"Oh yeah, I'm in a foreign country where English isn't their first language." Somehow that didn't cross my mind even once before my trip, as I had taken for granted that all of my recent travels were to English-speaking countries (regardless of how silly their accents and dialects sound at times). So as I exited Berlin Schönefeld airport early on a Friday morning, passing the currywurst cart that had a line of customers queuing, it took a moment to mentally prepare myself to navigate public transportation relying only on the signage that was translated into English, of which there was less than I hoped or expected.
Now, perhaps I was holding the Germans to an unrealistic standard of efficiency, as they are so often positively stereotyped, but within 20 minutes of landing in Berlin I encountered the first of what would become a short list of contradictions of so-called German efficiency. Ignoring the fact that the train station at the airport did not clearly identify which of the multiple rail systems ran on which tracks, the station itself only had about a dozen ticket machines, each one with a line of roughly 20 people waiting to buy tickets. A few extra machines, for which there was plenty of space, could have saved many passengers from waiting on those lines and potentially missing their trains that only run every ~30 minutes. Murphy's Law taught me well, and knowing that the train would leave on time when an extra minute or two would've helped, I ran from the ticket machine and made it just in time. Later I discovered that this train, like all trains and subways in Berlin, have no turnstiles that allow entry, no ticket checkers as far as I saw, and no English signs instructing me to buy tickets, so I felt no guilt that this was the last ticket I paid for over the weekend. German efficiency my arsch.
From the airport, I headed straight to Google Berlin, an office of about 50 that houses many of our policy/legal teams that work closely with the German government. The conference rooms are all named after famous Berlin nightclubs, some even decorated in their style. At lunchtime I met Itamar and Eli and tried to go nearby to Museum Island and the Pergamon Museum, but the frustratingly long (and inefficient) lines prevented us from doing so, and so I returned to work.
After work I took a walk to the airbnb apt we were staying in, admiring all of the old buildings and many of the residential areas wrapped in art.
In case you can't make it out clearly, in the scene surrounding the closest window on the right, you can see a woman defecating on her husband's slippers while he sits on the couch reading his newspaper. Berlinische art.
The Holocaust Memorial - the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe
I cannot speak for the rest of our crew, but when I found out about the restaurant/club/tattoo studio called White Trash Fast Food, and especially after I visited their website, I knew I could not leave Berlin without checking it out. Fortunately, that night the theme party was 'Kill All Hipsters', which we hoped was some bizarro-reverse-ironic statement that meant we could get in wearing whatever the fuck we wanted. With that said, we still decided on no tucked shirts, and no dress shoes. Holding our collective breath as we approached the door, the bouncers asked for 5 euros and let us right in. After rounding the corner, we looked at each other and all agreed this night was already better than the night before. We began on the basement floor, seeing a band called The Jahoodi Craz, their shirtless frontman a cross between Jim Morrison and Buffalo Bill (and their music resembling something the latter would've probably had on his iPod).
Upstairs the scene was quieter with a more normal rock band playing. We grabbed a table and ordered food. While the currywurst from a few hours ago still sat heavy, we couldn't resist their very enticing menu of creative burgers, like the Warm Goat Cheese & Marquee de Fuck Burger. We all got something whacky yet still within reason, except for Itamar who won the prize with his Octopus Burger. Pro tip: don't get the Octopus Burger.
As the band played and we ate our meals, a nice young girl (sarcasm) decided to hop up on the window sill, where a pole was conveniently located, and proceeded to strip off her clothes revealing everything to the restaurant patrons as well as those outside. Eventually she took the stage, grabbed the mic, and offered herself (presumably her services) to any guy in the bar. Not a single person raised their hand.
Escaping creepiness downstairs, only to discover raunchiness upstairs, (don't get me wrong, it was all still entertaining in a messed-up kind of way) we risked going back down for the DJ set. Now this is where I found that little slice of Berlin club-life I wish I could have paused and played on repeat. The DJ team, which we then discovered was called Kill All Hipsters, were generous with their mix of fun, identifiable dancey rock songs, every one worthy of karaoke in its own right and thus had the crowd moving in lockstep.
Earlier in the day, Alex told us of a trip he took to Berlin 10 years ago, and how he found himself at the end of the night at some club he couldn't remember, located at the top of a highrise building, so when the morning came and the party was still going, he could see half the city lit up by the sunrise. Something like this can have a significant impact on a young boy's life, and Alex was determined to find this place again. The name was The Weekend Club, and though the 20th floor & adjacent rooftop venue were really nice, we were just too tired (or maybe too old?) to fully capitalize. We did however stay for a while, dancing with what little energy we had left, and eventually called it a night, once again agreeing that this night was far superior to the previous one.
