(no subject)
We went to the Komische Oper in Berlin to see "Queen of Spades" by Tchaikovsky. We loved it. We went to galleries and we walked for miles. Michael went up in a tethered hot air balloon, which was exhilirating for him and terrifying for me down on the ground. I have a ridiculous fear of heights and even feel that fear on behalf of other people who have no fear at all.
We went to a fleamarket in Boxhagener Platz, where I found a little black dog that is to be the hero of a children's book I have already half written in my mind. We went to Intersoup, for delicious, hot soup on a cold night. We went to a very distinguished billiard salon in Hackeschermarkt where the lovely proprieter and his friend thought we must be Finnish. We went to Cafe Cinema in Hackescherhof, which served delicious, massive bowls of hot milschkaffee. I don't drink coffee here, but the coffee in Berlin was glorious.
We loved Kreuzberg, where we lived. Just walking around it was fun. Tiny children on tiny bicycles were everywhere. Children's parks are everywhere too, and in constant use.
We went to Gossehamburger Strasse, where the oldest Jewish graveyard in Berlin is situated. You may imagine that it is not today how it once was. A Jewish old folk's home once stood here. 55,000 people were taken here before deportation to the camps. I cannot describe how it felt, just standing there. On this street too is the Missing House. Flats were lost in the war here, and a gap remains , and the artist Christian Boltanski has created from this space a place where the names and occupations of the former residents are on plaques on the walls. It's a really effective space. Some of the most affecting places were the voids or the places that made you aware of the loss. On the other side of the street were blocks of flats riddled with shrapnel or gunfire.
We went to Sophienkirche, a church which was gifted to the city by the Jewish population. Sitting in the plain church with its fine old plain glass windows, the quietness of it and the proximity to the aforementioned Jewish cemetery and old folk's home was deeply sad. It seemed impossible that those who worshipped inside these walls bore witness to the horror of what happened to those who might worship elsewhwere.
We went to see the Russian War Memorial, which was suitably Soviet and sombre. We saw a wonderful, glorious memorial to the persecuted homosexuals of the war. It stands opposite the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. It's a big, metallic box with a little window. You look through this window and see a film of two young men kissing passionately. I was moved to tears by it. It's a wonderful memorial.
We went to the Wannsee Villa. That is something I can feel still. The whole lake was frozen and the exhibition inside was deeply chilling. Eichmann's admission that the conference there, to fully decide the final solution, took an hour and a half and business was done. There was fine cognac served until the participants were merry with it.
The area where the villa is is a wealthy one. Rowing and boating clubs are plentiful round the lake, and the houses are big and often imposing. But the whole area felt as if it were aware of some dirty secret...that something shameful had happened here. It was deathly quiet and there was nobody on the streets. I hope it is different in summer. Why should there still be a feeling of something unclean having happened here ?
One of the most effective ways of making you think about what happened in Berlin are the little brass plaques in the pavements outside the homes of those murdered. There is a small, square plaque for each member of a family who lived in a particular house in a street. You can be just walking along, enjoying the day, enjoying the city, when you see these little plaques. It's important I think, for these little memorials to individual people who lived in the very street you are walking on, to remind you that they were here. They were alive.
So, history and tragedy and tears, and bars and funny little shops, and opera and galleries and walking and fun. An experience that I cherish. I love Berlin.
We went to a fleamarket in Boxhagener Platz, where I found a little black dog that is to be the hero of a children's book I have already half written in my mind. We went to Intersoup, for delicious, hot soup on a cold night. We went to a very distinguished billiard salon in Hackeschermarkt where the lovely proprieter and his friend thought we must be Finnish. We went to Cafe Cinema in Hackescherhof, which served delicious, massive bowls of hot milschkaffee. I don't drink coffee here, but the coffee in Berlin was glorious.
We loved Kreuzberg, where we lived. Just walking around it was fun. Tiny children on tiny bicycles were everywhere. Children's parks are everywhere too, and in constant use.
We went to Gossehamburger Strasse, where the oldest Jewish graveyard in Berlin is situated. You may imagine that it is not today how it once was. A Jewish old folk's home once stood here. 55,000 people were taken here before deportation to the camps. I cannot describe how it felt, just standing there. On this street too is the Missing House. Flats were lost in the war here, and a gap remains , and the artist Christian Boltanski has created from this space a place where the names and occupations of the former residents are on plaques on the walls. It's a really effective space. Some of the most affecting places were the voids or the places that made you aware of the loss. On the other side of the street were blocks of flats riddled with shrapnel or gunfire.
We went to Sophienkirche, a church which was gifted to the city by the Jewish population. Sitting in the plain church with its fine old plain glass windows, the quietness of it and the proximity to the aforementioned Jewish cemetery and old folk's home was deeply sad. It seemed impossible that those who worshipped inside these walls bore witness to the horror of what happened to those who might worship elsewhwere.
We went to see the Russian War Memorial, which was suitably Soviet and sombre. We saw a wonderful, glorious memorial to the persecuted homosexuals of the war. It stands opposite the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. It's a big, metallic box with a little window. You look through this window and see a film of two young men kissing passionately. I was moved to tears by it. It's a wonderful memorial.
We went to the Wannsee Villa. That is something I can feel still. The whole lake was frozen and the exhibition inside was deeply chilling. Eichmann's admission that the conference there, to fully decide the final solution, took an hour and a half and business was done. There was fine cognac served until the participants were merry with it.
The area where the villa is is a wealthy one. Rowing and boating clubs are plentiful round the lake, and the houses are big and often imposing. But the whole area felt as if it were aware of some dirty secret...that something shameful had happened here. It was deathly quiet and there was nobody on the streets. I hope it is different in summer. Why should there still be a feeling of something unclean having happened here ?
One of the most effective ways of making you think about what happened in Berlin are the little brass plaques in the pavements outside the homes of those murdered. There is a small, square plaque for each member of a family who lived in a particular house in a street. You can be just walking along, enjoying the day, enjoying the city, when you see these little plaques. It's important I think, for these little memorials to individual people who lived in the very street you are walking on, to remind you that they were here. They were alive.
So, history and tragedy and tears, and bars and funny little shops, and opera and galleries and walking and fun. An experience that I cherish. I love Berlin.