Again in Berlin

Back in Berlin, in my usual cafe for morning writing, the green tracks still rise from the ground, and knobs and levers of the expresso machine still clank in the background against the rush of steam. The barista, though, is new. He is dark haired and lanky, unlike the shorter, bearded Spaniard with a ring in his nose who generally was here.

Noise and Sound

As I was trying to sleep last night, a difficult proposition since I am jet-lagged, sounds tempted my ears. Car engines revved to make it from a dead stop through the short block before the next light changed. Horns blared warning, irritation, intention, disgust. Police whistled in a burr, a rising sound, and many others that communicate meaning though I do not know it. I could hear people laughing, arguing, talking.

Comfort

Last week I went to the land of cars. That was not part of the plan. It just happened, as a consequence.

With a glance at a calendar I realized the famous Botanical Gardens of Berlin would close for the season with November’s coming. That would be in two days.

Hedwig's Mozart

Berlin is a city of canals and rivers, they say, with more bridges than Venice. It is also a city of churches. I do not know how it compares in that aspect with Italy. Though I have been to Italy, I did not stop to think about the presence of church buildings. Here spires pierce the air in almost every neighborhood and, in the downtown, there seem far more than the current population could support.

Prussian Ghosts

The enormous expanse of land that stretches in front of Berlin’s ancient looking Altes (Old) Museum, alongside its green domed, Protestant Cathedral, seems far to large for a modern city. It reminds me that Berlin is a capital city and that it was one before, during the first German unification in the nineteenth century.

A Fist Raised Up

It is night, though people still stroll the streets. But I am tired and cold, so I go home.

I have not seen my housemate Frank and his girlfriend Susan for a few days. I hear them in mornings as they bathroom clinks and the wood floors groan as they prepare for work. But I am trying to stay up later and get up later and as a result I just stay in bed.

Who is Hermann and Who Cares?

My first day here, bleary-eyed from an all night plane trip and jet lag, I had to find my way to Hermannplatz. I had already screwed up in finding the way from the airport to the building where I had rented a room. Frank’s directions were good. I just got off the bus at the wrong place, luggage and all, and then had to figure out how to get to Hagenauer Str. in Prenzlauer Berg. That is not so easy in a strange city in the best of times, but after all the stress of departure, the long flight, and the change of languages and cultures, it is no surprise I made such a mistake.