Mostly it’s pictures on a clear early autumn day.
Category Archives: street photography
Whoo hoo, first the Eurostar. Eight hours from London to Berlin with quick changes at Brussels and Cologne. Everything about it, the efficiency, the quality of the trains, the comfort puts the public transport system in my country to shame.
The tunnel passed in a flash and the only discordant note was the barbed wire along the tracks posing yet another barrier to add grief to the trials of asylum seekers. Beyond the wire, the French fields were their usual precise soothing patchwork of green and ochre.
How could I go to Europe and not drop into my current favourite city? I first visited 2 years ago (see 8 blogs from 2014) and fell in love with the vitality, the sensitive presentation of history, the architecture…..I wanted to test the impressions of that 2 weeks. Back to the same apartment at Hackescher Markt, I find I am beginning to know my way around the bigger city. Part of the pleasure of Berlin is that it is so accessible.
Why am I so taken with this world city?
- is it in my DNA? – I do have same Prussian blood
- is it the architecture old and new?
- is it the honest way the city presents its 20th century history?
- is it the preservation of the Prussian architecture?
- is it the vitality of the streets?
- is it the proliferation of cultural opportunities?
- is it the constant opportunity for street photography?
As a refresher I take the general intro Berlin Walk; the guide gives me new information. He claims that in the past 5 years rents have gone up 65% and house prices doubled. No surprise then that while I was there, residents held a robust demonstration against the gentrification of the city.
Hopefully Berlin will not be a casualty of its own success. Forty thousand people are moving here each year and no wonder. There are 450 publicly funded/subsidised art galleries and museums. 3 opera companies and 6 world class orchestras. Before I wax too lyrical I also have to mention that there were 40,000 instances of pickpocketing reported to the police last year.
Saturday night I went to the Karl Schinkel designed neo-classical Konzerthaus which was opened in 1821. Its own in-house orchestra preformed Dvorak, Schhostakowitsch and Schumann with guest violinist Julian Rachlin. On the way I detoured around the free open air concert on a closed Unter den Linden outside the Humboldt University where Daniel Baremboim was conducting the state orchestra. Music in the air, Berlin flowers. I am reminded that 29 Nobel Prize winners studied at this university; Einstein worked and Marx studied here too.
The next day all Berlin seemed to be at the flea market in Mauer Park.
After the market I spend a few hours wandering the streets of Prenzlauer Berg before walking back to Mitte ending with a flop on the deck chairs alongside the Spree contemplating the Dom, still stained black from the fires caused by Allied bombing. I was surprised to be told (by a Scot) that 80% of British bombs didn’t get within 5 miles of their target.
Later I put the skates on to re-visit the architecture of Potsdammer Platz and run accr0ss a #BlackLivesMatter demonstration. I am again reminded of the cultural mix of young Berlin seeing so many African Americans read the roll call of those who have died by violence and police shooting in the USA.
Being so close I slip in a visit to Martin Gropious House which I had missed last time and see an exhibition of photographs by Bernice Abbott who started as Man Ray’s assistant before becoming famous herself. Her most known photos are the New York black and white streetscapes and portraits of people such as Jean Cocteau, James Joyce and Sylvia Beech. Then it’s a beer under the wondrous roof of the always lively Sony Centre.
I did catch up with other architecture that also inspires me
Again I ask myself in what other city would so many experiences fall into my path.
On my last day in Berlin I have the roller skates on. Back to walk the shopping stretch of Kurfürstendamm before lunch at the biggest store in Europe, the smart KaDeWe. Like Fortnum and Mason the food floor seems to have dumbed down a little since my visit 2 years ago.
Nearby outside the S Bahn station there is an evocative list of the concentration camps trains left for, from here.
Not far away there is a sculpture. The words etched on the back say:
Remember: when injustices take place, when people are discriminated against and persecuted – never remain indifferent. Indifference kills.
These are words my own country with its disgraceful offshore detention centres for asylum seekers, would do well to take to heart.
