Roasting Goat at the Airport

I smelled it before I saw it.

God, I smell bad. What poison was my body purging as I sweat out my last-night clubbing excesses.

My favourite place to take long runs is Tempelhof Airfield, the former city airport garrisoned by the US air-force during the Cold War. It is now a park (you can read about it in this blog post). It is 6km once around the massive airfield, and is still studded with vintage signage for yesteryear pilots. I was nearing the 5km mark when I almost careened into the goat skewered and roasting on a spit.

I am used to families, often Germans of Turkish background, grilling their meat in the open air. I was surprised, however, to see something as carnal as a whole animal roasting on the former runway at 10am on a Monday. It was conveniently located close enough to the dumpsters for me to wonder about hygiene, burning plastic and reek of garbage. But, no matter. The animal was almost cooked, its head shriveled, the articulation of its leg muscles, well, too fine and articulate for my speechless, gasping and hungover lack of endurance.

‘May I take a picture?’ I ask the two women, there to tend the fire, lounging in conversation on the lawn.

One looks up at sweaty me.

She wrinkles her nose.