GROUND 0101 (The Fall Issue)

Would you believe it if I told you that I love London in
the same way Woody Allen adores New York City?
I mean you’ve heard me moan and
groan about this great alpha city, just
like Alan Konigsberg in any number of
films set in the Big Apple. You’ve seen
me bang my fist on the table in protest.
You’ve been told by people who
take great interest in my business and
its chronicling that I was overheard vehemently
disapproving of this and that
initiative, unashamedly calling almost
every redevelopment scheme sexedup
gentrification.
Excuse me but isn’t this what loving
something is? Being mad at it. Remonstrating...
expressing how much
you hate it; what you hate about it.
Well, would you also believe it if I told
you that I was convinced nothing compared
to living in London... Nothing
came close to walking its streets. Until
I went to Berlin.
It’s true. Berlin did something to me.
It blew me away. It really did. In fact,
upon my return to London, I told the
world. I naively announced it. Like a
chump— like a child, a snot-nosed
runt (and no, runt is not a misspelling)
I updated my facebook status with the
following message:
Berlin has ruined me. Suddenly I can’t
be anywhere and not compare it to
that city. Well, should London defeat
me, I’m sorry Mrs. Jackson but your
son’s moving there.
Mind you, when I was in Berlin, it was
freezing; the cold had a fiendish bite.
Next to it, London’s a tropical, concrete
jungle.
Berlin was in flux. It wasn’t a paradise.
Someone in an orange helmet was forever
operating some heavy-duty machinery.
Everything seemed like it was
on the verge of restoration, renovation,
tidying or would shortly be subject
to disruptions from construction
work nearby. I found the sky despite
the noise pollution, to come in two
colours: blue and clear or white with
clouds. Almost everyone I sat opposite
on the bus, the tram or the train didn’t
speak English. And then almost everyone
I stood next to in some bar or club
or music venue was either American or
British.
It was strange. I found it strange. You
should have seen my brow furrow.
Wrinkles came and found me when I
was there. I’ve been trying to shake
them off ever since.
It was as if in the day the city was populated
by ordinary German folk who
went about their business, politely,
courteously, keeping their distance
and then in the evening, you had this
nuclear-generated energy from tourists,
expatriates and English speakers
conversing in the only language they
understood with the Germans, the
Swedish and the Danish.
A friend of mine whose love for me
makes my solitude feel like it won’t be
forever told me that there are a lot of
Finnish people in Berlin.
I didn’t see that. I didn’t see that at all.
Not that I looked for them. I never do.
The last country I think a Scandinavian