a journey 2

Basel. Saturday, 1 March 2008. 20:48

"Excuse me, but are you sitting at the correct seat?"

The young man barely in his 20s looked up at the woman speaking to him. She had short, blond hair and looked to be in her 30s. He couldn't really hear her with the music blasting away in his ears, but from her gesture, he could roughly guess her question. He slid off an earphone and nodded.

"But I am supposed to be sitting at 37…"

Now he could hear her a little bit more clearly.

"Is your seat 38?"

His seat was 38. Perhaps he was sitting at 37, his bag on 38. To him, 37 and 38 were the same. When he boarded the train at Zurich, it was empty. He didn't really expect someone to have a ticket to the seat beside his.

"It's okay; I will sit on this side. If someone else comes, then I will move back. So we both have more space."

He nodded and watched as she tried to lift her luggage up to the storage space above the seats. "Do you mind helping me?"

He got up and helped her with it.

"Thank you. Are you going to Amsterdam?"

"To Cologne."

"You speak German?" she switched to German.

His previous answer had come instinctively, even though she had asked him in English. "Yes, I speak German. Are you German?"

"No, I am Swiss. Where did you learn German from?"

"Well, I have been studying in Cologne for half a year already."

"I see…"

"Why is a Swiss going to Amsterdam?"

"I work there. At an American firm. For about half a year now. I was back in Basel for the holidays. I come from Basel.

"I have never been to Amsterdam. Do the canals really resemble the circles of hell, as Camus had suggested in 'The Fall'?"

"Haha…No…Hell wouldn't be that pretty, would it? You must come to Amsterdam. It is very special."

"I will, I will. That's for sure."

"What were you doing in Switzerland?"

"I went to visit a friend."

"Oh."

"In Zurich."

"Do you like it?"

"It's very pretty. Prettier than Cologne."

"Really? You don't seem to like Cologne very much."

"Not exactly…I am ok with it, but it is not exactly one of my favourites. Have you ever been to Cologne?"

"I used to live there for a while," she said quietly, smiling slightly.

"Uh huh."

"Those were the best days of my life. Cologne is my favourite city," she said that with a dreamy expression on her face. "I had so many wonderful memories there."

He looked at her.

"You should know the Hohenzollern Bridge."

He nodded.

"That's my favourite place, in the whole of Cologne. If you walk from the Cathedral down to the bridge, go all the way to where the first two arches meet. Somewhere there, you will see a drawing," she laughed before continuing, "Maybe you would call that graffiti. But to me, it's a drawing of a boy and a girl, with a heart between them. It's not very big. Oh well, it's probably fading off by now, so I don't feel that guilty for vandalising public property."

They talked about a lot of things: Germany, Switzerland, Kosovo's declaration of independence, Sarkozy's love life, and the American elections.

Is it easier to talk to a complete stranger because you know you will probably never see him or her again? Maybe you also think that there's nothing to lose anyway. Or maybe because it's boring on the train and both of you don't really want to sleep. Or maybe you just happen to click with that particular stranger.

After all, it isn't always the case that talking to a stranger is easier than talking to a friend, is it? At least not in comparison with a very good friend.

But they both did get a bit of rest.

It was perhaps 7 in the morning the next day when the train pulled into the Main Station of Cologne, passing through that bridge she mentioned. She was just awaking from her slumber as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Goodbye," she said softly. At least he heard it softly, no doubt because his music player was on again. He waved. "Goodbye."

He went to the Cathedral and walked down to the Hohenzollern Bridge from there. He was afraid he wouldn't find it. Because that would have meant that it had already faded off, or had been painted over- like a memorial falling to time, like memories being erased. Despite what she said of her guilt, he was sure she would be very sad if it was gone just like that, without a trace.

Walking along the bridge, he suddenly saw couples along the railing, gazing out at the Rhine, arms outstretched, enjoying the breeze blowing into their face. A guy sweeping a girl's hair out of her eyes. A couple kissing passionately. A couple holding hands as they cycled through on separate bikes. A couple sitting by the spot where she had said the drawing would be, drawing on the metal. The girl laughed and turned to face the guy. At that instant, he saw her face, albeit younger.

He suddenly felt humbled. So much had happened here. So many lives were changed here. So many memories were created here, memories which would be witnessed by someone like him years later.

And he understood that even if physical monuments were to be eroded, or even torn down, memories would still live on forever in the hearts of people. Indestructible.