Assignments Two and Four

The bathroom floor felt like a relief. It was smooth and cold and smelled like mint, bleach, and the color white. Mmm… ice cream. It was nice to lie down after walking so much, but I didn’t want to miss the tour of our university, so I decided to give myself a tour. I pulled myself up off of the tile to peer out of the window that framed the courtyard outside. I spied six pigeons. One landed on the windowsill and cooed at me. Adorable! I felt sick and lay down again.



I stared out of our balcony at the macaroni and cheese building across from us. It had little hot dogs in it. It looked like legos, and Spain. The steps leading up to each window reminded me of science projects I had made in 8th grade—trying to make DNA out of noodles and glue. After teetering on the edge of my balcony and y reasoning, I decided after moments of yearning for the greener grass that I would rather be able to stare at this building than live in it.




Ice cream doesn’t look nearly as delicious in America. We’ve got this hardened goo that claims to be fresh and scrumptious but in actuality tastes like the air let out of bubble wrap. I’m pretty sure Germany’s ice cream is made of clouds and angels. It’s like each little bucket of ice cream was once a tiny ocean that stopped mid-ripple just to appear supple and whipped. One of them was called “blue flavor.” I ate it anyway.



I was pretty sure that it shouldn’t have cost five Euro, but despite the astronomical price, I purchased it because I knew it would be like a Christmas Market in my mouth. I hadn’t had a currywurst in about five years, so I was excited for it to again be a part of my life. The little sausage was perched happily on top of a bouquet of fries that were just crispy enough on the outside to accent the warm pillowy softness of the interior. The ketchup that drenched the top of my meal (Danke, keine Mayonnaise bitte) was the precise shade of Catherine’s lipstick. I ate it anyway.



It never gets old to look up and see a monument. Especially when Storm Troopers are outside of it. I suspected that I was in a touristy area when I caught myself sipping the Starbucks chai that apparently my body had ceased to function without. My suspicions were quickly confirmed when I spied my favorite Star Wars enemy posing with smiling tourists in front of the Brandenburger Tor. Suckers. What a waste of a Euro. I totally have to go over there.



I don’t know what the hell he thought he was doing. I mean, I paid money to take a picture with a small Italian man wearing a Storm Trooper costume, but at least that guy put effort into his appearance. This guy was just… blue. His job appeared to be sitting on a bench and being generally cerulean. I glanced at him as I passed (as one cannot help but glance at a large, blue fellow) and he slurred something at me in German that I assume was some variant of Smurf language. He didn’t deserve my Euro.



It should be included in our national anthem that in America, sauce is free and water doesn’t cost a red cent. I’d taken that for granted for too long. I sat down at a corner café and picked up a small hamburger. Without thinking, I grabbed a couple of ketchups from a glass canister to the left of the cash register. As I twisted on my heel and walked foolishly away, a loud German voice barked at me in disapproval. “Bezzaaaaahhlen!” Pay me, please. For ketchup? Where I come from, ketchup is free, like air, going to the bathroom, and hugs. For a brief moment, I missed America.



Berlin felt enormous. It felt like a never-ending city, but was paradoxically contained within a small circulatory system of u-bahn lines. Each time I followed and exited a vein like a rogue cell, I felt like I was in an entirely new city. It was weird to see Berlin in such an unconnected manner. My mental map had as many blank nooks and crannies as an English muffin, and I didn’t mind. Still, in my last week, I made it a point to be the butter than connected the holes, and explore Berlin without the help of fabulous public transportation. My feet hurt.



My mom always called them Seven Day Wonder Pants. The crotch sags almost to your ankles and the sides poof out and catch the wind as you walk. They’re extremely comfortable and considered attractive to some, but because of my mom’s joke, I can’t watch people wearing them without chuckling. “Sally, see those pants? They’re called Seven Day Wonder Pants.” I furrowed my brow. “Why?” “Well honey, because you could go to the bathroom in them for seven days straight and they wouldn’t fill up.”



I was used to people asking me questions about Turkey, and most of them, like “What language do they speak here,” “What’s that sign say?” or even “Where’s the bathroom?” I could answer. Sadly, I had no idea why the Blue Mosque was named thusly. It’s not that blue. It’s not blue on the inside either. Notably, the bluest thing about the Mosque is the people inside it, who are forced to cover up their arms and heads with bright blue scarves. Curious.



What the hell was that creature supposed to be? Clue 1: it was yellow. Alright, so it could be a bee who’s had it’s stripes removed after it was demoted a rank in the military, or it could be a banana monster. Clue 2: it had two antennae. It probably wasn’t a banana monster. Bee hypothesis still valid. Clue 3: it wore a suit and smiled. Apparently it was a stripeless bee morphed with a cartoon human on some sort of upper. Excellent mascot, Turkcell.



Sometimes I don’t think we’ve advanced socially at all. I was sitting on the U-bahn and I noticed a black guy sitting casually with his feet up on the seat across from him. An old, pruny woman in a flowered shirt shuffled up to him and hissed, “Get your feet off of that chair.” “I can put my feet anywhere I want,” he said. “No, you people have dirty feet.” My mouth was agape. “Excuse me?” he choked. He pulled his feet slowly down off the chair, deciding that it wasn’t worth the empty, impossible argument, looked out the window, and sighed. She dusted off the chair and sat down.



On two separate occasions, I was almost run over by a bike. Both times, it was in front of the same apartment. Both times, I was eating the same ice cream. Both times, the girl giggled, apologized, and smiled at me. It made me comfortable to have this sort of routine in a country where I didn’t quite feel at home. It’s strange how repeated occurrences can make people feel so instantly comfortable, even if they’re negative ones.



It was probably the most enormous bumblebee I had ever seen. It was just sort of lumbering along by my feet, not attempting to fly. I brought my face close enough to it to smell its little motor running, and it did not even appear to want to flee. I smiled at it. Why isn't it flying? Maybe it's too heavy to fly. I hope all of its bee friends didn't make fun of it. I walked on to the flea market, excited to buy some German keepsakes. Bee market.