Seeing the Forest for the Trees
June 12-14, 2020
By May, it was beginning to look like Berlin’s tough lockdown efforts were having a tangible positive effect against the Coronavirus. Berlin never turned into a transmission hotspot like cities in Bavaria or North Rhine-Westphalia, and the infection curve was flattening out steadily. Wearily, we became less fearful of leaving the apartment, though we were always masked up and kept our distance from others when we did. As the weather warmed, Kirb regularly retreated to his little getaway down the street on the canal, conveniently blocked by construction that kept out passerby, allowing him to set up his hammock and read without other humans breathing nearby. Since all the bars in the city were closed, the park by the canal was regularly swarming with young people playing ping pong and groups of old barflies who had been forced to relocate, now drinking bottles from the corner store on the stone steps. Scenes like this popped up all around the city, and though we were frustrated that people were congregating this way, thankfully these outdoor gatherings never materialized into any significant Coronavirus spikes.
Undoubtedly, one of the main reasons that the infection numbers in Berlin stayed so manageable is because the highest-risk activities were promptly shut down and stayed closed. Bars, nightclubs, and music venues were shuttered, and though doing so was decisively responsible, it was also a blow to the very core of Berlin’s cultural identity. People come from all around the world to partake in Berlin’s hedonistic nightlife, and the virus put it on indefinite hiatus. Quickly, it became clear that without assistance from the government, there was a real chance that Berlin’s unique culture could become irreparably damaged. So, Berliners did what Berliners do very well: they demonstrated, and they turned that demonstration into a rave. The protest to save Berlin’s culture on May 31st saw a procession of boats and a mob of people in tow on inner tubes make their way down Landwehrkanal, with police boats bookending the flotilla. Upon seeing the mass of bodies floating together on the river in the middle of a public health crisis - with virtually no one wearing masks - any reasonable person had to think, “Well that seems unsafe,” and eventually, the police ended up disbanding the demonstration for that very reason. Originally, the organizers thought only a hundred or so people would be participating, but around 1500 ended up joining in. Fittingly, the gathering was ultimately broken up in front of a hospital.
The canal protest happened right at the same time that American cities began longstanding (at the time of this writing, still ongoing) protests against racism and police brutality in the wake of the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. Many of the demonstration boats had “Black Lives Matter” and “I Can’t Breathe” flags, and we saw multiple tributes to George Floyd hung around Neukölln and Kreuzberg. This intersectionality is important, because many of our cultural problems have similar roots. In America, white supremacy and greed create a system where property is more valuable than the lives of minorities, and allow the police to live above the laws and values they are supposed to uphold and protect. These same systems also actively reject and extinguish the diversity and inclusivity that makes international cultures like Berlin so exceptional.
The next weekend, Berlin had its own massive protest against inequality, dubbed “Nein Zu Racissmus,” or “No to Racism.” Estimates say that 15,000 people gathered in Alexanderplatz, but to us that feels like a significant underestimate. It was heartening to see so many people in Berlin come together to fight against intolerance and systemized oppression and violence, and this time, the vast majority of protesters had masks on.
Similarly, it was both encouraging and morally crushing to see what was unfolding during this time in our previous home of Seattle. Our social media feeds are still primarily filled with news from the Northwest, and many of our friends are peaceful protesters who support equality and oppose state-sanctioned violence. Seeing the Seattle Police Department continuously tear gas, pepper spray, and physically attack peaceful protestors for more than a week straight was hard to stomach. As if in a feedback loop, all across America police incited and inflicted violence against those who protested against police violence. Because everything can be easily filmed with smartphones now, a multitude of truly sickening video supercuts emerged of those who are supposed to “serve and protect” our communities terrorizing them instead, uploaded and disseminated for the entire world to see. And though American police fail to meet even the most basic international human rights standards, it’s not as if Europe is exactly a utopia. Similar cases of police brutality and systemic white supremacy in policing are readily evident here, too.
We have it about as well as anyone could hope during a crisis. We’re not under financial duress. We won’t get evicted. We’re healthy. No one is threatening or attacking us because of the color of our skin. And yet even without these extraordinary stressors, it feels like everyday life in 2020 for anyone with a modicum of a conscience is uniquely taxing. We can only imagine the psychological toll that those who are dealing with any or all of these serious concerns must be experiencing.
