Was inspired, ate a kebap, watched a summer squall blow rain into the city. Such was my luck, the museum had a huge Dada and John Heartfield exhibition, not to mention Klaus Staeck biting, brilliant, satirical, beautiful art using the very tools of the war and propaganda machines against themselves. Woke up with precious little time left to see the New Berlin Gallery before catching my ride back to Munich. And a glass of white wine, then a tram, a short train and a bit more sleep. I explored Gorlitzer and eventually out to Prenzlauer Berg where I ate a delicious orange risotto with celery and red peppercorns at Slow Imbiss. I walked by the East Side Gallery where a riverside stretch of the Wall is covered with incendiary art turning a tool of hate into a bright symbol of life. The old and the new another stark reminder of war’s indiscriminate destruction.Īfter a brief sleep I headed back out roaming the former east side, Kreuzberg and the Kottbusser Tor bridge that separated but now unites Berlin. Once above, the bombed steeple of the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church stood eerily in the soft morning light, construction cranes hanging idly around. I got off the subway at Berlin’s famous K-Dom street. Inside, artists, DJs, hipsters, travelers, and other nefarious characters mingled and danced in a seemingly autonomous enclave in the middle of the city.
I asked for directions, he was headed to the same area, “ long story long” we headed to the same club in a formerly abandoned building. I followed the river for awhile, had a beer, watched tango dancers embrace and glide by the water.
A giant neon for an ancient art exhibition read: “ALL ART HAS BEEN CONTEMPORARY.” The evening’s last light wrapped itself around the Berliner Dom church, a band of bright peach atop the turquoise metal dome. I meandered further, down toward the River Spree where a crowd gathered in the Lustgarten at the columned entrance to the city’s Old Museum. It looked sinister but also so fragile - a sad testament to the fact that walls don’t solve the problems of division. A five-minute walk away stood a thin, crumbling remnant of the Berlin Wall. Napolean and Hitler are history.Ī lone guard patrolled the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe telling people not to stand on the concrete blocks. Today you can walk freely through, east, west, north and south young guys dressed as American and British troops stamp tourists “visas” for a fee, waive flags. I walked out into the cool, gray evening straight to Brandenberg Gate, symbol of peace, spoil and survivor of war. The train wound through still un-built ruins of WWII into Berlin’s Hauptbanhof, the busiest train station in Europe. I found a kind friend’s flat, dropped my bag and headed straight to the center as I hadn’t much time: two nights and it was already evening.
#Cranes in the sky mp3 how to#
Where to begin about the ending of this whole wonderful rigamarole? How to reflect 5,000 miles from where I was? Contrivedly, probably, but I will try.įirst there was a whirlwind tour of that gritty, pretty city, Berlin. “Out in the world when your only friend is a traveler’s song/When your time and your money and your best girl are gone.” A picture of a picture of a picture of history
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