As I sit on this bench facing the front of the building where the photographer might have been, I see the differences in the people and their actions, objects and their placement, and the clarity of the view. I see the huge crane, which did not exist on the postcard, standing still behind the left side of the building. There is no longer a small and yellow cross sitting near the bushes on the side of the building. A think silver needle attached to a red striped ball sneaks up from behind the right side of the building is replaced with artificial blue sky in the postcard. The cool wind blows on my skin and I can smell a mixture of fresh grass and cigarette smoke. I see a few people relaxing on the grass in front of the building but not as many as in the photo. The sunset radiates yellow rays over the building lightened some parts of it while
others remain in a shadow.
I crossed a bridge near the Berliner Dome. The sky had that beautiful deep reddish-orange and dark pink color surrounding the disappearing sun. I saw a vendor who probably stood hours upon hours by his stand as cars zoomed pass, tourist walked by, and ships flowed on in the river beneath. The wind was blowing hard and a furry Russian hat flew off of his table. I felt bad and I wanted to help, but all I could do was watch; watched as he ran, uncertain of each move and eyes darting back at his unattended merchandise. I understood his frustration, the struggle with split second decisions and fear of the unknown future. I have always dreaded the moment when my body freezes as the voice in my head starts to scream out questions and demands. Go! Wait, should I? No? Yes? Maybe. Go!
It is evening time and not many tourists surround this place. In the photo, there are no people climbing this statue, trying to reach a comfortable spot to sit and take a picture. I admit, I am tempted to do the same soon. There is a couple on the right of me taking pictures of each other. The woman wears white capri pants that are too tight for her body. Her shirt is filled with flowers that are both colorful and tacky. Her ankles seemed to be begging for released from those suffocating, uncomfortable heels. The man has a grin that seems genuine, yet it does not match with the annoyance in his eyes. Aside from these people, there is not much that goes on around this fountain right now. It is a quiet time in Berlin. The breeze begins to activate the goose bumps on my skin. I can hear the quiet splashing of the water.
I sat in the fast moving U-bahn and stared out of a dusty window at the dark and gray tunnel wall. As the train screeched to a stop in front of Jannowitzbrucke, I noticed a man come in. He was nicely dressed in black pants and a light blue striped shirt tucked under his belted pants. A bright red Voda phone bag hung from his left wrist and his right hand held a phone next to his ears. The phone was a warning sign. I anticipated dark glaring eyes and stern faces sending out a death stare that would make anyone stop speaking in mid-sentence. Somehow, this man managed to ignore all the angry eyes and flaring nostrils pointed toward him and continued on with his conversation.
I stand outside the memorial and stare at it blankly. All I see were large gray stones erected from the ground and a few trees scattered here and there. Little children jump around on top of the stones that were just tall enough for them to reach. I hear Toby telling us the history of this memorial, but I am more focused on figuring out what it was all about. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the reason these stones appeared to be the same level and yet people just keep disappearing into them. The wind is blowing the tree behind me and leaves starts to fall, interrupting my focus. Now I notice the city behind me. It is strange that a memorial sits in the middle of a thriving city center where tourists shop, businessmen speed walking to their meetings, bicyclists pedaling fast. These stones remain still as the world around them moves past them. I walk in and see the hill-like ground. The stones grew taller and around me were just large, gray stones and small pathways. I felt at peace and realized that this place is its own world apart from the loud crowded city bordering it.
I heard the gurgling noises from my stomach. My mind, no longer able to ignore the empty feeling and watery mouth, spun in circles and made me dizzy. I was weak and lazy. I finally found the strength to walk down three flights of stairs and out of my apartment. I walked along the uneven pavement until the small red stand with large letters that spelled out Döner appeared in the far distance. Perhaps I was too hungry because the Döner Kebab house appeared like a mirage as my eyes concentrated hard on it. I kept walking and finally reached a point where I could smell the delicious Döners. I breathed in the smell of greasy chicken mixed with mysterious spices that had never failed to please my taste buds; then everything became real.
My eyes were half-closed. My head spun and I felt my heart pounding hard at my chest. I sat up. For a second, I was blind. There was a black nothingness. I did not know whether I was dreaming or not, but I felt that terrible panic, the one in nightmares where my legs remain stagnant as I am being chased after by a killer. The walls around me were closing in and I needed to get out. As I crawled, I started to make out something in front of me. The blindness disappeared as fast as it came. I recognized the room; it was my room, my bed, and my closet. Perhaps my experience in the bunker had followed me into my dreams.