The plaque besides the sculpture says:
A cynical lie: the inscription above the main gate to Auschwitz 1 concentration camp: ARBEIT MACHT FREI (work makes you free). When the SS ordered them to make this sign, the prisoners hid their message in the word ARBEIT. They turned the letter B upside down. It signalled their courage, their will to overcome the paralysing fear and later be able to tell the world what happened in Auschwiitz.
Then it’s off to Tempelhof Airport, the iconic site of the airlifts during the cold war and now just acres of dry rough grass which reputedly comes alive with local recreational use and concerts.
Since Berlin is enlightened enough to ban shopping on Sundays, I finish Monday with a visit to the courtyards of Hackescher Hof, once a centre of German Jewry and marked outside by the bronze plaques with names of Jews who were murdered by the Nazis. (It is worth noting that there were 5 million non-Jewish victims of the holocaus.
Now the Hof is a retail/bar complex and houses my favourite shop for presents of schmick acrylic art jewellery.
One of my best memories of Berlin is the vitality of the street:
the tourists who use bicycles tours, Segway tours, walking tours ,
the ever new graffiti
For the first time in Berlin, in Alexanderplatz, I noticed the homeless people. Why wouldn’t I? They are in every major city in the world. I hesitated about putting the following photos in, out of respect for them, but really we all need to be confronted with the underside as well as the beauty and fun, so that we are reminded of the real issues that face all of us.
Berlin has so many experiences. I still regret I didn’t have time to visit again the amazing Ishtar Gate on Museum Island or to wander the private galleries around Auguststrasse.
I did however see again the murals painted during the cold war on the wall of what was once Goering’s Luftwaffe Building, then the Communist party HQ and now ironically the German Finance Ministry (tax office too!).
And one can never go to Berlin with the obligatory dues being paid to the Brandenburg Gate. This time with an anti-Brexit demo. in front.
That night I had truely global dinner. Around the corner from the Adina at Hackescher Markt where I stay, there is a new Japanese restaurant. The trouble was that the menu for the Japanese dishes was written in German. I was reduced to pointing to an unknown fellow diner’s dinner and saying in the famed words of Sleepless in Seattle “I’ll have what she’s having”.
Next morning after good coffee and a croissant at my now fav.and cheap Berlin cafe on the square behind the apartment, it is time to go. Again I believe I have left much undone, especially when it comes to understanding the architectural layers of the city.
So what is the take home message for me? Berlin accessible and now familiar, still has its great world city ambience. A kaleidoscope of colourful and cultural experiences. But I don’t know whether a 3 day or a 2 week visit is what I want anymore. To really know this city, not just sample its complex delights one would need to live her for a while. I wish I could
People are amused when I fly posh to London and then take the long underground ride to the centre with all my (overly cumbersome) luggage. What better way to enter this huge metropolis of 8.7 million, to experience its passing parade, the tide of humanity, than on a packed peak hour tube?
On one side, a young woman is reading Facebook in Polish, on the other a screen of Chinese catches the corner of my eye. These are the multi-cultured tired and the weary travelling from the outskirts on the Piccadilly line on a Thursday evening. (Mid-morning Monday the tube has a different profile from Paddington back to Bloomsbury, more polished, affluent, possible Tory voters.)
Since every shop, hotel, restaurant I visit is staffed by people from outside Great Britain, you have to wonder if the retail and service industries will simply implode if Brexit is carried to its extremes as some wish.
After a quick re-group I visit the somewhat disappointing John Sloane museum on Lincoln’s Inn Green. I find it claustrophobic and the Roman pieces badly curated; the Hogaths and the Canalettos were a pleasure though. After a quick visit to the British Museum’s Exhibition Room, I left – the crowds were stifling.
The 4pm to Bristol on Saturday was spent trying to follow the Oz elections on wifi courtesy of western rail though no result would be known for more than a week. Sunday saw a more than generous lunch catching up with 14 of the extended Bristol family, a pleasure to see the young ones had grown into fine young people since my last visit 5 years ago.
