Beauty and Doubt

I'm sitting in a small cafe in the (rare-these-days) sunshine in the hip and trendy neighborhood of Kreuzberg.   I'm relishing this delicious moment.  I am warm and happy.  My belly is full and I'm sipping a fresh beet, ginger, and apple juice.  Two hours ago I dropped off my children for their first day of school in Berlin.  Two hours prior to that I woke them up (already fulling dressed the night before anticipating a hard morning).  They are two children- very different but nearly equally intense in the most opposite way possible.  We know we are parenting children that are not typical.  And yes, any parent will say this about their children.  I don't say it lightly.

I'm not trying to convince you that parenting my children is harder than parenting yours.  People all over this planet struggle with their children.  It is not a competition.  There is no prize in one person's struggle being heavier than another's.  I am aware and processing my own is all.

Somehow and someway, our two beautiful children landed in our lives.  I am grateful beyond measure.  They are passionate and interesting.  They are intelligent and imaginative.  They are lovely.

This move has forced us all to explore aspects of our own lives that we wouldn't have otherwise.  Or at least we weren't going to for awhile if ever.  So all of our dirt is rising to the surface and clashing with one another.

There is no doubt there is beauty all around us.  Simply open your eyes and walk a block and something new and fascinating is right there.  One of my better qualities is finding beauty in the every day.  I'm not sure if I've always had that or if I developed that over time.  One of my lesser qualities is patience with chaos.  I need systems to be happy.  But systems are all over the place in our temporary rental in a country we are still navigating.  It's often dirty and messy with four people and a dog.  Trying to manage a family and feed them and keep them clean has made me grumpy and a bit bark-y.  I don't like that.  I need to fine tune my own temperament.

My children have old stuff that has been re-triggered with this move.  My son was adopted.  In and of itself that is trauma.  My daughter came in to this world via a traumatic birth.  Her wiring is very similar to her parents.  All of us have anxiety, but none of our anxieties emerge in the same way.

We have been in Berlin for two months.  The kids just started school this morning.  They woke up so upset.  Tears from one.  Rage from another.  I'm 100% positive that all the neighbors heard them leave the building this morning.  That.  Loud.

One child thinks something detrimental will happen to me before 3 p.m. and I will not be at the school to pick them up.

One child stepped on my toes and pinched me and stuck out his tongue all the way to school this morning.

By the time I dropped them off at 8 a.m. I was exhausted.  I called my husband and cried.  He reminded me that the sun was shining and suggested I go to Viktora Park to see the waterfall.  It was as good an idea as any.  I took a couple of trains.  Walked and walked.  Found the park.  Where the waterfall should have water, there was only rock.  No water.  Ha!  It truly made me laugh.  It felt oddly symbolic of my day.  Beauty is right there.  Rugged.  Dirty.  Stressed.  Soon water will be coming down the rock and people will be sunbathing on the green grass.  Today there were birds and green and sun and beauty and no water.

Today we need water, but it is not there.  It will come.  I have faith that it will be there.  I have to choose to believe.  And in the meantime, I will seek the beauty, even when it is incomplete.

Berlin: A Story Unfolding

I have a theory about Berlin and I'm quite certain that it's not a new one or my own.  I refuse to look up what other writers have said about this because right now, I want to honor what I'm experiencing rather than dismiss it because someone else has said it once before.

I believe Berlin might very well be a city of misfits.

I mean this in the most serious and sincere kind of way.  I hear the word misfit and immediately am transported to watching a 1960s animation of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.  That's not exactly what I mean by misfit, although it's not entirely inaccurate, either.

I can only experience Berlin for what I see of it today.  I know it has changed a lot in the last twenty years since the wall fell.  It has become a hub of people that do not necessarily belong somewhere else or have chosen for one reason or another to call Berlin home.  They are all attracted to this city for it's promise of taking in people and accepting them for what and who they are.  Granted, this is romanticized and not entirely true.  I am not naive to the real social construct and how racism and classism impact such a city, but by and far, in a simply navigating the city with social eyes view, this city is composed of people who may not look like they belong together at first glance, yet work and interact and experience life together with ease.

