Heavy Metal in Berlin
Each time I prepare for an overseas trip the inevitable dread of jet-lag sets in. I loathe the feeling of being so tired it actually hurts, and not being able to sleep because of the cardinal rules of surviving the changing of time zones. Rule number one? Don’t sleep during the day, no matter how exhausted you may feel.
I always arrive in Europe grumpy and tired. The distance from airport to hotel varies depending on the location, taking anywhere from twenty minutes to four hours. Last weekend, we arrived in Berlin, and due to a mix-up with the organizing committee, nobody waited at the airport to take the six of us to our hotel in East Berlin.
After making a few phone calls we gave up. A unanimous decision to grab some cabs was made. We navigated through the crusty old airport, each of us pushing our equipment-laden carts through people and corridors. Outside, we walked parallel to the long chain of taxis waiting to make their way to the front of the cue. With the volume of luggage containing everything and more of what we would need during the next three weeks of travel, we definitely needed some mini-vans.
Three vehicles were loaded up and we set off. Kristina Groves and I crowded into the front of a taxi stuffed with bags in back. The driver’s friendliness was lost on us and at that point of the long haul from Calgary, all we could think of was food, a shower and the dread of making it through the day without falling asleep. It was only 3:30 in the afternoon and we still had many painful hours to pass before it was reasonable to go to sleep, hopefully not waking up in the middle of the night as if it was the daytime we just left behind in Canada.
The taxi wove its way through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic in the city. Whenever I travel to Berlin, I can’t help but think of the history that marks this part of the world. The horrors of war go a long way back now, but with so many books, movies in constant flow in the present, it’s hard to be there and not imagine what it must have been like. Especially in the late autumn; early winter, when the weather turns damp, cold and there is less and less light to be had during the day. I can’t imagine the living hell for people enduring the horrors of war back then. And there we were, in Berlin, for something as comparatively trivial as speed skating.
My brain pondered this when the music registered. Ozzy Ozborne wailed through the speakers. I looked over at the driver, and said the two magic words that seemed to make his day, “Black Sabbath?” He looked at me and smiled. “Yes, yes…I think this is the original…how do you say it….heavy metal? I think this album is very…very dark, no?” He reached over to the volume control and cranked this heavy metal in Berlin.
The remaining twenty minutes of commute was spent with speakers throbbing against my left leg, which was wedged against the passenger side door. When a preferred song would end, he’d skip through the playlist of Iron Man and find his next selection, cranking the music louder and louder.
Kristina and I looked at each other, laughing out loud. There we were, drunk with jet-lag, driving through Berlin banging our heads to Ozzy. A perfect time and a perfect place to revisit my rocking teenage days, with heavy metal in Berlin.
