Je suis flâneur

After last night's interesting excursion, any vague notion I may have had of getting up in time for a hotel breakfast was wasted. So my restorative strong coffee and selection of breads with wasp-attracting strawberry jam and Nutella was taken a few doors up the street, in the sunshine.

My work routine back in the UK usually means very late to bed, and very late up; it so happens this really suits having a lively time in Berlin, which is the original twenty-four-hour city.

I had a plan: go to the big shops of West Berlin. The U-Bahn chucked me off several stops early (cf last year's holiday blog - this is becoming a habit). So I emerged into the dazzling sun right where just over twenty years ago was no-man's-land and the Wall: Leipziger Platz and Potsdamer Platz. It took me a couple of wandering minutes to get my bearings and work out which way to walk.

I decided on a meandering route along the southern edge of the Tiergarten, Berlin's great urban park (think Bois de Boulogne, Central Park or Hyde Park). This took me past a number of new embassies, specifically those of South Africa, Italy, Japan, Saudi Arabia, and South Korea. The architecture of embassies are a great way of expressing your country's style and character abroad. Shame Great Britain, then (see last year, again). Sadly I missed the Scandinavian complex.

I was somewhat taken aback on reaching the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche to discover what should have been the bomb-ruined remains of the old church (irreverent Berliners call it "the hollow tooth", next to the "powder box and lipstick" modern church and bell-tower) appeared to have been replaced by a monstrously ugly block of flats, which on closer inspection seemed to be some sort protective cladding, presumably whilst restoration works are underway.

The Kürfurstendamm was just too packed with tourists to make for any enjoyment, and the shops are the same ones you can find in London or Paris. I came, I saw, I was disappointed.

So I walked up the smelly edge of the zoo towards the Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten, then followed the train tracks through the Tiergarten again, up towards the Strasse des 17 Juni, but keeping inside the park. Berlin is sandy, and the ground often keeps the moisture, so from some recent rain there were muddy puddles to avoid in the shady areas, despite the heat of the day.

I skirted round the Siegessäule, the Victory Column, and headed straight for the Brandenburg Gate, that great, glorious, powerful and historical symbol of Berlin, through which armies have marched, which has been fought over, claimed by the Russians, and is now the happy centre of the city once more. But before reaching it I stopped as a noisy procession, or series of floats and followers on foot, was escorted past by police. I don't know what the protest was about; I suspect a political faction, possibly anarchists from the state and attitude of some of the participants, a few of the younger members of whom I witnessed, at close hand, square up to impassive, body-armoured police parked nearby. It never seemed dangerous, but thrillingly close to danger. I'm reading Isherwood* at the moment; there were faint echoes.

And so to Pariser Platz, the new-built square just on the western side of the great Gate, at the edge of which I remember in 1978 standing, behind steel barriers, to observe the Brandenburger Tor at a distance, and through it, the white strip of the Wall. But today, in the sunshine, it is teeming with street artists and dancers, tourists with cameras, horse-drawn carriages ... and life! Zest! Zing! There's a video on YouTube, or will be shortly, because I was one of those tourists with a camera.

I toyed with the idea of visiting a Kennedy exhibition in one corner of the square, but there were no admission prices on display, and besides I was tired, and had walked a long way already. I wanted my hotel bed for a nap! So I popped down the new underground station and onto Berlin's latest U-Bahn, the U55, just three stops to the Hauptbahnhof; then the S-Bahn to Alexanderplatz, and my line U2 to Senefelderplatz, a couple of hundred metres from my hotel.

I did indeed nap, fought the netbook to get some photos loaded, Skyped with Steve, then headed off to The Bird for a very late meal.

Please, if you come to Berlin, visit The Bird. If you're on your own, sit at the bar, chat to the American and English staff, get talking to strangers. I spent a happy couple of hours next to two Americans who were engaged in a half-hearted drinking contest with great 1.5 litre glass boots of beer; and then chatting at length to Dara, a young Dubliner doing the Interrail thing. Imagine the voice and mannerisms of Father Dougal crossed with one of the hairier Avett Brothers (for looks).

