People watching at the Philharmonic

The Berlin Philharmonic can hardly be considered a “hidden gem” - for any classical music lover it is de rigueur to visit when in the city - though the free concerts on Tuesday lunchtimes are less known to tourists.
Whilst the music was beautiful, the real joy was in watching the people who attended the performance on a blustery January afternoon. The few holidaymakers stuck out, checking their camera bags or oversized backpacks at the cloakrooms, milling around in groups, staring up at the stained glass. People brought lunches, glasses clinked, and at times the conversation went from a quiet hum to almost deafening.

As the musicians walked out to the stage, a hush descended over the assembled listeners. They were stood and sat everywhere - some had brought blankets and cushions to lounge on the floor, some leant on pillars, some had made it to the few available chairs. The staircases too were filled with the masses. From up on a balcony, I could see the whole room.

The music began. As anticipated, the viola soared and swooped and plunged, and within seconds, everyone was transfixed. My eyes began to wander mindlessly across the crowd.
A tiny girl in a princess dress danced silently by herself as her parents watched the performance. She leapt and twirled, her ribbons and frills bouncing in time.
A young man in his work suit, the trousers at least an inch too short, rested against a pillar, his eyes closed, head slowly nodding in time with the music until he dozed off.
A beautiful woman in a red beret sat with her sketch pad on her lap, drawing the sounds of the viola, pen rising and falling with the peaks and troughs of the sonata.
Tears rolled freely down an elderly man’s face as he held his wife’s hand, her head lolled back on to the headrest of her wheelchair, smiling broadly.
Students, businessmen, mothers with tiny babies, the elderly, the disabled, the unemployed. Faces brimming with joy, cracked with pain, soothed and rejuvenated and united by the music. The rich and the poor brought together for one hour of the week.

Far, far too soon the music ended. The small girl was wrapped up in a winter coat. The young man woke to the clapping, picked up his lunch box, adjusted his suit. The woman inspected her work, then packed away her pad and pens. The elderly man found a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and gently fixed his wife’s hair before wheeling her toward the exit. The concertgoers dispersed in a matter of minutes, and once again life went on.