“Ich bin ein Berliner” Those famous words uttered by Mr Kennedy. Intended of course to offer the citizens of the great city a lasting hope and possible realisation of soon being able to tread from East to West and back again without the threat of being shot or imprisoned; it’s one of the most memorable quotes in history. The German language is at best colourful, boisterous and proud but complexity walks alongside it. If only the American president would have omitted that one little word “ein”, the message would have been anything other than “I am a donut”. The small freudian slip shall forever bring a smile to many a German soul. The cold grey wall eventually came tumbling down so if anything, JFK is having the last laugh.
I visited Berlin in a rather dreary March month this year. In some ways the grey weather almost gives the city more soul. It’s not aesthetically pleasing to the eye like Prague or Venice but there is something about the urban landscape that I find immensely appealing. Perhaps it’s the mix of communist architecture against the typical western European style with the added spices of decaying landscapes and worn out factories. You can’t judge a book by its cover they tell us. You would be foolish to do so without even turning at least one leaf. Think of Berlin as a Lord of the Rings novel, perhaps difficult to comprehend at first but it starts making sense the further you dig in. The wealth of history, culture, business and characters contained within are vast and colourful. Yes, there was the war and there is still an underlying shadow on display with remnants and reminders of the Hitler regime. You’ll still find numerous bullet holes in buildings and the Nazi architecture prevails. Nether-the-less, this city has a healthy pulse of epic proportions. I’ve heard about the many musicians or writers that have moved here due to the openminded attitude and healthy interest to anything arty, alternative or forward thinking. It’s cheaper than say London or Paris but as a creative type myself, one of the best things you can do is immerse yourself with like minded spirits and have the opportunity to taste the vast array of cultural offerings which are effortlessly put on the table here. This is no ordinary meal, we’re talking class gourmet with the best Champagne money can buy, just add the word`edgy`for the sauce and the cycle is complete. The nightlife of course is well documented and I must admit to thinking I had an agreeable amount of stamina; good but not the best as I was to discover. Hedonism is a boring word in the German vocabulary. Here, nightclubs go on for days and indeed some club worshippers slot in their weekly shop before heading back again for part two.
Part one of my trip was to participate in the Berlin half marathon known as The Vantenfall. The last four letters did not instil the utmost confidence in me for the race ahead but I’m a running man and us running troopers never stop. Actually, it’s the name of the company who sponsor it. Anyway, this was my first venture abroad to run and as a soloist to add. I would be on my own for five to six days before meeting some freunde ( that’s friends to you) but for now, it was just me and my trainers for company. Germans take their running very seriously by the way. The event I was to participate in is one of the biggest in the calendar and the spectatorship is huge. An expected twenty-five thousand were to run so I was looking forward to taking part.
Upon my arrival to Alexanderplatz, I was greeted with the smell of steaming bratwurst (typical German sausage to the unenlightened) and other delightful scents. Alexanderplatz is one of the main meeting points in Berlin. Formally a part of the East, the striking TV tower known locally as`the golfball`tees up into the heavens with communistic strokes while the main station crouches bewilderingly underneath hoping not to be stamped upon. It’s a hive of activity and people watching. Since the latter is one of my favourite past times, I just had to take five, set my eyes accordingly and indulge in a freshly cooked bratwurst roll washed down with a fine local beer. Ok, it’s hardly the Ritz but frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. One of the best things about Berlin is that you can acquire these rolls almost anytime, anywhere and they are fresh. Nobody makes a sausage like the Germans do, it’s true. It`s all very simple you know, just add a plain crusty roll with either a bratwurst or currywurst, cover with desired sauce be it mustard or tomato ketchup and you have a hearty lunch to keep you going. If you would like to blend in with the locals, you can do no worse than with the two b’s.
I stayed and strayed east as my hotel was situated in an area called Friedrichshain on the outskirts of the city. I took public transport and as you can imagine, getting there, in this case by the U-bahn was strikingly easy. Punctuality and organisation on both the U and S Bahn prevails and the ticketing system is very simple to understand. Another thing worth noting is the good quality food and drink a commuter can purchase on the platform or station, almost as good as your grandmother could conjure up and none too pressing on the wallet. With a variety of colourful sandwiches, lavishing pastries and caffeine inducing beverages on display, I knew a difficult choice would be faced with breakfast or lunch during my stay. On arrival to my lodgings, greying soviet style apartment blocks surrounded me so not much to be in awe of but viewing these rather grotesque monoliths gave me a heightened sense that this area was once under Russian rule. I thought about the people living there, wondering what changes they must have seen or been through. Of typical communist infrastructure, the streets and avenues are very wide, also very symmetrical, it was almost like a sudden teleportation to Moscow had taken place with street names such as`Karl Marx allee`. For some reason though, I found this type of architecture to be fascinating, visually impressionable with a look of demanding attention. From where I was situated, it continued like a great linear trench to Alexanderplatz whereby the Western influences strive to take over. It’s also noticeable that rather than eliminate the eastern`blocs` of concrete, Berlin has converted a lot of these former GDR edifices into bars, cafes and clubs which in turn has given them a slightly dark, danky and retro atmosphere yet with a hint of charm to days of old. This coupled with the ancient, haunting disused power stations, bleak landscapes and other rust lorn industrial graveyards has provided an ideal shop floor in the form of dance for the creatures of the night to gather together and party the night away. The music can be as industrial as it needs to be as the venues are too far and desolate from residential ears.
