this weekend christian, his friend dominico, and i traveled to the quaint and lovely köln. it was incredible from beginning to end.
i had my first european train ride. trains in germany, as maybe everyone but me already knew, are the most efficient things in the world. everyone seemed upset that after a breezy four and a half hour ride, we were eight minutes behind schedule. after this grave setback, we arrived right in the thick of wonderful tourism at the kölner dom, which is one of the most daunting and beautiful buildings i've ever seen. it is jagged and ominous and dark from the outside, but strangely warm and welcoming on the inside, despite its enormity. we toured around a bit and i finally appreciated what it is to be a tourist. for years i've seen these people in san francisco, taking pictures of street signs and salads and thought they were a little bit silly, but now i understand. i wanted to remember everything, to hold it, to remember what it is some years from now when it has paled in my mind.
and then i met kölsch. kölsch and i are in love. kölsch is how all beer should be. it is served in doll-sized glasses and is light and easy to drink. my favorite thing about kölsch is that they serve it to you without asking and continue serving it until you deliberately tell them not to. they carry them by the dozen in a kranz, which is essentially a wreath of beer. the servers are surly old men with beards who don't care if you smile or say please but just continue depositing glasses on your table. they mark the number of beers you've had on coasters with what seemed to be always the same stubby pencil and then leave without saying anything. we sat outside in the rain at früh and it did not matter that it was raining. a band started playing. there were trumpets and horns and cymbals and people sang and danced and we drank tiny beers in the tiny doll city that looks like you might find wooden people with straw hair sitting on balls of cotton inside.
and it rained and then it didn't and then it rained and then it didn't and we continued sitting in this cobblestone square until it was time to eat and it was beautiful. we went to a traditional german restaurant called päffgen, which was loud and lively and amazing. it was long rows of wooden tables framed with wooden chairs, punctuated by the rows of kölsch, which sat like never-ending ellipses across the massive tables. and even though everywhere in köln is always full, there somehow seems to always be room. it welcomes you in. so we sat and christian ordered all the most typical german food. plates of meat arrived at our table. plates of meat, bowls of potatoes, and salads made of meat and potatoes. we feasted and laughed and spoke only german and i was happy and full. full of food. full of life.
we went for a walk across the rhein, circled back, and sat on a bench and watched the water for hours. i felt so calm and wonderful at that moment, sitting between two people i don't really know so well, in a city i've never visited, which speaks a language i only barely know. i felt safe. i felt safe because, for a minute, i trusted myself. i felt how important it is to be welcoming to people and how precious it is to be welcomed in return. to share yourself, to be willing, to learn about other people and places. how alone i am-or how singular- and therefore how lovely it is to be connected to people. i say that maybe every day, but every day i realize it more and feel more blessed because of it.
once we were ready for bed, we stopped for a last drink, which turned into a dance party at a hysterical bar called "night fever," which boasted a checkered floor lit beneath by changing-colored lights. we danced until the sun came up and urged us to sleep.
the next day was equally full- lattes in the sun, a special tour of the excavations they're doing beneath the kölner dom, an afternoon boat tour on the rhein, more sausages than i care to remember, a walk through the bustling riverside fleamarket, a ridiculously incredible tv on the radio concert, fancy cocktails on an outdoor patio, then beer and silliness at a playground across from our apartment. everything was saturated and bustling and lovely. people were friendly and willing to give directions. there was fresh bread and pastries to be had every ten feet. the city was sweet and charming, the company equally so.
for the weekend, i stopped worrying about money and just enjoyed myself. i stopped worrying about what i will do next week or tomorrow night or the next time i feel lonely. i stopped worrying about how stupid i feel when i speak german. i stopped worrying if i am missed or loved or fat or unhappy or wrong or if i'll ever figure it out or grow up. i stopped worrying about everything and i just had fun and was with kind people in a charming city filled with life and warmth and was happy. i cannot even quite explain. we did so much it is too extensive to detail and too unjust to only list.
let it be said, simply then, it was beautiful.
today we took a car share home. it was eight people crammed into a tiny van on the only day that hasn't rained since i left san francisco. it was sweaty and uncomfortable and i sat between two boys who spread their legs wide open leaving me crammed on the "seat" between them that was really just the strange gap between their two actual seats. one was very cute and named gregory and when he laughed it was so wild and shaky i was never quite sure if he was laughing or crying. the other's name i could not discern despite frequent repetition. in return, he thought my name was "puff" and the three of us spoke some disjointed collection of german and english. it took almost seven hours and my whole body still feels contorted and strange from the experience.
but it was perfect because of this, the most perfect end to my trip-
christian gave me a book that he had told me about before. it is called "berlin blues-" a story about a guy in his late 20's, living in berlin in 1989. the story is actually about me. i felt almost strange that christian, not knowing me so well, chose to give me this book. i think he just likes the way sven regener writes, but i felt seen in an almost over-exposed way. i read the whole thing. at the end, i cried. in a hot, sticky car that smelled of sweat and stale bread, between two boys legs, which were pressed uncomfortably against my own, i wept.
herr lehmann is young and living in berlin. he works in bar and hangs out in bars. his friends are all bar people and he seems to know everyone in his little community. he is not particularly unhappy, but not happy or fulfilled either. he seems smart. he seems like he could do something if he tried or if he did not drink so much or if he weren't afraid of being something more. he falls in love with a girl, who loves him but always avers she is not in love. she breaks his heart. other things go awry and his imperfect and simple life starts to unravel. you can tell he is ready for something new.
it is not a dramatic book. there is nothing big or suspenseful about it. it is easy. it is just a piece of life.
and then the wall comes down.
and it ends like this
herr lehman stood there like an island in a sea of traffic, feeling empty inside. he didn't want to go home, where nothing awaited him but a few books and a bed as empty as himself. maybe i should get another tv set after all, he thought, or take a vacation. in bali with heidi. or in poland. or make a completely fresh start. alternatively, i could have another drink someplace.
first off, he told himself, i'll start walking. it'll all work out somehow or other.
i'll start walking.
green light: go.
