Day 10 - Berlin

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Day 10

“Achtung!!”

“YOU vill get up and you vill get up NOW!!”

“Achtung!! Achtung!!”

Ahh…the melodic sounds of a German alarm clock. Like a good Kraut, I obediently opened my eyes to the bellow of a hoarse campground kommander at 7AM but like a good Canuck I defied Colonel Klink's orders, turned over and continued to sleep off my hangover. Ten minutes later…the colonel brought in reinforcements, namely a man who shook a bell beside my throbbing head. That worked. With ponderous pace, I gradually dragged myself out of bag. For reasons unclear, I couldn't stomach food. I was even unable to force coffee down. Sitting on picnic tables within the compound, with envy, I watched my fellow refugees suck back cups of delicious fresh hot coffee. The bastards did it just to spite me. Taking in the aromatic essence of freshly brewed java is the best way to start ones' day. But there was me, perilously perched upon the edge of a bench, ashen look pasted upon my face. I looked like I was two stumbles away from meeting my maker. It must have been that sausage I ate last night. Or maybe it was the pints of vodka that I used to wash it down. At one point I even had to lay down in the hopes that the previous evenings' fare did not seek out an escape route from the comfy confines of my gullet. About one half hour of kindness, tender loving care and pleads for forgiveness, the little beasties swimming around in my belly acknowledged my act of contrition and let me off easy. Camp Last Resort was spared the spectacle of enduring my early morning projectile vomit escapade.

I hung out with Bill and Alan for most of the morning as I tried to recuperate. However, I had important tasks to accomplish and I could not frittle the day away moaning about a minor case of gut-rot. Therefore, with my festering duds leading the way, I bid adieu to Bill and Alan, trudged back through the excrement ditch, across the muddy lane and flagged the bus to downtown Berlin to clean my laundry. Hours later, like a newborn tot, I remerged onto the Berlin scene smelling summer fresh. The swarm of flies that had been hovering around me for the past few days was no longer in sight. I am going to miss those little buggers. My next stop was Berlin's Zoo train station. It was here that I dropped my pack in a locker and continued to the tourist office in search for alternate accommodations.

Huh?

Wha?

Yes, okay…I'm a spineless, prissy sop. I learned a couple things when I was slumbering beneath my canvas roof. I am not Lorne Greene. I may have liked watching ‘Wild Kingdom’, but that does not mean I needed to star in it. What is the rationale for one to sleep with the worms, centipedes and slugs underneath the stars when they can slumber underneath a fixed ceiling, on a mattress, in a real bed? I discovered this fact when I was rummaging through my pockets looking for coins for the laundry. What did I find? Exactly what I was looking for. Money. It hit me like a Brinks truck. I had saved up a pile of loot with the intentions of spending it backpacking around Europe. There was no mention of camping. Thus, with a mittful of marks, I aimed for the tourist office and looked for something a bit more suitable for my privileged wants.

While waiting in line, I chatted up a young skirt. Interesting enough, she was also from Toronto. In search of something witty and intelligent to say, I frantically spurted out my story of how I fought off rampaging legions of killer ants the previous eve with my bare hands and to reward my courageous feat I was looking to grace myself with more affable accommodations. She listened to my sorry plight, empathized with my predicament, expressed her condolences and then took the last hostel bed in Berlin. Sheitzers! Now, where was I going to sleep? I could go back to the tent-city but I was worn out from the battle of the previous evening. The Last Resort Kampground would indeed be my ‘last resort’. The Tourist Office attendant suggested some (one) alternatives. In the entire city of Berlin, there was only one place that still had vacancies. Based on my previous evening’s ‘accommodation’, I would have accepted anything. They offered me a bed at a local hotel. The cost was a wee bit more expensive than the eight bucks I shelled out for a plot of dirt. However, I rationalized that I could spend more because I saved money sleeping in Tent Town.

My room was…get this…at the Berlin Hilton. Five-star. The very best Berlin had to offer. Quite a change, don't you think? My new digs featured a pool, a Finnish sauna, a bowling alley, a nightclub and eight restaurants. Berlin Hilton? Dirt floor? Berlin Hilton? Dirt floor? My grass mattress lost out to the twelve inch thick duvet. It didn't even have a chance. Entering the opulent surroundings, I proudly strode beneath the marble iambic columns lining the entrance, past rows of matching sets of Samsonite luggage and with my backpack strapped on, continued up the elevator to my luxurious lodgings. An older gentleman pressed the elevator button for me, led me to my room and opened the door. Looking to me, the helpful gentleman put out his hand; I looked inside the glamorous milieu, nodded with agreement when he described the room’s amenities and enthusiastically returned his low-five. Dropping my pack onto the plush carpet, it appeared to be partially buried within the thickness of the floor covering. Falling backward onto the bed, I too sank into a luxurious comforter. One word…Heaven.