Back to London Monday morning. I lunch at Fortnum and Mason on a sardine pancetta salad. I first visited here wide-eyed in the 70’s and am underwhelmed this time. Perhaps the sophistication of food in Oz or perhaps the economic contingencies of the modern world…but this place has shrunk. The once glorious variety of delicacies seems to have been replaced by pre-packaged food. And the great indicator – the coffee – was not as good as the cup my local serves at home.
Indeed the coffee in London (except in Store Street) was definitely not up to scratch. Next to my hotel in the grounds of St George’s Church Bloomsbury (designed by Nicholas Hawksmoor), I found a passable brew in a small pop-up but wondered that that they have the gall to charge nearly $5 a cup.
Out and about
A visit to the Wallace collection becomes an odyssey as the teachers are demonstrating and the buses down Oxford Street have been stopped, so I walk from Bloomsbury to Marylebone detouring to Bond Street and a schmick gallery. Left me cold.
Then a sentimental visit up river all the better to see the distinctive glass boxes both sides of the river near Tower Bridge.
A special time
One highlight of the trip and one of life’s unexpected small gifts…… I wandered into St Paul’s Cathedral. By chance it was time for Evensong . I was ushered into the choir stalls. The famous St Paul’s choir sang. Their voices soared into Christopher Wren’s ceiling and the purity of sound filled my head. Joy.
My old, dear and now dead friend, Dick Hall urged me to walk walk walk and look up when visiting a new city and I’ve always followed his advice. The street snapshot can give a clue as to the nature and energy of a place.
In London the tube also gives me much stimulation, not just people watching but the huge satisfaction in conquering it. The underground is like a complex 3 dimensional, often overwhelming, strategic game. This day there is a sign saying the temperature is 21 degrees and if you are “suffering from heat let someone know”. They have to be kidding! (Today in winter in Oz it is 24 degrees).
Wimbledon at last
Sunny though at Wimbledon. It’s a tick off the bucket list when I enjoy the famed strawberries and cream and score a seat at the men’s quarter finals.. not the big one between Murray and Tsonga but just as much fun, Berdych beats Pouille in 3. Besides who can resist an event that produces a 29 page booklet titled A Guide to Queueing?
Friends and paintings
Our friend Abi is a gracious London host. We have a few meals, see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night at the Gielgud Theatre and spend my last day in London in a feast/frenzy of art – the National Portrait Gallery for the Annual Portrait Prize, the Courtauld where I saw my favourite Modigliani and the new wing at the Tate Modern where I have no time for the paintings but enjoy lunch in the new restaurant with its terrific London views. Thanks too, to Abi for the detailed tour of St Pancras station.
Last night in London I catch up with my old mate Jo the CEO who is ever soaring to new career heights in this big metropolis. We eat at the Holborn Dining Room and knock off a good bottle of red as well as….
A great city, so much to see and do, such business, some memories.…..
POST SCRIPT – three weeks later
On the way back from the Arctic, I spend a few more nights – this time out near Heathrow. On the Sunday I make my first ever trip to Windsor. The bus to Slough is a League of nations and the train to windsor packed with Chinese tourists. Perhaps it is because it is high summer but the crowds are fearsome and the queue for the Castle daunting so I put it off until late afternoon bring just a trickle of tourists.
The town is clearly “quaint” but still charming
I wander round this cutesy tourist town, past the restaurant/hotel of a famous chef who is smartly cashing in, and find some calm down the hill on the massive playing fields of Eton. I spend some time wandering the outskirts of that famed institution and contemplate the privileged people who have been schooled here, a metaphor for the inequality in the world.
When I finally get into the castle, the one surprise is the art work. Here for example is a Bruegel, there a Canaletto. The ceiling of the reception room is inlaid with gold worth Aus $40,000. The Royal collection has more than 30,000 pieces. I am not a Royalist and I see these riches as being held in trust for the nation.
Time to fly home!