Bye Berlin

Hi New York

by Solynka Dumas

From the living room window of my Kreuzberg apartment, I had a fabulous view of one of Berlin’s most fascinating places — Görlitzer Park. The ideal time to observe it was on a Sunday afternoon, preferably in the summer. Young ravers passed out in the sun would lay not too far from members of a Turkish family waiting for their lamb and beef skewers, cooking on a gigantic grill. Cousins, children, grandparents gathered, alternating between laughter and arguments in absolute comfort, the park their own backyard.

Sitting on benches nearby would be a few drug dealers — African immigrants who were being tolerated by the German government, but who were not allowed to work and therefore found themselves in the park dealing bad weed to needy tourists or broke junkies. They sat there all day, hundreds of them waiting for clients who rarely showed up, right under the blind eyes of the policemen walking by. Whistle Man, probably the most successful of them, would sometimes get up, blast his music and proceed in a series of dance steps, breaking the beat with the whistle that never left his chest.

Parents would bring their kids to the playground and its giant slide. These sometimes affluent and always bohemian-looking couples would sit peacefully watching their children play. Never too far from them were a couple of addicts, anxiously and quietly waiting for their next fix. This was Görlitzer Park and I absolutely loved it. It’s the perfect microcosm of Berlin — a harmonious chaos of people who live alongside one another.

I told this to my friend Felicia as she was about to move to Berlin and I was about to start my New York City adventure. Felicia was raised in New York in the eighties and nineties. My description of my neighborhood in Berlin matched her memories of the parks she used to play in when she was a kid. Interestingly, the same things I love about Berlin used to be what she loved about New York, past tense.

Before leaving Berlin, everyone who knew I was going to the big city kept telling me how lucky I was, and I knew I was. I was going to have access to the best education and meet some of the most important people. I knew that, at least professionally, New York was where I ought to be. But the New York my friends were describing was one of urban legend and pop culture references. As they were talking, I could see, reflected in their eyes, images of Basquiat doing graffiti, rock stars snorting lines at Studio 5, and artists and junkies sharing the streets of the East Village. I wanted this fantasy to be real; I wanted the City That Never Sleeps to be this haven of decadence and eccentricity — some sort of Berlin where I could also flourish professionally.

When I arrived in Manhattan, it slapped me right across the face. What I found was a city that seemed to have lost all authenticity. There was no soul, no aura. The city had fallen asleep (except maybe in the ultra commercialized Time Square with its forever blinding neon lights). It felt clean, too clean, completely sanitized. It’s true that people from all different nationalities and backgrounds were sharing the streets, but none of them seemed to interact. Everything seemed to go so fast; people were running around doing a thousand things, but without ever taking the time to appreciate any of them. Time is money and money is almighty in the City.

I remember reading an article that completely traumatized me and at the same time seemed to confirm what I was seeing. The article was about Mayor De Blasio’s affordable housing plan and how condos were reluctantly following the law, but not without some collateral damage. Some buildings had created separate entrances to segregate full-paying tenants from the others, preventing the latter from benefiting from building’s amenities. A six-year-old kid was forced to leave the building’s playground because he wasn’t born into a family with money.

I knew that at some point this city had been all the things my European friends still believed it was. But how could it lose itself to the point where most of its identity was gone? People complain that neighborhoods are disappearing, that small businesses cannot afford their rents anymore, forced to leave their locations to large chains and big corporations. But everyone seems resigned to accept the situation —like it’s something inevitable, something no one can do anything about. The bravest ones leave; the others stay and watch the city disappear.

In the first couple months, I threw myself into my books and my schoolwork. My computer was my best friend and the most I saw of the city was through my window — no more Görlitzer Park, just tall, majestic buildings. I was a distant observer who refused to partake in what seemed like an endless and exhausting sprint to nowhere.

Then, a few months ago, a friend came to visit me from Berlin. For her I got out of my cave and became her travel guide.

That weekend was the weekend I started to see New York in a different light. I was rediscovering the city at the same time as she was. We walked for hours, letting the city surprise us with no particular aim or goal. At a restaurant, our Polish waitress joked around with the Italian sommelier; in Fort Green ten girls from every possible ethnic background laughed and talked about their PR or fashion jobs; and on our way out of the subway we saw a performance by Too Many Zoos, a Youtube sensation. Suddenly, I wondered why I’d been feeling so unhappy.

Eventually, I understood. I’d wanted New York to match my fantasies, which prevented me from seeing its realities. I was stuck in its past, but also in mine. I was hoping to find here what I was terrified of losing when I left Berlin. I never really gave New York a chance and that’s the city’s malediction. It’s a place so filled with fantasies, myth, and history that everyone comes to it with an idea of what it should be instead of taking it as it is. It’s like going to watch a movie after everyone has told you how amazing it is. When you end up watching it, no matter how good the movie, you end up slightly disappointed. At least that’s how it was too me, a disappointment, a betrayal — it didn’t keep the promises I thought it’d made me.

Anyway, sorry for prejudging you New York. I still don’t know if I can ever truly love you, but I’m finally ready to give you a try.

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