Sunday was shaping up to be another jam-packed sightseeing day. After a quick breakfast of the grab-and-go variety, we arrived at the Reichstag for our noon tour. Groups are taken in batches and stopped at multiple points along the way and within the building, with airlock-type separations. I assume this is partly for security reasons, but also to keep any part of the tour from getting too crowded and potentially unsafe. The building was reconstructed after German reunification, with the large glass dome completed in 1999. The majority of the tour consists of ascending and then descending the overlapping spiral ramps, with the audio guide activating at certain hotspots and describing many of the major landmarks seen from the dome.
Now, perhaps I was holding the Germans to an unrealistic standard of efficiency, as they are so often positively stereotyped, but within 20 minutes of landing in Berlin I encountered the first of what would become a short list of contradictions of so-called German efficiency. Ignoring the fact that the train station at the airport did not clearly identify which of the multiple rail systems ran on which tracks, the station itself only had about a dozen ticket machines, each one with a line of roughly 20 people waiting to buy tickets. A few extra machines, for which there was plenty of space, could have saved many passengers from waiting on those lines and potentially missing their trains that only run every ~30 minutes. Murphy's Law taught me well, and knowing that the train would leave on time when an extra minute or two would've helped, I ran from the ticket machine and made it just in time. Later I discovered that this train, like all trains and subways in Berlin, have no turnstiles that allow entry, no ticket checkers as far as I saw, and no English signs instructing me to buy tickets, so I felt no guilt that this was the last ticket I paid for over the weekend. German efficiency my arsch.
From the airport, I headed straight to Google Berlin, an office of about 50 that houses many of our policy/legal teams that work closely with the German government. The conference rooms are all named after famous Berlin nightclubs, some even decorated in their style. At lunchtime I met Itamar and Eli and tried to go nearby to Museum Island and the Pergamon Museum, but the frustratingly long (and inefficient) lines prevented us from doing so, and so I returned to work.
For when your meeting in the KitKatClub conference room starts to get boring...
After work I took a walk to the airbnb apt we were staying in, admiring all of the old buildings and many of the residential areas wrapped in art.
Roughly 25% of Berlin's buildings are covered in art, most being fairly elaborate and expansive murals rather than simple graffiti and tags.
If you lived here, you'd be happy right now.
Our "Big Night Out"
While Itamar and Eli went to go see Mark Knopfler at the O2, I grabbed dinner with Alex, Marina, and Sarah and we all met up afterwards for drinks. Having received recommendations for a few nightclubs from various friends, one name kept coming up: Berghain. A quick Google search reveals that it is often hailed as the best club in the world, though we heard their door policy is extremely strict. As we arrived, we saw a line of about 30 people snaking out from the entrance. This was not a varied group, there weren't all kinds of different people there. It was all people like me, or more hipster (for those not understanding the reference, watch this). Fortunately, I got the memo beforehand from a German coworker that the nightclub scene in Berlin was a hip, not fancy scene, so I dressed accordingly. However, Itamar and Alex were wearing tucked-in dress shirts and nice shoes, so we never stood a chance of getting in. We stood in line watching the types of people they were letting in, and those that walked away from the door dispirited. As we got closer, we began to look at ourselves more critically, judging every decision we made on what we wore that night. When our turn came, the two bouncers in black asked Marina how many of us there were. They then looked at the third door guy, a large fellow in striped chef pants and a sleeveless shirt, his face fully hidden behind beard, silver, and tattoos. Had I blinked that moment, it would've been long enough to miss the indiscriminate, virtually unnoticeable change in facial expression directed towards the two guys, as they then said to us, "not in this formation", I believe referring to the ratio we had, and we walked out of the line. As we stood there coming up with the next plan, I continued to watch amazed as the trio at the door judged every article of clothing, accessory, and general aura of those moving to the front of the line, standing as if contestants on a reality talent show waiting to receive their fate: a ticket to Hollywood or an open trap door to Reject-ville, population: us.
