This city—which I barely know, and much of which I have not seen—feels like no other city I know. It feels spacious. The streets are wide, with twice as much sidewalk as driving space. With space for a car or two to drive, parked cars to line the road, bikes to bike and bikes to park, pedestrians to walk and humans and dogs and strollers and wheelchairs to sit together on generous patios for long, leisurely, friendly dinners, lunches, coffees, cakes, teas, beers.
And it feels at ease. People move, but no one is in a huge rush. No one is power-walking anywhere. The streets are so alive.
The buildings are all about six stories high, with big windows, most with balconies, all with large doors leading to big courtyards, used for storing bikes and nurturing green things.
I know this sounds idiotic, but I am surprised by the ubiquity of German. Pleasantly so. Last fall I was in Amsterdam, which for all intents an purposes is an English-speaking city. Before moving here, I got a lot of my information (on the English posts) on Berlin Reddit, which gave me the impression that this city is every bit as international and Anglophone as Amsterdam. Instead, I have heard in the last week Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Russian and another couple of Slavic languages, Arabic, a Nordic language or two, and American-accented English, Australian-accented English, Irish-accented English, British-accented English, African accented-English . . . but above all, German. I have conducted most of my transactions in German, and am proud that only very occasionally have folks switched into English for me without my asking. They very kindly let me struggle, and have been extremely accommodating, on the whole—slowing down their speech, gesturing—to communicate with me without switching to English. In fact, a couple of folks have complimented my German! Now, if only I knew what the words meant, I’d be golden!
This city is quiet. They don’t play music in stores or restaurants. On public transit, people speak quietly to one another. The emergency vehicle sirens are lower-pitched and therefore less piercing. More than once I have climbed up from an U-Bahn station or exited a store and marveled at the hush of these lively streets.
The Germans are kind to let me struggle with their language, but I am also braver than I used to be. I remember in London feeling self-conscious to speak to people because I knew my accent would give me away instantly (and this was in 2013, when our reputation on the global stage was considerably more favorable than it is now! But the global stage was also less mad than it seems to be today . . .). Now, I will crash into any conversation wildly ill-equipped, resorting to absurd bastardizations to get my point across. I learned this linguistic recklessness living with Fernanda, Estiven, and Elena. Our collage of conversation, with gestures, pointing, not a little Italian on my part (as well as flat-out guessing how to say words in Spanish, which works a surprising amount of the time), is the bedrock of some of the most profound relationships of my life.
My friend Dana taught ESL for many years and once translated a particularly complex conversation between Estiven, Fernanda, and myself early on in our relationship. After that conversation, as I worried myself about my poor Spanish and the challenges of living with three people with whom I don’t share a language, Dana said to me, “but you’re communicating! That’s what counts!”
So now, thanks to Dana, Fernanda, Estiven, and Elena, I will wrecking-ball my way into interactions, make a fool of myself—and communicate! Maybe, someday, if I should be so lucky, I’ll schlectes-Deutsch my way into yet more magical, life-changing friendships.