Berlin: Between the wall and Holocaust

Today was the day to pay our due to the remnants of wars--WW2 and the cold war. Since Brandenburg Gate was closed for the stage which is being set up for a concert this weekend, the next logical stop for the picture-hungry tourists was the Holocaust Memorial, just half a block south.

It's a somber display of concrete blocks. We saw the photos before, but one doesn't grasp the immensity of it until he's there. People climb the blocks to take pictures (until they're chased down by the security).

The somber ocean of concrete coffins is only matched by the even more somber display of photographs and lists of Nazi attrocities in the museum underneath the monument.

One can't move around Berlin without being reminded at every point about the wall. Its shadow still looms dark over this vibrant town. After being reminded so often of its existence, we decided to see it with our own eyes. I know it's ridiculous to attribute such characteristics to an inanimate object, but that barrier radiated evil. Even now, clearly only an exhibit in a museum, it still evokes a feeling of unease.

I couldn't begin to imagine how it was for Berliners to live next to such a raw wound on their collective soul and their town.

Well, all that brooding about the cold and hot wars made us hungry. Time Out guide for Berlin has a neat section with restaurants for cheapskates who like to eat good, so we followed it to Knofi.

I can only describe it as a tapas-like bar for Middle Eastern food. Here are 5 delicious "knofetti" ("tapas) we had - too rich for detailed description, but believe us when we say they're delicious.

Berlin: the two towers

Today was a slow day, at least when it comes to sightseeing. We strolled around the Alexanderplatz area, which was crawling with tourists. So, all we have to offer in terms of pictures today are these two:

A view from Muehlendamm street bridge over the Spree river onto Berliner Dom, which was a royal court church, and now is a church and a museum. It's not as old as it seems, built in 1905. The neat trick the Germans implement to be able to charge entrance fee into every church is - they turn it into a museum. So, while one is not supposed to pay to worship, you can't walk around without paying. But then, they charge for toilets throughout the town too. Makes it an expensive business, if one has a weak bladder.

We couldn't resist the alignment of the two towers--the red a tower on Berliner Rathaus (the city hall), and the steel Ferneshturm (TV tower), which is also the tallest building in Germany. No, we didn't go up (yet).

In the evening we visited the exhibition of polaroids taken by Helmut Newton, famous fashion/erotic photographer, who was born in Berlin. He started his foundation here and left a body of work to his birthtown to display. Unfortunately, we can't share that experience here, but we'd be happy to talk about it in person.

Berlin: The charm of royal Potsdam

Continuing in the royal/imperial spirit, we took a trip to Potsdam today. The town rose to fame when it became a royal seat and garrison town upon the creation of the kingdom of Prussia. Its glorious history of centuries past is tinted by the more recent history following the defeat of Nazi Germany. When the forces of anti-Hitler coalition swept into Germany from all sides, they decided to held a conference in the heart of Nazi power to show the world it was defeated. However, because of extensive bombardment of Berlin it was difficult to find a venue which can house and safeguard the most powerful leaders of the time. So they converged, appropriately, to the royal ground in Potsdam, where they debated how to divide Germany.

Of the many royal palaces in Potsdam, the one chosen for the conference was Schloss Cecilienhof. Here's Meg, imagining Churchill, Truman, or even Stalin, strolling around in this garden between the sessions at the conference.

The main courtyard at Cecilienhof still sports a red star made of roses - a reminder of it falling into the Russian zone.

The post WW2 history may be fascinating, but the historical importance of Cecilienhof can't compare with the majestic Sanssouci palace built in 1747. Its breathtaking cascading gardens are a trademark of the area. This picture took itself, I just happened to hold the camera.

Next to Sanssouci palace is Bildgalerie, built in 1764. It was the first art-gallery built specifically for that purpose in continental Europe. It still displays masterpieces by Rubens, Caravaggio, Van Dyck and others. Unfortunate thing is the glare from the windows opposite the paintings, which makes it difficult to enjoy the art.

After being slightly overwhelmed by the paintings, we had to check the town. Off we went through the Brandenbourg Gate - yes, they have their own gate. As a tour guide said, Potsdam had Brandenburg Gate much earlier than its suburb to the east, called Berlin. That dark speck in the middle of the gate is Meg waving.

From the gate cutting through the town is Brandenburger Strasse, crawling with tourists.

As a parting gift, here's one last look at the charming facades of historical downtown Potsdam.

Berlin: feeling royal in Charlottenburg Palace

When we were in Spain two years ago, breakfast was quite a problem. There was nothing light to eat, save the hotel breakfast, and we had to buy our own food in a grocery store.