Following our next lead, we headed to Watergate Club, which had no line at the entrance. Itamar was the first to walk up amongst us, whom the bouncer stopped immediately, and in a matter-of-fact but slightly apologetic tone, told us we were too dressed up to go in. Unable to mask the disbelief in my voice, I asked him what was so fancy. He called out Itamar's button-down shirt, to which I pointed out I was also wearing one. To this he retorted that mine was plaid, and his a solid color, and then spotted his dress shoes and added those to his reasoning. He truly was not being a jerk about it, but just said they had a particular type of clientele, and we weren't it. Of course, why would they want to let people in who look like they can actually afford to buy drinks?
At this point our confidence was pretty low, so we decided to go into a nearby bar (ok fine, it was actually just an Indian restaurant) to have a drink or two before we tried to get in anywhere else. As we left that place, we met a very hip German guy, bowler hat and all, standing on the street corner that was very nice but basically confirmed that we had no chance of getting in anywhere good the way we were dressed. We decided to give it another go and walked to the next club we had heard about, this time splitting up into two groups of three. While Alex, Marina & Itamar got denied at the door, Eli, Sarah and myself were admitted in. I can't deny that there was a certain feeling of satisfaction, of acceptance, when they let us in, though it was short-lived as we did not capitalize on our new "cool kid status" and immediately walked out to meet up with the rest. By that point, Alex had enough, so him and Marina went home. The rest of us decided to walk to the last club we had heard about, the Wilden Renate, but by the time we got there at 2am the line was 30 people long and 5 people wide. We walked into a nearby bar, a particularly grungy one where we certainly stood even more out of place than we would have at any of the previous clubs. Much as you might get slightly uncomfortable when a homeless person takes a particular interest in petting your dog (it's ok to admit it), the crowd at the bar reacted the same way when Itamar tried to give their massive pitbull a pet. Needless to say, we left after one drink.
Though by some measures, one could say the night was a failure, as we did not get into any of the clubs we wanted to. But as somebody who does not particularly enjoy clubs which are by default too loud and too dark, I had a wonderful evening walking around with friends, seeing the German nightlife (from the street), sharing lots of laughs, and accusing the club doormen of refusing us entry because we were Jewish. Somehow, that latter strategy still did not get us in.
Sightseeing
On Saturday we woke up and all went out for breakfast, discovering another area that "German efficiency" could not overcome: European coffee culture. What was meant to be a quick breakfast took nearly two hours, though the sidewalk cafe in Kreutzberg provided excellent people-watching and we enjoyed reminiscing about our adventure from the night before and planning some thrift shopping that day to avoid a repeat performance (not really though).
After breakfast we began our walk through the city and Tiergarten park, passing through the beautifully designed Potsdamer Platz and arriving in the late afternoon at Brandenburg Tor (Gate), the iconic former (and rebuilt) city gate/landmark. Though we intended to tour the Reichstag (German Parliament) that day, we learned that visits were by appointment only. With only 2 people registering visitors (ze damn Germans!), the 30+ person line took well over an hour, but we prevailed and walked away with tickets for noon the next day.
Following our next lead, we headed to Watergate Club, which had no line at the entrance. Itamar was the first to walk up amongst us, whom the bouncer stopped immediately, and in a matter-of-fact but slightly apologetic tone, told us we were too dressed up to go in. Unable to mask the disbelief in my voice, I asked him what was so fancy. He called out Itamar's button-down shirt, to which I pointed out I was also wearing one. To this he retorted that mine was plaid, and his a solid color, and then spotted his dress shoes and added those to his reasoning. He truly was not being a jerk about it, but just said they had a particular type of clientele, and we weren't it. Of course, why would they want to let people in who look like they can actually afford to buy drinks?
At this point our confidence was pretty low, so we decided to go into a nearby bar (ok fine, it was actually just an Indian restaurant) to have a drink or two before we tried to get in anywhere else. As we left that place, we met a very hip German guy, bowler hat and all, standing on the street corner that was very nice but basically confirmed that we had no chance of getting in anywhere good the way we were dressed. We decided to give it another go and walked to the next club we had heard about, this time splitting up into two groups of three. While Alex, Marina & Itamar got denied at the door, Eli, Sarah and myself were admitted in. I can't deny that there was a certain feeling of satisfaction, of acceptance, when they let us in, though it was short-lived as we did not capitalize on our new "cool kid status" and immediately walked out to meet up with the rest. By that point, Alex had enough, so him and Marina went home. The rest of us decided to walk to the last club we had heard about, the Wilden Renate, but by the time we got there at 2am the line was 30 people long and 5 people wide. We walked into a nearby bar, a particularly grungy one where we certainly stood even more out of place than we would have at any of the previous clubs. Much as you might get slightly uncomfortable when a homeless person takes a particular interest in petting your dog (it's ok to admit it), the crowd at the bar reacted the same way when Itamar tried to give their massive pitbull a pet. Needless to say, we left after one drink.
