We Have a Washer.
It’s true: Our tiny little Air BnB has a washing machine in the kitchen where an oven would normally be. I fully respect this prioritization considering how sweltering it is in Berlin right now, and also considering that air conditioning is not par for the course in Germany the way it is in the States. We’ve been in the apartment for 4 days now, and we are currently on our 4th load of laundry. Absurd, I know. But there were the airplane clothes which were above and beyond the point of being soiled, and then the 4 days of workout clothes we’ve been through. Not to mention how we’ve been sweating through everything we wear, sometimes 2 T-shirts a day, plus that our pants aren’t holding up to several days of wear the way they were at home in the 60-70 degree weather. Now there’s no dryer- everything has to hang dry on one of those giant Ikea fold-out drying racks. It takes up half of the apartment when it’s being used but it’s so worth it to have clean clothes without wasting whole days at the laundromat. We’ve even been enjoying ironing our stuff on the mini ironing board- it feels like we’re camping, or Amish, or something. But even with this exciting development, I don’t feel I’ve overpacked. I’ve made a chart in my bullet journal tracking everything I wear and on what day so that I can get a proper tally of how useful different items were. I’m fairly certain that a few items won’t be making an appearance- the cashmere sweater for one. Actually, that might be it. I’ve already worn the fleece for working out, the hoodie on a rainy night, and I keep wearing the corduroy shirt on my way out, only to end up stuffing it in my backpack soon after. Both my boots and Adidas sneakers have proven sufficiently comfortable to walk in for hours at a time. We’ll see if I went overboard with pants and tops, though I of course had no idea there would be a washer when I packed, so there’s bound to be less need for the full rotation.
We’ve hit a number of cafes so far, some more laptop-friendly than others. And only some have wifi- often you have to just link to your phone’s “hotspot.” But my German language skills are creeping up out of the caverns of my mind, despite not having studied in preparation for this trip at all. I can say what I need to in order to get coffee or food, but usually don’t understand anything people say to me in response. Then we play a little charades, or they’ll come out with perfect English, and it all works out. A lot of words come to me out of nowhere, but never at the appropriate time. I read signs well enough to get the gist of things, but that’s about where it ends. I do feel a much more comfortable in my fumbling German than I did on our first three trips here, and once you remove the panic, it does become easier to communicate. Matt’s much better than I am, having actually studied for years longer than I have, plus he keeps up with it better- even preparing for this trip every day for the month prior.
But so far, sitting in these cafes, I look around at my surroundings and wonder, “What’s the difference between doing this here and doing this at home?” I cried to Matt the other night that I didn’t see the point in being here. That I’m just still too depressed to enjoy things that other people do. But the truth is, it’s not that different from home. We’re still doing grocery shopping, exercising, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and going to the cafe. We’re not on some hedonistic vacation where we eat out every meal and have the maid clean our room while we’re out. We’re just doing what we usually do at new places, in a unique city. And Matt’s getting some meetings for work, which is the real priority, not me. I still have to eat the same number of calories every day, I still have to exercise, I still have to try and figure out what I’m trying to do with my life. I brought my little poetry/songwriting notebook with me but have yet to touch it. I have my nice camera on my new phone, but have yet to take a picture. Scratch that, I have been tracking my outfits with it. But I’m not really sure how to proceed. I expected to feel different on this trip. I expected to feel happier, more creative. I expected to understand why people go out to eat when it’s just a waste of money. I expected to understand people attending a street fair on the holiday weekend, drinking and talking and looking around. I expected to feel normal. Like someone who’s not depressed. But I feel the same.
I have noticed some fashionable people on the streets. I’ve seen high-waisted trousers and straight-leg jeans and bohemian-style dresses and retro 90s T-shirts. These are things I don’t see at home. I see people sitting lined up outside the restaurants in their bistro chairs, people-watching, like in Paris. I see copies of German Vogue, and a magazine I’ve never heard of- “The Skirt Chronicles” or something like it. And I see snippets of English on signs at cafes, on posters, in menus. If I continue to focus on these little things, keep breaking it down into little pieces, maybe I can feel something. So far, not much is coming through. The depression is like a wall around me, cancelling out sights and sounds, keeping me staring at the dark.