scientific relief.

It had been a few weeks since I sent the nicely-translated email off to the appropriate government agency.  I took the absolute silence as slow bureaucracy – an inbox stuffed with the pleas of a thousand people in my predicament.  Let us ALL stay just a little bit longer…

An elderly Chinese roommate helped me follow-up on this – it turns out a total of 0 of her friends had gotten a response from this agency, and after a morning of phone tag the next step was to call a direct number and make an appointment directly.  That is, if anyone picks up.

I noticed the date (7 days legally left in Berlin), calculated my investment (3 hours already spent on redial),  and furrowed my brow at the “opening hours” of this entire nonsense.  Three days a week this office was open, for a total remaining window of 18 hours, minus lunchtime and smoking breaks.  Oh, and my German-speaking roommate had to be here when someone eventually picked up the phone.  I was already 1/6th through my chances of staying and it was starting to drive me crazy.

This morning the answer of “hallo” a mere 20 minutes in startled me.  I said every German word I know in a semi-coherent ramble so she couldn’t hang up the phone, in order to get it in the hands of someone capable of having a conversation.  Success!  On June 28th I learn exactly what it would take to stay in Germany, complete with a hired Craigslist translator.

It’s a strange paradox – being light enough to gather my things within 15 minutes to go anywhere in the world, yet having the decency of being a roommate that gives advance notice + physically being here like I said I would when Visitor #1 arrives in a few weeks.  I don’t exactly want untethered freedom and the isolation that comes with it - this is my life and not my vacation from it. Sanity and grounding are hard enough to maintain as-is.

This weekend was the Lange Nacht der Wissenschaften (long night of science) in Berlin.  It’s kind of like an art walk, but science, on steroids.  12 Euros get you a day pass on the transit and admission to anything found inside one thick book of events.  It was great to break my heads-down routine as of late and just nerd out.  From checking out a hydrogen filling station to wandering around Humboldt University to doing laps on a zippy electric standing trikeboard, the options were a bit overwhelming.  The last-minute stop turned out to be the highlight – a hospital exhibit.  Once we got off the bus and found the building we still weren’t certain we were in the right place.  The multi-colored fluorescent tubes over the door and exposed brick doesn’t exactly scream ONCE-STERILE ENVIRONMENT.

We walk into this gorgeous bombed-out building and end up in a huge spacious area with crumbled half-walls dividing up the space.  Looking up gets you a view of the new construction, the bare concrete foundation of an added second level, with hundreds of pieces of rebar hanging from the ceiling like the remnants of some archery competition held for people confined to hospital beds.  My ears finally caught up with my eyes and the beyond uncool Kraftwerk-ian beats filled my head.  The DJ must have been at least 50 years old, his vinyl collection spread across the table featuring the entire gamut of 1980s music we Americans were never exposed to.  This was just the lobby.

As we continued into the actual museum (rows and rows of tumors in jars, brains in jars, slices of OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT in jars) it was obvious that the lobby with said DJ and the two bored women drinking from a box of wine was the place to be.  We found a perch and just listened to the bizarre beats, admiring the brickwork and counting the rebar.  Most moments out feel like they could happen in just about any city – others, like this, are quintessential Berlin.  I do hope they let me stay here.