I thought people here would be very sensitive to any reminder of the Second World War, mostly because of the foreign exchange student who had himself removed from our history class when we watched Schindler's List. But today the top story was about the start of the D-day invasions, and there seemed to be very little open discomfort about the idea. Maybe the reminders are so ubiquitous here that it's not really an issue. It's strange living in and amongst so much history all of the time. I wonder if they don't become numb to it at some point?
I keep running into people who look exactly like the ones I left behind. I was sure, last night, that I had run into Brittany Cash, whom I haven't seen since the fifth grade or spoken to since high school graduation. She was a surprise; running into someone who looks like Travis Huber or Phillip Schmidt or any of the Werners or my own godmother, Melania, is always less of a surprise. I guess it's to be expected, having grown up in the German part of town, that the people would feel familiar in Germany.
Typical German responses to:
Eating outside: no issue.
Walking outside: ignore.
Eating while walking outside: Holy crap what the hell are you doing?!?
Got chastised by my server for reading while I ate lunch today. When the language barrier was too large he simply picked up a coaster and stuck it in the pages of my novel, then pointed at my food. The restaurant was practically empty, so it wasn't about clearing my table. I got the idea that I was supposed to be enjoying my meal. Before coming here I wouldn't have known just how close Germans are to the romantic cultures.
Utensils and napkins are given out separately here, before appetizers but after drinks. I like it, actually. The utensils they bring out match what you're eating, so there's never anything washed unnecessarily.
For all their insistence on recycling and reducing waste, I'm surprised that nobody uses boxes here when they can't finish their food. What do the restaurants do with all of the leftovers?
I find myself drawn to this little Italian place on Gartenstrasse called Spaghetti Western, not because their huge portion of lunch spaghetti with drink costs an even 6,90, but because they struggle with German almost as much as I do. The Italian they switch to when talking among themselves is quite understandable to me, however, so even though I can't speak back well enough for them to understand I can finally listen in to all of the soothing little snippets of conversation that you take for granted when you are home, like one waiter asking another to help move tables together for a party.
I think one of the reasons why I like public transport so much is because I don't speak the language. Not being able to understand what other people are saying helps to maintain that sense of separation that you really need in such situations, especially when everyone is crammed together like sardines.
My classmates will occasionally break into German, even for just a few words, when speaking to me. I seem to be the only one in the group who doesn't speak it, so I don't feel offended, but at the same time I do feel left out. I've begun to counter this by asking for a translation and then repeating what they say in Spanish. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, except that it makes me feel a little bit better.
There are so many small children here. If I took every child that I've seen everywhere else in Europe and put them together they wouldn't equal a quarter of the number I've seen in a few days here.
There are so many dogs here, and they're so well behaved. It's like the first thing they're taught is how to heel, because I haven't seen a single adult dog on a leash. I've only seen one bark or freak out, and that was a young dog passing another young dog who had food. Also: so many look like German Shepherd mixes, but not a single purebred yet.
Weird development today. We're debating Locke vs. Rousseau in my online polysci class. I did what I usually do, writing down the main areas of interest in each person's theory and then stating what I like and dislike about each. Apparently this was worthy of an email from the professor stating that I had posted one of the best defenses of Rousseau that he had ever seen. I have to wonder: 1. what does it say about the other students' positions that my neutral pluses and minuses were seen as positive and 2. to what extent was my view of Rousseau influenced by the fact that I posted from East Germany?
What is it about this city that makes me want to fall on my face in public... repeatedly?
The liquor store on the next block is apparently closed on Sundays. Tomorrow is a public religious holiday. For an incredibly secular country (compared to the one I left behind) they can be very religious here.
I heard a helicopter go almost directly overhead today and got a sense for what it would be like hearing the planes come overhead during a raid. The sound of the blades chopping the air echoed down through the courtyard, becoming deafening, and by its power I was sure the vehicle would fall directly on top of us. Every other sound was drowned out so that it seemed almost as if the courtyard was holding its breath with me, tensely waiting for what I could only imagine; what it had surely seen before.
Somebody is really good with female anatomy. Yet another way that having a central courtyard that echoes sounds back and forth can make you intimately familiar with your neighbors.
A vacuum cleaner turning on on the other side of the building paralyzed me for a moment this morning. That first rising sound was the exact replica of an air raid siren, so common back home but seemingly absent here. I have to wonder whether the surviving units weren't all ripped out after the war. You certainly couldn't have used them for severe weather as we do; too many survivors would be driven mad by the sound.
