Assignment #4 - Between the Postcards

Recall something done between writing each of the postcards or recall an image from memory.

Between August 3 and August 4
The sun shone on our backs. The group and I were about to walk along a concrete bridge. We WERE about to, at least before we stumbled upon a brick pattern with the words “Berlin Mauer” written on it. Straight, the former wall was not. It curved. Its path wriggled. Considering its history, it’s a wonder that people carelessly step over the former border. Had the group not stopped to examine this, I would have walked by without a second thought.

Between August 4 and August 5
I recall the tour of the East Side Gallery just ending. The empty void in my stomach rumbled. We crossed a bridge. Some people got “China Box” – stir-fry noodles with vegetables and hot sauce for cheap. I opted to try a Dürum Kebab. Just like the Döners I described earlier but instead of a flatbread, the dish is made burrito-style. The meat was well seasoned but the tortilla was unfortunately stiff. I decided that I would not come back.

Between August 5 and August 7
Out of the heat-wave in Seattle, into the hot Berlin weather. August 5 was no different; my sodium channels worked at max capacity to cool my body down. And then, it appeared. An oasis amidst a desert. Out of the grey, rectangular blocks that make up the holocaust memorial, it stood as a dirty-yellow beacon of hope. The AC welcomed me in all its glorious wind currents. Into the Dunkin’ Donuts I went. I haven’t had as tasty of an ice-coffee since.

Between August 7 and August 7 (Brandenburg Tor --> Sachsenhausen)
Into the subway the group went. Twenty-two undergrads with two teachers and a tour guide named Adam. The underground scenery changed to outdoor Berlin as we transferred from a subway to a train. “We have until the end of the line” we were told. I closed my eyes to the sunny weather, the trees whizzing by, the buildings decorated with graffiti. Sleep. Deep, restful and dreamless. I woke up at a station, with everyone else disembarking.

Between August 7 and August 8 (e-postcard; on Rote Grütze mit Vanillesauce)
A sense of gratefulness. Cheese pizza never tasted better. I sat on a bench conversing with my mentor/friend/groom-to-be. What a journey to get here. Only after going back to an internet café and realizing I reversed the directions did I find the place. D’oh!
……
Lost. The sense of helplessness, vulnerability. I wandered around the town center of Göttingen for around two hours. The address lay on display on my laptop—held to my side as I wandered. It should be here. Instead of an apartment or house, there stood a church. Nope. The novelty of seeing various shops and restaurants wore off as fatigue started to set in. Time to go to an internet café…

Between August 8 and August 9
The country rushed by. Fields, farms, houses, and spinning wind turbines. A countryside that I never got to explore. A set of fleeting images as the train heads down the rails. The Germany outside of Berlin. Open. Vast. Charming. I turned away and glance over at an elderly German woman read a novel of some sort. Conversation being impossible, I shifted my attention to my own book. My reality whizzed by too quickly—time to slow down and escape into someone else’s…

Between August 9 and August 11
My mind draws a blank with regards to what I did between the events outlined in these postcards. Funny how memory works—I recall some exquisite details like the pattern made by a fountain spurting out water but not why I was there. According to the postcard, I sat around Alexanderplatz on a cloudy day. Great. I’m supposed to be in my prime at 22 years in age, but times like these make me think I’m going senile. I think I’ll grab a beer…

Between August 11 and August 12
Walking on a cobblestone street. I knew to avoid the red-colored bike lane to my left. I remember being weary—we traveled around the area and missed the bus. So we walked. Past children with their mothers, past shrubs and trees. Beneath the cloudy sky, we were mosque-bound. I had never been in one, and knew not what to expect. Minarets juxtaposed with a shop selling chai and ice cream. Red tables where we sat and pondered the day ahead.

Between August 12 and August 19
Istanbul. A long period without writing a postcard. Hills and valleys filled with buildings of the same architectural style. Streets and cobblestone paths winding through the city; their paths capricious, unpredictable like a small child. The city swallowed me up. Any hopes of getting my bearing straight were engulfed by the buildings, roads, and sea of taxis.
Language. I couldn’t understand them. They couldn’t understand me. I sat under the sunny August sky while Turkish men and women went about their daily business.

