1. Standing behind the yellow line at Alexanderplatz, I wait for the next scheduled arrival of German efficiency. A drunkard in a khaki jacket staggers around on the platform, holding a plastic bag full of empty beer bottles. A couple of the bottles roll onto the tracks. He jumps down onto the tracks and starts casually picking them up. There are shouts and screams and two people rush to pull him out of there just as the next train pulls into the station. I swear the S-Bahn almost hits him. He curses at them and then strolls away, laughing. 'Jesus Christ', I say. The man standing next to me agrees. 'Crazy', he says. 2. Lachlan joined us at the hostel with a grizzled Cat Stevens beard, looking broken, out-of-sorts, a dark lank sulk. From the moment I re-laid eyes on him, I knew that agreeing to accompany him was an error. Before long we were bickering like an old married couple as we walked the East Berlin streets. We snapped at each other at the Christmas markets and had unproductive exchanges at Checkpoint Charlie. He berated me in my cups at a bar and I avoided him like a bad cough when we trudged around Potsdam. Nothing seemed to be able to make him happy and all he could talk about was his miserable Canberra gossip, his miserable ANU politics, his overwhelming retentive misery. Did I mention I regretted being in Berlin with him? The glummiest grumpster holidaying Germany in December of 2013... 3. It became night so quickly at that time of year. And even though I expected it and tried my best to prepare for it, I was still stunned by how sun-robbed and day-poverished my hours were. It was an effort to push and enjoy what I could of this grimy, captivating capital in the little natural light that there was. No amount of glühwein or bratwurst or cheap suspect kebab meat could nourish my body's hunger for more sunlight. The priceless art and archaeology of Museum Island felt diminished in the stale, cement-like air while that strip of energetic street art on the remnants of the Berlin Wall seemed a doleful afterthought. The Brandenburg Gate was a weakness of stalks. A dark wetness sucked at every surface. The only thing that became unlost was the Holocaust Memorial: its normally baffling, oft-critiqued blocks finally rendered appropriately brutal. 4. The Christmas dinner came from a dumpster, according to my friend from Oxford. He was living in a share house (a commune?) with a large group of international students, some of whom evidently had a passion for zero supply chain waste. A plate of meatballs, some bread and potatoes, and a drop of wine. Not bad at all. Though the salad didn’t look that good and had to be re-discarded. It was good to be in his company again, after studying with him many, many months ago in Tokyo. I didn’t take him for the lefty sort, but I guess that's what happens to you when you’re trying to save money doing a museum internship in Berlin that you’re not enjoying (or being paid much for). The next evening, I had a hearty plate of Bavarian food at a restaurant for dinner. 5. — Mr Liu, these impressions of Berlin are a decade old! Why write these at all?
— You're right, terribly right. Blinking at these photos it's almost like the pixels have faded, degraded as if on print. Trying to come up with these anecdotes, it's like remembering a past life. Maybe the Hindus and the Buddhists are right after all... — Why not just go back? Replace the sad and cold with the warm and sparkly, do a reboot, a redux, etcetera, etcetera, that sort of stuff? — Ah, here's the rub: I don't think I will go back, and even if I did, this version of myself and the city no longer exists. Delicious and broody... sweet and resentful... it's all a former incarnation, now untouchable, now impossible to interrogate. — Agreed, Mr Liu. But then I must ask, why go off at all? — Verily, I could not tell you.
0 Comments
Dresden. So it goes. Dresden, the capital of Saxony, a city of over half-a-million, a major historic and industrial centre along the Elbe River. I came here, during my winter tour of Europe in 2014, to visit a friend who was on exchange at university here. Once a city of cultural and artistic wonder, Dresden suffered calamitous damage as a result of the deeply controversial bombing of Dresden. From the 13th to the 15th of February 1945, the city was almost completely flattened by high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices dropped by British and American air forces. One needs to only briefly stroll around Dresden's Altstadt, or Old Town, to see the consequences of these events. Where there should be tightly packed historical buildings, there are instead yawning gaps in the cityscape. Huge, empty spaces in the city centre are like eerie deletions, like solemn omissions, like gouges out of time and space. And the reconstruction of Dresden's monuments continues to this day. What there is to see (and has been mostly reconstructed) is lovely, however... The Albertinum, a modern art museum. Dresden's iconic Frauenkirche, a Lutheran church. The Schlossplatz, or the Palace Square. The Procession of Princes, an enormous mural of Saxony's royalty and noblemen. The Semper Opera House, which once premiered the works of Wagner and Strauss. A monument to Martin Luther, that titan of the Protestant Reformation, stands stoically for all to witness. Even the communist propaganda mural on the wall of the Kulturpalast, a modernist hall from the era of the German Democratic Republic, speaks of the enduring history of Dresden. The was once a city called the 'Florence on the Elbe' before it was reduced to rubble. Historians have debated endlessly as to the legitimacy of the Allied bombing campaign in terms of morality and strategy and tactical reasoning. All I can say is that it was an unequivocal tragedy for the civilian population. The American writer Kurt Vonnegut, who himself was a survivor of the bombings when he was a prisoner of war, speaks powerfully from his experience of its aftermath in his novel 'Slaughterhouse-Five': There was a fire-storm out there. Dresden was one big flame. The one flame ate everything organic, everything that would burn. It wasn't safe to come out of the shelter until noon the next day. When the Americans and their guards did come out, the sky was black with smoke. The sun was an angry little pinhead. Dresden was like the moon now, nothing but minerals. The stones were hot. Everybody else in the neighborhood was dead. So it goes. One of the must-visit places in Dresden, I feel, is its Military History Museum. The museum's façade is striking - the architect added a caged arrowhead structure to it, with the idea that it represents the openness and transparency of Germany's modern democratic society, in contrast to the rigidness of the existing building, which represents the severe, authoritarian past. This museum showcases Germany's complicated relationship with warfare. The permanent exhibition guides visitors through German military history, from the Middle Ages, through to the devastating World Wars, to contemporary times. It is intended to be unbiased and explore human violence as a historical, cultural and anthropological phenomenon – one which shapes our shared understanding of the past, present, and future. I also had the opportunity to experience some of Dresden's high culture with a night at the opera. I went along with my exchange friend and one of her German friends to see The Marriage of Figaro, a comic opera composed by Mozart. To be honest, I had zero idea what was going on, but the German friend assured me that it was 'very, very funny'. And I had the chance to enjoy some low, or perhaps 'alternative', culture. For instance, I found Dresden's Neustadt to be a very hip, very lively neighbourhood. My friend also took me to the Elbeflohmarkt, one of the oldest flea markets in the city. Here, I was able to admire piles upon piles of retro junk, East German communist paraphernalia, and potential trash-turned-treasure for sale. I think I would like to visit this city again in ten, no, twenty years time... Perhaps by then the gaps of Dresden's Altstadt will have blossomed out, back into its former stony glory. Perhaps with time the Frauenkirche will no longer resemble the inside of a Hungarian bathhouse. Anything is possible with time enough to heal. Ah! Imagine that, Elbflorenz reborn! How I would love to waltz down Dresden’s wide streets again. I would trace my fingers along the street art and ride the rumbling trams. I would kick through the dead leaves of Alaunpark and wander through the riverside flea market, before sailing down the Elbe itself to find out where all the pretty Saxony girls are.
|
AuthorMing is an economist, traveller, and creative writer from Melbourne, Australia. He’s a nebulous collection of particles on the lookout for a good corner to sit with a book and a cup of coffee. Archives
September 2023
Categories
All
|