20.07.11 “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
It occurred to me as I was riding the tram back home late Saturday night – the two men across from me visibly wasted yet determined to finish the half-full beer bottles in their hands, the guy standing near the left side door covered in tattoos and piercings in places I didn’t even know skin existed, dancing to the music blaring through his headphones, the woman standing with a large reusable shopping bag filled to the brim with plastic bags who was directing everyone to the nearest exit whether they wanted to be told or not -
This place is mad.
When I got off of the tram to board the U-Bahn, a teenage boy suddenly lay down in the middle of the stairwell, causing the flow of traffic to come to an abrupt halt and people to step around, over, and on top of him, yelling what I can only imagine were both insults and affirmations of cheer (depending on the facial expression of the speaker). On the platform, a drunken man was trying desperately to get the attention of a group of middle-aged friends sitting on one of the benches who looked like they had stayed out far too late and just wanted to get home. As I sit here and type this now, outside my window is a girl dressed in a green cape, white leggings, and a purple sequin-covered pirate’s hat playing a small accordion to herself as she journeys down the road.
In contrast, just eight days ago in London, I raced commuters through the maze of Bank Station, ducked through the arms of people on the sidewalk to try and reach my destination, got soaked to the bone in a surprise downpour, and chased a group of red giraffes through Woolwich Arsenal (though admittedly that one doesn’t happen every day).
London is mad, I’ve heard it said. Yet while that city has had years of relative peace in which to calm itself down and sort things out, Berlin, I have realized, is still fairly new at this. It’s hard to believe sometimes that just over twenty years ago, things here in my neighbourhood east of the Wall would have been very different. If I were Berlin, I too would have been longing for the day in which I could simply go mad without consequence. And when that day came, I would be celebrating my newfound freedom too, albeit a little shakily.
So next time you find yourself worrying about what the lady across from you on the train may be thinking of your wardrobe, or your inability to stop yourself from giggling out loud at a passage from Wodehouse you happen to be reading in public – consider a city break to a place where anything goes. Because no matter who or what you are, it is likely you will too.
