This morning, when I was eating my morning oatmeal, I texted Michaela to check in. She was making progress in her recovery. She was starting to walk, could transfer herself from her bed to a wheelchair, and had made it to the bathroom unassisted. Plans to transport her back to her home in Belgium were being discussed. She asked me to pack up all the belongings she’d left behind in our apartment and to bring them over to the hospital in an Uber, so she’d have everything in one place and be ready when the day and time of her transport were decided.
I told Michaela I wanted to spend a couple of hours writing my blog post and then I’d call her back on a Whatsapp video chat so we could go through her things and the packing process together.
Four hours later, I called her back. I’d been so immersed in writing my post: developing a storyline, choosing and editing the right photos, revising my text again and again, putting it all together, that I’d lost track of time. It was a deeply satisfying morning in which I was completely lost in my creative flow. I realized how valuable it is for me to have this piece of my regular life (writing and publishing) embedded in my travel life. And it got me to thinking about all the reasons I love travel blogging:
Blogging creates stability and continuity. I love the focus travel writing requires. I love carrying around my little travel notebook—the one I use only when I’m on a trip. The moment I put it in my hand, I feel that jolt of adventure: I’m traveling again! I pull it out all day long, jotting down bits of dialogue, story fragments, insights, questions, addresses, restaurant recommendations, ideas, to-dos.
Using this little notebook telegraphs to me: It’s time to turn on your storytelling brain. Once I have an idea for a story, my attention zooms in on how to best tell it. Crafting a story as I go provides a focus to my outings that experience alone would not provide.
Usually I chose a portion of my day to do this. I actively engage with my day and my surroundings as a storyteller. Once I’ve gathered the raw material I need, I put my little notebook away and experience the rest of my day however it comes to me.
Once I get back to my laptop and my hotel, I take the notes and images I’ve captured during the day and decide how to best craft them into a cohesive story. This usually happens late at night or early the next morning. This week, in Berlin, I can take as much time as I want to do this. Next week, while leading the Creative Camino, my time will be much shorter, and my posts will shorten as well.
For now, I love taking the time to focus, to reflect, to sharpen and hone my observations, to decide what and how much to share, what to put in and what to leave out, what to emphasize or embellish.
Travel blogging helps me put my experiences in perspective. It enables me to digest my life. When something difficult happens, the sting of that tough moment is lessened when I know I can use it as fodder for a story.
I like the speed of travel blogging. As a daily practice within a full day, I have to do it fast. There’s no time for perfection. Mistakes and shortcuts are to inevitable and to be expected. I write it and release it, then start collecting material and possible directions for the next day’s post. I often consider several possibilities before I settle on one story.
I love integrating two of my loves, writing and photography, to tell a cohesive story. I love how the words support the images and the images support the words.
Writing like this models being a working writer and travel blogging basics for my students.
And perhaps most of all, I love communicating with you: the readers of this blog. Completing the circuit between writer and reader is deeply satisfying. Reading your responses makes me feel less alone. I love when you take the time to respond, so please keep doing so!
SO WHAT DO I WANT TO DO TODAY IN BERLIN? As Michaela and I discussed her options for transport back to Belgium (she’s hoping her insurance will pay for an ambulance so she can lay flat on the journey), it hit me that I’m going to spend the rest of my days in Berlin alone. Visiting her in the hospital will no longer be a central part of my days. Conferring with her on the phone about my day and the little daily problems I run into as a visitor will no longer be possible in the same way.
I’m in a big city. What do I like to do in a big city? I like to see theatre. If I was in New York City, that’s what I would do. So I googled “English language theatre Berlin,” and English Theatre Berlin popped up right away.
They happened to have a performance that very night: a bilingual cabaret focusing on neurodivergence, the failures of the health care system, and the needs and concerns of people with disabilities. It was advertised as “a show by people with chronic illness for people with chronic illness.”
I bought a ticket right away.
Then I called Michaela back. We went through all her belongings and I packed them up for her. I called a Bolt (a local alternative to an Uber) and reached the hospital in mid-afternoon, delivering everything. We had a nice visit. I’m really going to miss her when she heads back home to Brussels.
After our visit, I mapped my way to the theatre and headed out. When I arrived at 5:30 for a 6:00 pm performance, a woman scanned my digital ticket and asked me to put on a mask (orange and pink were available). A second woman approached me with two rolls of large fluorescent colored dots. She asked if I wanted lime green or hot pink. Lime green meant that I could be interacted with as an audience member but not touched. Pink meant that I didn’t want to be interacted with or touched.
I chose pink.
The woman holding the rolls of dots asked permission to touch me in order to place the large glowing pink disk on the back of my hand. I said yes.
A few minutes later, a third woman came by with pieces of paper and a pen. She asked if I wanted to write down a question or a confession dealing with one of the themes of the show. These stories or questions would be integrated into the evening’s performance. Nothing came to mind.
I chose a seat on the aisle and watched the audience file in. Those attending were mostly young. A number of visibly disabled people, more than I’d ever seen at a theatre performance before, wheeled and walked in. I’m sure the audience was filled with people with hidden disabilities, and many living with chronic illnesses. It was a lively, engaged audience. The show was sold out.
The performance was a fascinating combination of cabaret, burlesque, personal testimony, advocacy and audience participation. Some of the people spoke in English, some in German. Some, like the MC, alternated, speaking in both. They used a technology where whatever was being said in either language was simultaneously transcribed (with lots of errors) on the back wall of the theatre, German to the left, English to the right. I’d never seen anything like it.
Overall, I loved the show. I’ve never seen anything like it and doubt I ever will again. A night well-spend in Berlin!
