Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

Today was one of those days I deeply regretted not having my camera with me — just to feel happy I didn’t a moment later. Berlin was really showing off today, it was like it was posing just for me: every corner seemed to shine with that delicate, quotidian beauty that would be ruined by the act of stopping and framing it in a picture. I was glad I couldn’t even be tempted to try and capture that with anything else other than my eyes, lingering on each scene for the few seconds I could without crashing my bike — the magpie jumping playfully around the garden behind a museum, the Fernsehturm framed by a quiet back street lined with trees and their pink blossoms, the Berliner sunset over a bridge, the clouds reflected in the blue shield of a subway entrance, the intricate expressions of passers-by lost in their own thoughts.

“What song best describes Berlin right now?”, I thought and started humming David Bowie’s Rebel Rebel a few seconds later. Because Berlin is exactly like this: beautiful in a crazy, non-obvious, hot mess kind of way. It’s the kind of city that feels your growing pains with you, inspires you, takes you into uniquely banal adventures, makes you laugh at yourself. It’s my kind of city. Not minding the other cyclists that sped past me, I could only sing at the top of my lungs: “Hot tramp, I love you so!”


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