blindness in three parts.

Since returning from Barcelona I’ve been playing guide to a growing family of old friends.  While the work progress will get annihilated for most of June and July, it’s certainly nice to be able to play tourist in my own city for a bit.

This past week has involved a good bit of blindness – both observing it in other people and having it fall across my own eyes.

1: logical blindness

My new favorite bar borders the busy and hip Boxhagener Platz.  This dark-themed space has a bit of an edge and plenty to do: three pinball tables, 20 cent foosball, and a pool table.  The music is good and the people are always drunk ‘n friendly.  I find myself clinking glasses with strangers quite often, which can be a rare treat in this city that frequently ignores you.

I got into locked horns with my guest over something utterly arbitrary.  He’s the type that never ever backs down from an argument, and views verbal withdrawal from such a situation as some sort of personal affront.  If you can’t convince him of something then the burden is on you to admit to a fault of your own – there is no such thing as agreeing to disagree and moving on.

We were knee-deep into Pilsner that perfect night, us catching up and me taking him around my favorite bits of Berlin.  As the discussion started locking down I realized how much the search for truth can really blind a person to what really matters in life: ignoring the infinite facts we all obsess over in order to simply enjoy the moment.

I used to be one of these people – arguing endlessly over something that should be blatantly obvious.  I can’t stand that personality trait in people any more, the logical equivalent of a religious war.  I find it funny that quite often it’s the most scientific-minded people that engage in this sort of anti-social behavior; atheists mocking belief only to engage in their own pedantic zealotry.

The wool over his eyes turned that night of blissful revelry into complete disrespect of the place and moment I was attempting to share with him.  I gauged the amount remaining in my glass, chugging it down as indication of both my anger and disgust.  Without another word I walked alone through those swinging doors and back into the quiet night.

2: blindness to evidence

In order to stay within the Schengen for more than 90 days you need to convince a country why you should be allowed to.  Coming to study seems to be the easiest, getting a proper employer to move that paperwork comes a close second, doing it for business requires an enormous sum of money, leaving the most common way for someone on their own: going the freelancer route.

But you need proof – proof of health insurance, proof of savings, proof of income, proof that you won’t become a social parasite and that you are at least trying to contribute to the land you’ll be living in.

I had spent at least a few sleepless nights and multiple trips to the copy shop to ensure my stack of proof was solid.  Overwhelming them with evidence is how my roommate instantly got hers – stacks of everything from bank statements to contracts to diplomas to letters from colleagues and friends.  I even pre-copied my passport for them and had a summary sheet that detailed everything I was worth.  I was feeling confident by the front gates that day, doubly-so after seeing the bright smile of my Craigslist-hired translator that has done this several times before.

He was surprised I had an appointment – typically people show up hours before the office opens, a machine holds the tickets for the day and people fight over them, only to wait hours for their chance at staying.  Unfortunately I had no idea where I was supposed to go, but thanks to a young German man getting an earful from an American (HOW DOES ANYONE WORK IN THIS COUNTRY?!) I found my room.  I pleaded to an unnamed deity that this polite English-speaking office worker would be in charge of my fate.

After waiting a bit our number was called, and we entered the small office with the shared desk.  As my judge and jury sat down she looked over her glasses, staring at me in blank apathy.  I could feel the discomfort radiating from my translator as he cut me off a few times trying to be helpful.  I didn’t understand most of what was being said, I could only read the rising emotion in my mercenary’s voice.  The ogre in front of me didn’t care about my stack of paperwork.  Anything in English she dismissed as suspicious, easily forged, not even worth looking at.  Bank accounts, letters of current contracts, my resume, my diploma - none of it mattered to her.  Out of my twenty-odd pages of photocopied evidence, she kept a total of three.

“She was one of the worst I’ve ever seen”, he said.  I have until September 27th to prove my case, to translate everything into German, to move all of my money into Germany, to basically put a lot more work into a place I’d probably leave come December.  Dejected is an understatement – I’m not sure if it was my hair, my smile, that she had a bad week, or if she’s just sick of Americans. 