There is a slow hum of desperate intellectualism here.  People who live here are passionate.  They are people who need to learn and grow in order to truly be alive.  Young, old, it seems to be a common thread that unites Berlin's people.  There is a need for music, art, and history in their every day.

It is a somewhat serious city.  There is not a jovial laugh around each corner.  There are not people smiling and laughing on benches in the parks.  At first glance, this can appear alarming to the lighthearted.  We need joy in our lives, too.  This could perhaps be seen as a negative.  It's easy to notice the lack of this and judge its people on their demeanor.

I don't think it's a lack of joy, however.  I believe that their joy is channeled differently.  Through literature and the seeking of knowledge and in believing their family is safe and secure here.

In a city of three and a half million people, a half million people are immigrants.  I have found this fact fascinating since the first time I heard it.  It truly feels this way as well.  There is never a single language, or look, or food on each street.  This doesn't mean that everyone lives together and interacts harmoniously.  However, we are all moving through the day together in a city that seems to function quite well on the unification of differences.

I love the different stories I see unfolding in front of me on each train ride, on each walk down the street to the corner bakery.  There is never a single story.  We have all come here for one reason or another and the city has enchanted us with promises of acceptance, whether we choose to believe or whether or not the stories are true are yet to unfold perhaps.  

To Hamam or Not to Hamam (it was never a question)

Admittedly, I am completely new to the bathhouse in general and to a Hamam in particular.  In fact, I had never heard this word or knew the meaning until yesterday.  Afterwards I felt similarly to when I snorkeled in Belize for the first time...the feeling that there is a world behind a world that you didn't know existed until that moment.

I was positive I would fumble throughout the experience, but if there is anything that travel has taught me it is that one must fumble to have the most exquisite of experiences.  If we live protected, what good is it to live?

And fumble I did.

Luckily I had read reviews and knew the entrance was going to make me skeptical.  Indeed it did. Truly located in what looks like a parking garage, I climbed the stairs past a gym and a karaoke bar and opened the door to the Hamam.  I immediately was met with the strong scent of citrus.  A long bar with large ornate tea urns greeted me upon entering.  The receptionist checked me in and we agreed that I should also rent the "towel package" that came with two towels, a sarong, and flip flops in a plastic tote.  She showed me the changing room, then led me to the Hamam.  She explained that I leave my things on the shelf, I can wear the sarong if I like, I go in to the first steam room, then the second, then they would call my name.  No soaps at all.  Noted.  (later I realized she meant no soaps in the SECOND room).

I changed, happy with my sarong (never have I been so grateful for a piece of cloth).  Then I was VERY confused by the beautiful and ornate copper bowl.  She had given it to me with my key inside it.  I looked around and all the women who were changing had their keys in their bowls.  Was I supposed to carry my key in this bowl?  Was I supposed to leave this beautiful key-bowl in my locker?  I tried asking some women.  No dice.  They looked at me very confused.  So, I took the bowl in my tote.

I walked in to the first steam room and within seconds I realize that the bowl is a CRITICAL tool in the Hamam.  It is used to splash water on yourself.  I went back and scooped mine back out of my tote.

First of all, for all of you who can't get over the nakedness factor of this experience, yes, women were naked.  However!  There were also women in swimming suits and women in underwear.  AND women with babies.  Yes, babies!  That was a twist I wasn't expecting.  No one cared at all, not one little bit whether you were clothed or not.  Everyone carried on with one another as if they were at a coffee shop, only more playful.  Mostly there were small groups of women, friends, sisters, mothers with daughters...  I sat and first tried to keep the sarong dry until I realized that was not going to happen and watched around me thankful that others were not fumbling so I could mimic their actions.
There were giant marble basins with a hole on the side and large marble benches.  Each small group sat near a basin filling their bowls and splashing themselves with warm or cold or very hot water.  There was nothing delicate about the water splashing either.  It was actually almost forceful splashing.  And throwing bowls of water on one another as well.  Babies sat IN the basins, laughing (and crying).  When I saw women soaping in this room I thought they were breaking the rules (ha!) Later I realized that soaping in THIS rooms was permissible, just not in the SECOND room.  Lots of products in this room.  I almost felt silly without lotions or a facial mask.

