Beautiful Berlin morning. Rainy London lunch. Icy night in Iceland.

January 16th 2008 1.30am
The pilot has just announced that we are just passing over Manchester. 26 years and 1 month ago, almost to the hour, I was born there. It’s a funny feeling.
I am also listening to an interview with Tom Waits after his album Real Gone came out. While I write I don’t hear every word said, but this I heard just now.
Anything you can think of is true.
It is one of my favourite lines from his lyrics and it makes me happy that he quotes it.
Anything you can think of is true.

Like my day for example. This journey. A100 years ago someone might have never believed this could be possible.

Berlin said goodbye to me, sun shining, it felt almost like spring. Out of the train window on my way to the airport everything looked beautiful.
I just about made it in time. As the lady at the check-in announced that they were open for 5 more minutes I let down my 22.2 kg rucksack with relief and banged my lip on the desk. No charge for overweight. As I rushed away from the security the officers called after me, holding up the boarding pass I had left on the conveyor belt. As I thanked them and ran off again I could hear them making jokes and laughing.

In London I just about missed the shuttle-bus from the airport to the train station. Couldn’t really run very fast with the whale of a bag on my back, just reaching the bus stop as the bus pulled away. But the bus driver noticed and stopped opened the doors and smiled while I lugged my stuff on board gratefully.

After lunch with my grandmother and it didn’t really feel like I woke up in another country, or that I would go to sleep in yet another.

Then, the middle of rush hour on the London underground, hoping I would be more timely for my next check in.
Luckily, no delays.No cue at check in. No charge for overweight.
Then, a looooooong delay. Engineers working on the airplane, trying to figure out the problem. Announcement that we might have to spend the night at the airport. 20 minutes later we are boarding. Tired and apologetic looking staff. Still friendly. No one seemed too annoyed. The flight was scheduled for 9 pm. I looked at my watch as the plane let go of the ground. Midnight. Exactly. Almost makes it worth the delay. 00.00 is a much more magical and interesting moment to take off than 21.00.

In Reykjavík everything is covered with snow. I got home at 5am, almost 24 hours after I woke up in Berlin.

It is good to be back.
I forgot how magical the winter mornings here can be. 9am. I have been up for 2 hours. Been swimming. Walked on ice to the swimming pool. Swallowed and hidden by the mist and steam. Come out and walk through the parking lot. Still the black of night and everything so still. I can see the cars driving. But mute. There is a special silence. Like the snow and the darkness swallow all sound.

Louis the 14th owned 413 beds. This is what Tom Waits said.
Do you know how many beds you have slept in?

Fool

A nice evening turned sour. Turned into not such a great evening. Embarrassed good-bye. 5 o’clock in the morning. Come out of an apartment building. Whatever. A little drama. Forget about it. Not too far from home luckily. Unlock bicycle and walk to the gate. Try to open, realise that it is locked. Walk back to door. It is also locked. No idea which doorbell. Not a clue. No mobile telephone. No window to throw stones at. Walk back to gate. Locked. Other gate. Locked. Search for other exit. Nothing. No other way out, nor in.
Stuck in a courtyard. In December. No one around. Great.
Slight deja vu.
Shit.
Contemplate going to sleep in the courtyard. Rather not. Walk around for a little while and come to a conclusion. There are two options.
1. Climb a tall cement wall topped with masses of barbed wire. Hope to live.
2. Try to squeeze through the bars of the front gate. Hope not to get stuck.
Neither can be done with a bicycle so lock that again. Consider the options. Reflect. Bars in gate seem too close. Climbing in high heals and a dress does not seem like a good idea either. Luckily sober. Still, squeezing seems like the more feasible option, perhaps embarrassing but definitely less dangerous.
Walk back to gate. Examine. There is only one possibility. On the right, down by the street. All the others are definitely to tight. Bend down, try to put legs through first. No way. Head first. Ok. Down to shoulders. Ok. Breasts. Ok. Down to waist. Ok hips… bum… hmmm… not so easy. Not so easy to go back either. Ok. Push. Squeeze. Push. Bum is too big. Fuck. No. Have to push. It’s soft flesh, must be able to squeeeeeeeeze…
Relief!
Stand up. Dust off. Feel a bit like a hero. What is the address? Walk back and look at building. Write down house number. Pick up bicycle tomorrow. Sigh. Start walking slowly away. Someone is coming. Did he see? It’s not illegal to break out of a house. Is it? This is Germany, who knows! He walks to the gate, takes out keys, opens it.
Run back before he closes it again: 'Oh, excuse me, entschuldigen! My bicycle.. Ich habe mein Fahrrad… ummmm… kan Ich...?'
Man nods, pushes gate open, walks to other gate and opens it too. Leaves both open and goes inside. Unlock bicycle. No hurry. No need for squeezing this time. Walk back through gate. Cycle home in a little bit of rain.


That was 4 weeks ago, and it was the last stupid situation I got myself into that year.
During my almost 2 months in Berlin everything else has been wonderful. And to be honest, even that was kind of wonderful… in an embarrassing, momentarily unhappy kind of way, it’s true, but still, It makes me kind of happy to think about it.
Now I have 10 days left of my stay here and I look forward to every one of them.