NO MORE PARTIES IN BERLIN

Oberbaumbrücke

TWO SIDES ONE COIN!

In Germany for the first time, I was filled with excitement. The thought of stepping into one of the world’s major art capitals and experiencing the pulse of its renowned EDM scene had me stoked. However, uncertainty lingered—how would COVID affect the city? By this point, Marrakech had completely shut down, while Paris seemed untouched, carrying on as usual. Berlin, with its complex history of turmoil and resilience, felt unpredictable.

Traveling to all these places without knowing the languages was an adventure in itself. Upon landing, the sound of German announcements over the intercom was unfamiliar yet exciting. Sitting by the window, I took in the layout of the city from above—a bird’s-eye glimpse of a world I was just beginning to explore.

As this leg of the journey began, I noticed I was taking fewer photos. Maybe it was a sign of being more present in the moment, or perhaps it was the storm cloud I mentioned in my last post—one that was now starting to pour, weighing me down.

Leaving CDG to Berlin

MITTE

I landed, grabbed my bags, and hopped on the train to the downtown area of Mitte. Usually, after traveling, I’d skip eating out of sheer exhaustion, but this time, it wasn’t an option. Once I arrived in the heart of Berlin, the harsh, bitter cold greeted me like an extension of my inner state. This wasn’t a beach getaway or a serene escape to find peace—this city felt as brash and unyielding as I did inside. Berlin had a darkness hanging over it, an unspoken weight in the air that mirrored my own.

Stepping off the train, I made my way to find Currywurst, something I’d researched online and seen highly recommended. It wasn’t something I was familiar with, but the reviews convinced me it was worth trying. As I headed toward the food stand, I noticed an artist playing music in the freezing cold—a raw and striking image of the city itself. It felt symbolic: artists, undeterred by external conditions, driven by an inner need to express themselves, no matter how harsh the weather or life’s challenges. That moment captured the essence of Berlin—gritty, resilient, and unapologetically creative.

Musician In Berlin

Now, look—I’m not about to sugarcoat things or tell you what most travel blogs might say to rack up likes and clicks. This is about my travels, and I’m here to keep it real! So, Currywurst…….? Honestly, it’s not life-changing, but I get it—after a night of partying hard, something greasy like that could hit the spot. That said, try it for yourself when you visit! What did impress me, though, was the German beer. Now that I can vouch for all day, every day—it was the perfect remedy for the biting cold.

As night fell within the hour, both my phone battery and I were running on empty. I called an Uber to take me to my Airbnb, but, of course, my phone died mid-chaos. Panicked, I sprinted across the street to a coffee shop to charge it just enough to run back out and catch my ride. It felt like sliding into home plate just in time. Once I was in the Uber, though, everything finally eased up—it was smooth sailing from there. The calm before that night’s storm.

Konnopke's Imbiss Currywurst Berlin

HURRICANE AMANO

Pulling up to my Airbnb was like stepping into a fleeting sanctuary. The place carried a luxurious vibe, a stark contrast to how I felt inside. Even when your world is unraveling, sometimes small comforts can feel like a lifeline, however fragile. I wanted to hold onto that, even if just for a moment.

Once inside, I stood under the hot shower, letting the warmth try to thaw the cold that had settled deep within. It was a temporary reprieve, a quiet moment to breathe before everything came undone.

When I lay down, the storm I’d been building finally dropped like a hurricane predicted but felt once touching land. At first, it was a few tears, a quiet release—but soon it erupted, a flood of emotions I couldn’t control. I curled into a ball, clutching a pillow as if it could offer some kind of comfort. The emptiness I felt was overwhelming, like a void where my heart should have been.

I cried until I couldn’t anymore, my body trembling with the weight of it all. There, in the dark, I screamed into the silence, my voice breaking against the walls that offered no answers. I didn’t understand why. I thought of the good I’d tried to put into the world, the love I’d given, only to find myself here, alone and broken.

When it was over, the quiet that followed was now a void. I was hollow a shell. The storm had passed, but now my soul felt as though it had been scraped bare. I didn’t know what was to come of my life, but I knew this wasn’t something that would fade quickly. The damage and gapping hole was now here and was going to take some time to heal and rebuild.

