Sphinx

Where would you want to be when the world ends? I’ve had that phrase running around inside my head for the last couple of weeks, convinced that it must be the tagline for a film that I’ve never actually seen – but I can’t actually find it anywhere on the internet. Which is a shame, because what I wanted to do was start with that and then say, well, of course it isn’t the end of the world – although given everything that’s happened in the last month it’s difficult to avoid the feeling that history is trying to cram in as much as possible having realised that the deadline is rather closer than expected – but only Brexit, but it’s still a valid question. Where would you want to be when your country’s decided to go for self-immolation while jumping off a cliff?

Somewhere Else, obviously, and it definitely felt like a relief that just a couple of days after the Referendum I was heading over here for six weeks as part of my Einstein Visiting Fellow role (and with a fairly erratic internet connection, so unable to spend every waking minute reading the latest news reports and commentaries). Still, Berlin isn’t ideal from this perspective; I have had to talk about Brexit with pretty well everyone I’ve met, not just colleagues and friends – and how does one explain Johnson?

And there are plenty of other reminders. This morning I was renewing my library card with the Staats Bibliothek, and couldn’t help seeing the complication regulations relating to people from ourside the EU. It won’t be impossible for me in future, just slightly more awkward – and implying  earlier awkwardness in having to get the visa that I’ll need for the registration (unless the fact that I already have a card means that I can carry on renewing it indefinitely without them noticing…). I then start to wonder about other things that will become more awkward: renting, bank account, even the ease of having this sort of research fellowship.

It’s not that I feel more foreign – no one is ever going to mistake my very anglicised German for a native speaker, however much I love Kindl Weisse mit Waldmeistersirup and Berliner Klopse*, even if these days everyone seems happy to stick to German rather than trying to help me out – but my existing foreignness suddenly feels like much more of an issue that it has for years. It is far, far worse for EU friends and colleagues with jobs in the UK, wondering about their futures and having in some cases to face actual abuse, but certainly the fact that half the country has said loudly that it Doesn’t Want Their Type Around Here. People here couldn’t be nicer – but I still get a faint hint of the same chill wind of alienation…

*But not Currywurst. Never Currywurst. Currywurst is an abomination. If you’ve decided that a curried sausage is a good idea, it needs to be a proper curried sausage, containing curry spices, not a basic Bockwurst with slightly spiced tomato ketchup. My sausage-making experiments continue…