This place is all atmosphere. It's dark, only a single dim spotlight over each table and a few warm yellow lights behind the bar, nothing more, the tables like islands of light in a sea of darkness. Soft jazz in the background, so low you almost don't notice it but loud enough to fill the silence and bridge the gaps in your conversation. Limited customers, only two people at each table and a few pairs spread evenly along the length of the bar, the gaps between them enveloped in shadow. No beer, no wine, no shots, only cocktails, mixed with precision from quality ingredients, served in stylish glasses, well balanced subtle flavors. Low conversations float through the room, it almost feels rude to laugh or talk too loud, and looking at your phone must be sacrilege. Three bartenders, dressed in black shirts and suspenders, calmly working their craft, serving the drinks in a laid back but friendly manner. This is the coolest bar I've ever been to, it could be some kind of hipster place but it doesn't feel pretentious, the coolness is genuine.
The same road that I've driven every day, passing the same houses, the zebra crossing with the orange light, the pizza place at the corner, the house covered in vines on the way up the hill; all so familiar, like home yet it's not. Every day for two months but now it's the last time. In a few hours I'll be sitting on a plane on my way home and it's unlikely I'll be back. I'm happy to leave, but also sentimental. It's strange, this may just be some insignificant village in the German countryside, a boring little town not worth caring about, but the place has gotten to me somehow, the tiniest part of me will miss it. Goodbye.
The fog is so thick, I can barely see the road ahead of me, it's like driving through paint diluted in water. All I can see is the red glow from the tail lights of the car in front and the swirling mists, lit up by my head lights, bright white against inky darkness of the forest. Dry leaves keep falling from the branches above, mixing in with the fog as it flows around the car like smoke in the breeze, sweaping up and over windscreen or creeping along the sides, only just revealing the next few meters of asphalt. I concentrate, focusing on what little I can see of the white lines along the edges and that glow up ahead in order to not go flying off the road. Part of me thinks thi is crazy, wants to slow down, but part of me wants to stick to that other car, let it guide us through this soup like an ever moving beacon. I choose the latter and keep a steady pace, that red glow at a constant distance, but one thought keeps spinning through my mind: this is just ridiculous.
I'm on what I believe is the main shopping street in the city, it's wide but free of cars with shops and restaurants all along the sides. Despite being a fairly sizable city, all the shops are closed; the lights are on but the doors are locked and not a soul inside. Out in the street there are a few stragglers but otherwise it's deserted. At this hour, when the light has started to fade but the street lights have yet to turn on, the feeling of emptiness becomes profound, like the entire city is dead. And there, for a few moments, I flash back to the deserted airport with its long corridors and waiting halls nearly devoid of people. In the back of my mind I know that this is normal for Germany, but for a brief moment I can't help but think that this is due to the pandemic.
It’s cold outside, only a few degrees above feezing. The sun has barely started to rise, giving the sky the merest hint of pre-dawn light, just enough to see the outline of landscape we’re driving through. All around us is a thick grey mist that creeps across the dark fields on the side of the road. We cut through the fog like a knife as we speed down the road, leaving a trail of clear air behind us. Our headlights burrow into the mist, illuminating a few meters of asphalt ahead of us and the odd roadside tree, before the … Read the rest
I have just left the passport checking counter and I’m walking towards my gate. I turn a corner and walk a few meters down the corridor, idly remembering what it used to be like here, and that’s when the emptiness of the place hits me with full force. There were a few other passengers at the security checkpoint, and at emigration there were the border controls officers who checked my passport but here I am all alone. The long, wide corridor with its conveyor belt walkways and information sign hanging from the ceiling, normally so busy, is completely devoid of … Read the rest
I stand just meters from the fall looking up at it. It is tall and narrow, the stream of water tumbling down a near vertical cliff, hitting little protrusions in the cliff face on the way down, sending a fine mist into the air. The mist catches the rays of the sun, forming a permanent rainbow that hovers in the air just above the the shallow little pool at the fall's base. The little gully where I stand lies in the shadow of the cliffs above and the air is filled with the rushing of the water. Outside, the landscape is bathed in sunlight, all green and bright and swelteringly hot, but here it's cool and calm with the soothing sounds of the water drowning out all other noise. As I stand there admiring the view, the excitement of successfully scrambling my way up the lower falls to this place slowly dissipates and I feel a calm settle over me. It's as if my mind has been emptied of all worries and negative feelings and I simply feel happy.
The trail is close to vertical, a narrow trench of bare gray rock leading up towards the summit, the sides of the cliff forming a sharp V-shape against the sky. The bottom of the trench is uneven, forming footholds here and there, and two thick, knotted ropes run down the sides for you to hold on to. I'm standing halfway up, waiting for the person in front of me to get around a particularly difficult section, thinking to take a photo but I realize this is not the time. My position is too precarious, swinging the pack off my back to retrieve the camera might throw me off balance, and besides I have people waiting below me. Instead I spend a few moments just taking in the strange feeling of standing here: the urge to continue moving upward, to keep pushing towards the end of the trail, mixed with the very real sense of danger in standing at this very spot, and the thrill that it brings. Normally I would wax poetic about the beauty of the surrounding landscape, but right here and now, that's it, nothing more.
The train doors open and the cold rushes in. With my seat right next to opposite door, almost straight in the path of the freezing wind, the cold hits me head on, washes over me from my feet all the way up to my head, clinging to me like a wet blanket. It's that special kind of cold that you only get in subtropical regions, that dampness the creeps in through your clothing and chills you through and through like nothing else can. Even the raw, biting cold of Sweden's frozen north doesn't feel as uncomfortable as this.