The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Berlin
As Harlequins were playing at Twickenham (big Stoop)
on the afternoon of December 27, and we were flying to Berlin from Heathrow, it
made sense to stay overnight in the vicinity of the airport.
Harlequins unfortunately lost the game, but we were
present in the world’s largest ever crowd size for a club match.
Our hotel was a 15 minute drive from the airport
and we needed to call the valet parking chaps when we were 20 minutes away. So
we called them before we left and were duly met at the appointed place.
Having left the hotel before breakfast was served;
we went in search of food in the airport, once we had been processed through
check in and security.
The breakfast venue proudly advertised that it
could do breakfast in 15 minutes if you were in a hurry. It seemed odd that it
may take longer than 15 minutes to bring a cooked breakfast to you, and also
odd – given the location – that they may have customers with all the time in
the world.
Before long we were aboard the plane – where we
were given breakfast. Admittedly it was only a bacon and egg bap with orange
juice and lukewarm coffee. And it took longer than 15 minutes to be served. But I suppose by then we were no longer in a hurry.
As we had done the necessary research beforehand we
knew that there was a good bus service into town from the airport, at a
fraction of the cost of a taxi. So on
arrival we headed for the appropriate bus. There was a ticket machine, and even
though there was an English option we were slightly beaten by it as referred to
zones. We had no idea what zone we were going to – or what zone we were
currently in, for that matter. So we bought tickets from the man instead and
boarded the bus.
They use a system similar to that in Italy, whereby
you have to validate the tickets before using the bus/train/metro and they are then valid for a specified period of time. We stamped
the tickets in the machine on the bus, and stood in the luggage area with our
suitcase for the journey into town.
The driver was a little bit eager on the brake
pedal and at one point he managed to launch all of the luggage, all standing
passengers and a good few seated passengers a few feet forward with unexpected
ferocity, which was a little unnerving.
We passed the Brandenburg gate and went along Unter den
Linden to the bus stop we needed. Keen to dump the luggage, we headed straight
for the hotel, but not before taking a picture of curious site of Marienkirche
(one of the oldest remaining buildings in Berlin) dwarfed by the new and outer
worldly looking TV tower. We were also amused to see the green man on the pedestrian crossing lights
wore a hat.
Husband had been using Google earth before we left
to see what the hotel looked like. The pictures from various angles had been
updated as different times. In one picture, there was a nice modern hotel. In
another, there was a large building site. After a momentary panic, a check of
the dates indicated that the hotel did exist and had not been recently razed to
the ground.
We checked in, tried to figure out how to turn up
the heating in the room, and ventured out for an explore of the local vicinity.
Our hotel was in Rosenthaler Strasse in the former
East Berlin. There was a cold functionality
to the plain concrete buildings, many of which still bore visible pock marks
from war time bullets. The weather outside was clear and bright, but with a
chilling wind. We walked to Grosse Hamburger Strasse to find the stark memorial
to Jewish families who had been deported. The mournful statues were small, but
gaunt and their hollow eyes stared straight at you. 55,000 Jews had been deported from the
building which once stood here. It had been a Jewish old people’s home, with a
cemetery at the back. The Nazis used it as a detention centre for deportees and
removed the cemetery, using it instead as an exercise ground. The building has gone and the cemetery is now
a garden, sombre and overshadowed by trees.
It was surrounded by buildings. Anyone who lived in
the vicinity at the time would have had some idea of what was going on.
We wandered down Orienburger Strasse and saw the
Neue synagogue which was a blaze of golden glory in the late afternoon winter
sun. Berlin’s Jewish community is largely based in this area – given the
proximity of the former old people’s home, this had always been the hub of the
Jewish community. After the war, they simply came back. The synagogue was
Moorish-Byzantine style, built between 1859 and 1866. A German police chief
saved it from being burnt down in the 1930’s by successfully pleading that it
was a national monument. It was ransacked, and finished off by an Allied bomb
in 1943, lying in ruins until 1988 when restoration work began.