I stood outside in my balcony and watched the street with its orange glowing lamps, uneven sidewalks and dark green trees. It was a warm and peaceful night. The city was alive and the good times were out there, but I enjoyed sitting where I was. That night reminded me of home for some odd reason. My house has a large window that bulges out from the wall and I used to read by the window so I could watch joggers, bikers, and cars that passed by. It was intriguing to see different types of people interacting with the city. It is great to be the observer rather than the doer at times. I believe we can learn a lot about a place when we just sit back and watch.
This postcard shows the old checkpoint Charlie, which I would say seems much more serious and intimidating than how it is now. The checkpoint Charlie now sits in front of an U-baun station and in the middle of a busy street. Cars rush by and people speed walk across. Aside from the tourists, this place seems to be ignored. The glory of checkpoint Charlie is no longer existent. Surrounding this place are clothing shops, restaurants, cafes, and stores. It is loud here. People are talking on their phones, to each other, dogs bark. It is definitely a busy area. There are guards standing at the checkpoint just like in the postcard, except they are not real. They are only there for display, just like the ones at Brandenburg gate.
The smell of that morning reminded me of mildew and frosted grass on a cold winter day. Although the music was blasting from my ipod headphones, I heard the sound of the street with speedy cars crashing against a strong opposing wind and gravel crunching beneath my feet. As I ran, I could see the pond’s calm water, green from the reflection of giant trees lining the sidewalk above it. I squinted to see the distant garden with red and yellow flowers. It was a pleasant attraction distraction for a morning run in Berlin.
I hear car rushing by and the sound of the metro roaring across the train tracks above me. I have seen this building twice now and each time it never fails to amaze me. When I found the postcard, for it, I was really excited. Now I am here at the small corner across from the building. I see a few differences between the one in the postcard and the beautiful building right in front of me. There are flowers on the windows and people sitting at the café underneath. It is a busy day for this place. There is a good breeze here where I am standing. I am close to the edge of a curved roadway. Cars are driving fast and when they speed past me, I can feel the strong, cool wind. This is the sensation that I crave and love during a hot summer day. I crossed this dangerous highway to a calmer area to look at the building at a different angel. Now I start to notice the while window blinds and a woman standing out in her balcony. I can smell cigarette smokes mixed with greasy foods.
I saw people rushed in and I heard the loud voices, music, and sizzle of grilled food. When I actually stepped into the Turkish market, I faced an overwhelming amount of shoppers, vendors, and products. I felt lost at once. It was like déjà vu and I was back in Longview during the Terry and Taylor garage sale. This was a big event in my hometown. Cars were parked everywhere, on lawns, sidewalks, and all sides of anywhere a driver could squeeze his or her vehicle into. The horrible memories of waking up at 6 in the morning to walk for miles came back so suddenly. However, this time it was noon and I was excited to see the different clothes, books, jewelry, and nearly anything imaginable.
I stare up at the huge dome, perhaps, at the same spot the artists pointed his camera from. It is bright outside and the dome is filled with young children, babies, couples, adults, families, you name it. There is a lot of diversity here. I see people starting to walk up the stairs circling the dome; they have their ipods in their ears, probably listening to the history of this place. I look down to see more and more people rushing in. I hear my name and look up. Natalia gives me a warning face and says, “It’s hot up there”. I continue walking up anyway. As I got higher, the view of Berlin below becomes clearer and more magnificent. However, the air becomes humid and I can feel the terrible heat that I was warned about. I sweat easily so my clothes are starting to stick to my body. Walking down was much faster and I can actually have room to breathe. I stare up one more time to look at the clear glass, with the blue sky on the outside.
I scanned at the various postcards displayed on a stand in the front of the Souvenir shop. Most of the postcards were basic ones that had several pictures of famous Berlin buildings and places in it. I looked up to see that price was fairly decent and worth buying for my friends at home. I was indecisive standing there and looking at the same postcards many times over. I guess I was looking at the postcards longer than I thought, because when I looked up, I saw a set of blue eyes with wrinkles lining the corners watching me intently. I decided to be quicker and picked the postcards that were already in my hand.
I walked through Alexanderplaz after getting the desperately needed money from Deutchbank’s ATM. In my hurry to get home and eat dinner, I speed walked across the front of the Galleria, seeming to be a true Berliner who just got off from a long day’s work. I didn’t expect to be an observer of the city that day, but by chance I heard the words, “toi mu di thiem”. My ears perked up like it often does when it recognizes a language. However, I needed to be sure. What I did was creepy, stalker like even, but it had to be done because I did not want ignore my curiosity. In my own justification, it was for research. So I followed a Vietnamese lady and listened to her conversation on her phone. I could tell from her accent that she was a North Vietnamese and it occurred to that after this event, I began hearing many voices alike her in Berlin.