Berlin doesn't pose such problem. It seems there is a bakery on every corner and in every subway station, so we can indulge in croissants and other freshly-baked buns, and coffee.

Today was overcast, so the plan was to stay indoors. Schloss Charlottenburg was beckoning, a royal palace built as a summer residence, but later transformed into the full-fledged palace where the Prussian monarchs of 18th and 19th centuries ruled.

It was badly damaged in the bombing of WW2, and is somewhat restored in its former glory with baroque furnishing...

...and oval reception room overlooking the gardens.

Here's a view of the palace from the rear side across the pond.

Such a royal adventure called for a hearty lunch: wiener schnitzel with-you guessed it- Meg's favorite fried potatoes. We noticed the portions are always on the verge of spilling over the plate. No wonder Germans are so big.

Evening called for a stroll, so we walked to the Brandenburg Gate to find it fenced off and being readied for a concert - notice the tents underneath.

We also made a quick stop in a souvenir shop in the area, where Meg took and old east-German Trabant for a ride...at least in her imagination.

Berlin: Sausages, potato and surreal paintings

Our first day of real sightseeing. It started very touristy - we spend morning doing what possibly every tourist does when in Berlin:

We visited Reichstag - the Parliament building;

We walked where the Wall used to stand and paid tribute to those who died trying to cross it from the Eastern side - some of them have names engraved on white crosses at the site where they died;

We had obligatory wurst und kartoffel - sausage and potato - and this fried potato with onion and bacon bits is quickly becoming Meg's new favorite, judging how she never leaves a crumb for me to finish, as she does with any other style potato.

But then we moved off the beaten path and into the part of town called Scheunenviertel. It's a modern artists' part of town, or so claims the Lonely Planet guide book. What was impressive about this part was the discovery of numerous Hofes - courtyards, often interconnected, somewhat difficult to find from the street, but once you're through the right passage, it appears in the maze of parks, shops, cafes, playgrounds, or simply gardens.

This is one of the most famous courtyards - Hackesche Hofe, which consists of eight interconnected courtyards. The facades of this cafe-yard are more elaborate than on the street side. No wonder it's such a magnet for tourists and locals alike.

Finally, we visited a building for which one has to summon certain amount of courage. It's called Kunsthaus Tacheles, and it's slated for demolition. In the meantime it's taken over by street artists, who create and exhibit their art in dilapidated ruinous rooms. All the walls are literally covered with graffiti, and look positively scary.

We fought the urge to turn away and run, and ended up at the top floor where an artist Alex Rodin had an exhibition of paintings. For 1 euro we were allowed to photograph his extremely intricate and breathtaking work.

It left us wondering whether an artist of such talent is only there to lend his support to the campaign to save the building, or whether he really works there.

Berlin at least

Our long-awaited vacation finally started, and I am fulfilling my promise to my wife to keep the blog about it. This will have to sum up the first three days which went by in a flash.

Friday was a blur. We arrived to Berlin around 5 pm and were too jetlagged to notice anything. I vaguely remember a dinner by the river consisting of oversized Wiener schnizel and equally oversized bill.

Saturday was a bit more sane - since the first thing in the order of business was the Berlin marathon, I had to visit the expo - a huge fair with all things marathon-related - to get my number and timing chip. It was held in the old US army airport, which was the main supply route during the air-bridge times of cold war, when all around Berlin was DDR (Russian-controlled Eastern Germany) and the only way to get the goods in town was by air.

BMW, the main sponsor for the marathon, erected an air balloon in front of the expo hall. Unlike in any other race I ran so far, there were tents with sausages and beer, although mostly non-alcoholic variety.

Then came Sunday, the day of the race. Again, this is the first big marathon I ran that had the start and finish at the same place, meaning it's a circular course. With our hotel being a 5 min walk from the start, all was a hassle-free experience. We woke up at 6 am, which was a luxury, considering the start was at 9.

In all my previous marathons I had to get up at least 5 hours earlier. Accordingly, the wait at the athlete's village was shorter, and there was less anxiety.

Very precisely, as one would expect from the Germans, the race started at 9:00 am sharp. It never seize to amaze and move me that mass of people - just short of 41,000 runners - moving forward like separate cells of a single living organism.

I would lie if I said sightseeing was possible during the race. It isn't. All I could think about is my pace, how to avoid getting tripped by so many runners around me, when to get water and refreshments, and how to keep on going.