Opposite the synagogue was an un-prepossessing, almost forbidding
building that appeared to be a bar. In the interests of warming up, we went in
for a drink.
The contrast inside was incredible – it felt like a
student underground bar, ochre coloured walls, trestle tables and imaginative
artwork. We asked for a couple of beers, and the waitress said she would bring
us a menu as there were over 120.
We worked our way through a couple of bottles each,
including one rather amusingly called Duff beer and took the opportunity
to have some warming food – which included an extremely delicious potato soup and chicken
stew.
Warm and replete, we put back on our many layers of
clothing and emerged again into the chilly evening air.
There were frequent, unexpected large open spaces
in the city. It had clearly been bombed to bits in the war and never fully
recovered while part of the Eastern bloc, and post 1989 regeneration seemed slow. The fact that the synagogue had lain in a state of ruins for so many
years – neither built nor removed – was testament to the lack of investment and
interest from the post war Eastern GDR.
There was now some evidence of extensive regeneration
being underway in a haphazard way – and the more commercial streets had obviously made significant
progression since the wall fell. But the over-riding feeling was of a fledgling
city rather than a place which has stood here since the 13th century. Away from the main streets there was a
communist feel and a distinct impression that they hadn’t really grasped
capitalism as there was minimal signage and advertising outside the various
shops and restaurants – nothing to entice you in or even let you know that the
businesses existed.
Further down the road we saw what appeared to be a
derelict and heavily graphitised building. But there seemed to be people going
in and out of it, and so we went in.
A staircase gently climbed around the edge of a central atrium. There was graffiti everywhere.
Through broken windows from the stairs we could see into a makeshift campsite below, tents and dim lights from fires. On each floor of the building artists had set themselves up with studios and exhibitions. It was the art of a troubled nation – hard hitting, aggressive, oppressive. This was Galerie Tacheles. The building had originally been a Jewish owned department store, but was in financial ruin before the First World War. Permanently under threat of demolition, it persists and survives. Like so much of Berlin, and it’s people.
A staircase gently climbed around the edge of a central atrium. There was graffiti everywhere.
Through broken windows from the stairs we could see into a makeshift campsite below, tents and dim lights from fires. On each floor of the building artists had set themselves up with studios and exhibitions. It was the art of a troubled nation – hard hitting, aggressive, oppressive. This was Galerie Tacheles. The building had originally been a Jewish owned department store, but was in financial ruin before the First World War. Permanently under threat of demolition, it persists and survives. Like so much of Berlin, and it’s people.
Again feeling the need to warm up, we went in
search of a bar and found a fantastic venue just off Friedrichstrasse. The menu
rather fabulously referred to ‘a spoonful of warm’ and pudding came under the
heading of ‘something more’. We had dinner of pork, apple and boiled potatoes.
This appeared to be the staple diet of Berlin – it might be dressed up in
slightly different ways, but the underlying ingredients would involve these
three items. My warm alcoholic drink afterwards also had bits of apple floating
in it.
We walked down to Unter den Linden (which takes its
name from the avenue of linden trees). The wide road had a central pedestrian
areas with linden trees on either side. Each tree had been adorned with lights
along its trunk and branches, so that the street looked like an avenue of
glowing trees, running all the way down to the Brandenburg gate. It was an
amazing sight, and a sharp contrast to other areas of the city. The guide book
assured us that was nice to stroll down, but less so into the teeth
of a biting easterly wind in mid winter. Before the wall came down, this was
the road to nowhere, becoming a dead end at Brandenburg gate.
We passed a small tent selling gluwein, and
indulged in a mug each. They have a system whereby you pay a deposit for the
mug, which is returned when you bring the mug back. For a moment we considered
whether the mugs were interesting enough to keep – but decided against it.