I walk into this grand mosque not quite expecting to see an icecream stand. At the side of the mosque is a little candy shop with tables and chairs placed in front of it. I sit down and look around me. The tombstones, black, gray, titled, carved are scattered all over the entrance of the mosque. I am curious about this small little cemetery. It is quite unique, but barely displayed on the postcard. My concentration on the tombstones is interrupted by the sound of water running through a hose. I hear this splashing noise and looked up at the man who was watering a huge evergreen tree that sits near the edge of the cemetery. A quiet and peaceful place this is. Above me and to the right is a white balcony with pink and red flowers covering the edges. I look down a little bit to see two men drinking their tea in a cup shaped like pears sitting on a pedal. The mosque is located in a Turkish area so I assume these men are speaking Turkish. The mosque has two huge towers that point upward, making it very visible.
I was packing and preparing for the long awaited trip to beautiful Istanbul. After reading Orhan’s book, I was unsure of what to expect of Turkey. The book told stories of an old country, a black and white era even. The book was of memories, but I was going to be there in the present. The only other view of the city and picture I developed in my mind came from reading my cousin’s essay on Turkey. She had spent a semester studying there this past year so I assumed her descriptions were accurate of the present country. Then, I realized that I had to erase every bit of knowledge about Istanbul. I wanted to experience the city as it was through my eyes, free of a filter. Of course I needed to have references to make connections to after I had seen the city for myself, but until then, I was a new sponge ready to soak in everything that this city had to offer.
It was six o’clock in the evening and I heard the angry gurgling screams from my stomach. We were lost and the busy streets filled with vendors and shoppers seemed like a distant past. All I saw were narrowed streets curving in ways that reminded me of my hometown’s annual Halloween corn maze. Every turn was a surprise, an unexpected new view of the city. This alleyway was empty and abandoned like the garbage that laid on it. I learned from travelling that getting lost in a whole new city is great. It allowed me discover something unique about the city and experience the culture.
I stared out of the bus’s window as Istanbul flew past me. The buildings, houses, people, and green trees were all a blurred. I tried videotaping the city because I knew that I would have a fleeting memory of this place. I needed a way to revisit it and slow everything down. The idea of bus tour was great at first because to be honest, I did not know if my legs could have endured Istanbul like it did Berlin. The luxury of relaxing in an air-conditioned vehicle while observing Istanbul was brilliant idea. I was wrong. The bus was an enabler of my sleep-deprived body. I tried hard to resist it, but sometimes the mind over matter does not work.
I sat on my black leather couch and turned on the TV. All the channels were in German except MTV and CNN. I kept changing the channel but I couldn’t find MTV or CNN. I noticed something weird about the numbers on the TV screen. It was in the 70’s, so I decided to change it back to channel 3 to start my search over. However, as I changed the channel, I started to recognize the same shows. This was very odd, so I went up to the big numbers again to see if the channels are really repeating themselves. Indeed they were because channel 13 and channel 61 were showing the same commercial.
I squinted my eyes to get a better view of what seemed like thin shadows on a white wall reflecting the sunrays. My eyes burned as I tried hard to stare at this art. The artist was explaining the artwork, but I chose a very bad time to concentrate on the art rather than the artist’s explanation. This made it much harder for me to figure out what it was that I was looking at. As it turned out, the small black lines were arrows. An artist had managed to shoot with enough force that three arrows pierced through thick, cemented wall and remained there for days.
The salmon colored jeans caught my eyes right away. I sped toward the pile of clothes that lay under a large red sign of which I assumed meant “sales” and indeed it was. The joy of shopping at a European store I had been anticipating for a long time was obvious from the wide grin on my face and the butterflies in my stomach. I grabbed a few shirts and pants to try on. The typical long line of shoppers formed in front of the dressing room in a blink of an eye. I waited patiently for my turn being fully aware that perhaps I was about to waste a lot of time. Shopping is a tricky game and I dived in with no regrets. True to my prediction, I left the store empty handed after two hours.
I must tell my melon favored ice cream story, a sad story indeed. It was a hot and humid day I must say. All I wanted was the taste of a soft and sweet cold cream, a heavenly feeling I deemed. But my tongue was too greedy and swung fast at the rounded ball stuffed quite loosely on the brown cone. All too quickly the delicious thing was taken from me, leaving only a lingering taste that I could never forget. It would be at the store again I had bet. Oh I was terribly wrong. When I returned the next day and the day after and another day after that, it was not there. That was the thing I regret most about Berlin.
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