THE MORNING AFTER

A new day

As I awoke the next day, I felt… better. The storm had passed, but like any storm, it left its damage behind—a quiet aftermath that lingered in the air. The weight in my chest wasn’t gone; it had simply settled in. Like I said before, this wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Still, I reminded myself: I’m in Berlin. I hadn’t ventured into the city’s famous club scene yet, nor had I even seen the Berlin Wall. You might be thinking, Shouldn’t you just stay in the room and rest? And maybe you’d be right. But resting has never been my style. By this point, walking had become its own kind of therapy—a ritual of sorts. Plus, I had one other ritual to fulfill: cookies. My favorite dessert always brings out the inner child a part of me forgotten but became the very source of my healing later in this story.

A quick Google search showed the Berlin Wall was much closer than I expected—right outside my hotel, in fact. All I had to do was start walking. But first, food. I needed something to eat before my exploration, and my search led me to Markthalle Neun, a vibrant market and food court known for its incredible eats.

So, with a sense of determination and a growing appetite, off I went.

Though I didn’t capture any photos of myself at the market, I did manage to snag some delicious food and, most importantly, my cookies! Before I hit the proverbial wall of exhaustion, I decided to explore a bit more. One of my favorite things to do when traveling is to visit music stores and see what collections other cities have to offer. I stumbled across a spot called Groove, which, as I’m writing this now, no longer exists cool place tho.

With a full belly, cookies in hand, and a good beer to cap it off, I felt ready to take on the next part of my journey. It was time to visit a global historical landmark—a place with a dark story that once symbolized division and conflict, yet now stands as a testament to resilience and change.

EastSide Gallery

MY BERLIN CLUBBING ATTEMPT

What could possibly move me to go out and party after the way I’d been feeling earlier in this trip? Well, I was in Berlin—a city synonymous with nightlife and electronic music—and with only one night left before heading to Prague to meet my younger brother, I figured, why not?

Berlin is famous for its techno scene, and clubs like Berghain are almost mythical in their reputation. After binging countless videos and Reddit posts about the city’s nightlife, I learned all about the dress codes and the infamous door policies. From everything I had researched it was something straight out of The Matrix, which sounded incredibly cool. While Berghain was tempting, I decided to aim for another spot, Tresor, known for its deep house.

The city was freezing, and snow had started falling, but the chill only added to the thrill. Armed with my winter layers and my COVID card, I headed into Berlin’s nightlife. By the time I arrived at Tresor, there was already a decent line outside, the pounding bass from inside teasing us all. I waited for about 45 minutes, both excited and nervous. Every now and then, someone got turned away at the door, making me wonder: Am I cool enough to get in? (Side note: I swear some clubs turn people away just to add to the hype—it’s a psychological game.)

Finally, it was my turn. The bouncer took one look at my COVID card and said, “NO.” Upset yes but. Apparently, my card wasn’t the EU version. He told me I’d need to get a proper EU COVID card from a nearby 24-hour clinic. Standing in what felt like sub-zero temperatures, I realized this was a sign. Maybe tonight wasn’t meant to be.

Disappointed but oddly relieved, I made my way back to the hotel. A hot shower again, some Uber Eats, and a night of YouTube comedy became my unexpected consolation prize. Watching Tim Heidecker’s spot-on Joe Rogan parody had me laughing harder than I had in weeks.

Looking back, skipping the club was probably for the best. I got some much-needed rest before the next leg of my journey: my first-ever country-to-country train ride in Europe. Tomorrow, it was off to Prague to explore castles and a page of this new adventure.

PARISIAN ESCAPE ARTIST

Heartbroken in the City of Love

After barely escaping Marrakech amid looming border closures due to COVID, I pressed on, continuing my journey.

In search of what, exactly?

In search of what I felt I had lost.

As I shared in my last blog post, Leap to Marrakech, this trip had already been heavy with challenges. Paris was the second leg of my journey, and while I had visited the city before, this time felt different. I was navigating it alone. No longer did I have someone to share the experience with bounce things off of or even laugh while people-watching no I was alone in the “ CITY OF LOVE ”. Yet, I’d made it this far, and I wasn’t giving up. Something happens to you when you are experiencing the separation of someone you’ve known since the age of 13 it’s hard to explain but as my journey continued I began to find out more and more of what that feeling was. Landing at CDG, I was met with the familiar hum of French airport life. No offense to Parisians, but you get no love if you don’t speak French. It’s almost mandatory if you need help. I managed to catch the RoissyBus, which took about 45 minutes to the (Opéra) bus stop. As we approached the city, the gold-capped buildings stood as striking reminders of Paris’ rich—and complex—history.