We walked back to the hotel through the eerily
empty and dimly lit museum island, past the dark and imposing Berliner Dom. The
Dom had been floodlit but this only served to make its grimy stonework even
more ghostly. Just off the main road, it was silent and traffic free. There was
minimal street lighting and only the sound of our feet click clacking along the
road. Occasionally another person would scurry past or there would be the
sudden whoosh of a bicycle.
Back at the hotel the room was still freezing. Our
attempt with the air conditioning hadn’t had much effect.
The following day, after a hearty breakfast at the
hotel we set off for a long walk around the city. It was cloudy and cold. We
walked along the river Smee, with the biting wind in our faces and an ever
present threat of rain from the sky – which did momentarily come to fruition.
At Friedrichstrasse station there were more statues
in memory of deported families, bronze children standing with unnecessary
suitcases in hand, looking calm but frightened. It was a quiet acknowledgement
of what horrors the city had once seen.
Our walk more or less followed the line of the
wall. We went along the river towards the Reichstag. Atop the Reichstag was
the Sir Norman Foster glass dome, and we could see people walking around inside
it. I was surprised by the huge space in front of it, a large, empty, bleak, semi grassed
area.
Across the river, in what had formerly been the
East, were large, modern office buildings. This part of the river had been the
site of a filmed escape attempt on 21 August 1988 when 2 men and 2 women broke
past the border guards and dived into the river. The river belonged to the
East, so Westerners could only stand on the banks and watch, helplessly, as GDR
guards pursued them. All 4 made it to the West.
Not far from the Reichstag was a small, understated
memorial to those who had died trying to cross the border. A sign there
indicated that the red government had frequently attempted to remove this
memorial. It wasn’t clear which government they were referring to.
A little further on was the Brandenburg gate,
surrounded by a stage and fun fair set up for the New Years eve celebrations. Previously
the western entrance into the city, it is the only survivor of 18 gates that
used to surround the city. On the Eastern side of the gate, in Parisier Platz
men dressed up as Russian and US soldiers posed with tourists in front of the
gate in acknowledgement of the liberty these forces brought – and temporarily
skimming over the details of the mistreatment of Berliners at the hands of the
Russian forces as well as the subsequent communist oppression from the East.
Darth Vada also posed in front of the gate with tourists, but I was less clear
about how he fitted in with Berlin history, or indeed whether he represented
the force of good or evil. From the tourist office at Brandenburg gate we
bought a fridge magnet with a piece of concrete on it that suggested it was
part of the former Wall.
Parisier Platz had once been framed by baroque town
palaces which were destroyed in the Second World War. What was left was pulled
down by the GDR to keep a clear space near the wall. Now the area was again
filled with buildings. The American embassy was based here as well as a number
of large hotels.
Just beyond the Brandenburg gate was the memorial for
the murdered Jews of Europe (inaugurated in 2005) - a huge undulating area
covered with 2711 grey concrete blocks of varying heights, ordered into rows.
We walked among blocks 2 to 3 feet high, and then suddenly would be plunged into a forest of blocks towering 20 foot high, where it was very easy to lose each other. It was unclear what the blocks were intended to represent and if anything they
inspired a sense of fun and encouraged games of hide and seek, rather than
making you think about what had happened in our recent history.
The American architect had intended to create a maze of reflection. It was an acknowledgement of the awkward past, but other than existing, the memorial was barely referenced. No obvious signs indicated what it was. Apparently there was an underground information centre – but there were no clear directions or encouragement to this. It came across as a sheepish, slightly embarrassed memorial. But it made good use of huge expanse of wasteland that had recently existed here. This area had once been a shoot to kill zone next to the wall, lined with barbed wire and overlooked by zealous border patrol guards in watchtowers.