To her I was not the man sitting across from her at that table.  I represented something else entirely.

3: blind discovery

I’m glad the last blindness came as it did – reclaiming one moment lost during that first episode with my good friend.

The unsicht-Bar is an expensive restaurant in central Berlin.  Like most pricey places you spend a few leisurely hours, eat a few courses, and enjoy a few drinks.  What makes this place different is that you dine in complete darkness.

We were warmly welcomed within the near-empty entrance, even after being a few minutes late – one of the perks of dining out on a Monday night.  I picked the non-specific poultry offering and he braved the complete surprise.  Our blind waitress came out and gave us the lowdown: no inclines, no bones, no light.  I expected some sort of light-absorbing dropcloth or life-draining beaded curtain, but it only took a few sharp turns to go from well-lit into a long empty nothing.

Sounds of other diners discussing their own meals in German and Russian was a bit surreal.  There was nothing at all familiar in this new environment.  I joked that we didn’t expect ice in our Leitungswasser (tap water) but she brought out huge mugs of it to accompany our wine.  It only took me 30 minutes to knock mine completely over, sounds of a waterfall in the distance… luckily not right in my diner-friend’s lap.

The first course was salad – your basic bitter lettuce-y affair with a few soft pieces I swore were hard-boiled egg.  (You can see a list of what you ate after the dinner, these nubs turned out to be papaya.)  I liked the play with bits of texture leading to guessing and how it forced everyone involved to discuss what they are eating.

Next came the soup, of Thai-influenced coconut and chicken.  This had a disappointing amount of mystery (read: none) but it was easily the tastiest of the courses.  Leaning over to try and get a spoon from the other person’s bowl into your own mouth was an adventure in hilarity.

The main course!  Chow-pal correctly guessed his lamb and my chicken, while juicy, was a bit boring.  Alongside this roasted breast was thin cheesy pasta and a vegetable mix.  The pasta was a nice surprise but I found myself swallowing a bit of chicken a little too large, and I started choking on it.

Then the game went away entirely.  I was choking in the complete darkness.  These were a few really strange moments I had with myself – if this turns bad, what are my real options?  My alarm turned to relief as I threw the contents of my throat back onto my plate.  The joke in response was quite fitting: “hey, if I have to do the Heimlich at least we’re in the right country for it.”  I enjoyed how there were zero repercussions for my action – embarrassment can’t exist in a void.

I skip the rest of my now-slurry entree and attempt to mop up a bit of the water covering the other side of the table. Our waitress arrives soon after with a refill of wine and the final course: dessert.

DESSERT!  I realized my silverware had been taken away – I’m not sure if it was by accident or by evil but we both found ourselves with a plate of messy and no way to eat it.  Some sort of warm berry compote was on my left, a squishy form sat in the middle, all ending in a small bowl of ice cream.  I started unrolling the fat pan-crepe and scooped the berries up, delighted at the variety of texture and temperature.  After a handful or two of ice cream I felt something give way OH MY GOD THE BOWL IS MADE OF CHOCOLATE!  That was the singular moment of pure joy, where your assumptions are not only changed but the reality in front of you disappears entirely.  I gleefully finished the rest of my plate while my disappointed compatriot lamented about his lack of edible dishware, even after his mystery shot of liqueur.

I really, really enjoyed this experience.  Would I pay 50 Euros for this food if I could see it?  Probably not.  But an experience like this should be had regardless of the location – it seems these darkness restaurants exist in most big European cities.

On Friday I fly to Athens, travel to the mountains of Greece with a very good friend and end our trip at what I’ve been told is a bit of oceanside paradise.  After that I meet up with yet another radical dude in Rome to putt around yet-another-country-I’ve-never-been-to.  While this won’t put code on the table these should be an incredible few weeks.