Though by some measures, one could say the night was a failure, as we did not get into any of the clubs we wanted to. But as somebody who does not particularly enjoy clubs which are by default too loud and too dark, I had a wonderful evening walking around with friends, seeing the German nightlife (from the street), sharing lots of laughs, and accusing the club doormen of refusing us entry because we were Jewish. Somehow, that latter strategy still did not get us in.
Sightseeing
On Saturday we woke up and all went out for breakfast, discovering another area that "German efficiency" could not overcome: European coffee culture. What was meant to be a quick breakfast took nearly two hours, though the sidewalk cafe in Kreutzberg provided excellent people-watching and we enjoyed reminiscing about our adventure from the night before and planning some thrift shopping that day to avoid a repeat performance (not really though).
After breakfast we began our walk through the city and Tiergarten park, passing through the beautifully designed Potsdamer Platz and arriving in the late afternoon at Brandenburg Tor (Gate), the iconic former (and rebuilt) city gate/landmark. Though we intended to tour the Reichstag (German Parliament) that day, we learned that visits were by appointment only. With only 2 people registering visitors (ze damn Germans!), the 30+ person line took well over an hour, but we prevailed and walked away with tickets for noon the next day.
Sarah, Marina, Alex, & Itamar - The Berlin Club Rejects. Hey that could be a great band name!
Brandenburg Gate AKA the Times Sq of Berlin
Das crew
Having worked up an appetite, and over 24 hours passing since my arrival without having tasted the national dish of Germany, we stopped for some currywurst lunch. No offense to the Germans, but I prefer Heinz. Still, I must give credit where credit is due, and coming up with the concept of steaming and then frying a pork sausage - that took guts. (Get it?) :)
I don't always take pictures of my food, but when I do, it's usually something foreign
Brothers don't shake hands. Brothers gotta hug.
The Holocaust Memorial - the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe
Emerging from the underground exhibits, the concrete slabs surround you in all directions and reach the height of your chest. The memories of what you just saw, heard, read below are still fresh. Letters discovered years after the war; from children hopeful to reunite with their parents, from parents succumbing to despair, bidding farewell to their children. None arrived to their intended recipients. The image of pure evil I could not pry my eyes away from, standing inches from the photo now singed into my mind; an SS soldier laughing in the background while his fellow dogs cut the side curls off of a religious man, who stands tall and defies any hint of humiliation and defeat. As you walk down one of the passageways, the rolling ground beneath you sinks lower and the tops of the slabs rise a meter above your head. The concrete maze at times seems endless in all directions. You get disoriented losing track of where you came from, while every turn reveals a new horizon, a sky obstructed by slabs off-kilter, forming ever-narrower passageways, new angles of shadows and sunlight crisscrossing the ground.
And then some respite: a sight of the street or a tree in the distance outside the perimeter, unknown voices heard around corners, children darting through the passageways chasing each other with their laughs trailing behind them. At that moment you want to shun those things, you want to shut them out and immerse your body and your mind in the reason you are standing there. Only later did I feel grateful for them, for symbolizing balance and continuity of life, and for preventing me from sinking too deeply into darker thoughts.
Saturday, Our Big Night Out (for real this time)
Having experienced the full brunt of Berlin's hipper-than-thou standards, this time we were going to go out prepared, and had a strategy guaranteed to deliver. Just in case, though, we began with a couple of drinks at the apartment.
With German AirBNB apartments, accordions come standard.
I cannot speak for the rest of our crew, but when I found out about the restaurant/club/tattoo studio called White Trash Fast Food, and especially after I visited their website, I knew I could not leave Berlin without checking it out. Fortunately, that night the theme party was 'Kill All Hipsters', which we hoped was some bizarro-reverse-ironic statement that meant we could get in wearing whatever the fuck we wanted. With that said, we still decided on no tucked shirts, and no dress shoes. Holding our collective breath as we approached the door, the bouncers asked for 5 euros and let us right in. After rounding the corner, we looked at each other and all agreed this night was already better than the night before. We began on the basement floor, seeing a band called The Jahoodi Craz, their shirtless frontman a cross between Jim Morrison and Buffalo Bill (and their music resembling something the latter would've probably had on his iPod).
