Here is my final paper for my creative writing class. It's based off an experience I had in Berlin, Germany. A little exagerrated. Feed back would be lovely. Also I realized I never really wrote anything about backpacking so I'm going to try and get to that today or tommorrow with pictures.
Disposable razors. Disposable camera to take disposable pictures which will end up under the bed or blowing down the street blending with the wind. Disposable memories which you try so hard to remember. Disposable memories which are so easy to forget. It’s funny how my life revolves around such an ugly adjective. How quick I am to forget things and move on. I no longer saw the big picture but instead increased my focus on necessities. A bar of soap, a meal, a shower (preferably with hot water), a blanket. Everything else was irrelevant, disposable.
I had a life just like you once. I had a job a car, events to attend, bars I enjoyed. But I wanted change, some people are allergic to things. Me, I’m allergic to routine. I get that same itchy feeling someone gets when they eat gluten and they know there not suppose to. I just can’t handle it. The box of society has always tried to come down on me, but I waved my fist firm and confident.
I had been traveling Europe for approximately two weeks now. A short excursion and with my dwindling funds I often wondered how long I would last before it was back to the box with my tail between my legs, whimpering. It was May of 2009 and I was taking train 115 from Koeln Hbf to Berlin. Word of mouth had led me to the city of Berlin. People spoke of beach bars and crazy nightclubs. Three hours later I arrived at my destination. A friend of a friend had set me up with this guy named Luca. I had shed the awkwardness of meeting new people five towns back when I stayed with a girl named Dylan in Prague. The worst part was trying to find one person in a crowded train station, even worse is I had never seen the guy in my life. This was like trying to find a diamond in a garbage disposal truck; messy and rarely successful.
I bobbed my head through the crowd looking for someone who looked like they were doing the same. This lasted for about 30 minutes, until I realized I had mystery man’s phone number and went over to a pay phone. No matter how much I had traveled in the past I had never grasped the concept of international dialing. The area codes always changes from+34 to +32 and I didn’t know whether to put 001 in front or if that was just for international calls. The number combination was not working and finally I got transferred to an operator.
“Hello, can I help you?”
I was dumbfounded that he spoke English. “Uh, umm, yeah.”
“Where are you trying to reach, sir?”
“Someone in Berlin.”
“May I have the number, sir?” His short cut sentences screamed annoyance. This guy took me for some dumb tourist, which I was not.
You see overtime I had learned that there was a difference between tourist and traveler. One had a oversized suitcase, the other a backpack. One had a map glued to his/her face, the other did know how to read a map just street signs. One followed Frommer’s, the other followed Kerouac. Long story short I consider myself a traveler. The road was my friend not my enemy and when I went into a café I definitely did not order the chicken fingers.
I waited for the phone to ring and was a little nervous to hear the voice on the other end of the phone.
Twenty minutes later I came to find out Luca was a 22 year old boy with shaggy blonde hair and a peculiar sense of fashion. He wore a black sequin jacket with a deep white v neck and home cut black jeans all topped off with red high tops. We small talked to his apartment and when I asked him if he was from Berlin he chuckled and responded in his strong accent, “No one in Berlin is from Berlin.” I was excited to see what this melting pot of a city had to offer besides a large wall. After removing his sequin jacket, Luca informed me he would be going clubbing tomorrow at 7 a.m. For the second time that day I was dumbfounded but agreed to join him. I went to bed excited for what the next day had to offer.
The next morning I awoke surprisingly energized and ready for some new adventures. I attempted to pick out my best outfit out of my wrinkled wardrobe in my backpack, deciding on a leather jacket and some black jeans. We rode Luca’s bike to Berghaun (that was the club we were going to be going to). Luca peddled while I awkwardly sat on the back fender, the cold air brushing my face. I looked around me the Berlin streets empty. Europe just has this unique feel to it. Whether it’s the billboards in different languages, the smaller cars, people just seem more relaxed and more confident. They weren’t walking with their head down determined to get to the next destination, but instead had there face up not smiling though. Europeans never fake smiled that’s why I loved them, unlike Americans who could mutter, “I hope you choke” while still showing off their pearly whites. No Europeans were proud they embraced their culture. They passed historical monuments on the way to their nine to five and drank espresso not coffee. These were all lessons I had learned in the book of traveling, a novel that some people never had the pleasure of reading.
