Voyassitude

Wine actually doesn’t matter too much here because this is all about a river and a song. It’s my last day in Germany. A flight back to the US awaits for me in less than twenty-four hours, but for the time being I wander the alleys and markplatz of Mainz with no concrete plan in hand, allowing the city with its pink, reddish, and golden tones of a sunlit afternoon to guide me on a final European stroll.

Early in the morning I had one of my happiest moments during the trip: I rented a bike and pedaled along the majestic Rhine until buildings, traffic, and noise were left behind. Pressured by the notion that soon I’d leave this European paradise, I had an urge to do everything all at once until the inexorable calm of the river soothed me. For two hours my only certainties were the Rhine by my side and the scent of an imminent German spring all around me. As soon as I stepped off the bike and walked away from the river, I knew I had to come back to it before leaving Mainz.

During my bike ride I noted plenty of empty bottles on the riverbanks, so it seemed almost mandatory to grab some wine before returning to the Rhine. At 6pm and with the sun still shining bright, the shorelines bustled with people walking, jogging, or chatting as the waters provided a tranquil background.

As soon as I sat by the river I sensed its magnetism. It drew me to it, irradiating an invisible force that kept my eyes glued to its surface, its every wave. The tiny bottle of Rhein Riesling I bought wasn’t too bad, but it didn’t stand a chance against the exquisiteness of the Rhine itself. I didn’t taste the river but it felt as if I had; it flowed through me, it washed away feelings, it flooded a myriad of memories here and there.

Then came the song to do the rest.

Prospekt’s March/Poppyfields by Coldplay. My playlist put it out there and it just seamlessly blended with the stream of the Rhine and my melancholy air. I stood up, walked closer to the river and looked down at its entrancing oscillation. Do Germans feel the same attraction to it that I perceived right at that instant? While Chris Martin sang “Don’t you wish that life can be as simple, as fish swimming ‘round in a barrel?” the Rhine seemed to sing too. Perhaps it sang an invitation to jump to it, an offer to carry away pain and insecurities, to rinse the memory of that person stuck in the back of your head. Who knows? I couldn’t figure it out.

So, for now, as I listen to Prospekt’s March for the hundredth time seeking to recapture the notions of that distant Monday in Mainz, I can only hope to reunite with the Rhine one day to hear it singing once again.