I’m about to become blind, so this is the only photo you’ll find in this post. And it’s appropriately blurry.
I’m at the enigmatically named Dialog im Dunkeln – Dialogue in the Dark – about to have one of the more eye-opening (no pun intended) experiences I’ve had in a long time.
I’m with six other people – three German couples, all strangers to me. We’re about to wander through a world of complete darkness. All mobile phones are switched off; even watches are removed to avoid giving off even the slightest bit of light. Whether my eyes are open or shut will make no difference for the next hour and a half. A blind man hands me a white cane that reaches up to the centre of my chest. It’s the right size.
Entering the first room, I jolt at the uneven floor. It feels like I’m walking up an incline. But am I? Or is it merely my imagination? Either way, it’s distressing. Remember to breathe, Sophie. In, out. Slowly. Deliberately.
Our guide through this somewhat surreal experience is blind, yet we are the ones who fumble. Roles are reversed. She talks us through the room, using our first names frequently. Strong and safe, she encourages us to talk. Talking is important. Sound is important.
I find a wall to follow (and hold on to), and begin to feel my way around. Along the wall are boxes, crates. A delicious aroma wafts through the air. Sticking my hands in a box, I grasp a few coffee beans and bring them up to my nose. Just to be sure. Nothing scary so far. I pick up vegetables and fruits, using my remaining senses to identify each. To my dismay, I discover my other senses are sadly out of practice.
Moving into another room (so this is how a doorway feels…) we go for a walk in the park. What’s that tree? That flower? Can you smell what kind it is? I use my cane liberally, swinging it this way and that, hitting walls, hitting the others.
At first we’re all quiet, too busy exploring – and being slightly nervous. There’s the occasional ‘I’m sorry’, ‘oops’, and ‘is that you?’, as we bump into each other. After a while the involuntary touching becomes commonplace. Almost.
Next, we’re in the city, wandering along the pavement. Here’s a car. Can we guess which make? I feel the cold metal. The convertible roof cover. The familiar shape… it’s an old Citroën! I had an old Citroën; even have one now, though newer. For a minute, I feel at home. Almost.
Now, on to the scary bit. We’re about to cross the road: horns are blasting, cars whizz past, people mill about. I hear the guiding noise of a traffic light (chirp-chirp). A car comes to an abrupt halt, tyres screeching – or was I imaging that? Just me and the white cane now. No walls or railings. Nothing to hold on to as I step into the imaginary, but no less terrifying, traffic. Watch out! Mind the bus!
Safely on the other side, we walk towards the water, then climb aboard a boat. I’m used to boats, and normally jump onboard quite easily. Now I feel awkward and helpless as I’m guided down steps and onto the deck. Then we set sail. I lean back and feel the boat move across the surface, yielding to the movement of the waves. For a little while, the world is a relaxing place again.
Next, we lie down on the floor, also easier said than done: the mechanics of it, and also the uncertainty of what’s around you. For 10 minutes we concentrate our under-used other senses on everything around us. I smell dust, and I can hear the rain outside. Or is it a fan? Or something else entirely? It’s an exercise in trust, this whole experience. Trusting the guide, but above all, trusting your senses, your instincts.
At the very end, we feel our way to the bar, buy drinks (still in the dark) and sit down to chat about our experience and ask questions. Our guide tells us she had some sight until she was 35 – enough to bike from Hamburg to Amsterdam – and then, gradually over a three-year period, her sight disappeared completely.
I’ve been blind for an hour and a half. Sort of. A very important psychological element is missing: I know my blindness is only temporary. In a few minutes, I’ll be returning to light. To sight. And hopefully not take it for granted.
Disclosure: My blind experience in Hamburg was part of a collaborative campaign between Hamburg Tourism and Nordic Travel Bloggers. As ever and always, I retain the right to write whatever I want.
Wow! What an experience. I’ve also wanted to try the Blind Cafes to see what that experience would be like. I can’t imagine losing my sight. The things we take for granted….
So much to think about after this experience.
Hi Sophie. That would have been an eye opener (no pun intended!). I’ve worn glasses since I was about 9 years old, and I try not to think of what life would be like without my bad sight!
🙂
That is an interesting experiment and a real eye-opener. I’m not sure that it is one that I would willingly take part in though. Were you happy to become sighted again, or was it in some way comforting being in the dark?
Not comforting, I’d say – but certainly interesting, both the experience and my own reaction to it.
Sophie, what method or object was used to get you the blindness feeling? All you have described in here sounds very interesting. I have heard about places where you eat in the dark or where you are part of a show performed in the dark.
Only the complete darkness, really. But sounds and smells of life still happening around one.
An amazing experience you’ve had, Sophie. We all should try that hour and a half and then think about it every day we open our eyes! Great post.
Thanks, Jackie 🙂
Eye-opening and mind-boggling – or should that be brain scrambling? at the same time. Now, did you actually leave the room or were all those experiences simulated? We sighted rely so much on our vision, we ignore our other equally important senses.
I’m curious how you felt after, and how long it took to readjust.
Thanks for sharing this, Sophie.
It was set up in a series of rooms we walked through. But the traffic was simulated. Thankfully. Didn’t really take that long to readjust. A bit like hopping between two worlds.
Talk about a profound experience, though coming back into light after an hour and a half of pitch darkness must have killed your eyes!
Yes, a bit like driving out of a long tunnel.
This sounds like such an incredibly powerful experience. As you put it, it’s a real “eye-opener” that really seemed to give you a perspective on what it’s like to be blind. For the last few months of her life, my young sister lost her sight because of a brain tumor. She was bed-ridden at that point and didn’t have to deal with a lot of the practicalities of being blind, but I remember spending hours reading aloud to her or trying to describe what was going on in a movie or on the television that she couldn’t see. I have been feeling a bit pouty lately about my aging eyes and needing reading glasses, but then I realized that I simply needed to be thankful for what vision I do have.
Sorry to hear about your sister, Michele. I know what you mean, reading glasses annoy me, too – it’s so impractical. But really, it’s a bagatelle.
Excellent post and what a powerful experience it must have been! I would love to visit this place! There should be more places showing us what it means to be handicap.
Yes, I thought it was a very well thought-out place. Very evocative experience.
Spennende på mange vis – og fint å få vite om at slike steder eksisterer!