The American architect had intended to create a maze of reflection. It was an acknowledgement of the awkward past, but other than existing, the memorial was barely referenced. No obvious signs indicated what it was. Apparently there was an underground information centre – but there were no clear directions or encouragement to this. It came across as a sheepish, slightly embarrassed memorial. But it made good use of huge expanse of wasteland that had recently existed here. This area had once been a shoot to kill zone next to the wall, lined with barbed wire and overlooked by zealous border patrol guards in watchtowers.
It was hard to know the reason for siting the
holocaust memorial where it stood, and whether there was any intention for this
to be next to the site of Hitler’s bunker and his eventual suicide. Again, the
awkward embarrassment of the city meant that the presence of the bunker was not
advertised at all. We only knew of it because it was marked on our guide maps.
Now there were relatively modern looking office buildings on either side of the
road, constructed recently on the post war waste land that had existed near the
wall.
There was some acknowledgement of this part of the
history of Berlin. A small display of photographs from the watchtowers ran
along part of the street, showing the area where we now stood – in the middle
of the former death strip, which was then a huge expanse of empty nothingness.
Looking around, it was hard to believe. Now there were offices, hotels, and a
road – along which a line of trabants was driving. Admittedly the current
buildings seemed haphazard, out of place and erratically planned. It was as
though building work had been undertaken quickly in a desire to fill this space
with something and blot out the memory of what had once been there.
East Berliners hadn’t seen the wall until it came
down. There was a further wall and various lines of defence over the east in an
attempt to keep people as far away from the border as possible. West Berliners,
by contrast, could go right up to the wall – and covered it with graffiti. As
the wall was constructed one or two metres into the Eastern side,
border guards would go out at night to paint over the graffiti – and still be
within their side of the border. Eventually they gave up, unable to keep pace
with the West’s outburst of feelings.
Near Potsdamer Platz was a small triangle of land –
the Lenne triangle - that technically belonged to the East, but lay outside the
Wall. It was the site of an amusing altercation between youths and police. The youths
erected a commune and every time there was a scrap, they would run to the
triangle where the West Berlin police could not follow them. An exchange of
territory was agreed in March 1988 at which point 900 police moved in. Over 200
squatters escaped arrest by jumping over the Wall to the East. This was not a surprise to
the GDR who had been watching events unfurl and who simply rounded them up, gave them breakfast and drove them back to West
Berlin through various border crossing points.
At Potsdamer Platz there were a few sections of
wall displayed, along with information boards. Rather than graffiti, people now
stuck chewing gum to the wall, giving it a curious multi-coloured textured
look.
When the wall came down protestors had sat on the
Potsdamer Platz part, keen that part of the wall should remain as a reminder
and memorial, rather than being completely obliterated. Their feelings were
overruled and there are very few places where you can see the wall. You can
walk around much of its former site, and not even know that it had been there.
Potsdamer Platz is one such place. Before the wall,
it had been a busy hub of Berlin life. Once the wall was built, it became a
huge expanse of nothingness, with the forlorn station looking odd and out of
place all on its own in the middle. The station itself was closed. Like a
number of stations in East Berlin, trains from the West ran through them but
didn’t stop. The stations were patrolled by guards to avoid escape attempts,
and seemed to have stood still in time, with the posters and adverts put up in
the 1960’s still visible.
Berlin’s challenge to become the unofficial capital
of Europe began at Potsdamer Platz in 1993 with a building project on a larger
scale than London’s Docklands. In strong contrast to the surrounding area, this
plan saw construction by Sony and Daimler-Benz, transforming it from a barren
piece of no man’s land to a shiny new commercial district.
The large, impressive steel and glass Sony Centre building
dominates the Platz. In need of warmth and food, we went inside, in search of
lunch. To start we had goulash soup and soup with liver dumplings, which really
taste very livery indeed. We shared sausages and sauerkraut and for pudding I
went for the almost obligatory apple strudel while Husband went for germknodel
(yeast dumpling). It showed up looking like a huge steam pudding, covered in
custard and jam and was remarkably delicious.
