Berlin, in word-pictures!

Nee and I haven't really stopped moving in 10 days. When we have stopped moving, we fall asleep. I've decided to compress Berlin down into the following picture-and-caption story. It's not what I had in mind, but now that it's done, I think it wafts a redolence of our days in Berlin nicely. 

In front of the Konzerthaus, where we were intending to see a concert as part of Das Fest, a several day city wide festival of music, arts, and culture. Tickets were sold out so we changed plans around a little and went to Potsdam for a day trip instead (more on that in another post).

 After getting off the U-bahn, we saw the Gendarmenmarkt and looked around for a bit (this is where we discovered the Konzerthaus). We were on the way to the Jewish Museum, which was a 20 minute walk down Fredrichstrasse, past Checkpoint Charlie (above) and lots of oh so Communist chain stores (and tourists!). One of the weirder and cooler things about Berlin is that at one point you're in West Berlin, and then you're in East Berlin (the traffic signals are different, depending, and that's how you really know), and then you're back in West Berlin, etc.

Left: The Jewish Museum in all its disorienting and strange beauty. Right: From one of the exhibits at the Jewish Museum. Each face represents one of the "forgotten" Jews of Berlin during the rise of the Nazis. The interior architecture of the museum is meant to suggest the disorientation and insecurity of Jews in Germany leading up WWII. Off-kilter paths leading to dead ends with objects from the life of Berlin Jews on display along the way, and different "axes" of transit, each representing a different phase of European Jewish history, culminating at the top of a long flight of stairs in the Middle Ages. 

Kathrin works at a very popular waffle joint called Kauf Dich Glucklich in hip Prenzlauer Berg, the Silver Lake/Echo Park of Berlin (in that it's now full of hip parents and trendy spots). Here's me eating real ice cream! And real waffles with real eggs in them! It was delicious, until about 3/4 of the way through, and then I hit the sugar-dairy wall. And there were LOTS of kids in there. So we ausfahrted (my own personal German slang for "blew that popsicle stand"). We then walked to an outdoor exhibit of remnants of the Wall. Waffles and the Wall. Good times!

The next day, Shenee and I visited the DDR Museum. It was laid out with really funky and creative displays and dioramas reflecting common items and scenes in Soviet East Germany. The highlight was the Trabi--a real Trabant, the DDR's answer to the compact cars of the west, on display for visitors to sit in and investigate. Shenee took a great picture of me in it on the first try (note the traffic signal in the background--these are still in use in the sections of Berlin that were formerly in the DDR). In order for me to get a good one of Shenee (without weird reflections on the windshield or lingering kids in the frame), we had to return three times. It was very trying. We felt like real East Germans. If real East Germans felt like herded tourists. Aside from the Trabi, we really enjoyed the mock up of a 70s-era DDR living room and bathroom, with real rotary phones and flushable toilets. The whole thing was kitsch in the very best way.

A good adopted Texan never leaves home without his trusty koozie. This was my last beer of the night at Pony Bar Berlin, a smoky joint in (I think) Prenzlauer Berg. We had intended to go to a jazz bar but it was PACKED, and stank of gym socks. The jazz band, which we could see in the window from the sidewalk, was solid, with a female bassist and drummer (the latter wore a 50/50 cap cocked sideways and wore Chuck Taylors and had a very odd, almost Mitch Mitchell-esque style. At Pony Bar, we got to know some of Kathrin's friends better. One, Rusty, is from Tennessee and is a writer--we had some great conversations about the craft of writing and literature in general. His wife, Paloma, just got a job as a translator for the UN (she's from Madrid). They are now waiting to find out which country they'll be sent to--NY, Santiago, Chile, Nairobi, and two others I forget. Very interesting, smart folks.

On Thursday we visited the Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe (aka the Holocaust Memorial) near the Tiergarten and the Brandenburg Gate. It consists of concrete plinths of various heights spaced in long rows in a kind of maze-like grid pattern across the plaza. The floor beneath you undulates as you walk up and down the rows. Like the Jewish Museum, the effect is to be intentionally disorienting, to mirror or suggest the experience of being Jewish at this terrifying period of European history. Oddly, but I think sweetly too, many people, young and old, slip into play mode while here, hiding from each other behind the blocks and giggling as they search for their friends and family. It's like an inversion of the 1930s and 40s where losing track of one's friends and family had much more sinister implications. Shenee and I walked more sedately through the memorial, although we did climb on top of some of the lower ones and hop from plinth to plinth (which is how I got the view of the memorial on the right. On the left, I'm combining Biblical Jewish history and 20th century history by performing as Samson holding up the pillar of the temple. Actually, I'm just being "cool."

After the memorial, we checked out the Brandenburger Tor (Br. Gate), which was impressive but touristy. We hoped to find a bike rental place there, but it's hard when everywhere you look you see bikes. How do you spot a tree in a forest, especially when all the trees are zipping and zooming around you? We walked for a few blocks before finding one off the main drag. It was actually a souvenir shop run by Vietnamese, whom Shenee used as an opportunity to show off her language skills (which, alas, in Vietnamese are much abated). They were duly impressed (but didn't give us a discount, to my chagrin). With our trusty 21 speeds, we toured the Tiergarten and rode back to Schwanzes Cafe for some refreshment.

That night we went to The Bird, a hip "New York style" burger joint in (of course) Prenzlauer Berg owned by Americans--or if not owned by exactly, then pretty much run by American servers and bartenders. When Shenee and I ordered the veggie burger, our scruffy bro of a waiter sniped "you're in the wrong place" and then rolled his eyes and made and all but silent "ppfff" sound of dismissal when we said no to cheese. All part of the act of being "New York style" apparently, and we took it as such. They were actually all pretty nice and swift and the food was really good, especially the fresh cut fries. Aside from the mayonaisse being automatically served with french fries, I'd say this place is pretty authentically (hipster) American, right down to the ironic rudeness. On the right is a pretty good example of the 'tude of the place, but also typically Berliner.

