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Published: February 26th 2007
When deciding whether or not to take a trip to Berlin, the thought that I had "done" Germany already definitely came to mind more than once. Spending a week in Munich last semester had made me an expert on schnitzel, sausage, Burger King (strangely, a German staple), and ordering pastries in Deutsch. Much to my surprise, Munich had in no way prepared me for Berlin, as the two cities could not have been more different. In fact, Berlin remains completely separated from any of the European cities I have encountered so far. In some strange way, Berlin feels more American than European - a sprawling metropolis of diverse modern architectural features and wide traffic-filled avenues. If Berlin must be compared to any city - although any comparison trivializes the strangeness of the city - I would say, with some hesitation, a mixture of Los Angeles and Washington, D.C.
The first place that signals that Berlin is different from other European cities (especially those further East) is the first place you actually see - the train station. The station is a shiny, immaculate marvel of steel and glass. Stepping off the train, I couldn't help but feel a sense of "Why did I study in Prague?" For as much as I love the charm of Old Town Prague, the differences between East (or Central) and West are often too great to ignore: the Berlin train station is a gleaming Wonka creation, while Prague's hlavni nadrazi is all Dickensian squalor, drugs, and prostitutes.
Berlin, as a city, is not very different from its train station. Replacing the cobblestones, Baroque decadence, Gothic mystery, and elaborate churches of Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Copenhagen, Salzburg, and Munich is the shiny steel and glass of postwar construction. Our first stop in the city was the New National Gallery. Not to throw superlatives around too much, but after the Met in New York, this may be my new favorite art collection in the world. The gallery focuses primarily on my favorite period in art, the first half of the twentieth century, with works by Picasso, Kirchner, Marc, Leger, and Dix and a strong concentration on German Expressionism.
Next we strolled around a part of Berlin that could probably be considered the epicenter of the city's shiny modernism, Potsdamer Platz. It was in this square that we officially saw our first piece of the wall. Only inches thick and thirteen feet tall, it is crazy to imagine a now relatively unimpressive slab of concrete could have divided the world in such a serious way.
As we strolled around the city into the night, we eventually stumbled upon the holocaust memorial, or more precisely, the Monument to the Murdered Jews. The monument is essentially a field of stone slabs laid out in rows and columns. From any edge of the area, the blocks seem to be about three feet tall. As you walk between them however, the ground begins to slope and you find that the slabs you thought were knee-high actually tower over your head. The whole experience is very ominous and unsettling, suggesting that the designers were successful in their attempts. The monument is actually very divisive and controversial. Since it only honors the Jewish victims, some critics question why other groups of victims - gypsies, Slavs, homosexuals - are ignored completely. On the other hand, Jews obviously made up a huge majority of the victims. I don't expect to make many friends with this opinion, but I very much disagree with the decision to only honor the memories of Jewish victims. Our guide on the tour the next day addressed the issue as follows: the Nazis treated people as groups to be categorized and separated (Germanic vs. Slavic, Christians vs. Jews, Fascists vs. Communists, blondes vs. brunettes, Aryans vs. everyone else). In the end, isn't making a memorial for one group only an activity in division and categorization?
After the sobering (if somewhat abstract) experience of wandering aimlessly through the giant stones of the monument, we walked to the Brandenburg Gate - Berlin's Eiffel Tower, Charles Bridge, Statue of Liberty. A beautiful gate made of huge classic columns and topped with a goddess in a chariot, it used to be part of a historic wall that encircled the city. Come to think of it, walls and big hunks of concrete or stone seem to be recurring images throughout Berlin.
On the first night, we ate delicious sushi, something any American will crave after spending a month in Prague. In Prague, sushi is outrageously expensive, so the cheap rolls we found in Berlin were especially great. Our hostel room on the first night was an enormous dorm room filled with rows upon rows of bunk beds. With all the charm and coziness of military barracks, the room was only acceptable for one night, so we moved to a private the next day.
The next morning we went on a free tour of Berlin - an awesome option for any city which offers one. The company is wholly funded by tips, and we were led by an Australian PhD candidate studying Nazi Germany. The tour took almost four hours and covered most of the highlights of former East and West Berlin. The first stop was the site of one of the most important historical events of the past century: the Michael Jackson baby dangling. Obviously trivial, but I thought it was the coolest. Next we went to a decidedly more serious location: the former site of Hitler's bunker, the place where he committed suicide in the final days of World War II. It is strange how omnipresent Hitler is throughout Berlin, even if he is only lurking rather than being actually visible through images. It is much easier to ignore Germany's Nazi era in Munich, a city where beer and Bavarian folk culture seem to outweigh politics and history in the public consciousness, or they at least serve as a successful distraction. In place of the beer gardens, lush green parks, and centuries-old churches of Munich are Berlin's haunting reminders of the Third Reich: the 1936 Olympic Stadium, the Reichstag, and obviously the bunker.