I got a terrible sunburn yesterday and decided to use my hiding of it to perform a social experiment (a regular headscarf wasn't enough so I twisted it into what might be loosely thought of as a hijab). Of course, I didn't have any pins with me, so I had to keep everything in place with twists (ties were far too bulky looking) which started to loosen in the rain, but when it dried up outside the twists actually worked quite well, even if they didn't look quite right. This would be the day that I would run into a group of about 80 Arab students on the platform at Nordbanhof station. About a dozen of the young women (all younger than me) in the group wore their hair covered in a similar but much less clumsy fashion. They seemed content to ignore me, despite the fact that my covering was clearly climate and age inappropriate. Once they left (they were taking a different train) I was the only one on the platform so dressed, and I can say that the new passengers who wandered in over the next few minutes thought me quite the spectacle (not that they wished me to know this - wearing the hijab, I suspect, is much like being in a wheelchair: everyone stares when you aren't looking, but realizing that what they are doing is rude, they quickly look away when you turn your own gaze towards them). I also found that, with my hair covered, people wanted to give me less personal space. As I stood on the platform, my back to a pillar so as to stay out of the way, several people walking by actually swerved so as to walk closer to me than they otherwise would have. I find this completely bizarre. One woman trailing a suitcase had been following the white line of the subway tile demarcating a "stand behind" line on the floor, but upon seeing me swerved three feet out of her way in order to walk past only a foot in front of me. After the initial moment of eye contact when she began to swerve while still several yards away she did not in any way acknowledge my presence. Generally when people are attempting to be rude there is some sign: a flick of the eyes to check if you noticed, a scrunch of the brow as they tell themselves why you deserve it, a clench of the jaw as they imagine doing much worse. None of these things were present. I can honestly say that I do not believe that this woman or any of the others realized what they were doing. And as she walked away, she and her suitcase went right back to the line she had originally been walking.
For my relations with men, especially, dressing this way seemed to have odd consequences. While I don't ever really garner much attention (especially less so with so many other young women around) there is usually at least some acknowledgement of my presence; they will make eye contact if only to assure themselves that I am there. With my hair covered, however, their eyes slide right over me, refusing to settle anywhere on or about my person. I feel like a ghost while simply walking down the street.The police stationed in front of each of the five Jewish sites that we passed on the way back from dinner tonight did not fit this description. I don't think I've ever been more thoroughly scanned, at least until I smiled at them. And Turkish men, as well. While before I wasn't an object of interest, it almost seems that by excluding myself from the rest of the community I somehow made myself more available, less off-limits. They were suddenly much more familiar, if only with their eyes.
There's certainly a distinct feeling of being 'other' here, especially when you don't look like everyone else. Being obviously, visually different in Berlin is much more complicated than I thought it would be, especially for a major metropolitan area. You'd think that after accumulating such an infamous history of discrimination it wouldn't be a problem here. I've never had anything like this happen in the States. Then again, I don't think I've ever observed such an acceptance of the casual racism that I seem to see and hear everywhere here, too.
Maybe at home I just don't want to see it.
We visited a lot of holocaust-related sights in the past week. Sachsenhausen, in particular, seemed to be a big emotional hit for the other students. Despite what I was expecting, the place seemed peaceful, almost park-like. And why shouldn't it? After everything that's happened here I think that the place deserves a little peace.
The monument to the murdered Jews of Europe didn't really move me, either. Part of it was the strange architecture. Part of it was that I just didn't feel that the people were really being represented. The whole reason that death is important, is meaningful to us is because it is the end of a life. The reason that we care that these people (or any people, for that matter) were murdered is because they should not have died in that way. Aside from all thought of good and evil, what we are really upset about is the absence of a person. One giant memorial, even a large, centrally located one, does not and can not represent millions of individuals in all of their squandered potential and variety. And even centrally located, it's easy enough to walk right past the memorial on another street or even to fail to understand what the place is meant to be. A memorial which is shoved into one place with the possibility of being avoided or gravely misunderstood is no real memorial.
For myself, of course, I prefer the stumbling blocks. Just today on the way to dinner we came upon a house with seven of them planted just outside the door. It's like meeting the people themselves out on the street. Nothing can replace their lives, of course, but because these small memorials are not easily avoided, not forced together into one faceless mass, it's almost like the people are given a chance, however small, to affect the world as individuals again.
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