The streets were bustling as usual, and, as fate would have it, I once again found myself here in the dead of winter. It was freezing, though not as cold as the chill entering my soul.

(More on that later.)

When I finally reached my Airbnb, the flat felt like stepping into another time. Without central heating like back home, the antique radiator hummed to life, its warmth creeping through the chilly space. Exhausted from the madness of travel and without much appetite, I opted for a shower and was scrolling Netflix and found one of my favorite shows The Office. That show never fails to make me smile, and in that moment, it was exactly what I needed.

Lost in the 4th arrondissement

The next morning—or rather, afternoon—I somehow found the energy to get out of bed. With only three days in Paris before heading to Berlin, I knew I had to make the best of it , even though the lingering pain I’d slept off was slowly creeping back. Hunger eventually outweighed my fatigue, so I threw on some clothes and hit the streets.

For those who’ve never been to Paris (especially Americans), brunch here isn’t the indulgent feast we’re used to in the South. There’s no table overflowing with Pancakes, Bacon, grits, biskets, waffles, eggs, and everything else to put you back to sleep. Instead, mornings are light—espresso, coffee, Croissant & baguettes. But I needed something more substantial, and without much brainpower to decide, I let the Golden Arches be my savior. Funny enough, I never touch McDonald’s in the States, but when traveling, it becomes my go-to when I’m too drained to think. Croissants and coffee would have to wait. (Later that day “cute blog photo”) As the day wore on, the feelings I’d tried to leave behind resurfaced. I found myself needing to stop and sit, overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion and weakness I couldn’t quite explain. At the time, I didn’t realize it was the start of a deep depression. Basic tasks drained me, leaving me completely spent. Still, I pushed myself to make the most of being in Paris. Wandering the streets alone, I let myself get lost in the experience, soaking up the magic of traveling abroad despite the weight I carried. In those quiet moments, I found a strange sense of solace amidst the chaos. This was a feeling and space that would become a part of my new identity. When you go through a series of multiple Deaths a marriage that has been shattered into pieces and nonstop attacks that are aimed at your integrity the fibers of who you are as a person everything else can warp you change is inevitable.

Nuit des Musées

As my time in Paris wound down, I made it a priority to visit the galleries—a vital part of my artistic process. Exploring these spaces solo gave me the freedom to connect with the works on a deeper level, taking in the emotions and energy they conveyed without distraction.

I stumbled upon The Centre Pompidou, an architectural marvel with an exterior that looked like a giant slide in front of the building. Inside, I uncovered inspiring works by artists like Bernard Rancillac, Gary Hume, and Yves Klein. Check out the photos below to see some of my favorite discoveries!

“Notre Dame’s Flames: A Storm Cloud of Pain”

As my time in Paris came to an end, the world outside seemed to echo the chaos within. COVID was spreading uncontrollably, with numbers climbing every hour. Notre Dame, once a beacon of strength, had been reduced to ashes just before my arrival—a haunting reminder of how quickly everything can burn. It felt as though the city itself wore the weight of my unraveling, its skies heavy with unspoken sadness.

Drip or Fashion, something I had always clung to as expression, didn’t even cross my mind. For those who know me, that’s unheard of. But when you’re trapped in a storm cloud of pain, I didn’t care about designer brands. Shopping felt hollow, a mere shadow of the person I once was. Each step I took seemed to pull me deeper into the storm, and I could feel the rain beginning to fall.

Now, I braced myself for Berlin—a city I had never been to. The trip was far from over, and with my brother joining me later in Prague, there was still something to hold onto. But as I left Paris, it felt less like moving forward and more like walking headfirst into a tempest I wasn’t sure I could weather.

The Leap to Marrakech

How did I end up in this picture?

IT WAS LOVE… THE END….

Not the end of the story but it was love of course, at the time I did not know it. 

