The crisp and
freshly cut digits displayed 11:03 above the station, confirming that time had
already been set against me. Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof buzzed with an untapped
energy, a great sense of movement restrained; each person below walked with
purpose, but did so calmly. Trains pulled in and out smoothly, and yet there is
a constant inaudible rumbling of cogs turning and determined voices calling out
for progress, manifesting themselves as the endless cranes that litter the city’s
skyline. Commuters’ voices reflect off silver walls and polished glass, to
merge into a single sound that bounced back to where I stood. It is thrilling.
A blurred
list of places filled the page in front of me; do I revisit those that I know
well, or go to places that are new to me? Do I take a train to the cathedral
that was so blissful on a summer’s afternoon a year ago, or do I wait until night
when it becomes majestic? Should I for the first time venture inside, or walk
past and climb the Fernsehturm? There’s the Astro Bar, or lonely Dorit
Schmiel at The Wall, the cafes,
the Reichstag, there’s pretending to be a Wenders’ angel, or climbing down to
look at the bullet riddled wall. There’s checking out Nefertiti.
I hold all of
those thoughts in my head as I buy a packet of cigarettes and walk outside. Right
now I don’t want to be at any one of them, but instead just simply to walk these
streets again, and let my feet find me a destination.
