Sherlock Holmes surprised by the Berlin Wall.
Some thirty years ago two friends and I decided to do something different for New Year’s Eve. I can’t remember why, but we lighted on Berlin. It turned out to be an inspired idea. From the vast recesses of our “ hotel” really a room in someone’s house, where the landlady tried to capitalise on our lack of German to charge us twice, to the wild explosion of fireworks ricocheting around us as the clock struck midnight, it was an intoxicating experience. As a history of art student I revelled in the museums, especially Die Brucke museum and Spandau Citadel both set in the lovely countryside of Berlin, I also felt the chill of fascism in the Olympic Stadium where Jesse Owen had trounced Hitler’s dreams while my friends dipped into the zoo and the shops. The most exciting part of the holiday however, was the day we confronted the reality that West Berlin was a speck in the middle of the FDR, by passing through passport control, under the wall and into East Berlin. The contrast between the two towns was stark, East Berlin was grey, with uninspiring blocks of flats and ancient neglected churches. It felt tranquil, but the bullet marks on buildings and the plaque commemorating Kristallnacht; when hundreds of synagogues were destroyed and thousands of Jews arrested were sombre and telling. But we enjoyed our incredibly cheap purchases in the frighteningly sparsely provisioned shops and our meal out before once again diving into the depths of the undergrounds past mothballed stations and back out into the vibrant west. None of us particularly liked the capitalist bragging in the Checkpoint Charlie museum but the real horror of the wall loomed over everything making for a fascinating and complex visit.
10 years on from the fall of the wall and with Ryanair offering return flights for less than £40 I decided it was time to come back and see what changes had taken place. Getting there took less than four hours; my hotel was very reasonable, with easy access to Schönefeld airport, and the centre of town. In the company of a friend who lives in Berlin I nipped around Turkish orientated markets, quaffed coffee in river side cafes, took in the Friedrichstrasse, climbed the bell tower of the Huguenot Franzosischer Dom, crossed the frozen Alexandraplatz, where Engels and Marx gaze over the vast white expanse and chatted with what we took for Chinese tourists taking photos of their Communist Gods, who turned out to be from Frankfurt. We then took the train over to the Tiergarten, walked through the Government buildings where we gained free and easy access to the Reichstag, with its surreal frozen views of Berlin, passed through the Brandenburg Gate, and finally rushed along to the Mies Van De Rohe designed art gallery. We took the train down to my friends neighbourhood to visit his huge, reasonably priced old Berlin apartment and stylish local modern shopping centre, bought wonderful cheese cake, and then headed back into town to a pub called the Arcanoa where the bar has a little stream running through it, live music, people dressed in Middle Ages costumes, and where I tried a lovely sour cherry flavoured local drink called Kiba before happily heading back through the snow to my hotel.
I only had two days which is not enough but I bought a pass that covered all forms of transport and all parts of the town that only cost 16.90 Euros and as ever when in Germany I found the town attractive and easy to navigate around. It felt strange on the Unter Den Linden to recognise places from my past trip, places that had once been part of two towns, that now seamlessly fit into a reconstituted whole. Bits of the wall remain, but if you did not know the history of Berlin it might seem like any Northern European capital, cultured and charming. But Germany has decided to acknowledge its darkest past. Next to the Reichstag in the heart of the Government centre of town, a forest of plain grey slabs mourn the dead of the holocaust. My friend hates it, feeling it overshadows the long and in many ways distinguished history of Germany. He prefers the small, local and personal memorials that are placed in the streets outside the properties where the “lost” families once lived, but I found it moving and vital; the accompanying museum brings to life some of the vibrant Jewish culture that once enhanced Europe but that was tragically and senselessly wiped out by the residents of the Government building that lies beneath the memorial.
Complex as ever, Berlin remains the perfect place for a rewarding visit.
Some thirty years ago two friends and I decided to do something different for New Year’s Eve. I can’t remember why, but we lighted on Berlin. It turned out to be an inspired idea. From the vast recesses of our “ hotel” really a room in someone’s house, where the landlady tried to capitalise on our lack of German to charge us twice, to the wild explosion of fireworks ricocheting around us as the clock struck midnight, it was an intoxicating experience. As a history of art student I revelled in the museums, especially Die Brucke museum and Spandau Citadel both set in the lovely countryside of Berlin, I also felt the chill of fascism in the Olympic Stadium where Jesse Owen had trounced Hitler’s dreams while my friends dipped into the zoo and the shops. The most exciting part of the holiday however, was the day we confronted the reality that West Berlin was a speck in the middle of the FDR, by passing through passport control, under the wall and into East Berlin. The contrast between the two towns was stark, East Berlin was grey, with uninspiring blocks of flats and ancient neglected churches. It felt tranquil, but the bullet marks on buildings and the plaque commemorating Kristallnacht; when hundreds of synagogues were destroyed and thousands of Jews arrested were sombre and telling. But we enjoyed our incredibly cheap purchases in the frighteningly sparsely provisioned shops and our meal out before once again diving into the depths of the undergrounds past mothballed stations and back out into the vibrant west. None of us particularly liked the capitalist bragging in the Checkpoint Charlie museum but the real horror of the wall loomed over everything making for a fascinating and complex visit.
10 years on from the fall of the wall and with Ryanair offering return flights for less than £40 I decided it was time to come back and see what changes had taken place. Getting there took less than four hours; my hotel was very reasonable, with easy access to Schönefeld airport, and the centre of town. In the company of a friend who lives in Berlin I nipped around Turkish orientated markets, quaffed coffee in river side cafes, took in the Friedrichstrasse, climbed the bell tower of the Huguenot Franzosischer Dom, crossed the frozen Alexandraplatz, where Engels and Marx gaze over the vast white expanse and chatted with what we took for Chinese tourists taking photos of their Communist Gods, who turned out to be from Frankfurt. We then took the train over to the Tiergarten, walked through the Government buildings where we gained free and easy access to the Reichstag, with its surreal frozen views of Berlin, passed through the Brandenburg Gate, and finally rushed along to the Mies Van De Rohe designed art gallery. We took the train down to my friends neighbourhood to visit his huge, reasonably priced old Berlin apartment and stylish local modern shopping centre, bought wonderful cheese cake, and then headed back into town to a pub called the Arcanoa where the bar has a little stream running through it, live music, people dressed in Middle Ages costumes, and where I tried a lovely sour cherry flavoured local drink called Kiba before happily heading back through the snow to my hotel.
I only had two days which is not enough but I bought a pass that covered all forms of transport and all parts of the town that only cost 16.90 Euros and as ever when in Germany I found the town attractive and easy to navigate around. It felt strange on the Unter Den Linden to recognise places from my past trip, places that had once been part of two towns, that now seamlessly fit into a reconstituted whole. Bits of the wall remain, but if you did not know the history of Berlin it might seem like any Northern European capital, cultured and charming. But Germany has decided to acknowledge its darkest past. Next to the Reichstag in the heart of the Government centre of town, a forest of plain grey slabs mourn the dead of the holocaust. My friend hates it, feeling it overshadows the long and in many ways distinguished history of Germany. He prefers the small, local and personal memorials that are placed in the streets outside the properties where the “lost” families once lived, but I found it moving and vital; the accompanying museum brings to life some of the vibrant Jewish culture that once enhanced Europe but that was tragically and senselessly wiped out by the residents of the Government building that lies beneath the memorial.
Complex as ever, Berlin remains the perfect place for a rewarding visit.