As I was starting to think of Berlin as a scary, haunting symbol of Nazi horror and national guilt, our tour group went to a very historic area flanked by a ring of beautiful neoclassical and neo-Baroque churches. Columns and marble statues renewed my hope in the city and was perhaps the first time I felt a twinge of affection for the city. Unfortunately, the Nazi era has seemed to infiltrate even these historic quarters of the city. In the center of the square flanked by the opera house and university buildings is a monument commemorating the burning of banned books by the Nazis. It is little more than a hole in the sidewalk covered in glass with an empty bookshelf underneath. The scene is oddly powerful and makes you think, "Don't be fooled by the beauty of the architecture, dark things happened here."
Nearby is a monument which is meant to memorialize victims of all conflicts and violence. The site is built in the neoclassical style and looks like a tiny Greek chapel. The gloomy interior is completely bare except for a hole in the ceiling to let in light and a lone statue of a mourning mother holding her wounded or dead son. According to the guide, the memorial is somewhat controversial because some non-Christians claim the statue is too suggestive of purely Christian imagery in the form of the pieta (mother mourning over son). I am usually a person who tries to be very liberal and understanding in my views of controversies such as this, but turning a somber beautiful monument into an unnecessary object of divisiveness and contention seems wholly unjustified.
Our final stop on the guided tour was Museum Island, perhaps the pinnacle of grand "European" architecture. The island is filled with beautiful churches and huge neoclassical museums. The highlight is the enormous Lutheran church - an architectural marvel that was supposed to be a Protestant St. Peter's Basilica. Unfortunately, the church cost money to visit, and considering the Euros we had been throwing around the rest of the weekend, we decided not to go inside. The experience left me with two questions: If Protestants wanted to break away from Catholicism because of its pomp and decadence, why was there a need to create such an enormous and elaborate church? Also, why was this place the only church I have seen in all of Europe to charge money to even get through the front door?
As Berlin is a city of contrasts, the beauty of the churches must necessarily have a modern eyesore counterpart. Berlin did not disappoint. Behind the church is the Fernsehturm, Europe's third tallest tower. Like Prague's TV Tower, the structure was built by the Communists as a symbol of progress and technology. The structure has been dubbed a giant asparagus by Berliners, but I wouldn't be so kind - I love asparagus! Like most aspects of Communist architecture, the tower does little more than serve as a massive eyesore - a disco ball on a metal skewer, a silver olive on a giant steel toothpick.
Again, contrasts seem to be the rule rather than the exception in the city of Berlin, as we followed our trek to the ultra-modern tower with a trip to the Pergamon Museum, Berlin's fascinating antiquities collection. As said before, I am usually most attracted to art from the twentieth century. For some reason, however, the collection of Greek, Roman, Assyrian, and Babylonian art was extremely interesting! The entrance to the exhibits is the massive Pergamon Temple, a Greek temple that was taken from its original location in Turkey and rebuilt in the museum. Another highlight is the Ishtar Gate, the entrance to the ancient city of Babylon. Covered in blue tiles and enormous images of lions, the gate is overwhelming and unlike anything I would normally associate with the ancient world. But, as the Bible said, those Babylonians know how to do it up in style . . . Or maybe I got that wrong.
For dinner that night, we went to a restaurant that focused on modernizing German classics. I don't know if I have ever seen a group of people more satisfied with a meal. I ordered some kind of pan-fried doughy ravioli thing filled with meat and covered in onion sauce. For desert, we ordered mini chocolate cakes with a blood orange sauce. Considering that we had been eating Czech food for the past month, the German dishes were especially delicious.
On the final day, we went to the tourist attraction I was most excited to see. The East Side Gallery is a chunk of the Berlin Wall that stretched almost 1.3 kilometers and is covered in amazing subversive and humorous graffiti. Since coming to Europe, I have gained a real appreciation for street art, but I have never seen anything like this in my entire life. Images seen in the forms of either stencils or free-form painting include Mr. Potato Head, Brezhnev, giant multicolor faces, doves, rag dolls, monkeys, John Lennon, Castro, Che Guevara, Checkpoint Charlie border guards, warriors, geishas, the New York skyline, a pagoda, and an "I (sausage) Berlin" sign. Perhaps the wall best summarizes the city of Berlin itself. Yes, the history of a divided city looms as you walk along a wall which saw the deaths of over a thousand people trying to escape. On the other hand, the Berliners are dealing with their painful history in a way that combines art, progress, and a hint of subversive humor. Berlin as a city has so much potential for positive change (as evidenced by the construction crews on nearly every street corner), but even a short three day trip can show how far Germany has already come in rebuilding their capital, their people, and their national image. Berlin is doing a pretty great job.
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Berlin
Your comments and observations are very insightful. You should consider becoming a travel writer in your next life. After reading this blog, I feel like I've visited the city.