The next morning after a recovering from a few misspent hours the night before drinking German schnapps with a couple of travellers I had met at a restaurant, I proceeded into town, flightpath inserted, to the disused Berlin Templehof aerodrome to pick up my pack for the race. The venue in question was an awesome sight to behold. Looking like an uninspiring row of office blocks from the exterior, a short walk through the ageing terminal provided a drawbridge to the gaping airfield with its huge crescent shaped tiered roof which seemed to go on for an eternity. In its hey-day it served as one of the big three airports in World War two, alongside Croydon in the UK and Paris le Bourget. Today however, this was a running club of epic proportions. A plethora of competitors awaited at the start lines to collect their packs, raring to depart. Once in hand, free T- shirts abound, food, drink and a running expo could be worn, consumed and viewed in that order. After collecting my pack and a dose of the two b’s, I spent a couple of hours walking around, taking in the atmosphere and being injected with a wealth of leg, foot and trainer information. By now, I was beginning to get quite excited and I was looking forward to getting my running shoes on.
The day of the race was wet and grey but ideal for racing. With typical German organisation, storage of personal goods was simple. Numerous athletes were stretching or having some last few sips of liquid, the imposing golf ball TV tower just barely able to take a look. I noticed an abundance of international folk, some in groups, some alone, some as a couple and the swath of native’s eager to get going; a look of primal focus drawn on their faces. The start was to be opposite the magnificent Berlin Cathedral, a perfect setting. I took a light jog to the start and was then swallowed up into the jaws of the vibrating competitors.
The route was flat and fairly straight. Proceedings began with a run through the historic gaps of the Brandenburg Tor leading down to the infamous Tiergarten and the Berlin Victory Column. From there we headed toward Charlottenburg, an area of largely Russian breath. Well known areas and landmarks were passed such as Podsdamer Platz and the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Memorial church which was a survivor of the numerous bombings inflicted during the war. The atmosphere was electric, a carnival like atmosphere. Numerous bands played, steel, jazz, rock, all manner of genres keeping the spirits alive whilst the watchers gleefully cheered on their loved ones. As I neared the finish, all was not perfect, I happened to see a pair of lifeless limbs stretched out on the floor with the remainder of the body eloped by medical crew. I later found out those legs belonged to a heart attack victim. A stark reality check that a half marathon was not without its risks. Despite crossing the finish line and achieving a personal best time, that image will be something that will be forever etched in my mind. At the finish there were tasty snacks, a medal and free beer for all, albeit alcohol vacant. Being it German in origin though it still actually tasted quite good.
At the after party that night, I had the chance to meet and mingle with some of the locals to discuss post-race tales and sore limbs. The dance floor was busy, everyone looked pleased and there were re-runs of the day’s events playing on numerous TV screens around the venue. It seemed that there was a lot of pride and sense of achievement meandering through the walls and I was proud to have played a small part in it.
The next few days I turned from runner to tourist, walking endlessly but never aimlessly. I’m quite good at doing the city walk. While it’s nice and convenient to use the machines to get around, as anyone in the city savvy cluster knows, you can miss a lot of interesting things. I took a trip out to the Olympia Stadian built in 1916 and used for hosting both sports events (infamously the 1936 Olympics where by American Jessie Owens won four gold medals) and the setting used for propaganda purposes by the Nazis (Adolf Hitler opened the said 1936 games) Despite a recent renovation, the structure still marks its territory. On exiting from the station, a long road which could easily double as a runway to the looming two tower entrance is a sight to behold in itself. While it’s doubtful that a 747 would be able to gather enough speed to as even scrape the top, the abundance of tarmac provides great space for a motorbike speedway or learner drivers to practice without fear. The stadium itself is impressive and the architectural glory of yesteryear still shines through. It was fairly quiet when I visited, which the gave the area a strange still atmosphere. Coupled with the haunting looking bell tower to the rear (The Nazis stored a lot of film footage here) I felt like the hunted for a brief period of time.