Simply trying to keep abreast of the news has been a daily depressant. Though we live abroad, we still consider America our home, and watching so many of the country’s worst tendencies become full-fledged features has been truly disheartening. How can wearing a mask stand for anything other than the promotion of public health and safety? How can holding police accountable for murderous actions be unjust? How can shooting peaceful protestors or running them over with cars not be considered an act of domestic terrorism? Who truly believes that a system which allows the collective wealth of US billionaires to surge by almost $600 billion during the pandemic alone while 45.5 million Americans file for unemployment is working in the country’s best interest? (For those who are bad at scale, the Office of Housing and Urban Development estimates that it would only cost $20 billion to effectively end homelessness in the US). The rest of the world is seeing America’s racism, selfishness, anti-intellectualism, authoritarianism, and apathy so brazenly displayed and celebrated and is shaking their heads. As we’ve begun venturing back into the outside world, our European friends - and even strangers who meet us and find out we’re American - ask us with a look of sheer confusion, “What is going on with your country?” It’s hard to know what to tell them. Currently, America looks like the dumbest nation in the entire world. So many of its actions are simply unjustifiable.
Universally, it appears that 2020 is taking a real toll on everyone’s mental health. And when so many people have it so much worse than you do, it can be hard to accept that you feel bad too. It feels selfish. But even if you’re healthy and secure, spending months and months cooped up inside a 47-square-meter apartment isn’t great for anyone’s well-being. When times are tough, everyone needs escape, however temporary. On social media, we saw our friends in the Northwest retreating to the mountains and were envious. Getting outdoors - away from people - is just about the most responsible leisure activity possible these days. But our own escape seemed improbable: We have no car, long-distance public travel for leisure is irresponsible, borders had been closed, and unless you want to sit in a field, there’s not a whole lot going on in the area immediately surrounding Berlin.
But at the beginning of June, when Germany opened up internal borders between states and began allowing travel between its regions again, we realized that we actually could escape, if only for the weekend. We could rent a car, get a standalone bungalow in the woods on Airbnb, and just go hang out in the Harz mountains in central Germany for a long weekend over Kirb’s birthday. After six months stuck in the city, it would be a much-needed respite.
On multiple occasions in the past, we have bemoaned the fact that Germany isn’t especially good at the internet, and because of this, it can be unnecessarily difficult to get the information you need. Thankfully, the Harz region has a surprisingly excellent online presence, with interactive hiking maps complete with detailed route descriptions and adjustable trip parameters. With minimal effort, we were able to find great options that fit each day of the trip. Since we would have to pick up the car, load it up, and drive 3 hours from Berlin, we chose a shorter loop hike for the first afternoon. The 8 km, 2+ hour tour around Rappboden reservoir led us through green pasture land, over a dam, and along a lake, briefly following the Harzer-Hexen-Stieg trail that runs through the entire heart of the Harz mountains.
After the hike, we checked into the bungalow we rented on Airbnb, situated at the end of a long dirt road in Güntersberge, which for all intents and purposes appeared to be a ghost town and didn’t even have its own grocery store. The cabin was owned by a Swiss property management firm and run by a local grandma who spoke only German. In introducing the property, she explained to us the German-specific elements of the rental that we never experience in any other country, namely having to pay extra for bed linens and towels (we knew better and brought our own) and being charged for the exact amount of electricity used by the kWh. Cultural foibles aside, the bungalow exceeded our expectations in just about every way. The space was cutely decorated and had everything we could possibly need for a comfortable weekend cooking for ourselves, with no human contact necessary other than the key drop off. When we arrived, the field in front of the building was filled with grazing cattle. As we grilled dinner on the spacious patio, an oompah band was practicing in a nearby building, filling the evening air with an adorably traditional soundtrack for our meal.