After lunch we wandered around the market in the
Platz, and bought furry hats that had flaps for keeping your ears warm. The
wind was still cold and beneath our feet you could feel the rumble of the
underground.
To the south east of Potsdamer Platz are the remaining
fragments of the ruined entrance arches of Anhalter Bahnhof terminus, once one
of Berlin’s busiest stations. Where the railway lines had once been there were
now tennis courts. Next to the station was a board with details of the
deportees that had been taken to extermination camps from this station – times,
dates, and numbers of people.
The ruin stood forlornly in otherwise unused land,
part car park, part pedestrianised gravel area. Despite the massive
redevelopment boom seen in Berlin (£103billion invested up until 2005, along
with the removal of 6 million tonnes of excavated earth and 200,000 tonnes of
rubble and debris) there were still significant numbers of large open, unused
spaces which seemed odd in a modern day European capital city. It brought into
sharp focus how long it took for a city to bounce back.
We headed back towards Stresemannstrasse where the
Third Reich headquarters of the Gestapo, SS and Nazi security services once
stood. This was now where a remaining 100m of Wall remained alongside the
Topography of the Terrors exhibition.
There are only a few surviving parts of the wall
that kept the city divided the city for nearly 30 years. It had been put up,
quickly, efficiently and unexpectedly on the night of 12 August 1961.
A concrete wall soon replaced the temporary barricades, and over time East Berliners were moved further and further back from the border, while large open clear zones, overseen by lookout posts, were installed. Anyone in these zones would be shot. 190 people lost their lives trying to escape.
A concrete wall soon replaced the temporary barricades, and over time East Berliners were moved further and further back from the border, while large open clear zones, overseen by lookout posts, were installed. Anyone in these zones would be shot. 190 people lost their lives trying to escape.
A little further along was checkpoint Charlie.
Nothing original remained. Even the sign warning you that you were leaving (or
entering) the American sector was a replica. The site was now horribly
commercialised and again had Germans dressed as US soldiers posing with members
of the public for photos. A line of unnoticeable cobbles marked the site of the former Wall
and hoardings around checkpoint building sites had photos of feet, walking over this
cobbled line. The message seemed to be that now crossing this line was easy,
unchallenged and almost unnoticed. It was a quiet, but powerful message that
freedom to travel is taken for granted now.
With the light fading, and temperature dropping, we
headed back up towards Unter den Linden, and happened across cobbled
Gendarmenmarkt, adorned by a theatre and twin cathedrals. This was the site of
a fabulous Christmas market and we warmed ourselves with gluwein and rum. As
well as the various outside food, drink and goods stalls, there was a large
(and heated) indoor area which provided an excellent option for warming up
between wandering. We managed to get a seat in the indoor bar area and enjoy
the evening, with a good view of the stage and varied range of entertainment.
The shops inside the tented area had a fabulous
array of unique and original items, which included designer handbags,
photographs and pottery. I mention these things specifically as we bought
something from each of these stalls.
The atmosphere was fabulous, and seeing that they
were selling tickets for New Year’s Eve, we had no hesitation in buying a
couple. Our end of year arrangements were now sorted.
We made our way back towards the hotel via
Bebelplatz. This had been the site of the Nazi book burning in the 1930’s, but
it was partly closed off for building or restoration work, and it was too dark
to see much.
I was now starting to feel the effects of gluwein.
Not only was I a fraction drunk, but had a need to pee that could not be
prevented. So I crouched down between cars in the quiet, dimly lit museum
island. One person walked past in the distance, but I largely think that I got
away with it.
Having dumped the day’s purchases in the cold hotel
room we went out for dinner. As it had been a long day of walking, we wanted
something close by and stumbled across a small, busy Asian restaurant. The menu
worked on a tapas style basis and the food was sensationally good. We had
noticed that Berlin has a lot of Asian style cuisine, but no Indian restaurants
at all. We never did establish why.