The second room was just like the first only filled with VERY hot steam.  This room was my favorite part of the Hamam.  You could barely see your hand in front of your face.  And if you got too hot, no problem! There was a basin next to you where you could splash yourself with cold water.

About 20-40 minutes into the steam rooms, I was called out for the "skin scrubbing."  It was just as painful as it sounds.   A woman who meant business with her loofah gloves does just want you might imagine.  On a marble slab.  She also splashed me with warm water a few times.  This whole part took maybe 10-15 minutes.  Then off to the steam Hamam you go again.

I made my way out to the dry sauna eventually and also to the relaxation room in the back with large lounge chairs and soft blankets.  I hadn't had breakfast and it was close to noon.  I was also very thirsty and very uncertain about how to go back out to the tearoom to get something to drink.  So, I dressed quickly and went out to the front room.

I ordered a tea and was told I had 5 minutes before my massage (whoops!).  I had no idea how the system worked.  The massage therapist came and called my name.  I took a few sips of tea and back I went to change again.  She was very concerned about me drinking tea before the massage, "this is what you do AFTER."  Like I said...fumble, fumble.

The massage was excellent.  Nothing new or confusing there.  One hour of complete relaxation.

THEN I changed again, for real this time.  And THEN I had tea (and cookies) one last time in the tea room before I packed up and was on my way.

I sat in the tearoom and I marveled at all the women gathered in the space.  There was not one type of woman or one language.  Sporty women, women with head scarves, older women, younger women. How they were all so comfortable both with one another and with the strangers around them.  It was a very accepting and communal space.  It was beautiful and moving.

I'm leaving out a few minor details that would best be delivered over drinks so I can see you cringe in real life.  But truly, it wasn't a scary experience.  It was beautiful.  Women taking care of one another. As it should be.

If you go: Sultan Hamam

Kleingarten

My photos do not do this post justice.  Granted it's still winter and the plants are still sleeping.  And I snapped these from my phone while walking my dog.  And.  And.  And.  But, please, hear me out, because I think this is one of the most delightful and charming things I have seen so far in Berlin.  The Kleingartenkolonien (small garden colony). 

At first I thought it was a village of tiny houses (all the rage!) but I could tell it was more old fashioned, so maybe the Germans had a tiny house village for the elderly.  My mind was spinning.  

Luke being Luke Googled it.  A small garden village.  Here is a tiny historical reference to what these are and why they exist.  This particular one is 1/2 block from our current apartment.  It is dormant right now.  The little cottages seem vacant.  But you can tell by the maintenance of the plots that they will come alive in only a couple of short months from now.  Oh Spring!  I have always loved you, but I think I will love you even more in Berlin.  

Already the birds are singing in the mornings.  The storks are flying overhead and making nests in chimneys, causing the locals to groan.  For me, it is all so charming.  I'm so very new.  I have child eyes right now.  Even though we will move away from this apartment in less than three weeks, I have every intention on returning to this Kleingarten to see it in all its garden glory.  

Train Travel

I am living a crash course in teaching my children how to be 'city people' after only living in a small city all their lives.  I don't know how to teach this.  I knew this would exist, but I didn't think it would fill our days as much as it does.  Especially with our six year old, but honestly, with both our children (ages 6 and 9 for one more precious month).

