« Chrome February 2006 | Main | Gone again back again »

2006年03月15日

The Night Snake to Berlin

There was a feeling of anxiety. A general sense of malaise prodding me in the stomach. The kind you get when a dreaded deadline looms on the medium horizon but, this time, there were no deadlines, nothing stalking me whose existence I was denying, pretending to ignore.

I am driven by putting off deadlines. The procrastination is almost a comfortable habit. Sure, I get things done, and my life never unravels. Rather, it unravels in a fashion I find masochistically comforting, like perpetuating an unwanted relationship. The kind of relationship with a person who's idiosyncratic habits you cannot bear to part with, despite the veiled mutual animosity.

This time, however, there is nothing, at least nothing major, I am avoiding. And that, perhaps, is the problem.

It was with this sense of anxiety that I decided to off and go to Berlin. I knew Daniel would be visiting and I wanted to see Berlin. One should always pounce on the opportunity to see a new city. However, vacillating over potential cost, I failed to confirm any plans, letting the opportunity slip imperceptibly by, scribbles fading in my agenda.

Fatefully, whose fortunes have yet to reveal, a final push sent me over the edge of this thirteen hour journey upon which you find me now.

The purest thought is achieved through transit, be it a transoceanic flight, a country drive, or simply a neighbourhood walk. Pacing is the natural expression of this desire for clarity. I find this nighttime voyage a perfect opportunity to think, whilst others find it a perfect opportunity to sleep.

My companion prostrates himself, upper body and head centered on the middle seat. His folded sweater serves as a pillow. His lower body occupies the window seat. Arms are crossed and legs angle away, nearly parallel to the window wall, bridging the gap between the two facing rows in our compartment. Stockinged feet rest on the other window seat. Mine rest on the aisle seat beside his head as I sit opposite in the middle, making another angled bridge across the aisle. He stirs occasionally to reposition a limb or sip from his bottle of water. The steady sound and artificial warmth are comforting, but sudden motions and the light streaming past the inadequate, failing curtain make continuous sleep difficult.

It is only us in here in the compartment. In fact, besides us, the entire car is empty save for a solitary passenger in the end compartment. The quintessential Euro-Traveller: Caucasian, dread locks, backpack, and occupied with some sort of journal or book. As in the other compartments, the bright fluorescent light is on, forcing the night to stay outside in the cold. Ours is cozy. Dim lights embrace the fleeting glimpses of civilization and countryside.

I spot the blue neon logo for Lindt emblazoned in the sky, the supporting artifice invisible in the darkness and obscured by reflections of the trains interior. The timbre of the gentle sound changes as we glide to a new segment of track, reduce speed through a station, or blur past another midnight express on the adjacent track.

White snow and damp streets reflect the glow from streetlamps as they scroll past the window, some fast, some slow, betraying the depth of the landscape otherwise so well hidden by the night. I am reminded of Japan by the context. Countless sleepy journeys by rail through changing climate, watching the snow recede at the beginning of a weekend and advance on the way home. However, in this case, heading North, it is the opposite.

Posted by William at 2006年03月15日 23:28

Comments

Posted by: meli at 2006年03月18日 05:22

Posted by: Alex at 2006年03月21日 12:48

Posted by: Annie at 2006年03月27日 06:41