2002/09
In the two decades I have lived in Berlin, one of the few places that has held an unusually magical vibe and meaning for me is the immediate area around the Berliner Dom, that monumental cathedral on the Museumsinsel in the heart of the city. Its voluptuous neo-baroque appearance contrasted sharply with the socialist architecture of nearby Alexanderplatz with its iconic TV-tower punctuating the skyline, especially during the years when the brown, glass-clad, monster of the Palace of the Republic still cast its shadow over the area. The church overlooks the geometric Lustgarten park stretching toward the column-lined, Roman temple like, Altes Museum. The atmosphere has always seemed strangely out of place to me. Like fragments of imagined cities thrown together into one almost dreamlike landscape.
Drift away →
1992-99
A weekly activity during my teenage years in Heidelberg was going "into the city," which meant taking either my bike or the tram to downtown and following an almost ritually fixed path that took a few hours to complete, incorporating stops that satisfied all my special interests.
Let's go →
1990/91
This was my favorite thing to do after a nice family evening at ████████, where I usually spent some time drawing or running around outside near the tennis court with █████, before indulging in a three-course meal of shrimp in garlic sauce, a steaming dish of cannelloni, and ice cream for dessert. I loved it when mom and dad got slightly tipsy and ignored our usual bedtime in favor of another hour of partying.
Let's dance →
1996
My parents had gifted me a portable Sony multiband world radio to take with me for my ten-month stay as an exchange student in Texas. It was a cute idea: something that would allow me to tune into German-language shortwave broadcasts if I ever felt homesick. In reality, I never used it for that purpose. But the radio nerd in me was thrilled to have even more frequency bands to explore than on my trusty bedside radio back home. Instead of using it to stay connected with Germany, I mainly used it to dicover exciting new FM stations I could pick up in North Texas.
Tune in →
2020
After dropping my wife and daughter off at Seville airport around dawn, kissing them goodbye and hoping they would be fine, I drove to a nearby petrol station, filled up our Ford Transit escape vehicle, and continued toward Huelva in the morning sun. My head was full of racing thoughts and worries. It had been a difficult morning. ██████ had suffered a crisis of confidence. The plan had been for her and ████ to fly ahead to ████████ while I followed a few days later with the van on the ferry, sparing her the crossing because we knew how prone she was to seasickness. But the thought of being separated for almost a week, amid the chaos of constantly shifting travel restrictions, had suddenly become unbearable to her. We had talked through every alternative, but in the end decided to stick to the plan. It really did feel like some kind of escape.
Keep driving →
1997/98
I clambered up the dune, the hardened surface layer crumbling underfoot and slowly sloughing downhill in cascades of warm desert sand. At the top, I followed a narrow sandy path between patches of sharp black volcanic cinders and dried thorny scrub until I reached my favourite spot right at the edge of the pitch-black lava cliff that contrasted so sharply with the white sand below.
Zone out →
1989-96
Early bedtime was not a problem for me. At least not on Sundays and Mondays. I was looking forward to indulging in my secret evening pastime: surfing the radio waves. The white plastic clock radio right next to my bed had a mono jack, so only the blue in-ear piece of my GameBoy headphones worked but it seemed like a practical feature because it allowed me to hear when parents would potentially come upstairs to bust me.
Tune in →