Then burger and fries consumed, off for a drink or two ...

Upon returning to my hotel, I discovered that I couldn't get online, so this is posted a little late.

*I brought Christopher Isherwood's Berlin Novels with me: Mr Norris Changes Trains and Goodbye to Berlin, partly because my long-held desire to read them was recently re-ignited by the BBC's Christopher And His Kind, and because the time seemed just right for this trip.

Ow

I have a headache this morning, which isn't surprising. 2-4-1 drinks ... nicht so gut.

Going to have a look around the big shops of Westberlin this afternoon. But I definitely need to find some coffee first. Catch you later.

Don’t mention the wars

This is the first post in my holiday blog for my 2011 trip to Berlin, following very much in the footsteps of my little jaunt last October. I’m hoping it’s going to be a different experience though, and not a complete repeat.

Yesterday lunchtime I was actually ready early, the taxi came on time, and I got a train from East Croydon directly to St Pancras (I would have taken this train last year if I’d known about it, rather than messing about with the Tube).

Getting to the Eurostar terminal ridiculously early does slightly defeat the idea of taking the train partly to avoid hanging about in airport departure lounges, but hey-ho.

The Eurostar got away exactly on time at 1502. I assume it has to hit its slot at the Tunnel, merging in with freight and car shuttle trains, and soon other continental railway operators too.

We thus arrived at the Gare du Nord bang on 1817 local time. At 2:15 that’s the fastest I’ve ever got to Paris, using the new HS1 line, and no stops at Ebbsfleet, Ashford or Lille.

It is literally a ten-minute walk to the Gare de l’Est, so I had nearly two hours to wait, as I did last year. I really should catch the later Eurostar but I’m so afraid of it being delayed or getting stuck. Obviously one cannot catch a later sleeper from Paris to Berlin!

There are very few seats in the station; as last time I wandered, went outside to smoke too many times, watched everyone (which is huge fun in stations and airports), bought and ate a ham baguette … Oh, and noted that this time my train continued on to Moscow and Belarus. Really important I get off in Berlin!

As before apprehensive as to with whom I would be sharing my compartment. Once I boarded I found I wasn’t the first in: Augustine from Argentina, an 18-year-old student travelling on InterRail (as I had done at his age) was already there, excited by his first inter-continental train. We decided that as only two bunks were made up, it would be just us. However, after a short while up turned Eric, who was booked into our compartment too. He apologised and hoped to stay with his mates further up the carriage, but might be back later.

And so it turned out. He was soon back, turned out by the slightly fearsome female German steward. So we had to work out how to move the middle bunk down a notch so as to set up the top bunk, which we managed.

Eric, who is nearly 20, is American (at school in Philadelphia, lives in NYC, but from Boston) and travelling through Europe with friends. We all got talking. Agus’s English, though not perfect, is far better than Eric’s limited, and my non-existent, Spanish. I thought of Geoff, who would have been in his element!

A funny thing: I had to literally produce my passport to prove my age, as they didn’t believe I was 44! I like Agus and Eric!!

I didn’t mention the Falklands or the Revolutionary War. I’m tactful like that.

We talked until we drifted off to sleep.

During the night there seemed to be lots of stops, as there were last time, some quite extended, and some shunting. It was a longer journey too via I’m not sure where. Overall, I didn’t sleep very well.

In the morning we remade the compartment cabin with seats; they had too much luggage for it to be entirely comfortable or practical, (these back-packers…) Breakfast was delivered, and Eric’s disorganised friends came by. I do hope they get on OK in Berlin.

Agus didn’t seem very awake. Anyway, we all exchanged Facebook details, as you do these days.

Once we’d stopped I headed straight out of the station for a smoke, saw Agus come out, look vaguely at a map printout and head off in a hopeful direction, and saw the Americans head straight for a taxi.

