criss-crossed by a bike path and struck me as exactly the kind of street American Republicans probably associate with this continent: poorly-designed, public in an aggressive sort of way, probably funded by high taxes and useful to almost no one.

The vague smell of industrial cleaner one associates with Porta Potties wafted towards me from a nearby construction site. The Caterpillars there were poised to scoop fresh earth, but they hung still and silent like a row of flamingos. The gutted buildings looked sinister and apocalyptic.

I've always craved the sensory overload traveling provides and I've found the feeling hard to recreate in my new hometown. This walk, however, restored my faith in silence, and it made Berlin seem like the same strange, alien world I had encountered when I first landed here.