Dearest reader, if you should ever take an interest in Berlin, indeed if the little curiosity might take you so far as the website of some airline, train line or popular hot air balloon destinations, may I recommend a very strict return ticket, one where there is no opportunity to back out, or change the time.. For if you do not, you may as well quit your job, sell your house and leave your family before ever arriving, for I warn, you may never escape! The story is rampant in Berlin, "I was just passing through", "short work trip", "I just meant to stay the summer", and one by one the flies get caught in the web and 3, 5, 20 years later they are still there, mesmerized by the city's shiny sticky bondage.
This almost happened to me, dear reader, in fact my friends started laughing when I would threaten to leave, so confidant were they that I would stay. But here I am 100 kilometers away and this will be my last looking back.
Well and what is so sticky about Berlin? The first thing that might get you is the ridiculous conundrum of a city of 3.3 million people that feels like a village. The way the neighborhoods are laid out, the decisiveness of social groups, and a high dosage of serendipity all make it impossible to go a day without running into someone you know, even if you are a mere tourist like myself.
Another draw, or rather glue, is the abundance of artists, musicians, dancers, actors that color this gray dirty city with talent, creativity and intelligence. On my very first day here I saw a man wandering around a fair with a violin case and asked if he wanted to play.. And what luck! I had found a jazz violinist who knew of every jazz jam in the city. I spent much of my time there following him around to these endless nights of music. I was exposed to some really brilliant players who got me so inspired to practice and learn some swing and flamenco! (I believe this may have to wait however) the artists I met were so mind blowing, I hadn't heard such good music in so long and most of it was just at sessions. And they are all making so little.. Sometimes they are even lacking proper appreciation. But the insistence of these artists to stay and fight to survive is either a very romantic notion, or simply more proof that one cannot leave.
The history of the city is also proof, how no country would leave it's hand out of Berlin, no one could give up on it. You see the aftermath of this still definitely in the architecture but even more in the parks. Where in west Berlin you might have Victoria park, with lovely winding pathways, cozy- for maybe 3 people in a line- snaking up a mountain to look over the city- giving anyone who took the energy to walk up the mountain the feeling of a king surveying his land. Then in the east you have treptower park. There the sidewalks are huge, wide enough for a parade of 1000 soldiers. The trees are all identical and in straight lines. Instead of climbing up a mountain, the park rises up around and above you, huge statutes of solders or mothers loom overhead and even the sky seems to tell you that you are merely a tiny cog in this huge triumphant machine.
Well while stuck here, I had to of course earn my keep.. And this began the turf wars. It is interesting being technically a tourist, but joining forces with those that earn their living off of tourists. A silly identity crisis. I certainly have it easier than my gypsy colleagues, for the tourists trust me more (due to being white) and therefore give more money.. And in the beginning the gypsies didn't believe my act and asked me constantly for money while I was playing.. But by the end all of the gypsy mamas knew me and smiled as they walked by. I knew the kids better, though. They were so sweet, even after I, sometimes quite forcefully, said they could not have my euros, they laughed and smiled and one little boy just really wanted to play my fiddle. Every day he asked and I finally complied. It seemed he thought it a toy that once he held it, it would make the same sounds. Discovering that this was not the case, he looked from the fiddle to me and back and returned it with a shrug. Over the next couple weeks he got a few more tries, but his mother always yelled for him to come before we could make any progress. She needed his sweet face for better money. It is sad to see them carted around like that and I wonder if they will do the same to their children, if this is another unbreakable cycle. Sometimes tradition isn't so helpful. It is also interesting, the women and children ask for money on the streets while the not-young-enough-to-be-cute boys to men play instruments on the street. Two such boys were often out with a melodica and a saxophone and a few times I played with them and we wandered around looking for good terrasses to play for. The did not seem to make much money at all, though the kid on the sax was really quite good, and I wonder who makes more, the women or the men?
After three weeks of seminocturnal living, it seemed an early night if the sun wasn't up yet, my body finally insisted it needed a break. I realized after staying through 3 preset departures the only way to escape would be abrupt and final. I packed up my bike and set off to the joyous sound of my wonderful first friend there- the French jazz violinist. As his song was lost to the wind, I felt the tears welling up, but I flapped by little wings as hard as I could, Berlin could not hold me!!
It did make one more unexpected attempt, however, as I was biking through a tiny little town just after sunset. "Haste ne halbe stunde zeit?" (Have a half hour of time, in the equivalent of a Kentucky accent) well this was of course the perfect question because time is just about all I have. A hoard of men sat on the balcony of a beautiful hotel drinking and laughing and insisted I come up with my fiddle, for one had a guitar. Well I'll never turn down a jam, and a proper hootenanny took over! We all sung along to so many songs of my childhood and theirs, niel young, Beatles, Pete Seeger and they begged me to stay, threatened to chain me up and make me play every night. They were all so sweet and i at least agreed to stay the night in this lovely hotel, but then I had to be going. The road was calling so off I went. Today I haven't made it far, leaving Berlin time is worst than jet lag, but I've made it. And now, dear reader, starts the exciting part of my journey, for I am now finished visiting friends. I have found the rhythm for biking, I have found the routine for camping, and have found the internal strength for experiencing new cultures and people but keeping a vital part of myself alive and present. I feel ready, and I'm glad to have you to bring along. So let's go!