I wasn’t entirely with it, not enough sleep and not enough good coffee, couldn’t remember where in the Hauptbanhof to get a U-/S-Bahn/tram/bus ticket, but eventually remembered - on the platform. I may have bought a slightly too expensive A+B zones ticket when, on looking properly at the map, I probably only need zone A; but at least this time I decided that I will buy tickets daily as I need them, rather than end up with one unused at the end like I did last year.

The hotel is a little nearer Alexanderplatz and is pleasant enough, even if the room is rather too like so many of the hotels I stay in for work in the UK, but it’s friendly and has free internet, so it’s all good.

There’s a noisy building site opposite, but I won’t be in here much during the day.

I’m going to have a little kip now.

When £10 becomes £8

Ich bin ein Berliner

Possibly the least original blog post title for a visitor to Berlin, but hey, who cares?

Just a bit of a wander today, although this leaves me with a quandry: what to do with the left over travelcard I didn't use. I may just leave it in the room tomorrow, or give it to whoever I hand my key to in the morning. Should have bought them daily!

This old brewery is now a cultural centre.

This is the first water tower in Berlin, constructed by an Englishman in the mid-19th century, allowing fresh running water for the first time in Germany.

Some buildings are still waiting to be done up.

I got as far as a lovely, busy autumnal park in Friedrichshain (the Volkspark), although I failed to find the Prenzlauer Berg museum on the way.

Back via Konnopke's Imbiss, as predicted, for a currywurst and a Schultheiss. I ordered in German, but was floored by a question, a choice. He asked me again in English. At least I tried, which was appreciated.

Ornithologically speaking ...

... have you any idea what this is, please? I snapped it yesterday in Berlin. It looks like a cross between a crow and a magpie, only black-and-grey. It was quite tame, too, and with its mate liked to perch on car roofs.

(Full circle) burger

I have a very good Berlin guide book with me on this trip, and I have no hesitation in recommending the Time Out city guide (ISBN 978184670057-6); I will certainly want to buy others in the series from now on.

So this faith was again borne out last night in my (its) choice of restaurant. It's rather wonderful when you discover that somewhere you really like the look of on the page, turns out to be just round the corner. And so it was with The Bird. But first, I need to tell you a story ...

I'm sorry this is another of those stories that starts "When I lived in East Berlin ..." Look, it's somewhat inevitable that I know and relate the now to the history.

Anyway, having lived a sheltered childhood in Paris and rural England, I arrived in Berlin for my first summer holiday with very little practical understanding of Americans and their ways. I'd also never eaten a hamburger. Now during that holiday I discovered, sometimes with a colleague of my Dad's called Jim Brown and his family who had just come from a posting in Washington as Americanophiles complete with exported Pontiac Trans-Am ... so, as I was saying, it was with the Browns that I first discovered ten-pin bowling, Coca-Cola, and hamburgers in the American Air Force base at Tempelhof.

Now the British Officers' Club was a posh place, and the French one was, well, very French. But the Americans had what was basically a hamburger joint, and I loved it. Real US-style burgers and French Fries, Coke The Real Thing (the American stuff does taste different ...). It was all a revelation.

Steve reminded me the other day that I have a habit of demanding, when we are abroad, that we don't eat, say, Chinese food in Paris, or steak and chips in Spain, that we should eat the local food styles. I think I may be wrong about this, or at least I would like to modify this rule. In the great international cities of the world, there is a melting-pot of people, and cuisines. Who wouldn't want to eat Italian in New York? Or Caribbean in London? Or Chinese in Toronto? Or, as it turns out, New York burgers in Berlin?

And so we have come full circle. As an inveterate avoider of hamburgers and generally all things beginning with 'Mac', I enjoyed a wonderfully meaty, medium-rare, thick, cheese-covered, flame-scorched burger, and crisp irregular fries, along with half a litre of German beer, perched at the bar in a noisy, crowded, lively, happy burger joint, five minutes walk from where I'm staying. It was a million miles from a bland worldwide food franchise, and it was wonderful! Oh, and it's run by Americans: big, warm, friendly, have-a-nice-day Yanks, who speak little if any German. If you're in Berlin, especially if you're in Prenz'lberg, get yourself to Falk-Platz at the western end of Gleimstrasse. And if you don't really want to take a chance there'll be a table or even a place at the bar, you'd better book. They only take cash.