On a few occasions when I remembered where I am, I snapped a few pictures, but after 34 kms mark I was almost brain-dead. I was so tired by then that all my brain could muster is just to maintain the main bodily functions and keep the legs moving. From that point on, all I remember is passing under the Brandenburg Gate and seeing Meg filming me, then, blessedly, the finish gate.

The weather was much warmer than expected, the race ended on 20 C, which is not so cool (pun intended) for running. Still, as pictures show, I was fairly happy with the race. Mostly, I was happy that I survived and finished. My time: 3h 17m 32s, placement: 3087 overall (way within top 10%), and should I choose to run Boston again, this was a Boston qualifying time.

In the evening the organizers held a party, which turned out to be an odd gathering of runners - some of them in shirts reeking of sweat - in a disco environment. There was a bar with pricey drinks, a food buffet too, but no place to sit. Strange choice, considering the party is meant for people who just ran a marathon, and are probably tired to the bone.

Stranger even was the fact that soon, some were dancing. I could not decide whether those were people who didn't run, didn't finish, or their brains are still too numb to register the pain and fatigue. In any case, there was dancing, but the atmosphere was too odd, and we decided to leave it to find something to eat - which we did in a fantastic Norwegian restaurant albeit quite a distance away - and finally get some rest, so our real tourism can start tomorrow.

Taper Thoughts

I'm at work, the newsroom is almost empty at this hour, only a few reporters on duty staring at the news wire screens. The best part of the day, when I unwind from the commute with a coffee, catch up on the news, browse the paper and go through the emails. Feeling anxiously relaxed. I know, an oxymoron. Let me explain.

I'm at the stage of the training, when all the hard work is done, and the taper is on. "Barely" running - meaning the training distance dropped from over 36k to merely 10. That's the point when I should trust my training plan, and let the body recover, regenerate, re-energize for the race. But, since there's so little running, I feel like I'm not doing enough. Every time I tie the shoelaces, I fight the urge to go somewhere far, over the horizon and back. Standing still is killing me. I know, I've been through this phase time and time before, but it's still unnerving.

Why am I writing this? Because, in a way, it feels like I'm at the same stage in life. A taper age. When most of the learning and training is done, and all I need to do is cruise to maintain what I've become. And, just like taper, there's that nagging feeling that I'm missing something, that I'm not doing enough, that at the main event, a race, I will somehow bonk and fail. But, there's no race in life, because the whole thing IS a race. Instead, I'm forcing myself to relax - another oxymoron, I know - and trust the training. Trust the small victories and always bigger failures, trust what I've learned so far will take me safely to the next leg of the race.

Maybe that is why I love running so much. It's not only a metaphor for life, it is a life-training. And taper, maddening as it is in its apparent inactivity, is a very important part in winning one's goal.

Unrequited Love

"When I talk about unrequited love, most of you probably think about romantic love, but there are many other kinds of love that are not adequately returned, if they are returned at all. An angry adolescent may not love her mother back as her mother loves her; an abusive father doesn't return the innocent open love of his young child. But grief is the ultimate unrequited love. However hard and however long we love someone who has died, they can never love us back..." ~ 'Sister' by Rosamund Lupton

Eleventh of September

I remember...

A crisp morning in September with a promise of a gorgeous day. Downtown New York is busy with people bustling on. My pulse quickened with expectation of seeing you.

I remember...

You were right in front of me, your shirt the color of coffee you held. Women don't look good in brown, but you made the drab color shine vividly. Or, was it the sun in your hair, turning it into a blond halo around your face?

I remember...

You saw me looking at you. I couldn't tear away my gaze. You smiled.

The world paused.

Your smile was such a powerful weapon, I feared that military may take you away because of it. I was disarmed and captured, wishing only that you never stop smiling. I wondered if you could hear my heart beating. You made my whole body pulsing with each beat.

I remember...

You crossed the floor, stood in front of me, still smiling. Between us, a take-out tray with four cups you held.

"Meet me for breakfast," you whispered. "Restaurant at the corner. Twenty minutes." Your eyes the color of sky with eternal sunshine in them.

I nodded, speechless.

I remember...

Rock n roll of your heels on the marble floor, rhythm quickening as you dove into the stream of suits and vanished with your liquid cargo into a tall building.

I walked to our restaurant and sat at the window table, waiting, enjoying the spotless blue sky. A plane flew over, throwing a dark shadow over the memory of your smile.

Ten years later, at the same table, I'm still waiting.

You never came.

P.S.
This vignette is a work of fiction, inspired by stories of survivors of 9/11.