The World’s Finest Abysses

As a not-so-smart phone owner I had skilled myself in the mastery of copying Google maps in a partially realistic scale, with decoded clues and artistic squiggles, leading me to the world's finest streets, scenes and abysses.

On a Saturday morning, at around 11 am, in Berlin Wedding, this most valuable gift decided to abandon me.

It was probably the hottest summer in decades. I was doing an internship at a PR-Agency, amid prefabricated buildings from the GDR period, flea markets with hippie charm and vintage shops specialized in Marlene Dietrich style. This was my first free day in weeks, and all I wanted was to flee from my attic room (aka sauna).

However, instead of floating in the cool water, I stood completely disoriented and lost in the burning heat, staring at two lines and a cross, and asking myself what these hieroglyphics were supposed to mean. As hard as I tried – there was no swimming pool.

The girl at the traffic lights with the blue swallows on her dress must have seen the exhaustion in my eyes. She was an artist and would show her paintings in the old indoor swimming pool “Kombibad Seestraße” later that night – this was basically my destination.

Ten minutes later we entered an empty, stuffy building. The yellow of the walls had faded away, window panes were soiled and dust covered the benches, leaves had found their way in. Our voices echoed...choed...oed...oed...ed.

My gaze rested on the pool, this massive whale’s belly, dry and dead and ghostly.

We climbed down and I shivered. To fight the uneasy feeling (and probably to hide my weakness), I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

There were faraway sounds from a bygone world, childlike laughter and loud cries, splashing feet and roaring water. Loudspeakers cracked. Rubber squeaked. The springboard flexed and, soon after, a body cut through the air. I felt a draft – and goose bumps.

My heart beat as if it were me jumping from the five-meter board, doing the free fall. It was terrible and, at the same time, absurdly exciting. I forgot about the heat, about time pressure and deadlines, plans and directions. This was peace.

When I opened my eyes the swallows smiled at me conspiratorially. They knew only too well.

Berlin’s haze, its many paths and roads and that surreal encounter have turned the gift I had given up for lost into one of the most important lessons in life: sometimes it’s good to not have a plan.

And maybe it’s about time that I upgrade my mobile phone, just in case.