Before I left, I told one of my host mom’s friends that I was going to Berlin and he said, “You know that the Wall’s not there anymore.” “Yeah…” I said. “Yeah, I am aware that the Berlin Wall is not there anymore.” “There’s a piece of the Wall,” he said, “but if you’re looking for the whole wall, it’s not there.” I have to say, though, it’s kind of crazy to me that I can be standing right THERE, where really not that long ago, just before I was born, there was this huge divide. Berlin history is the best because it’s so relevant to all my history interests, that is dictatorships and WWII and Communism. Not that I’m all whoo-pro-democracy-spread-it-to-the-world, but the story of the fall of the Wall is a good one, and sometimes, lame as this is, it almost makes me cry, all the confusion and the crowds and the hugging. Another thing that’s kind of crazy to me is how it takes years and years, lifetimes, to build up all these structures and write these books and make this art and then someone drops a bomb or starts a bonfire and suddenly all that’s gone, just like that.

Before I left, I told one of my host mom’s friends that I was going to Berlin and he said, “You know that the Wall’s not there anymore.” “Yeah…” I said. “Yeah, I am aware that the Berlin Wall is not there anymore.” “There’s a piece of the Wall,” he said, “but if you’re looking for the whole wall, it’s not there.”

I have to say, though, it’s kind of crazy to me that I can be standing right THERE, where really not that long ago, just before I was born, there was this huge divide. Berlin history is the best because it’s so relevant to all my history interests, that is dictatorships and WWII and Communism. Not that I’m all whoo-pro-democracy-spread-it-to-the-world, but the story of the fall of the Wall is a good one, and sometimes, lame as this is, it almost makes me cry, all the confusion and the crowds and the hugging. Another thing that’s kind of crazy to me is how it takes years and years, lifetimes, to build up all these structures and write these books and make this art and then someone drops a bomb or starts a bonfire and suddenly all that’s gone, just like that.

Took the train from Amsterdam to Berlin. In Holland, saw lots of sheep and horses and also a javelin-throwing practice and some swans sitting in a field. Germany was mostly all green and green and green and fields of bright yellow flowers. I half fell asleep and felt people walking by me and sometimes could smell them there, too, mildew and perfume and cigarette smoke. When we made the first stop in Germany, there was an announcement. “The Dutch crew is getting off now,” the announcement said, “and the German crew is getting on.” We saw the Dutch filing away, dragging suitcases behind them.

We also overheard a guy in a coffee shop who kept talking about Gatsby but he kept calling it “the Catsby” because he seemed to really think that was the title. “She was like, ‘I will stay with you even though I am married because you are the Catsby!’” So I made this.

We also overheard a guy in a coffee shop who kept talking about Gatsby but he kept calling it “the Catsby” because he seemed to really think that was the title. “She was like, ‘I will stay with you even though I am married because you are the Catsby!’” So I made this.

Some people I have seen I Amsterdam

Yesterday I saw a guy on a bike carrying flowers and wine and we sat by some people in a restaurant who kept saying things like, “I would LOVE to see Canada,” and “What exactly is a sea mollusk?” and, “THERE’S your Anne Frank house, Ellen,” in Ivy League accents. Today I saw a jauntily-dressed man on a small boat in the canal playing a song on a crank organ and a horn. Just when I thought the song was done, he picked up a conch shell and played three somber notes.

In a new place!

A thing I decided: I have decided that everyone who says, “Get a good night’s sleep; you’re gonna need it!” is actually sort of an asshole, because the nights you probably need sleep the most are also the nights you’re too anxious to sleep.

Boring airline story: Decided this morning that I hated Lufthansa because they were being annoying and inefficient. Got on the plane starving and exhausted. Tried to decide whether to sleep or wait around for them to bring by the free pretzels or whatever. Opted for sleep. Then I woke up when we landed and there was a fancy German yogurt waiting on the seat next to me. Lufthansa: forgiven.

On leaving

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Because I can’t leave France without at least one more story of me misunderstanding someone: today my French language partner tried to ask me if I had hobbies, and she even tried being like, “Yeah, that’s the word in English too, hobbies,” but since they don’t pronounce the letter “h” in French, I still didn’t understand and instead went on a tangent about obesity in America.

In other news, last night I watched a thing on French TV with my host mom about the history of Jesus’s life. Partway through I realized that the background music included a) “Game of Thrones” and b) “Lord of the Rings.”

Camargue

My host mom has done some really adorable things lately. These things include adding some white flowers to the glass of water with a dying rose in it in my room. These things include telling her boyfriend about my day to Camargue on the phone, making me feel like we are this weird little family who care about when the others rode buses and boats, and where.

When I was little and in the deepest waters of my Harry Potter obsession, my friend and I both had toy broomsticks. I’d taped a piece of paper over mine that said “Nimbus 2000.” One day we were taking turns jumping off the steps and trying to fly, but the flying wasn’t working out so well. “Okay,” I told my friend. “This time, close your eyes, and instead of jumping, try flying with your heart.” She closed her eyes and we stood there for a couple seconds. “How was it?” I asked. “I don’t think that worked,” she said.

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Themed by: Hunson