The Berlin winter was better this year, we say, pulling our jackets tighter so the wind won’t blow snow down our collars. I read an article in The New Yorker titled “Inside Russia’s Secret Campaign of Sabotage in Europe” and, after fifteen years, finally apply for a passport again.
More sunny days than usual, we say, rubbing our ice‑cold hands together as we try to keep our balance on the unplowed, unsalted paths. I listen to an episode of This American Life about the self‑appointed journalists and streamers in Portland and buy EU‑to‑US power adapters.
Winter will return in March, like every year, my friend Isabel writes. I sigh and look at the slushy piles of snow in front of the gray buildings, gray cars, gray sky. In my feed: news about Greenland, and the message that my ESTA for entry to the U.S. has been approved.
The Year of the Horse starting February 17, we promise each other, referring to the new Chinese year—under the sign of the Fire Horse—which is supposed to bring us a great year full of strength and success. We clink our beers together in horribly smoky corner bars.
The next day, the crowds on the U8 press me in on all sides, and I can smell the smoke in my jacket collar even more intensely. In the Berliner Fenster news on the subway, I see the weather report: more snow. On my phone: the message that the flight is booked. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s really happening—I get to leave this Berlin winter early.
The last time I was in the United States was in 2010. I visited family friends in Salt Lake City. They explained to me what Mormons are, that they don’t drink alcohol or coffee, and that this is why there are so many ice‑cream shops, because they like to go out for ice cream in the evenings. I was fascinated by this tiny group, this “phenomenon” that felt so small back then, so specific and not at all far‑reaching.
Sixteen years later, New York Magazine runs the headline: “How Mormons Conquered Pop Culture,” and I have long since been informed that they are no longer called Mormons but prefer “Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter‑Day Saints.”
The country I will visit in just under two weeks is no longer the same, not only in this regard. It has changed on so many levels, and until now I’ve only encountered it through my excessive consumption of American media. I like to think I have a clear idea of the United States. But I also know perfectly well that I’m completely wrong.
The U.S. is familiar to me mostly through the lens of big cities and cultural centers, whose intellectual environments have shaped my access to American culture. Sometimes I feel as if I see the U.S. like a diorama. A miniature world in which the extremes, viewed through my European lens from across a very large ocean, appear unmistakably clear: this is black, that is white. The shades of gray blur somewhere over the water.
And so, as I look out into Berlin’s gray winter, I can finally allow myself to feel excited. To look forward to the gray areas of a country that so often appears to us in extremes. I get to look forward to seeing what has changed and how, and across so many different states. I skip across the icy Berlin sidewalk and nearly slip, but the Year of the Horse has already begun, and I manage to stay on my feet.