That night we went to The Bird, a hip "New York style" burger joint in (of course) Prenzlauer Berg owned by Americans--or if not owned by exactly, then pretty much run by American servers and bartenders. When Shenee and I ordered the veggie burger, our scruffy bro of a waiter sniped "you're in the wrong place" and then rolled his eyes and made and all but silent "ppfff" sound of dismissal when we said no to cheese. All part of the act of being "New York style" apparently, and we took it as such. They were actually all pretty nice and swift and the food was really good, especially the fresh cut fries. Aside from the mayonaisse being automatically served with french fries, I'd say this place is pretty authentically (hipster) American, right down to the ironic rudeness. On the right is a pretty good example of the 'tude of the place, but also typically Berliner.

So that's it for now. I started writing this blog entry in Amsterdam three days ago, and now we're in Paris sitting in our fourth floor walk up in Montmartre. God we love this place. More on that to come (I hope).

Berlin ist Geil! (look it up)

Shenee and I at our corner cafe, Tirree,
where we discovered the wonders of Berlin espresso,
and received lessons in German every morning

Shenee met me at Tegel airport in Berlin on Monday. The famous German efficiency had my bag waiting for me the moment I stepped past customs. Everything moved so seamlessly that I was out in the terminal before Shenee got there. Several hypothetical scenarios of abandonment and catastrophe later, she came speeding up the terminal into my arms. We caught a bus to Moabit, walked to Wilhemshavener Strasse, where we spent our 5 days in Berlin, and settled in.

For the first two nights we stayed with Shenee’s friend from her au pair days in Marseille, Kathrin. She’s a student of Jewish history and culture at a local university, currently working (although not much while we were there) on her undergraduate thesis.

Shenee and Kathrin in the U-bahn after a
late night party (before I got to Berlin). Yes,
that's booze they're imbibing, and yes,
it's legal in Berlin.

Coincidentally, and bizarrely, the apartment we rented is next door to Kathrin, a completely arbitrary stroke of luck and convenience (she told us which neighborhood to rent in but we didn’t know her address until after we rented the place). When she came over for dinner on our first night in the apartment (I made mujuddara), she went out her front door, hung a right, walked 10 steps, and rang our bell. Amazing.

That first day was long and a bit hazy, although getting in at 08:00 helped me to adjust faster I think. First I needed coffee, so Shenee took me to the place on the corner, called Tirrée. The espresso in Berlin in incredible. And although we came to know Berlin service workers as generally pretty grumpy, the baristas at this little café were exceptionally nice and helpful. One of them, the owner I think, even practiced German with us every morning (yes, we went there, and then to the Bäckerei across the street, every morning, our first real Berlin tradition).

After a nap (the coffee was no match for very little sleep and a 16 hour travel day), we got the U-bahn (subway) and headed for the Victory Column, a very tall, ornately muraled and bas-reliefed homage to Prussia’s victory over France in 1870. There are some interesting vignettes carved into the foundation:

He's very happy they won! I don't know
about the other guy.

I’ll just go ahead and say it now: Berlin is my favorite city. I can’t explain it perfectly, but it has something to do with having everything I love about LA (a young, creative, vibrant, diverse population) and oodles and oodles of history and beauty and convenience that LA doesn’t have. It’s like NYC too, but cheaper, less self-consciously, ironically “cool,” and still a little gritty. It’s slower paced and unbelievably bike friendly too. And they have great falafel. And coffee. And breads. And if you know where to look (Turkish markets), hummus. And you can drink your can of beer on the street or the U-Bahn or wherever. We also discovered spatzele (shpetz-uh-luh), a traditionally Bavarian noodle dish, similar to gnocchi but in more noodley form, and covered in a variety of different sauces or cheeses or vegetables or meat or a combination of some or all of these. We ate spatzele last night, so I’m getting ahead of myself.

After the Victory Column we headed for Berlin’s answer to a California burrito joint. I must say, it was good. Not exactly what you’d expect in LA or SD, but good. They were huge, too, which I’ll never complain about.

A "California" burrito place

Kathrin had work to do, or not do, at home, so we parted ways at the Zoologischer Garten. Shenee and I headed up the street a bit to a popular, and many decades old, 24-hr gathering place for the local intelligentsia, artists, and political dissidents (at least formerly) called Schwarzes Café. Now you mostly see the ubiquitous young Berliners eating lovely looking entrees and sipping Waldmeister from a straw, or drinking beer or coffee and smoking in the garden (one mark against Berlin: lots of smokers). Our waiter was Vietnamese, but a native German, and there were many different faces and accents filling in the background, what came to be a pretty typical Berlin scene. Shenee enjoyed her glass of Waldmeister, a traditional Bavarian beer and weird-green-syrup mixture that is apparently very Berlin.

A Waldmeiste

It’s sweet but not terribly so. The bitterness of the beer is complemented by the sugars in the syrup. A little saccharine for my palate, but I can see the attraction. Luckily it only looks radioactive. They also serve a “Lebowski” there. It’s pretty much just a White Russian.

After an espresso, we called it a night, which turned out to be by far the earlier night we had in Berlin (asleep by 12).

The next morning, we practiced German with our barista at Tirree, grabbed a couple of croissants covered in sesame seeds from the Backerie, and got on the U-bahn at Berkenstrasse heading for the Jewish Museum.