Today I'm going to spend quietly. I'm off for a walk around the bits of the Bezirke (borough) I haven't seen yet, including a museum, (and maybe wander as far as the next, Friedrichshain); I'm determined to get a currywurst from the hottest Imbiss in Berlin, which happens to be just down the road; and later on I'd like to find a cosy local café, and then maybe a cosy local bar, to sit and do some writing.

Hangover Pilgrimage

Bit of a late start, unsurprisingly. Walked to nearest functioning U-Bahn station. Took train into Mitte.

Visited the odd new Holocaust Memorial (Denkmal für die ermordeten Jüden Europas) near the Brandenburger Tor. There's a video on YouTube. Then walked to the western side of the Gate, and made another short video for reasons which will be obvious if you watch it. It's on YouTube. Then I walked along to the the Soviet War Memorial on Strasse des 17 Juni, for reasons which ... oh for heaven's sake, just go to YouTube.

After a quiet few minutes sitting on a bench in the Tiergarten, I decided to go and find the Stasi Museum. I couldn't, but I did find some impressive Albert Speer Nazi-era architecture.




Next plan was to go to Heinrich-Heine-Strasse. I could have walked, but I had a BVG (Berlin public transport system) ticket, and besides, it's quite a way. Remember, I'm still feeling delicate.

So I found the nearest U-Bahn, which is in Friedrichstrasse, and called Stadtmitte. Now when I was in Berlin back in the days of the Cold War this station, or at least the part of it on the line I was to take, south to Hallesches Tor, was closed. The line, you see, ran north-south from West Berlin, through a section of the East, back into West Berlin; if you travelled on this line, you were aware of dimly-lit stations at which the train slowed, but did not stop, and there were armed East German guards lurking in the shadows. All very creepy.

Anyway, I was rather thirsty, and was looking for a shop selling bottled water. After some meandering, I found myself unexpectedly at the Gendarmenmarkt and the back of the block of flats in which my parents had lived. Having done this particular bit of nostalgia back in 2007, it hadn't been on th itinerary this time. Still, here's a picture looking along Leipzigerstrasse, with the front of the block in question just visible behind the trees on the left. It has been tarted up since 1990, but it used to look a lot like the blocks on the other side of the road: DDR-utilitarian.

[I'm really pissed off that everything I originally wrote beyond this point has been lost due to some sort of auto-save balls-up by blogger.com, so what follows is probably only half-remembered.]

I took the U-Bahn two stops southwards on line U6. Back in the day I'd walk through Checkpoint Charlie, invariably get on at the first station the other side, Kochstrasse, and change at Hallesches Tor, as I did today. Now a weird thing happened, as I walked up the steps at the end of the platform and headed towards line U1. The corridors, the orange wall tiles, even the old photographs on the walls, hadn't changed in thirty-two years. It freaked me a little.

The reason I wanted to go to Heinrich-Heine-Strasse will be apparent if you watch the appropriate video on YouTube. Essentially I was looking for a hospital at which I was wonderfully treated (an East German hospital, mind you) back in the winter of 1978. I'll tell you the story another time, since I've already typed it in loving detail once today ... grrrrr.

Drinking in bars with boys

Too many half price Beck's. 4am. 'nuff said.

Managed breakfast this morning though.

Finally online

Berlin today is a bit cold and a bit foggy, but I have wrap-me-up-warm clothes, and at least it isn’t raining. I’ve wandered a few of the main streets of the neighbourhood (Prenzlauer Berg, in the former eastern part of the city), checked in to my clean, tidy but very compact room, had a refreshing shower, and bought a bit to eat.

If you’re reading this now and a slew of previously-written postings, then I’ve successfully sorted out my internet access. Which means my next job is to post a few video clips on YouTube (www.youtube.com/haymee) and then work out where I’m going to go this evening.