It’s the unified character that is the most unsettling for
an outside observer. Berlin seems to have been built with a single aesthetic
choice in mind. Well, save the historical works. Everything modern is right
angles and gray, though. Each building
vying to be more subdued than the last. Subdued from the point of a view of an
American, where ostentatious sounds like an oxymoron. I cruised down grand
sidewalks, easily double the size I’m used to, letting my eye bounce around,
noting where it fell. But it did not fall. Storefronts had their signs and
flair, but held well back from any level of intrusive. It feels like Berlin is
a city for people who know it. My instincts to choose, at any intersection, the
bright, the curved, the noisy were flustered.
At most turns were gray, straight, corridors. You should know the city said. (Special note: I am awful at taking pictures. I usually give myself about three seconds. Sometimes I don't stop walking. People looking at me will negatively impact my ability. You will, however, see exactly what I was looking at. Which is fun.)
How little I understood of the German people comes out with
my descriptions lazily reduced to “not this”. I did not see people staring at
small screens. Bright colors may be a crime. Sneakers far and away too vulgar.
There was no snow but boots were the order of the day for all persons. Nice
boots, I mean. Not Uggs or Timberlands. I thought of them as Italian because
the only people I knew of who wore “nice” boots regardless of the season were
Italians. I suppose I’ll need to broaden that to Europeans. It seemed
unthinkable to Not be in excellent physical shape. The people were gorgeous.
Striking because of my experience but not in their own expression. A simple
outfit, hair tied back, clean face. It must be down in the bones. A perfect
foundation. Not just the shine of youth or the payout of the genetic lottery.
It was strange the city did not try to rob me. Being a Major
One. I’m used to meals being a minimum of $12. For a single, no frills,
portion. Sure, most places will also offer half a sandwich for $8, but I’m not
going to count that as a meal. It was all reasonable. Even the Fassbender &
Rausch Chocolatiers am Gendarmenmarkt, fancy chocolate shop (it had a
volcano!), appreciated the concept of a budget. There is a sightseeing tour for
€20 that travels to many of the major landmarks, all day long, and it’s hop-on
hop-off. Busses swing by every 10mins. An extra €4 to make it a two day pass?
Shut-up. In comparison, there’s an amphibious (ok, extra points for that) tour
that’s $28 for an hour and a half. The difference is that the Ducks promise an
experience. Germans would have none of this “performance”. The sightseeing bus
offered an extremely bored woman listing off the year each building was started
/ finished and designed by whom, in 17 languages (sometimes an interesting bit
of history). And a map. Which, as a traveler, is fantastic. I studied the
guidebook the hotel gave, for probably an hour total, and felt certain at the
end of that time the map was not actually for Berlin. I could not find the
hotel on it. I collected three maps by the end of my short stay, each one
offered a piece of the whole picture. I would consult each to get a rough idea
of my location, than narrow it down, then widen it again to find my destination,
then fine tune it again. I’m absolutely positive had I been traveling alone I
would have lost myself to despair and ran screaming through the streets,
begging out of this madness, this maze. The pioneer spirit can only last so
long. My companion had no qualms about hailing a taxi to which I owe my
continued sanity. What pushes the psyche so hard is the monstrous size of the
blocks. A decent walking pace yields a block per minute in my city. I felt it
was closer to five minutes per in Berlin. You
should know the city said. There won’t be a fun little check every sixty
seconds, does this look right?
Things Have A Place. That’s a rule and everybody follows it.
Advertisements go on these gray (of course) pillars that are situated every so
often. Bikes are locked up (or not; unfathomable) on racks. There’s a tiny bit
of trash. Dining on the sidewalk is huge (on tables and chairs, ‘natch). For me
it was the coolest novelty mixed with the height of luxury. The blankets were
colorful. That was allowed. And nobody stole them! It was communal without
being forced. As if the mood was why not
chat with passersby? Why not be part
of the city still? The ubiquitous of it erased any pretention. The seats
were not trendy little black and silver pieces. Very comfortable and matched
the décor (and had blankets). What is this satisfaction of human desire? Not
tarted up fantasy. Keep It Simple a lesson digested nationally, practiced at
all times. Except for the traffic. Traffic in England was a ride, to me. Narrow
streets driven by men who hauled ass regardless of their vehicle, or turns, or
pedestrians. The Germans love to draw lines. As though to catalogue every
possible position a vehicle may find itself on the road. Crosswalk signs were
not on every street. You should know.