If I lived in Berlin, I'd probably spend half my nights out at this place
Upstairs the scene was quieter with a more normal rock band playing. We grabbed a table and ordered food. While the currywurst from a few hours ago still sat heavy, we couldn't resist their very enticing menu of creative burgers, like the Warm Goat Cheese & Marquee de Fuck Burger. We all got something whacky yet still within reason, except for Itamar who won the prize with his Octopus Burger. Pro tip: don't get the Octopus Burger.
As the band played and we ate our meals, a nice young girl (sarcasm) decided to hop up on the window sill, where a pole was conveniently located, and proceeded to strip off her clothes revealing everything to the restaurant patrons as well as those outside. Eventually she took the stage, grabbed the mic, and offered herself (presumably her services) to any guy in the bar. Not a single person raised their hand.
It looked more edible without the flash
Things started heating up...
Caves: great for acoustics, terrible for ventilation
Kevin was much more normal off stage, and with a shirt on
Earlier in the day, Alex told us of a trip he took to Berlin 10 years ago, and how he found himself at the end of the night at some club he couldn't remember, located at the top of a highrise building, so when the morning came and the party was still going, he could see half the city lit up by the sunrise. Something like this can have a significant impact on a young boy's life, and Alex was determined to find this place again. The name was The Weekend Club, and though the 20th floor & adjacent rooftop venue were really nice, we were just too tired (or maybe too old?) to fully capitalize. We did however stay for a while, dancing with what little energy we had left, and eventually called it a night, once again agreeing that this night was far superior to the previous one.
Rooftop at The Weekend Club
Most of the original outer walls from the original ~1890 building are still standing
Like a gigantic fun-house mirror (minus the distortion of proportions)
The debating chamber of the Parliament can be seen below the dome, with the mirrors funneling light into the rom. A large sun shield (not pictured) tracks the sun and moves along with it to prevent blinding those below, as well as solar gain.
The center chamber helps vent some of the warm air out. I peaked over the ledge and saw a bagel in there.
I'm so used to taking these pictures in the bathroom mirror with my shirt off, this one took a few tries to get right.
Yeah, but really, which version of their nights has a better story to go with it? (hint: it's not the one you tell your mom about)
Our next stop was to the Jewish Museum Berlin, one of the largest Jewish Museums in Europe, opened in 1933, just in time to be closed a few years later. The first part of the museum is the building designed by architect Daniel Libeskind and opened in 1999 as a Holocaust Memorial. The second and original building is the more museum-like museum, and although interesting in its own right, was entirely too long for my taste and impossible to exit without walking through the whole thing.
In the Memory Void, a permanent installation titled "Fallen Leaves" where 10,000 faces punched out of steel lay stretched out across the floor. Chilling.
The Garden of Exile, each of the 49 pillars topped with an olive tree
Bebelplatz memorial - an empty bookshelf to commemorate the infamous Nazi book burnings of 1933 (which I probably first learned about in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade)
"Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people also."
With only a few hours before my flight, I had just enough time to take the (free) metro to check out the Berlin East Side Gallery, the longest stretch of the Berlin wall still standing, covered end-to-end in beautiful, inspiring murals. Below are just a few of my favorites.
Free Erez
The only mural I saw that incorporated the concrete and didn't completely cover it in paint.
The group of South American girls taking our picture were all yelling for us to kiss
The souvenir shop mimicking one of the guard posts and the elaborate schemes used to get over, under, and through the wall.
Between the O2 World venue and the East Side Gallery is a Britto sculpture. I couldn't resist.
And so came the end of my 60 hours in Berlin. Like all my weekend trips, this one was far too short. But I still felt that I captured the essence of the city, even if it was from the periphery AKA the outside of the clubs. My previous visit to Frankfurt, Germany in 2006 stood in stark contrast to this one, and not just because it was during the World Cup. Berlin is not just the capital of Germany, but it is the capital of German counterculture, bringing this generation's music, art, and general coolness front and center. I may not agree with all of it, but I respect it. Just don't come here expecting crew cuts, perfect posture, lederhosen, and definitely not the famed German efficiency. But what it lacks there, it more than makes up with energy, style, and personality, something not every city can genuinely claim.
- From Erez with Love
(Full photo album here)
