Day 15: Berlin

I dreamt I was in Berlin. Standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing dirty dishes and scrubbing dried on applesauce off the counter--I wondered, "Why Berlin?" It isn't one of the top choices of my Cities I'm Craving to See mental list. Prague, Venice, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Vienna, Rome. All of these I could understand. Of course, Zurich or Luzern would've been more obvious choices because they would've been memories. But it wasn't any of those places I dreamed about. It was Berlin.

A Berlin that had magnificent museums and parks. I was in raptures over a Michelangelo. I stood for hours in front of a Vermeer. I meandered along gold and green paths, and stopped to sit next to fountains as old as the Roman Empire. I could see the cobblestone under my feet as I crossed side alleys, and hear the whirring of trams as they passed in larger streets behind me. The smell of a street vendor making hot cinnamon sugar crepes. And libraries. In my dream, there was a library. Shelves of books, in every language, standing proudly on ornate shelves made from deep, rich woods that were polished and worn to a buttery sheen. People sat in stiff leather chairs, and at tables. Dignified reference librarians with stacks of papers and Special Collections editions in their arms. I hadn't taken a single book from the shelves, but walked slowly through the aisles, running my fingers over the gold leafed spines and covered bindings.

I wonder, standing here in my kitchen, with the light pouring in the east windows if the real Berlin bears any semblance to the vivid, brilliant life that my imagination bestowed on it last night. I wonder if I would be disappointed to visit it, now. If I would find the reality stale, in comparison. I would give much, just for the chance to find out.