Dec 19th, 2023
I will start this adventure how I seem to start many of them; reminiscing about misadventures past. My sister called me to talk about how she felt like she couldn’t relax, because while she was mostly packed, she still had things out she wanted to wear and to use and how she just couldn’t feel ready until all the things were neatly together in a bag, waiting to be picked up and hauled off to the airport on her back. I understand the feeling. I wish I could be packed, instead of scattered.
My van has been in the shop for two solid weeks now. A nightmare, really, when your vehicle is your house, but also simply inconvenient when you want to pack for a trip out of the country, and all of your things are neatly locked away two miles down the road. I stopped by the mechanics today to fill a tupper with necessary items. “Be back soon,” said a hand-scratched note, taped to the door. No telling what “soon” means in country time.
I’ve been feeling stressed. To be fair to myself, I think stress under the circumstances is a fair thing to feel. The days are counting down to family-packed holidays, leading rapidly into our departure abroad, leading immediately, upon return, into a 23-hour drive from Tennessee to Arizona. Not a lot of room to breathe. Plenty of spaces to get tripped up. But I’m getting ahead of myself. That’s not for another month.
I was feeling stressed. About not being able to pack. About feeling unprepared for this trip, and doubly so, as it’s not just my safety and good-time on the line for this adventure, but that of my little sister’s, as well. I *was* feeling stressed… and then an image popped into my head, while speaking to my sister. A photo my best friend took. The image is me, crouched on the floor of my mom’s old living room, a blanket draped over my shoulders, contemplating the messy and large array of things spread before me. An empty hiking pack is thrown to the side.
That picture was taken at 2am, the night before a 9am flight. A one-way flight, mind you, to Rome. A flight that would set me off on what turned out to be an 8-month adventure, though at the time, I had no idea how long it would be. And I don’t recall being stressed, despite packing at 2am for a trip it was impossible to prepare for, since I had no idea how long it would be, or where it would take me. But I was excited. For the adventure. For the change of scenery. I didn’t care if I packed the right things. I just wanted to go. So why am I trying to pack days and weeks before this one? Why am I so stressed? Time to let go, and re-enter the trusting state that always aids my travels.
Thankfully, as our departure date approaches, I am relaxing. The fears and the “what-ifs'' that had invaded my mind are slowly falling back. Replaced by excitement and visions of joy shared with my sister, of hugging old friends, of snow-filled streets in fairy-tale cities. Of re-centering and remembering to trust the process.
8 days to Maia and Witchy’s adventure abroad, 2024!
And just like that, 7 days have passed and tomorrow we depart. I'd like to say it’s been stress-free. That we’ve leaned into it, but it wouldn’t be 100% true. My van is still in the shop. My sister's car is having trouble starting. I’m having some health issues. My sister's ankle is weak from the strain she acquired before driving to Tennessee. And tonight, after a family dinner, I found her puking in the bathroom. Hopefully by morning we’ll know if it’s food poisoning or a stomach bug. Either way, not an ideal way to depart.
I can’t pretend I haven't wondered a few times if these are all just glaring stop signs the universe is sending our way. Warnings. Cautions. Flashing red lights. “DO NOT PROCEED.” Are we stupid to forge ahead?
However, another part of me wonders if it’s not a test of perseverance. How long do we fight for the thing we want? How much difficulty and dissuasion do we endure before we give up?
I could torture myself, bouncing between these two possibilities for days. Certainly I've done it for hours already. But the fact of the matter is, we won’t know if it's a warning or a test until we’re in it. Either having a blast or having a miserable time. The lucky thing about adventures though, is that even bad times make for good stories eventually (tragedy plus time equals comedy and all that), and when I examine closely the type of life I'd like to live, I know that I’d rather go, have a bad time, and gather stories, than sit at home and wonder if it was just a test the whole time…one I failed.
Our bags are packed. Our flights are booked. The tarmac is waiting.
I lay in bed at the Generator hostel in Berlin on our second morning, texting my friend Stephen from middle school. He lives here and we want to meet for lunch or a night out before Witchy and I leave.
I’m trying to find a hostel for me and Witchy for the next few nights, but I didn’t really think of everything being booked and extra expensive for new years eve
I work at a hostel, you could come stay here
I start to look up his hostel.
Or better yet, he sends, how long will you stay?
Three more nights
Perfect, come stay at my flat. My roommates are out of town for the holidays. I’ll be home til 3 today to give you the keys.
Excellent! We pack up and jump on the U line from Alexanderplatz, heading out of the city center.
