Berlin

There are certain stereotypes about German people that are turning out to be based at least partly on fact. A lot of Germans really do wear socks with sandals. They seem to love dogs. They favor ugly hairstyles (if not the mullet, than some kind of Flock of Seagulls concoction). They drink more the average population. In fact, glugging beer or wine on public transport is actually quite common. Yesterday, we saw a man with a beer stuffed in every pocket, plus the ones he was carrying. He was gearing up for the big Euro Cup game that the entire city was in a frenzy for. We could see the city descend into madness/inebriation as the day wore on. We spent the game ensconced in our room at the hippie commune as Germany won and people “blew stuff up real good” outside.

            Where as I now, however? I’m on a train to Bratislava, a long train that will allow me to catch up. Not that it was easy getting on this thing. We had an early journey (6:45), and we got here with plenty of time to spare. Kyle had tried to purchase something to eat for breakfast the previous night from a vending machine, for the main thing they seemed to sell were pregnancy tests, and those aren’t very breakfast-y. So we got breakfast from the station (he: chocolate muffin, I: fruit cup).

            The train was delayed for 15 minutes. Okay. Whatever. Then the train was delayed for 30 minutes. Then 45. We began having PTSD flashbacks to our hassles at the airports. We bought chocolate donuts to soothe ourselves. Our conversation resulted in observations such as, “Technical Damage to the Train sounds like a band name. Bur what kind of band?” “Maybe this is some sort of German social experiment and that’s what all the cameras are really for. They’re like, ‘Ah, after the third delay, they go get donuts.’”

            The train finally arrived and we found our reserved (yes, reserved seats in a cabin shared by a Japanese family. The little girl had a Spiderman doll and is eating a sandwich as big as her face. She keeps staring at Kyle.

            Guess that’s my cue to start writing about Berlin.

            We arrived 1 ½ days ago, and immediately bought our Bratislava tickets and began to figure out their underground system. Now, here is a stereotype about Germans that Berlin obfuscated: the train system is not the model of organized efficiency for which Germany has a reputation. The metro is slow, and not many trains run, which means long waits and crowded cars. Many lines run into different stations, and they seem to switch willy nilly. To make simple connections, you have to travel to distant platforms, up and down many stairs or across the street, as escalators are few and far between. Working escalators are even rarer. Unless this is some secret program for exercise and teaching patience, Berlin’s metro is pretty poorly managed. This may be an outsider’s perspective, but the locals seemed often frustrated as well.

            So, we began to slowly navigate our way through the metro system. Kyle bought gummi bears and peanut-flavored cheetos (Ann: Kyle, these taste like chemicals. Kyle: Mmm…chemicals) to fortify  himself.

            Using a mixture of subway and tram, we made it to the Sandino, the commune at which we’ll be staying. We were greeted by lanky Hippie Mike and he directs us to the “door.” (Oh, you mean this large piece of graffitied corrugated metal? Of course that’s a door.) He gave us a quick tour: the outdoor entertaining area/shed, the gardens, the chickens, the shared kitchen and bathroom (with large tub with a shower attachment. Hey, it’s better than the holocaust showers in Brussels). Our room has two single beds, a table, a small balcony, a large paisley rug, and spaceman posters decorating the walls. It’s quite acceptable, and I’m glad that I’m not one of the people in a tent in the backyard.

            Saying goodbye to Hippie Mike and the injured raven he’s nursing back to health, we set out to get a little sight-seeing in.

            First impressions of Berlin are that it’s cleaner and less, well, angry than Hamburg. People still tend to go for the practical rather than the fashionable. Berlin, as the capital, bustles, but doesn’t seem to be as frantic as, say, London or Hamburg can be.

            Our first evening there, we take it light and easy. We go and see Schloss Charlottonburg (a large, cream-colored palace), and walk the Kurfurstendam, a main road with a lot of luxury stores (think Gucci, Prada, etc.) that ends in a fountain in an area with more of a street fair feel. Scientologists try to get Kyle to have his thetans read, which I found hilarious.

            We looked around for the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, another bombed church that was supposed to be right there. We finally found a sign by its stained glass block supplemental building that the tower was undergoing extensive reconstruction as it had become unstable (being bombed and all). The glass structure that looked like an office building was actually scaffolding. So, oh well.

            We then started to discuss dinner. Kyle: Are we gonna get pig on a spit? Ann: Probably not. Kyle: Are we gonna get spit on a pig? Ann: Yes. That is where they bring out a pig and you get to spit on it. It’s very cheap.

            Instead, we end up getting street food again. Kyle eats another brat, and I get currywurst (which is sold everywhere here). I vow that tomorrow will not be street food.

            I eat my currywurst, which is a brat chopped up with a red sauce and bread to sop everything up. It is advertised as spicy, but isn’t at all. We watch a guy doing some lame skateboard tricks, then decide to go home as it had been raining off and on.

            The next day, having some of the best weather so far on this trip, we devoted ourselves to some serious whirlwind sight-seeing. We saw: Rotes Rathaus (the “red town hall”), Altes Stadthaus (instrumental in the time that Berlin was split), Berliner Dom (magnificent), Checkpoint Charlie (where I got my picture with bits of the Berlin Wall), the Nikolai Quarter (very charming little area surrounding a church), the Fernseturn (Berlin’s giant “T.V. antenna”), and the French and German Cathedrals. Kyle also saw what he called “the world’s largest punch bowl (actually, a big fountain).

            At this point, I wander off-track a little to see some impressive-looking museums. Outside of the history museum, there is an art fair that Kyle and I wander through. There. Some guys are running a “which box is the ball under?” operation, with some serious cash being gambled (think 50 euros a bet). Soon after, we have to get out of the way of one of the guys running down the length of the fair. “That guy’s running like the cops are after him,” thought Kyle. Sure enough, here come the police pulling up, quickly ending that little profitable operation.         

            We also saw Potsdamer Platz with its distinctive system of pink pipes, and walked down Unter den Linden, another main road with a lot of history (as well as shopping).

            Next on the list to see was the Reichstag (the German parliament) and the Jewish Memorial. This was a space filled with 2700 coffin-sized concrete blocks arranged on undulating ground. It was very, sa Kyle put it, “vast”, and more impressive than pictures can convey. And much better than the rejected ideas of a pool of blood, a giant oven, and a holocaust themed Ferris wheel. After this, we saw the Brandenburg Gate, which was surrounded by a party-like atmosphere for the day, with a giant screen for the soccer match that night. It had people dressed in costume (including “:Checkpoint Charlie” and Darth Vader) with which you could take a picture, as well as many food vendors (95% of which were brats).

            We walked the length between the Brandenburg Gate and the Victory Column (a long way, let me assure you), and decided to reward ourselves with some food. We found a restaurant that served traditional German fare. I got pig knuckle with potatoes and sauerkraut; Kyle got roast beef “like Mama make it”, which apparently means with pickles. Then I devoured a gigantic piece of pork, which seemed to glisten with a holy light to my famished mind. (Ann: I feel like I ate that like the Tasmanian Devil. Kyle: You did.)

            Afterward, we had one more place to see-Museum Island, which Kyle had marked in a place outside of the main part of Berlin. We took several metros out there and looked around, not finding anything resembling a museum. Taking out my handy guidebook, we discovered that Museum Island was that “sidetrack” I had engaged in earlier, and this park was…a park. “So…look at this beautiful park I brought you to!” said Kyle.

             We sat and watched some German communal boat singing on the waterway, before heading back to the metro to head for the hippie commune before the city descended completely into soccer madness.