The two of us grabbed our jackets and ran down and out the building. Standing on the far side of the yard were Ronny’s mother, Irene, and his uncle, Willy. They’d motored over to see us, and make sure we were in good health, and had placed a little bag of essentials—bread, pasta, a large box of multivitamins—on our doorstep. They were standing far enough away to not violate the rules of kontaktsperre—no contact. So there we stood, first shouting pleasantries at each other, and then admonishing them for leaving their homes for a socially-distanced visit. No hugs, no kisses, just lots and lots of space between us. The new normal.
The ausgangsperre or “lockdown” in Berlin isn’t a complete lockdown. Of course, malls, theatres, concert halls, and educational institutions are closed. And the recommendation is for people to work from home if they can, which a lot of people are able to manage. No more than two people can be out in public together, and you have to maintain a distance of at least 1.5 metre from others on the streets.
When I look out of the window of my apartment in suburban Kaulsdorf, I can see some activity. There is a steady stream of traffic going by for two reasons: One is because there’s a hospital less than a kilometre away, and then, there’s a bus terminal and a local train station, or S-Bahnhof, nearby. At any rate, other than having a batch of groceries delivered, and in a moment of sheer exhaustion, ordering a pizza, I haven’t encountered anyone other than Ronny.
There’s honestly nowhere that I really need to go. But given that my two weeks of self-isolation are up, I can go for a short walk. So I’m relieved when my neighbour Miriam suggests we walk to the Kaulsdorfer Seen—twin lakes about 2 km away. The sun is out, and the weather is a pleasant 23°C. When we leave the built-up portion of the neighbourhood behind, and cross into a grassy field, for a moment I forget everything grim and morbid. Miriam’s throwing sticks for Lotte, her dog, to catch, and we continue down the mostly deserted path to the lakes, where we’re in for a surprise. The weather seems to have made people forget the global health crisis. A fair number of sunbathers are at the lake, many of them nude—Germany is famous for FKK (Frei Korper Kultur, which translates to free body culture). Social distancing seems to have been thrown to the wind, so we hightail it back home. I later learn that not all Berlin parks are similar. My friend Eleanor Turner tells me that at Gorlitzer Park, a famous haunt of the city’s drug dealers, she spotted, “drug dealers not only wearing face masks and maintaining social distance, but also have set up a makeshift hand-washing station for the public.”
It’s Saturday evening when we decide to drive through the city. I’m curious to see what Berlin looks like on Easter during a lockdown, and also I’ve realised the Indian store in the heart of the city is open for three hours each evening, and I’m out of my favourite brand of tea. I’ve never seen the city like this before. The lawn outside the Reichstag—the German parliament building—usually packed with tourists, now has a few people sitting on it. I’ve never been to the Brandenburg Gate before without nearly getting thwacked with a selfie stick, but now it’s nearly empty. The new normal.
Berlin is the most energetic city I’ve lived in, besides Mumbai. And to suddenly see it stripped of this is strange. The stillness is peaceful, but discomfiting, like watching a movie on mute. It isn’t a movie that I’ve seen before. And I don’t know how it ends.
First Published: Apr 25, 2020, 10:05
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