The train!  Oh the train.  It is our lifeline right now.  It is how we navigate our new world.  I have and will always love the train.  My favorite part of falling asleep and waking up in the stillness of the night and early morning is hearing the train rumble by my window.  I am so grateful that our first flat is one block from the station.  We are in a sleepy neighborhood.  No corner cafe.  Only kids in backpacks waiting for the bus and the elderly out for a morning stroll.  So, having the station one block away is a true treat.

One forgets after you learn something new that you had to learn it once in the first place.  So is teaching.  Right now,  we are teaching our kids the unspoken rules of train travel, how to read the signs, the maps, how to stand to one side and let out the people arriving, how to enter quickly and take a seat wherever available or stand and hold on.  Please hold on.  Please son, stop thinking your strength is mightier than the train.  Hold.  On.  Please move away from the drop off.  See this line? You must stay away from this line.  Please stop spinning, you will fall off.  Please stop spinning. STOP SPINNING.

Our sweet daughter loves to listen to people talking.  Please don't stare.  When the man started playing the guitar, she immediately reached for her purse to find coins.  How to teach your children when to give, when to save.  Who makes up these rules- so arbitrary.  And when you have a heart like my daughter's she would end up with no money very quickly.  And yes, I know we can travel with fruit or food to offer.  We will eventually.  Right now, we are learning.  All of us.  So much.

My son loves the movement of the train, loves when the train is crowded and everyone is standing and his body is supported by the crowd around him.  He loves the people.  Loves their smiles.  He is a person of this world.  People are immediately drawn to him.  He loves people and people love him. He will get through life on this and this alone if nothing else.

My husband and I speak to one another through our eyes from opposite sides of the train car.  We nod and gesture about which stop is ours.  I even fell in love with him a little the other day on an old U car.  He was standing there.  Tall.  Beautiful strong build.  Quiet.  Sincere.  Distinguished with his silvering hair and scarf wrapped around his neck like a true European.  I stood on my tippy toes, as I have to do, and I kissed him tenderly.

We are navigating every moment of every day.

When my daughter's tears started flowing on the train two days ago because she saw something that reminded her of her teacher in the U.S., a kind woman handed her a neatly folded tissue.

When my son smiled and waved to the Ethiopian men who sat across from him, the look in his eyes was, "I am known.  I am seen."  He asked me how I knew they were Ethiopian and we talked about their beautiful almond shaped eyes, their build, their language.  The clues that I understand but he hasn't yet.

When my husband starts unraveling a story about history to our children as we sit on a less crowded train and I watch as they lean into him, lingering on his words as he captures their attention.

This is why we are here.  

Bricks. The laying of a new path.

When you move to a new place, everything around you is new, vibrant, dominating of all your mental energy.  The bricks in Berlin are this for me.  Every morning I walk out of my apartment building with my dog and this is what I see.  You can't tell from this photo, but each square brick is about 4 inches deep.  I love to think about who laid these bricks, who has walked on them, what stories have been told on them.  Of course a path or a road is symbolic as well.  What does this lead to, what will happen next?  It is all part of our journey as we move through our days, very clearly newly settled Berliners. 

 When you are a foreigner, each moment of each day is full.  Everything you see, taste, touch you never have before.  This alone is enough.  And yet you still have to get from point A to point B.  You still have to eat and drink and bathe and sleep.  Every little thing you do is a huge accomplishment.  I have turned to my husband on more than one occasion with a high five.  We nod at one another.  We roll our eyes.  We argue.  We laugh.  It is all happening.  Every emotion. All at once.  I haven't allowed myself to feel all that much yet.  I'm a mother.  I'm walking around waiting for one of my children to lose it.  To start sobbing in the middle of the train station.  To suddenly feel hunger times 100 at the most inconvenient of times.  I am protecting our life's belongings, or cleaning our small apartment, or managing to sip a tiny glass of wine or three.  But my real feelings, I am not yet there.  I am appreciating the moments of truth and beauty and trying my hardest to be aware of our transition so I can tell the stories, create the stories, live the stories.  

I'll babble here as I observe our new world.