Goodbye to Berlin

Alles,

After I write this post, I'm going to shut down my computer and pack it in my bag. It will then spend the next few days traveling around ten thousand kilometers west, with the rest of my things, in the cargo hull of some anonymous transport 757. One of the strangest experiences I have had in my life, and I've had it a few times now, is to reflect on the fact that within forty-eight hours time, I will have spanned that distance and travelled through four countries, all the while, in my immediate experience, it will seem to me that I have been transferred from one box to another: the bus box to Berlin Tegel Airport, the plane box to Heathrow, the Heathrow lobby box, the plane box to Toronto, the Toronto Airport lobby box, the plane box to Los Angeles, the Audi box from LAX over the freeway, through the mountains, along side the palm trees back to the home box, which will be the same as I remembered it, perfectly preserved from the last time I got into the Audi box and went the other direction. Sometimes, long distance traveling in our hyper-advanced technological age doesn't feel like traveling at all: it feels like standing still while a succession of new movie sets and extras are changed around you. No matter where I go, a small part of me will always wonder whether I have really ever left Los Angeles. This is a feeling I think you get when you are born and raised in that city, a permanent skepticism towards the expanses--spatial and temporal--of the real.
Yet, paradoxically perhaps, I feel no less infected by the travel bug, no less addicted to the thrill of wanderlust. Already, I confess, I've had day dreams about the next city I'll live in: Moscow or St. Petersburg or Havana or Bombay or Bangkok or Tokyo or Fez or Istanbul or Paris.

Berlin has been a wonderful place to spend these last three months. I will always remember it for the truly mundane things, though: it's the place where I found and paid for my first apartment, it's the place where I literally didn't know anybody yet was able to collect a small group of good friends, it's the place where I survived another round of office politics, learned to get by on next to nothing, made my own entertainment, learned that English will get you far in this world, but it won't get you respect with your beer. I've met a number of wonderful people here, mostly Irish, with whom I intend to keep in touch for many years to come. And I've met enough wackos to keep me going for at least the next year, because, I suspect Chicago will be unable to compete in this respect. I've felt truly free here, living the life I've designed for myself, taking risks and making mistakes, but all the while learning, experiencing, remembering, growing. Even as I leave, I can feel the city tugging me back to it. Perhaps I can figure out a way to return in a year or two, if somewhere else doesn't gobble me up first.

When I return home, I won't have any pictures (sorry Fern), but I'll have stories to tell, Berlin Stories, as it were. Perhaps I'll take a photography class sometime in the near future, and bring you home some Robert Capa worthy pictures the next time around.

Große Liebe,

Ryan