When we woke up the following morning I looked
outside and it was snowing. Husband grabbed the camera take a picture in case
it stopped – at that point we noticed the window was open. And possibly had
been open the whole time. This might explain the coolness in our room.
We had decided to venture West that day, and walked
through the gently falling snow to Friedrichstrasse station. This had once been
on the border and the Wall ran between two platforms. Visitors from the West
were disorientated by the maze of corridors and customs channels. Now it was
just an ordinary station which gave no clues to its former oppressive, closely
monitored past.
We forgot to validate our train tickets, which
obviously was bad. But as we weren’t caught out it did at least mean that we
could use the tickets on a later journey.
West Berlin felt different. The sense of former division was less clear and the architectural
styles differed. Having also suffered significant bomb damage in the war, it
the buildings were primarily modern, post war structures. And it was hugely
commercial. Neon lights, designer shops, massive hotels. Berlin really does
have a Hotel California. We did happen across an Olbrisch handbag shop – which
was a mistake as I left with two beautiful not inexpensive bags.
We paused for a coffee in a atmospheric coffee shop
before visiting the erotic museum. The museum contained an extensive range of
artwork as well as a surprisingly tasteful display of various dildos, Asian
fertility charms and sexual sculptures. One series of Japanese drawings – a
nation that has produced some very graphic pictures – a man and woman indulged
in various crazy forms or sexual contact. In one picture the man sat there
looking in a bereft way at the penis lying on the ground in front of him having
been snapped off. There was a massage film which we watched for a while – and
which appeared to excite Husband.
We took a train back towards the Zoo and walked
through the Tiergarten towards the East. There appeared to be some sort of
incident as a significant number of policemen and police cars had gathered, but
we couldn’t ascertain what had happened. We continued our walk among the trees
and lakes of the park which had formerly been a royal hunting ground. A road
runs through the middle of park, to Brandenburg gate. Part way along this road,
in the middle of a roundabout is the
Schloss Bellevue.
It had previously stood in front of the Reichstag, which would have made more sense of the extensive area of nothing which now surrounded the government building. We went through the underpass to the tower and joined the queue to climb it. As the light was fading, we decided to go straight up and come back to look at the museum later. It was a quick, and exhausting climb and we emerged out of the top, into rain. We could see a across the city, and the huge screens further along the road which were getting ready for the new year celebrations.
It had previously stood in front of the Reichstag, which would have made more sense of the extensive area of nothing which now surrounded the government building. We went through the underpass to the tower and joined the queue to climb it. As the light was fading, we decided to go straight up and come back to look at the museum later. It was a quick, and exhausting climb and we emerged out of the top, into rain. We could see a across the city, and the huge screens further along the road which were getting ready for the new year celebrations.
We climbed back down and after perusing the museum,
headed towards Brandenburg Gate. The road was already closed in advance of the
forthcoming celebrations, bands were practising and laser lights were shining
from the gate and the Ferris wheel next to it. We bought sausage and gluwein
and ambled on, through the crowds which thickened the nearer we got to the
Gate. Occasionally we appeared on the large TV screens as camera men practised
their skills and zoomed right in on certain areas. Passing a cluster of
portaloos, and feeling the need, we made use of the facilities. They were
unisex inasmuch as they contained a loo as well as a urinal. In the one that Husband
went into, someone had had a crap in the urinal. This didn’t bode well for the
state they would be in once New Year celebrations got into full swing! In case
anyone hadn’t known what the portaloos were for, helpfully the ladies and gents symbols on the outside were of
people standing cross legged, clearly in need of a pee.
We went for dinner in a fantastic restaurant in the
arches underneath Friedrichstrasse station and could hear the rumble of trains
above our heads all evening. It was a wonderfully dark, busy and atmospheric
place, with a coach suspended from the ceiling. Dinner for me consisted of
pork, without apple, and potatoes. Husband had a huge meat fest of bacon,
gammon, pork, chicken and steak. Apple reappeared for dessert which consisted
of apple slices baked in beer dough.
