My Grandmother (Oma) told me this is what JFK said when he visited Berlin. But, pastry aside, folks from Berlin are called Berliners, just like volks from Hamburg are Hamburgers, and hunds from Rottweil are Rottweilers. Years before President Kennedy closed with "Ich bin ein Berliner", my Oma lived in Berlin, while many around her died. She said that having to step over bodies in the street after Allied bombings affected her greatly, as she found the question of why she was not among the dead to be overwhelming. Owing no small part to her distaste for the Russians who murdered her parents in what is now western Poland, Oma ended up in the American Sector of West Berlin following the war. This is where she was doggedly pursued (some might say stalked) by a GI from Missouri who would later become my father's father.
My Oma had no desire to return to the Old Country. For her, all that Berlin represented was bad memories. When I was a kid, Berlin was the epitome of Cold War example; the enemy back then wasn’t a clandestine crew of camel jockeys called Al-Qaeda, but rather a big bad bear known as the Soviet Union. I can remember a time when instead of fretting over a terrorist with explosive underwear, we were merely worried about total nuclear annihilation. I was only ten years old when the Berlin Wall came down, but it will undoubtedly retain a permanent place in my memory as one of the most historic events in my lifetime.
My hostel was located near the Alexanderplatz, a drab throwback to the Stasi –stained days of the Deutche Demokratische Republik (DDR), featuring statues of Marx and Engels, as well as a “world clock” keeping time with comrade capitals like Havana and Hanoi. After checking-in, I decided to walk west. My first destination was the famous Brandenburg Gate, originally built to promote Prussian power, but now better known for its role in bisecting Berlin. Not far from the gate, about a 15 minute walk away, is Checkpoint Charlie, the most famous US Army border post in Europe. The original gatehouse and signs letting you know that you are entering/leaving the American Sector still stand, but nowadays the armed guards have been replaced by tourist touts posing for photos in retro uniforms. Only a couple blocks from Checkpoint Charlie, there is a section of the Wall resting upon the remains of the Nazi Gestapo headquarters, as part of an open-air museum.
One of the things that impressed me most about modern Berlin is the effort it has made to reconcile its reprehensible past. Instead of concealing or denying their embarrassing 20th Century history, the city candidly confesses its prior crimes, and has dedicated many monuments to its victims. One of these is the stark memorial to Jews murdered during the Holocaust. The plaza is full of massive monoliths of alternating width and height, creating cavernous alleys between. Across the street, just inside the titanic Tiergarten (Berlin’s version of Central Park) is another monument dedicated to the Holocaust’s homosexual victims. It is comprised of a large cement block with one small window. When you look in the window, you see a TV monitor showing same-sex partners making out. It was an odd monument…but then again, I think the weirdness of Berlin part is a big part of its appeal. Sometimes the town took the quality of a never-ending Mentos commercial.
A walk through the Tiergarten is a wonderful reprieve from the hustle of the surrounding city. While I was ambling down a forest path, I came across three Goth teenagers in black hoodies. There was a dog running around off-leash (one of many I saw) sniffing and digging and minding its own business. All of a sudden, for no apparent reason whatsoever, one of the little the punks went and kicked the poor pup with his combat boot. I doubt the teen would’ve acted in such a foul manner having known that the canine’s owner saw the whole incident, and was probably six and a half feet tall and easily three hundred pounds in weight. Defending his dog, the irate hulk walked up and punched the kid square in the mouth. Unlike the other acts of violence I’ve seen on my trip, this one amused me to no end. I thought, “Maybe now that little turd will think twice before he kicks another dog.”
After that, I went to the Siegsaule, or the “Victory Column”. Designed by the Prussians to commemorate their martial triumphs during the 1800’s, much the tall tower was made with melted cannons surrendered by foes. I paid three Euros to climb the stairs to the top, and it made for a great view of Berlin. Descending the Victory Column, I walked along the Spree River to the Reichstag, the German Parliament. After taking a few photos, I figured it was time to call it a day and get some dinner. So far on my round-the-world voyage, I’ve done my best to eat local dishes exclusively while in a particular place. Already a fan of German cuisine, this was no problem for me. For my first dinner, I had a Berliner Boulle with a salad. The German “Meatball” was more like what Americans would deem “meatloaf” and it was uber-satisfying. In the following days, I would also devour Weinerschnitzel (a lightly breaded veal cutlet) and Currywurst (a savory sausage smothered in ketchup and cumin). The Berlin beverage of choice is beer, and I had a couple of good ones, including a pilsner called Berliner Kindl. I thought it was delicious, but I still had yet to taste the wonders of Belgian brews. (I’ll get to that in a later entry)
The remainder of my time in Berlin was spent with more sightseeing. What I thought would be two hours in the German Museum of History turned into six, and I also visited the quirky and interesting DDR Museum (devoted to the Communist regime in the East). While I walked by the massive TV tower many times, I decided to save my money and declined a ride to the top, especially after having satiating my appetite for an elevated view at the Victory Column. On my last day, I walked to the spot of Hitler’s Bunker. Destroyed by the Communists after the war, the spot where Das Fuhrer spent the last month of his life underground in a microcosm of self-delusion is now an apartment building parking lot. I wondered what it must be like for the people who live there, knowing that their auto is stationed in such a significant space.
Last but not least, I have to mention how much I enjoyed Berlin as a whole. While the weather was unseasonably cold, the people were warm and polite…from the moment I landed at Tegel airport north of town, to the moment I took off from Schoenfeld airport south of town. When I got to the U-Bahn (Subway) station after I’d arrived, an automatic kiosk was my only option for buying a ticket. Unfortunately, although I’d just withdrawn some cash from an ATM, the part of the machine that accepted bills was out-of-order. Queuing behind me, an old man with a cane witnessed my predicament. Not wanting to hold him up, I let him play through, and without speaking a word of English, he purchased an extra ticket and handed it to me. I was at the U-Bahn Station again outside of my hostel at 4am on my day of departure. A young guy came up to me and started speaking German. I politely said, “Ich nie spreken sie…” Then he said, “Francais?” and I said, “Un peu”. He asked me if the train I was waiting on was heading to Schoenfeld. I confirmed this for him and for the next hour on the way to the airport, and we had a good conversation in what one might call “Frerman” or “Grench”. When there was a French word I stumbled on, I usually knew the German equivalent, and vice-versa. He told me his name was Maris, that he was a photographer from Basel, Switzerland (hence the proficiency in German and French) and that he was born in Tunisia. We discussed the differences between the US and European economies. After getting to the airport, he insisted on buying me a coffee and a strudel. I thanked him in both of his fluent languages, and went to my terminal stunned that I’d actually had such a long talk without using a word of English. Then, I got my boarding pass for Amsterdam.
