E One of the first things I did in Berlin was a walk along the Maybachufer. With M., my roommate for the next few months, and the dozens of swans floating on the water next to us. The Landwehr Canal hasn’t frozen yet, but it is bitterly cold and it won’t last long. So now I’m here, finally, but I still feel strange among all the people walking with me.
Everyone walks carefully, being careful not to fall on the icy ground, arms flailing around me, M. recommends that I take my hands out of my jacket pockets as a precaution. And then we walk past this one French bakery and there are actually people sitting outside, stretching their faces into the sun, one of them holding his bare forearms up to the light, drinking their coffee, eating their croissant. It looks cozy, I think at first, but totally absurd, as cold as it is. “A real hipster shop,” says M.
The art of French baking haunts me. On the way to Ballhaus Ost I walk past another French café, “Suzette”. There are Breton crepes and galettes here. I take a photo and send it to my brother. We have to go here because we always went to Brittany as children. With thoughts of sugar and orange, summer and the Atlantic, I stroll the last few meters through the cold.
It’s nice and warm in the Ballhaus East. Five performers are running in BIOFUCK! in a line, they break up more and more, move alone, merge and separate from each other. “Arrival is not one moment, but many,” says one of them. The sentence stays in my head. I think about how many moments like this I’ve had here. I can’t think of many, but I haven’t been there long, I calm myself. At the end, the audience is invited onto the stage, everyone dances together, and I don’t know whether I’d rather dance along or just watch the whole thing. This could be a moment like that, I think, but too many people around me remain seated. It remains while watching.
Later, soap bubbles in the neon lights, almost too cliché, I think the next morning after I woke up way too late
Instead of croissants, we have Menemen for breakfast, J. and M. are visiting. In the afternoon we play cards and I show them the Maybachufer. There they are, the moments. In the evening some swans have already hidden their heads under their feathers. I wonder if I have ever seen so many swans at once. They look peaceful among all the people who only now seem to be waking up.
I’m going out too, C. is celebrating Birthday. We’re in Dresden, at least that’s what the bar is called. There’s confetti on the table, and at the head there’s a birthday cake with colorful candles and runny icing. Conversations about the stay abroad in Aix-en-Provence, later in the car a French singer sings about her favorite corners of the city. There’s a DJ playing tonight in a cellar in Moabit, heads doping around me, cool cellar air instead of stuffy heat, surprisingly pleasant. Later, soap bubbles in the neon lights, almost too cliché, I think the next morning after I woke up way too late. But that could have been one of those moments too.
And I want to go one better, I’ve been thinking about it all weekend, I actually have no other choice. I sleepily put on my shoes and trudge off. It’s not as icy as the first weekend, but still cold enough. I can see it from afar, the snake. I join, M. would say, all the hipsters and order my croissant. Sitting outside is too much for me, I haven’t arrived yet.