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A telescope has bought me closer to my daughter and the stars
by Philipp Rüegg
One night in a tent, two teeth less
16.8.2019
Translation: machine translated
Berlin is a rough place. Nevertheless, I would never have thought that a night in a tent would end with the loss of two incisors. The story of a small indoor adventure in the big city.
Berlin is considered poor but sexy. The city is now so sexy that those looking for accommodation are particularly poor. Not necessarily those with big wallets, but the young and creative. In other words, the poor. There are now so many young and creative people in the city that some of them even seem to work at the social welfare court. It quickly and creatively recommended that one applicant sublet a tent on the balcony. This is not unusual. Different countries, different customs
.
So I shouldn't have been surprised that my visitor from Berlin curled up on the balcony at night without complaint and stayed there even in the strongest Zurich summer thunderstorm. Without a tent. Fortunately, when we announced our very spontaneous return visit to the German capital a few weeks later, three hours before our arrival, I had one in my luggage.
The trend is towards tents
I think to myself that if we're going to be staying in a single household with the whole family, it can't hurt to have accommodation that's typical of the country. But maybe I've misjudged the situation. We are not in a big city slum, but in the centre of Schöneberg, where old buildings are lined up next to each other with ceilings that are even higher than the rents. To my disappointment, there is even a guest room. And now? I had the tent idea in my head!
Such a microadventure, a little everyday adventure on your own (or someone else's) doorstep, is always a good thing. And I'm not doing it for me. I'm doing it for the kids. Okay, that's a lie. But my daughter also wants to go camping in the big city. And luckily my colleague is the last person who wouldn't sympathise with the situation. His balcony is my balcony. But his balcony is also a narrow balcony.
Instead of complaining because I'm rioting on the balcony at night with tent poles that are far too long, he lends a hand and gently teaches me that I'll probably have to camp inside. Or, as the Berliners say: "Komm' se rin, könn' se rauskieken!" Also good. No one will gentrify us out of a tent in the flat so quickly.
Holidays in the apses
The description of the poison green dome tent Salewa Denali says a few things that were to be expected ("comes with plenty of interior space") and nothing that argues against using it in old flats. It is suitable for trekking and hiking in the mountains. We are in Schöneberg and hike from the balcony into the kitchen with the tent half pitched.
It looks great next to the cooker, we don't need pegs. The menu of a Thai restaurant comes to mind, where I once sat and, if the translation was correct, ate "a Thai dish made from old tents". Things fall into place in a miraculous way. It becomes a microadventure in the realm of the microwave.
Around 11 pm, I fend off my son, who tries to steal the blackroll pillow from me. Then my daughter and I crawl into our dome and close the vestibules. Wikipedia knows: "The apse is a semi-circular or polygonal, rarely rectangular or square part of a room that adjoins a main room and is usually vaulted by a semi-dome."
In our case, I would say it's a kind of awning. And if anyone asks me where I went on holiday, I'll say: "In the apses." If that's not exotic. But first I say good night. And then: "Do you hear that?"
Blood is flowing
The kitchen clock is ticking, the floorboards are creaking somewhere. And a six-year-old is entitled to a few horror stories, even when indoor camping. It's the holidays after all. "The knight without a head came every 100 years on Halloween," she counters before I can really get started. "He howled so terribly that your blood froze in your veins!" I howl out loud. She says: "Stop it! I know it's you!" Then blood actually flows. Even if I don't understand why at first.
"It must be a bleeding tooth!" my daughter shouts. Apside up, she dashes into the bathroom and comes back with a milk tooth in her hand and a bloodied mouth as the proud owner of the gap. Enough excitement for today. The microadventure mission is more than accomplished. We stare up at the tent sky and calm down. "Can you see the whale?" I ask. It's swimming right above us. It's not going to be a property shark, I think. Then we fall asleep.
Is the tooth fairy coming now?
When we wake up at around eight o'clock, I'm a little lost for words. What whale? And what kind of tooth? What is my daughter talking about? "The other wiggly tooth is out too," I hear. Indeed. I would never have thought that a night in an indoor tent would cost two front teeth and provide so much excitement.
There's a clatter in the kitchen and a vestibule opens. What now? Is the tooth fairy coming? Or has the social court found us another flatmate overnight? No, luckily it's just a bad-tempered monster with two terrifying canines.
You can find even more stories that life writes and that I then write down in my author profile.
Michael Restin
Senior Editor
Michael.Restin@digitecgalaxus.chSimple writer and dad of two who likes to be on the move, wading through everyday family life. Juggling several balls, I'll occasionally drop one. It could be a ball, or a remark. Or both.
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