Carrying on with the tourist theme, the next day I decided to take a Third Reich group tour of the city, taking in some chilling reminders and memories of Nazi Berlin. We took in the site and might of the former Luftwaffe headquarters passing numerous bullet holed buildings and memorials including the symmetrical Jewish stones on the way. Just around the corner, there is what’s left of the former Gestapo building, the former residence of the Nazi secret police. Like a haunted house on the hill, it looks out of place in the urban jungle surroundings, standing alone as if enveloped by a magnetic field, impenetrable, unwelcoming, yet refusing to step down. There is also a large part of the wall still intact that escalates outwards from the side of the building like a giant mechanical arm. The authorities are in the process of setting up a new exhibition within the grounds but for the moment there is an outdoor gallery entitled The Topography of Terror containing some interesting but graphic pictures and text relating to the rise of Nazis, general life during the war in Germany and the final solution. We visited the site of Hitler’s former bunker but there is not much to see, although somewhere underground further than the eye dare rove there probably is. The only real example left of the Hitler footprint is in a station nearby where they’ve used some of the marble that was once used in The Fuhrer’s office.
The next few days were spent meeting up with friends and sampling the city nightlife and gastronomic offerings. One particular area I liked was around Friedrichstasse. Located right by the river and offering great views of the city, especially at dusk, it contained a hefty, vibrant mixture of smells and human sounds. Along the river bank lay an abundance of outdoor cafes, restaurants and bars. Quite the place to be on a weekend I thought. There is also an area around Orianburger Strasse which is worth a mention, with its tree lined streets offering cocktails abound, alfresco activities, youthful atmosphere and the fraulines of the night. Both the said areas lie in the vicinity known as the mitte (centre) of town. You can’t pay a price on local knowledge so it was good one evening to meet up with a friend and his significant other who just happened to originate from Berlin. We started off in the trendy, leafy area of Prenzlauerberg with its bohemian, laid back feel. Littered with many bars and small eateries, this area is both popular with students and professionals alike so some tough choices had to be made. Luckily being in the hands of a native proved its worth as the outstretched white sign with the name Zumir Oder Zudir beckoned us in. A nice eighties retro bar was the setting with equally retro but comfy armchairs. With some lounge music playing in the background, it was a nice step back in time and a good place to start a lengthy night out in Berlin. After heading into the Stadmitte which is basically one of the main shopping districts in the centre of town. I had the opportunity to sample a local delicacy which is the Berliner meatballs. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant but the internal offerings were good and the large ( two litre ) beer servings assisted greatly, although slightly painful for the arms. After leaving the food establishment feeling rather bloated, a brisk walk to aid food combustion was required whereby we headed back to Prenzlauerberg to see how the Germans do cocktails…
The nightlife in Berlin is, how can I put it, plentiful. Whatever you want, whenever you want, you’re bound to find it as the choices are endless. There is a big alternative scene as well as the usual standard club fare. Nothing really shocks here, so just be. The city is well known for championing techno, house and electronic music in all its forms; you hear it being played everywhere. It’s acknowledged by the locals for playing an important cultural role and has left a long-lasting legacy which is known throughout the world. It’s true that many people visit just to sample the nightlife in all its weird and wonderful guises.
For my last night in Berlin, I had the pleasure of seeing the infamous Jeff Mills step out of his spaceship straight from Planet Axis ( Axis is the name of his record label ) and perform at a club called Tresor. The word tresor means safe or vault. The club used to host its nights in the basement of a disused bank near the Potsdamer Platz. It was one of those clubs I’d heard about whilst growing up and had always wanted to attend. Now was my chance. Despite moving location to a rather immense disused power station, the dark, dingy interior and the new makeshift vault, found by exciting a creepy winding tunnel, gave an impression of what it must have been like back in the day. It’s always a honour to see Herr Mills live. He doesn’t even call himself a DJ, more of a medium or storyteller, using music to paint a picture, taking the soul on an intergalactic aural journey. He is hugely respected here and this was evident by the crowd in attendance, with one fellow asking me if he was indeed witnessing The Wizard unleashing his wand to take action (This was his DJ name back in the eighties). His new show entitled The Sleeper Wakes started off with the first hour or so of pure soundtrack music to set the tone and mood. A gradual build up then progressed, climbing to a peak of dance floor madness. He didn’t even stand behind the turntables as a normal DJ would, he actually kneeled on the stage for the duration, with only a flimsy pillow for comfort.The equipment and array of light surrounded him like an electronic ambush, perhaps waiting to spar with him just like a martial artist. I never made it to the end, my time was up a while before. The past week had finally caught up with me. Perhaps Jeff had decided to take a few people with him on his sonic fuelled flying carpet. Hopefully he would have dropped them off in time for work on Monday morning…but then again…
Pete Rann
© 2014 Pete Rann