My Weird Berlin

I have a weird history with Berlin.

The first time I went there was during my semester in Prague. It was a actually the first trip I took outside of the Czech Republic and I promptly got ill– so sick I couldn’t swallow and, once I returned from the brief trip, I ended up on weird antibiotics and Czech pills laced with caffeine. It was also February and freezing and I’d done no research; we actually covered a lot of ground in the few days but I didn’t understand how everything connected. The weekend felt like a fever dream, a slightly detached jaunt.

The second time was also a weekend from Prague, but this time it was summer. Again, though, I did no research– a friend was arriving there unexpectedly and I booked a last-minute bus ticket to see him. I spent most of my time in a backyard bar and kicking around one small neighborhood, still with no sense of ownership or agency over my experience there. I left less than forty-eight hours later, with no real comprehension of Berlin.

It was a shame, because Berlin is a city that intersects with my interests. It’s the city that was literally at the border of the Iron Curtain, with all the contradictions of the Cold War era wrapped around that wall. It’s gritty and trendy, home to hipsters and artists and bicycles. It’s offbeat.

So I was just delighted when my company decided to send me to Berlin for a few days to work with my colleagues and learn more about its local history and art.

Though this trip was longer and more in depth than my previous excursions, I still can’t seem to get my claws into Berlin. I went in February, when freezing rain fell in Neukolln; I spent a little too much evening time wandering the cold streets, alone in my head.

But at the same time, I dove into the fascinating parts of the city. I walked the phantom path of the Berlin Wall at one of the city’s memorials with a local expert, tracing the scars of that divider with my hands and feet. I visited one of Berlin’s “ghost stations,” the U-bahn stops that fell inside the no-man’s zone and were only visible briefly as the trains sped past them. (This has been always one of my favorite discoveries from the Wikipedia wormhole, so it was a thrill to see a station in person– even if, these days, they are perfectly normal and functional.)

I visited the Hamburger Bahnhof, a contemporary art museum in a re-appropriated train station with an art expert whose enthusiasm was contagious. For me, contemporary art can be delightful or tedious; our guide bridged the gap between the extremes. We also visited the Neues Museum, with its extensive collection of Egyptology; I’ve never before really contemplated how bizarre mummies are. (They are REALLY BIZARRE.) The collection of life-like death masks and shrouds just added to the strangeness. The famous bust of Nefertiti, though, was as impressive as its reputation. Contemplating her in a hushed room was a museum highlight.

I saw a French opera in a gloomy silent movie theater, I drank wine in smoky bars, I ate ramen at a trendy spot in Kreuzberg and took snapshots in a FotoAutomat. I also felt disconnected, out-of-sorts, buried under thoughts. The gray weather cut through my layers. I’m not really sure why Berlin was still strange for me, when it was so clearly full of delights.

Maybe it’s a city that I am just not meant to connect with. Maybe I need to return when the summer sun is shining and I can drink beer in parks and bicycle down the wide roads. Maybe my time for Berlin has not yet come.

I haven’t given up on the city. But still, it remains a place that’s always just a little bit weird.