I could hear the techno before we even stopped. People emerged from the stone factory building squinting and stumbling. Human forms of zombies, allergic to sunlight they covered there eyes. A women attempted to wave down the taxi, her arms lacking strength, her voice scratched. Berghaun seemed to suck the energy out of people, until they emerged unwillingly into the real world. I realized this bared some similarity to me returning to the U.S. I always returned home confused, tired and unwillingly knowing the experiences I had endured would never happen to me in the real world.
The doorman looked like a cross between Marilyn Manson and Charlie Chaplin. His face decorated with tattoos and piercing. He gave me a few once overs before looking at Luca and waving us in. Searching through our bags the lady lifted up my camera and shook it at my face as if it was some illegal substance. I cocked my head at Luca and he just nodded.
“We don’t take pictures,” the lady said sternly.
It was so dark I could barely see my hand. Luca was wearing the same sequin jacket and all I could make out was the glittering in front of me. As the strobe lights flashed I scanned the dance floor and never have I seen such a diverse crowd. From big buff men in suspenders to young girls in vintage dressed and red lipstick, gay, straight, dorky, or fashion forward. The no camera no mirror policy was fashioned off of Berghaun’s idea that once one enter into the factory doors, they could truly be themselves. It was like a hippy commune mixed with trashy techno and junkies.
Yet all jokes aside I had never been to a place like this. Candles decorated the vaulted stone ceilings, iron bars and boards covered the windows to disguise all sense of time. I got the feeling that in some weird twisted Germany sense this was a safe haven. A place where doctors, lawyers, business men, and rejected kids all gathered under one roof to dance and forget the pressure that comes with the real world. I never would have thought but somewhere mixed in with drugs, sex and self discovery around me I began to let my mind wonder. The battle between two sides. Religion and atheism. Anarchy and structure. Outgoing or reserved. I got way too deep into my mind wondering about labels, if we ever could dispose of them.
I tried to clear my head by dancing. Still scanning the dance floor while trying to shake off my looming thoughts. And it was in that club in Berlin, Germany amongst the buff man with “BEAR” tattooed on his shoulders or the 40 year old pixie girl with wings, that I realized I wanted to change. I didn’t want to work too hard to forget or work so hard in general. I was tired of being who people wanted me to be. Or following my parents path. You see my father had set my path for me before I was even born and I had followed it up until I graduated college. I got my degree for him and then started traveling. In the past five years I had spent three of them traveling. Trying to find out who I was without my parents or anybody else telling me how to spend my life. But after every trip I emerged more confused then when I started. Constantly saying goodbye, switching time zones, and beds I barely had time for sleep let alone figuring myself out. Half the people I had spoken with were just as confused as I was. Confusion was an international language that plagued people in their 20’s. Instead I had become insensitive and sarcastic when really I was emotional, looking for some substance.
We danced for eight hours, I forgot where I was or what time it was and definitely did not want to leave. Even though half these people would be filed as freaks I liked them and they even smiled. Genuine smiles that welcomed me. Luca looked over at me from time to time and I gave him a nod of approval.
I don’t think we said one word to each other, but he knew I was having a good time. With the energy sucked out of me, we emerged the sun a painful reminder that reality still existed. When I forced myself to look down at my watch I realized it was two in the afternoon. We grabbed some food and headed back to the apartment.
I slept very well and awoke unwillingly, knowing that tomorrow I would have to pack my stuff. Then I would head off to another city where the slate all over again. You know the basics. What I was doing here, where was I from, why was I by myself, my age. But I would miss Berghaun where I didn’t say one work people just understood that we shared the same bond and that was the hate of structure and labels.
The next morning I awoke and repacked my life in a matter of fifteen minutes. Luca and I ate some bread then he accompanied me to the train station. I gave him a hug goodbye and thanked him.
I sat down on the train exhausted having even more questions than I started with. A older women sat next to me. She was reading the Sun Also Rises, one of my favorite travel book in English.
“So Robert or Jake?”
“Definitely Jake.”
Right Answer. “I agree. Robert’s such an ass towards the end.”
“Even though both of them love Brett. Jake is just so much more subtle about it.”
I definitely did not want to talk about love. “You know I’ve always wanted to follow that path Paris, Pamplona, then San Sebastian.”
“Me too. I don’t know why I haven’t done it?”
“Where you from?”
“You know I really don’t know anymore.”
She looked puzzled. “ You don’t know where you’re from?”
“No I do I’m just confused.”
“Yeah I think we all are.” She smiled genuinely and looked out the window.
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