Between August 19 (Figur des Neptun-Brunnens) and August 19 (Public transit map)
Walking through Alexanderplatz. From the park with fountains, through the main station, and out onto the cement square filled with hot dog vendors and surrounded by shops. The variety of people walking through never fails to amaze me. Buskers, locals, tourists, and officials all mingling together, perhaps with a hamburger or bratwurst in hand. I got asked on two occasions if I spoke English, after which a postcard asking for money was thrust into my face. Yes, it’s how they make a living, but I still can’t help feeling a hint of anger when they shove their fake sob story in my direction.

Between August 19 (Public transit map) and August 19 (abstract painting of woman on bed)
From the underground, we emerged. The strong stench wafting through the air from the piles of brown that littered the cobblestone path. The stairs lead to a rays of sunlight—the overworld, a place to synthesize some vitamin D. Still, it was hot. Beads of sweat rolled down my neck. We were going to a park, but only one person knew where. A theater, a venue, a stage to act out our first composition assignment. A mystery, an adventure.

Between August 19 (abstract painting of woman on bed) and August 19 (In Transit)
I recall standing. My mental facilities shut down as sweat began soaking through my shirt. Two women talked about something intellectual; I wish I could say more, but again, my mind was turned off. People on bikes, parents with children, owners walking their dogs—they all passed through the clump of people made up of our class. Modern apartments on either side of the street. Balconies sporting clay pots and colorful foliage. An old wooden door behind us creaked open as a resident went out for groceries. I grew tired of standing; I was ready to call it a day.

Between August 19 (In Transit) and August 20 (Checkpoint Charlie)
A grassy park surrounded by trees. In the middle, a group of men kicked a soccer ball atop the sun-yellowed grass. Groups of people sunbathed or smoked away from the athletes. Our group stood beneath a patch of trees. The rest of the class stood ten feet away, watching, observing our performance. A subway station, a U-Bahn to Istanbul, an annoying street vendor, and stasis. Katie, Sally, Robert and I acted or made music for these scenes. A reflection of our collective experience—study abroad as a performance.

Between August 20 (Checkpoint Charlie) and August 20 (Slussen—Adams)
An urban art walk. What fun. Everyday structures with small details missed by the common eye. A fur coat shaped into a rabbit and glued onto the side of a generator. A sign showing a signal etched with layer of gold foil. Arrows protruding from a building’s layer of Styrofoam. We walked the cobblestone sidewalks while our trusty guide pointed these out. On several occasions, we the boundary of the former Berlin wall—now nothing more than a red-brick line running through the streets…

Between August 20 (Slussen—Adams) and August 21 (Fernsehturm)
Many people crowded the fountain area of Alexanderplatz. A fence surrounded the area as the marathon for the world track and field championships ran the vicinity. Aside from this new development, things remained the same as usual; tour buses crowded the streets not closed off, people mingled and chatted about various things. A group dressed in gothic attire sat on evergreen benches and smoked. Teenagers played volleyball on a sandy court behind them. Another sunny day in the park.

Between August 21 (Fernsehturm) and August 21 (Potsdamer Platz)
My stomach growled at me. The evening found Joe and I hungry and surrounded by tall glass buildings and the world’s oldest traffic signal. Wandering around initially proved fruitless—only coffee shops and restaurants out of the budget range of undergraduates.
In search of food, we descended on an escalator into a small tunnel of sorts. Glimmering jewelry, postcards, and funky electronics presented themselves in different stores. A döner and pizza shop. Nope—had too many already. The next shop caught our eye.
A sushi bar. And happy hour. I ordered combo #3 and was not disappointed. The salmon tasted fresh and the rice was of good quality and well packed—it didn’t crumble but wasn’t too firm. The fish, seasoned rice, and soy sauce orchestrated a joyous symphony of flavors on my tongue. Satiated, we paid the bill and left to meet the rest of the class. Who knew Berlin had a decent and affordable sushi bar?

Between August 21 (Potsdamer Platz) and August 25 (Berlin hbf)
A mob of people congregated on the sidewalk. Most seemed dressed for the weather; ponchos, hoodies, and long pants. My leather bag appeared a poor choice given the dark clouds overhead.
Streaks of color. The rushing of Adidas pull-off plants and bright colored t-shirts. Neon green, purple, orange, yellow, blue—the cameras came out as the colors zoomed by. A man head-down at a 45° angle hanging behind a large sign; three men huddled as a totem pole beneath a subway notice; two people pressed up against the wall—the crowd moved from one tableau to another. A scavenger hunt in a crowded subway station. Modern art; modern performance—bodies in urban spaces.