The following morning we went to museum island. All
the museums charged for entry and as we couldn’t necessarily devote appropriate
time in them to validate the fee, we decided against visiting them.
Berliner Dom also charged. Rather annoyingly we saw that there had been a Bach concert in there the previous evening, which would most likely have been an interesting experience – as well as a way of seeing inside the cathedral.
Berliner Dom also charged. Rather annoyingly we saw that there had been a Bach concert in there the previous evening, which would most likely have been an interesting experience – as well as a way of seeing inside the cathedral.
I had wanted to see Bebelplatz by day, and on our
way there we past the Neue Wache. It had been a World War 1 memorial and became
the GDR’s monument to the victims of fascism and militarism. In GDR times there
had been an hourly change of goose stepping guard. Now it housed an enlarged
version of Kather Kollwitz’s sculpture of a mother with her dead son. Like the
Pantheon in Rome, the domed roof was open to the sky at the top. Beneath that
opening, in the large, single room, was the sculpture. And nothing else.
Displayed like that gave it huge emotional impact.
We went on to Bebelplatz and looked through the
glass viewing panels on the ground outside the university library to the
symbolic empty book shelves beneath. Rather ironically, there was now a second
hand bookstall set up in the square.
Our intention was to head towards Nikolaiviertel.
We went into Ste Hedwig’s cathedral on the way which was a curious round
church, having a different shape on the inside to how it appeared on the
outside. In the centre of the church were steps going down to a rounded lower
level. We then visited a large red brick church which was being used to display
a large range of statues.
The Nikolai quarter was small and traffic free. Its
narrow, winding cobbled streets were lined with boutiques, cafes and bars. This
medieval quarter, however, had been entirely rebuilt in a surprising piece of
GDR initiative to restore character to an area that had been flattened in 1944.
One of the buildings faithfully reconstructed is the Zum Nussbaum 16th century tavern – where we enjoyed a couple of drinks. Most of the other buildings are constructed from the prefabricated concrete blocks that went into most GDR buildings. Initially the area looks old and quaintly medieval, but on closer inspection, the concrete structure is clearly visible.
One of the buildings faithfully reconstructed is the Zum Nussbaum 16th century tavern – where we enjoyed a couple of drinks. Most of the other buildings are constructed from the prefabricated concrete blocks that went into most GDR buildings. Initially the area looks old and quaintly medieval, but on closer inspection, the concrete structure is clearly visible.
The twin spired Nikolaikirche had been restored
rather than rebuilt. The only genuinely old building is the Knoblauchhaus – or
garlic house. Completed in 1759 it miraculously survived World War II. We
foraged for lunch and decided on an underground restaurant on the edge of the
quarter, where I finally went for stuffed giant cabbage. And they weren’t
joking. It was huge, stuffed with some
form of mince.
Having lunched, we made for the Hanf museum, or
hemp museum, which tells the history of hemp cultivation. Our intention had
been to visit the café where you could try hemp cakes. Unfortunately it had
shut early as it was New Year’s Eve.
Beyond the replica medieval district is the
Stadmauer – the remnants of the medieval wall that had encircled the city, Berlin' s other, less controversial, wall.
On our way there we passed the large red bricked Alte Stadthaus (old town hall) and neo baroque exterior of the Stadtgericht (court house). This was also now closed so we were unable to go inside and see the art nouveau staircases that weave their way through the centre of the building.
On our way there we passed the large red bricked Alte Stadthaus (old town hall) and neo baroque exterior of the Stadtgericht (court house). This was also now closed so we were unable to go inside and see the art nouveau staircases that weave their way through the centre of the building.
We wandered through Franziskaner Klosterkirche, a
red brick ruined Franciscan abbey church. It was a scene of tranquillity,
surrounded by greenery and birdsong, a 13th ruin in the shadow of
the modern TV tower. It had been blown up by an allied forces landmine in 1945.
