Blink twice…
Savouring cheesecake and the Spree.
Welcome to my journal! It echoes my thoughts and feelings as I journey through life. I hope you connect with what you read. If you enjoy this journal, please subscribe.
My girlfriend and I spent an hour at one of our favourite coffee shops this Wednesday. Accompanying my chai latte and her oat-milk cappuccino (yes, we’re hipsters) was a slice of the best cheesecake in the city. Seriously. I’ve done my research, and this is the most well-balanced, devilishly rich, perfectly dense, New York style cheesecake Berlin has to offer. And, wouldn’t you know it, our spot is stuffed into a museum annex, which I find very confusing. An addendum café has no business being this good. As we chatted about her dentist appointment and my language course and all the other things that we fill our time with, the cheesecake quickly disappeared. Well before our drinks were finished, only one forkful remained. I told my girlfriend that it was all hers, but she split it down the middle instead, and handed me my last taste. As I ate it, she told me to close my eyes. She did the same. We had inhaled most of the slice with warranted enthusiasm, but she insisted that we savour the last bit. It was damn good cake.
Though I’ve been using my weekly runs to explore my neighbourhood, this week I decided to run along the Spree—the relatively small, winding river that bisects Berlin. I’ve seen the river plenty, usually in a quick glance out of the train window, but since moving to the city seven months ago, I’ve scarcely given the river a second thought. I’ve certainly never jogged alongside it for any meaningful period. Looking to fix this, then, I followed the Spree, running as close to the riverbank as I could. As I neared the heart of the city, the sidewalk broadened and grew busier and more diverse. When I began my run, most of the passers-by were fellow sport-makers: runners or cyclists. In the middle of Berlin I saw a preteen and his grandmother taking a selfie next to the river, I guessed that they were touring the city. I saw businessmen and -women wearing expensive, but understated clothing, eating vegan quinoa bowls. I saw old people with wrinkly, tattooed skin and young people with neon orange tiger-stripes for hair. I ran past a few policemen who were operating a road block and greeted them in German as I passed. The river and I started curving past bridges and towers whose architecture had been carefully considered and well funded. We passed buildings filled with powerful people donning suits. Those same buildings were surrounded by yet more people armed with megaphones and home-made signs. I passed a small patch of grass that separated the river from the pavement I ran on. It was at quite an angle. A nearby restaurant had filled it with sixty-something folding lawn chairs, and despite the risk of tumbling into the icy water and the fact that it was squarely in the middle of the work day, only a handful of chairs remained unoccupied.
Throughout my run, a sense of wonder welled up inside of me. I marvelled at the place I was in. The parliaments, museums and ministries I ran past had a bigness to them that I had not seen for some time. The eyes that I first beheld this metropolis with have grown accustomed to their surroundings. I forget that the institutions that call my city home are some of the most notable and influential in the world. I forget about all the people who come to look at the river and the big gate and the old, destroyed wall just around the corner from my house, who bring their grandsons to gawk at the capital city. It’s become my background noise. I can see a city landmark from my bathroom, but it’s tough to look at it and remember how special it is every time I brush my teeth. I forget that I left my home searching for adventure, to see and taste something new. When I pass by the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Siegessäule—the tower featuring a golden angel, one of the most visited and photographed monuments in Berlin—I’m rushing to get to language school. I don’t even look up.
I usually need to slow down to appreciate the world around me. That’s why I was instructed to close my eyes upon receiving my last half-mouthful of cheesecake, I think. Stop. Focus on what you’re tasting. Bizarrely, speeding up has done the same thing for me. Running past the tourists, the bankers, the lawyers, the protestors reminded me where I was. For a moment, huffing and puffing as I trudged along the Spree, I saw this city with new eyes again. I savoured it. My girlfriend, in her wisdom, knew to savour our cheesecake, not only because it was good, but because it was on the plate in front of us. Berlin has beautiful bits, like the buildings I ran past this week. It has many, far less beautiful bits, too, I assure you. But it’s what I’ve got on the plate in front of me. And who knows when I’ll have my last bite? Might as well savour the flavour while I’ve got the chance.
I’d rather not ponder too long on what that flavour is, though…If you enjoyed this journal, please share it with some you love.