Stephen and Witchy hit it off beautifully, and while we’re all partying on NYE he tells her if she decides to move to Europe, he’ll gladly help her do so. I’m happy when she relays this moment to me, grateful to have good friends, and glad for the opportunity to help Witchy start to grow her global community, and build confidence that she’s not alone in this life, even when she’s 5,000 miles from home.
On New Years Eve, before the partying begins, we try to go hit some of the historical spots in Berlin, but having never traveled in the winter, it doesn’t occur to me that many places will be blocked off for holiday festivities.
We’ve just visited the Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe and have decided to search for some food. I stare off, lost in thought, towards what looks like an entrance ramp to an interstate in the distance. Except that didn’t look like a car…
“Did you see that?” I ask Witchy, trying to make sense of what I just saw.
She looks, but it’s gone. “No?” She responds.
Hmm…
I keep gazing.
“There it is again, look! I think that was a person.”
But by the time she looks it’s gone again.
“Just keep watching.”
Finally another body zooms down what I now know can’t be a street.
“Is that a giant slide?”
“Okay, we gotta see what that’s about!”
We both immediately alter course, forgetting our original mission.
As we approach we see it’s a giant slide you go down in an inter-tube. 2 euros to ride. Why not?
The line is long and looks like one we’ll be standing in for a while. There’s a small booth selling hot wine out of steaming glass mugs.
“Okay Witchy, you get in line, I’ll go get us a wine to share while we wait our turn.”
I return with a steaming mug, loving the concept of the glass mugs at a festival instead of throw-away cups. You pay a 5 euro deposit and you get your money back when you return the mug. Brilliant. Can’t say I didn’t consider taking the branded mug home as a five euro souvenir, but those suckers are heavy!
We blow on the steam rising from the cup and after the first two sips, we realize just how fast the line is actually moving and just how slowly the wine is disappearing. We start to giggle as we try to take gulps of the hot liquid, effectively burning our tongues and throats. Uh-oh.
The line jumps two feet forward.
“Take a gulp, take a gulp!”
“I’m trying!”
More giggles.
“We’ve got this, I believe in us.”
We down the last, still steaming sip and I slide the cup into my backpack for safe-keeping just as the man approaches us and takes our tickets, directing us to the inter-tubes. Giggling and flushed, we take our tubes and climb to the top of the slide, where we’re flung back down in dizzying circles. We decide winter markets are a good use of time, and stop at as many as we can before they disappear in the coming days.
The New Years Eve fireworks in Berlin are like nothing I’ve experienced before. Nothing that would ever be allowed in the states. People start setting off their personal fireworks in the neighborhood as soon as it gets dark, which is 4pm in the winter. And it doesn’t stop, I kid you not, for the next 12 hours.
Witchy and I get ready at the apartment and go to meet Stephen at his work for some drinks before he gets off. He’s working til midnight, and the Texan in me, who’s used to clubs closing at 2am, wonders if we’ll have much time to celebrate. Oh, silly American.
The energy in the streets is charged, people shouting and laughing and drinking. Calling out to strangers to wish them a happy new year. There are discarded shells of fireworks everywhere and the air burns with the stench of them. We’re laughing as we enter the subway and are surprised to find it a solemn, quiet place. People stare at us, with our fishnets and glittered faces, but we just laugh harder.
At midnight we cheers Stephen and his coworkers and head back into the cold night. If I thought it was madness before…it’s been turned up 10 times over.
There are people shooting off fireworks in every direction. The air is opaque with smoke. If not for the constant sparkles in the sky, it might feel like a war zone or a scene from an apocalyptic novel, with the constant booms and heavy smoke, impossible to avoid.
“I don’t even know where to look,” Witchy says, light shows stretching down the main boulevard as far as one can see.
Stephen pops open a bottle of champagne and we jump back on the subway.
When we reemerge, 20 minutes north, this neighborhood looks the same, with the smoke and light show, and it blows my mind to think this is happening across the entire city.
Later when I post a story on my instagram, an American friend replies, “this looks very unregulated.” And oh, boy, is it! But I have a feeling you’d be hard-pressed to take this from the Berliners.
Eventually we enter a small door through an alley and find the club we’re looking for. It’s much smaller than the one Witchy and I went to on our second night in the city, and much better. We meet with Stephen’s friends and are welcomed into the group immediately. And aside from my dumb ass thinking about leaving by myself at 4 in the morning with no cell service, we have an excellent time, dancing our way into the new year.
Jan 2nd, 2024
After five nights - some crazy, some calm - our time in Berlin has come to an end. We drive away now through the rain towards Prague. There’s been snow on the ground for some of the drive, and fog so intense you can’t see five feet ahead. I’m excited to see what this means for the city. I hope it's wrapped in fog, like a blanket. I can only imagine watching it curl around the spires of the old city while we sip hot teas in a small cafe.
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