Next to the 13th century Berlin wall was
Zur Letzten Instanz, apparently Berlin’s oldest pub with the building dating
from 1621. We went inside – it didn’t seem old. Either inside or out. We didn’t
even bother to stop for a beer.
We decided to head back to the hotel and ready
ourselves for the evening out. We crossed over the huge, slightly overgrown concrete
wasteland opposite Rotes Rathaus, towards Marienkirche.
People were playing in the empty fountains and a party atmosphere was growing. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The light was starting to fade and fireworks were already being set off. There was now a regular background sound of explosions.
People were playing in the empty fountains and a party atmosphere was growing. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The light was starting to fade and fireworks were already being set off. There was now a regular background sound of explosions.
Marienkirche is the oldest parish church in Berlin,
the nave dating from around 1270. Only the front part of the church is
original, with the back part being a later edition in the 1700’s. In the medieval
part was the faint Dance of Death frieze.
At the hotel I went to the loo before we went out
where the giant cabbage exploded out of me, and then, wrapped up warmly, we set
off for Gendarmenmarkt.
The evening there was fabulous. We ambled around the
multitude of stalls and watched the entertainment on the stage – but anything
which involved words was beyond us as we had no idea what they were saying. We
feasted on an array of flavours – roasted nuts, freshly baked pizza from a wood
burning oven, sausages, and of course gallons of gluwein.
Whenever the cold became too much we went into the
large marquee to wander the shops and warm up. The bar in there was now
becoming full and there were no seats available. The clear plastic roof allowed
a view of the sky and the fireworks that were being set off around the city. The
steady stream of fireworks hadn’t stopped since that afternoon.
As midnight approached we counted down from 10 in
German – hesitantly, and supped on a glass of champagne as our firework display
began. It was a lengthy, stunning, amazing demonstration of fireworks and I can
no other displays that have been so impressive – helped by the fact that all
around, other fireworks were going off. The sky was filled with colour and
bangs, followed by the distinctive smell of gunpowder. In England, Big Ben signals the start of new year celebrations. Here, each party decides for itself when the appointed hour arose. So firework displays started up at regular intervals over a 10-15 minute period.
Unlike in the UK, midnight signals the start of the
party and not the end. Also, there is no ridiculous Auld Lang Syne sing song. There
was a ho ho ho song though – the ho ho ho part being the only bit we could join
in with gusto as the rest was in German. So once the champagne was drunk, the
songs sung and the fireworks spent, we returned to the bar to continue our
evening.
At 3am we decided to call it day – after all we
needed to be up reasonably early the following morning to get our flight home.
In theory it was already reasonably early the following morning!
Having been safely ensconced in our crowd
controlled market area, we now witnessed the carnage that had taken place in
the streets. The city was clouded in a firework induced fog. Fireworks were
still being set off. Unter den Linden was a dual carriageway road which had not
been closed. Yet the road was filled with bottles, glasses, rocket sticks and
soggy paper from paper bombs. Cars now driving along would try to dodge these
but occasionally hit stray bottles as they passed. Every part of the road and
pavement was covered in debris.
The following morning, we packed up and headed off
to the bus stop – where we would use our un validated tickets from a couple of
days earlier. A street cleaner was sullenly going through the thankless task of
trying to clear up from the previous night. He shuffled along the pavement,
smashing any bottles that weren’t already broken. We did wonder whether it
would have been easier just to pick them up rather than giving himself a lot of
broken glass to sweep. He would do this for a bit, then wander 10 metres along
the pavement, and randomly start this process again. By the time the bus came,
he hadn’t noticeably cleared anything at all.
Despite being new
year’s day, there was a regular and punctual bus service which carried
us off to the airport, along with large number of other airport destined
individuals – all of us sitting there in post party solitude as the bus wend
its way through the never ending debris.
NOTES
The above is a true story. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.
