Perambulate: Like Regulate, but Less Cool

(Naaadjaa! Ich liebe dich. Spray paint on cement. Anonymous.)

Bergmannkiez, my neighborhood, is not fun at night. The few bars are either trying too hard or not trying at all; your best bet is lingering over wine or grappa at La Bionda, the Italian restaurant at the corner of Heimstrasse and Bergmannstrasse, since the music is excellent and the walls are purple. Otherwise, you’re better off perambulating. (Which begs the uninteresting question: why didn’t Weird Al Yankovic do a “Perambulate” spinoff to Warren G’s “Regulate”?)

A stiff walk in the evening is like a stiff drink: the day shuts up, your surroundings melt, slightly, into something more flattering, and your shoulders come down. I like to do a brisk twenty-minute number that traces the perimeter of a large graveyard. There are three crucial factors that make this walk excellent: 1) it is a satisfying square shape, 2) the acres of trees within the graveyard lend the sidewalk an uncanny forested smell, 3) the high walls of the graveyard provide a perfect canvas for gentle graffiti, like the raccoon boxing champion shouting for Nadja in the photo above.

I like to wander in unfamiliar towns as a tourist but I don’t like wandering in my own city. I don’t like the light stress of choosing your destination as you walk; I much prefer moving like a tram along a known inner path and not straying from it. When your mind is freed from weighing your geographical cravings, you simply march, and the mind trots along like a cheerful dog: released, beside you, free and faithful. Often I listen to music but I try to echo rather than manipulate my mood. Something peppy on a brooding November evening will turn the walk literally discordant: the spicy smell of old leaves, ground to a pulpy paste, must be in the song’s tone.

The home stretch of the walk ambles along the front entrance of the graveyard, and iron bars replace the tall concrete walls. This juncture represents the sole navigational decision I must come to during the walk: finish by going through the graveyard or keep straight? Mostly I keep straight. I dart into the graveyard on special days, if I’m in a good mood, delivering unnerving grins to the solemn grave tenders. If it’s after 6pm, the decision has been made for me and the gates are shut. In the dark, small candles that have been placed on the graves flicker like distant bumper lights on the highway.

When I hit La Bionda, on the corner, the walk is pretty much over. Music spills out from their turntables, if it’s early in the evening, it’s classic rock, complaining guitars.

The funny thing about a walk is that you’re always glad when it’s done, even if you loved being on the walk the whole time. There’s a dim surge of relief and vindication. Like coming to the end of a sentence, or a blog post.

(There are actually trees in this photo, in a Magic Eye poster kind of way)