The main hike we wanted to do in the area is called the Bodetal, which takes you along the Bode river through a forested gorge. Some sites online referred to it as “the German Grand Canyon,” though the one-way hike is only a few hours long. We started the trek in Thale, where we parked in a massive lot with only a small smattering of cars. The area to the trailhead was built up like an amusement park, with mythical statues and carvings, a massive forest obstacle course, and chairlifts up to ridge above the valley. Once on the trail, we realized how few other people were actually out there with us. We wondered: In all of the time since the Bodetal had become a hiking destination, had there ever been so few people on the trail on a sunny Saturday morning? By the time we had finished the hike and arrived in the town of Treseburg a few hours later, we had seen maybe 20 other people on the entire hike. This got us thinking about how the pandemic might actually have created some unintended positives for outdoor enthusiasts, and we decided then and there that we should get ourselves to Austria, which is typically overcrowded with tourists in the summer, as soon as possible.
After taking the bus back to Thale, we decided to go check out nearby Quedlinburg, beloved for its abundance of traditional German architecture. The city is surprisingly large, with almost all of the buildings constructed in the “half-timbered” or “fachwerkhäuser” style. By the late afternoon, it got surprisingly hot, and milling around in a still mostly-closed town became arduous, so we went back to our cozy cottage for a birthday dinner of grilled steaks and lots of natural wine.
The weather got nasty on Sunday, and our plan of summiting the Brocken was complicated by rain and thunder. We had planned to do the hike with our good friends Liz and Christoph, who had also arrived in Harz a few days earlier and were hiking and camping along the Harzer-Hexen-Stieg. They had underestimated the length and difficulty of the hike though, and when the weather got hot the day before, the hours of walking and kilos on their backs became too much. So, rain or no rain, they weren’t particularly interested in hiking up a mountain that day anyway, and we decided it was a good excuse to drive around and do something touristy. The best option seemed to be the Titan RT bridge, “The World’s Largest Suspension Bridge of Its Kind.” For €6 a person, you get to walk across a bridge. Surprisingly, it was a lot more fun than it sounded! Though it was wet and hazy, the view along the Rappbodetal dam was quite scenic, entertainingly punctuated by adrenaline seekers ziplining across the valley from the top of the ridge.
With more scenic views in mind, we drove to Roßtrappe, where our bus had stopped briefly the day before on our way back to Thale. Though the place was popular then, everything was empty and closed down now because it was Sunday, and a thick fog had enveloped the entire surrounding area. All of the “viewpoints” were nothing but gray mist, which, while not exactly what we were hoping for, was beautiful in its own eerie way. We finished off the trip with what not-so-long-ago seemed like mundane activities but now felt monumental: eating schnitzel with friends inside a restaurant. We wore masks when we weren’t directly at our table; the servers wore masks the entire time. We were seated in our own corner, away from everyone else. It hardy felt “normal,” but it was close enough. After the first half of 2020, any trace of normalcy was welcomed enthusiastically, albeit with a mask and lots of hand sanitizer.
The view from Roßtappe
Who knows when things will go back to feeling normal again. But while things are distinctly abnormal, we can fight to rid society of some of its terrible traits that have somehow become normalized. It shouldn’t be normal that Black and Brown people have to fear for their lives when they’ve done nothing wrong and the police arrive. And even if someone has broken the law, police should not exist as executioners in lieu of due process. It shouldn’t be normal for government officials to refuse to listen to qualified scientists during a pandemic with a six-figure death toll. It shouldn’t be normal that protesting for equal human rights ever be considered “un-American.” 2020 has been exceptionally tough so far, but there’s evidence that some hard-fought gains are being earned because of the struggles. In Seattle, the protests that cost Horace Lorenzo Anderson and Summer Taylor their lives seem to be resulting in real change, with the majority of Seattle City Council Members now agreeing to defund the bloated police budget by 50% and reallocate that much-needed funding to social services, housing, and mental health. That is a huge step, and similar victories are being won in major cities across the US. Even with how awful things have been this year, there is still a silver lining. The confluence of extreme unemployment levels, income inequality, state violence, and political polarization have highlighted the broken and exploitative systems that Americans have been living under for far too long. In doing so, the current climate has resulted in a perfect storm for realizing great change in the US. And while it may seem like this is the worst time in the history of America for so many, through focused resistance, it has created an opportunity to ensure that 2020 is a catalyst for a better future.