Stealing Memories

Day 7:  Klagenfurt to Cologne/Bonn and Cologne/Bonn to Berlin

It was a long day of waiting with a little bit of flying.  Berlin was drizzly and windy and overall rather Dublin/Ireland-like.  I didn't get to my hostel until almost 10pm.  I wanted to relax and have a beer or three and get a good night of rest.  But I forgot that Berlin is a city that never sleeps.

"Hey! Hey!  Kyle!  Kyle!"

"?"

"I can't believe it, man."

"Gino?  Holy shit!"

I had met Gino at the hostel in London.  Gino is a small, kind, generous forty year old Dutchman.  We both knew that we were going to be in Berlin at the same time, but neither of us had any idea where the other was going to stay.  Turns out we both picked Comebackpackers.

Gino had Tequila.  We drank with a couple other Americans and a small group of rabid Australians (you know I <3 you guys).  You can imagine how little sleep I got and just how terrible I felt when I woke up.

Day 8:  Berlin to Dublin

I closed my throbbing eyes for the duration of the two hour flight.  When we landed, most of my headache had gone away.  I checked back into Isaacs, my favorite hostel.  I ate a burrito.  I drank a lot of coffee.  I am now drinking a beer and helping Regina remove an annoying virus from her laptop.

At this point I stopped writing the blog post because my backpack went missing.  It's still missing.  It was sitting right next to me at a table that was filled with people I had been talking to for hours.  A surreal, sad moment.  We looked everywhere.  It was/is nowhere.  I've talked to the Garda (Police), and they're filing a report that I'll pick up tomorrow morning before I head off to the airport (if the bag is not found before then).

Things could be worse.  It could have been my laptop.  It could have been my wallet or passport.  I've only lost some books (Catch-22, Ulysses, The Black Book).  All the maps of the cities I've visited on my trip.  My purple notebook with all the notes for the novel.  And my camera was in there filled with all the photos from my five weeks here that I have been unable to upload because I left my cable at home.  All sentimental, irreplaceable things.  I even lost my picture of me and James Joyce.  Losing these photos makes me feel like I have no evidence of my journeys.  Like none of this has even happened.  Like the last five weeks has been merely a dream.  And maybe it was.

I start my long journey back home tomorrow under even more mixed emotions than I would have imagined.  I had been looking forward to uploading all of those pictures, all those little pieces of evidence that I really saw what I saw, but now I will have to look forward to other things--like my eventual return to Europe, my inevitable return to traveling.