While resting in my opulent accommodations, it suddenly appeared to me. I was on my second day in Berlin and I still had not seen anything. So, the king left his palace and ventured out to mingle with the proletariat. My agenda included checking out the Konzerthaus Berlin and Deutschen und Franzosischen Dom. Huh? Your guess was as good as mine. I really don’t know what they were. I think that the two buildings were former East Berlin civic administration buildings. They were both gothic-like monoliths carved from chunks of marble and situated at the edge of a huge public square.

As I traversed the square I took a look around. Suddenly, everything seemed weird. There were no touristy restaurants. There were no vendors hocking their t-shirts. I could not even spot crowds of fat Yanks blindly following loud mouthed ladies with socks on sticks. It was only then when I realised that I was in East Berlin. The wall may have come crashing down five years ago, however much of the atmosphere of the old communist era remains. As I walked about the naked, deserted square, I began to imagine what this place would have been during the cold war era. Military parades would pass these buildings, showcasing the facade of Russian military greatness. In fact, long lines of tanks, guns and nuclear missiles would stream by the exact spot where I was standing. I could almost hear the rhythmic stomping echoing from the ghostly footsteps of high-stepping soldiers long past. If a young man like me was permitted to view such a spectacle, unknown eyes would follow my every move. Today, my existence is barely noticed. This is one example of how life has improved in East Berlin since the fall of the wall. My exploitation of personal freedom coupled with lodging at a five-star hotel stuck in the middle of the main square in Old East Berlin tended to accentuate this impression.

My walk continued past a number of communist era relics until I found myself at the Brandenburg Gate. For the past fifty years, the Brandenburg Gate was where the East truly clashed with the West. A twelve-foot high fence once ringed the gate and barbed wire warned those inside that they would lose their life if an escape was attempted. If one passed along the fabled Unter den Linen and continued under the gate they would walk through a park and enter West Berlin. However, before I passed through to the west, I checked out one of the coolest tourist traps I have ever seen. Located to the right of the entrance to the Brandenburg Gate, lined in rows of makeshift tables, octogenarian Soviets flogged their signature tall furry hats, pocket watches with the 'hammer and sickle' emblem centred on the face and countless military crests and medallions and badges. I just wish that I had a larger backpack, as I would surely have picked up one of those furry Russian hats. Lenin would be proud that his ideology had evolved into such a display of capitalistic entrepreneurialism.

I wanted to check out the fabled Reichstag but unfortunately it was under wraps. The building was being renovated in preparation of its' eventual use of the united Berlin's German parliament and was covered by scaffolding and black canvas tarps. No problem, Berlin was filled with many other things to see and do. Just down the road from the gate was the Soviet War Memorial. Located near the edge of the former West Berlin, I found the attraction as one of the most interesting things to see in Berlin. The monument was constructed from white marble, built in a semi-circle format and was flanked by two Soviet KV series tanks. A giant bronze Russian soldier was posted atop the tribute. The oddest aspect of this memorial was that Russia forced the Germany to eruct such a monument. The memorial commemorated the millions of Russian soldiers (not to mention the countless citizens) who lost their lives trying to eradicate the Nazi menace during WW2. That is power….when a country can tell its’ vanquished enemy to build a large monument, in the middle of its’ central park that venerates the millions of its people who were killed by the Germans.

My next stop was the site of the former infamous Check-Point Charlie. My maps were not very helpful but I eventually stumbled upon it. While Check-Point Charlie symbolized to the West the very edge of freedom, the Germans merely look upon it now as an intersection near a bunch of construction sites and a newly built shopping mall. While most of the wall has since been removed, there are still some slabs that have not yet been dismantled. The few remaining partitions are locked behind a fifteen-foot high chain-link fence on a forgotten overgrown lot. The symbolism was quite clear. The derelict stands of concrete now most resemble refuse waiting to be picked up for disposal. How fascinating? A few curious lads (like me) stood on benches and boxes while trying to dislodge loose crumbs of concrete for keepsakes. I must have stood on that corner for forty-five minutes poking whatever I could find through the fence at the slabs of concrete. Positioned directly above the remnants is what appears to be a pipeline hanging 20 feet above the street. Incredibly, the pipeline was the original capping used to top each section of the wall. Stretching the length of the street, one can really envision what Berlin looked like only a few years ago. How many freedom-starved souls, killed while attempting to scale those walls, still wander these grounds????………..one can only guess.

Tired and in need of Hilton hospitality I returned to the hotel. The rest of the evening was spent drowning in my comforter at the Hilton, scanning the television channels and watching CNN. I needed those few precious extra hours of R & R . ZZZZZZZ…….. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ……zzzzzzz ………zzzz ……zz…z.

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