What pulled me toward the Red City, Marrakech?

It’s a question I get asked often, and it always makes me pause. The fact that I, of all people, am writing a blog shows just how far I’ve come. How do I even begin to sum up the twists and turns that brought me here? What led me to take the leap from the familiar to the unknown?

But before you read any further, let me make one thing clear: this is NOT a “Top 15 Things to See in Marrakech” guide, nor is it a “What to Eat in the Red City” list. Sure, I’ll share places and spaces I’ve grown to love along the way, but naturally—and most of them come with a story.

This is about my story: the journey of moving from Atlanta to Marrakech and how it shaped me as a person and an artist. If that sounds like something you’re curious about, Enter

“ THE SPACE BETWEEN WORLDS ”

The straw that broke the camel’s back

We all have a COVID story, and mine was a series of heartbreaks, one after another—a cascade of pain that brought me to my breaking point. I needed to get away from everything and everyone. So, I booked a trip to multiple cities, with Marrakech as the first stop. I remember looking at pictures and thinking how foreign and exotic she looked, imagining she might be a breath of fresh air I needed. Little did I know that by meeting her, my entire life would change.

My stay at TRESOR

From the moment I stepped off the plane, disoriented from the foggy journey from ATL to RAK airport, I knew I wasn’t in Atlanta anymore. Getting my rental car and attempting to navigate the Medina was nothing short of an out-of-body experience. I found myself driving down one-way streets, narrowly avoiding donkeys and merchants—a far cry from cruising down Peachtree Street or T Road on the south side of Atlanta.

Eventually, after wrestling with my GPS, I met my Airbnb host—now my friend—Jacqueline. Her calm yet powerful spirit was exactly what I needed to guide me into the unknown. Once I stepped into the Riad (my first ever), I was enveloped by a surprising sense of peace. It was as if the chaos of the Medina melted away at the door, leaving only serenity.

I still remember being greeted by Brando (The Dog in the picture above)and a fresh pot of Moroccan tea and sweets. That night, I slept better than I had in weeks, and then came the call to prayer—something I had never experienced before. I woke up immediately, confused and wondering if it was some kind of emergency alarm. I laugh now, remembering how unfamiliar and surreal it all felt back then.

First impressions

By the time I had settled into the Riad, I finally felt a sense of calm. The chaos of the Medina melted away, replaced by stillness and the soothing routine of Moroccan tea and sweets. That first night gave me a chance to catch my breath, but it was only a glimpse of what was to come.

It wasn’t until we met under the veil of night that I began to see her truly. Our first date felt like an introduction all over again—this time, with clarity. Her perfume #22 mingled with the faint scent of a freshly lit camel, her cautious yet inviting gaze touched my soul. The ambiance wrapped itself around me—the soft glow, the pulse of Organica House music I’d never heard before, and the unspoken allure of something entirely new. I couldn’t tell where the night ended and she began, but I knew I was falling under her spell.

Final Boarding Call

After that night and the days that followed, I had time to reflect—not just on what I was experiencing in Marrakech but on everything that had led me there. I was alone in North Africa for the first time, on my first solo international trip, after enduring a tremendous amount of trauma. At first, it felt surreal, almost magical. But soon, the weight of it all began to sink in. The magic was fading, and the pain was creeping in.

Around that time, I started hearing whispers of a new COVID strain—Omicron—and the possibility of borders shutting down. Just as I was beginning to process what was happening within me, I had to switch gears and act fast. I couldn’t risk getting stuck in Morocco for who knows how long, especially since this was just the first leg of my trip, with other flights already booked.

Panic and fear began to settle in as I jumped on my laptop to check my flight—only to discover it had been canceled. Then came the domino effect: one cancellation after another. For a moment, I thought I’d have to rent a car and drive through the night to Casablanca, hoping to find a way out from there. But thanks to Amex, I managed to purchase the last seat on an Air France flight out of Marrakech.

When I arrived in Casablanca, the airport was chaos—a real circus. People were rushing counters, some with bags of cash, desperate to secure a flight. I held my breath until I boarded the plane and heard the sound of the seatbelt fasten. For the next three hours, I could finally rest, even if I knew Paris had its own challenges waiting for me. >> CDG