Ich umarme Berlin

Before I lived in Berlin, I thought that cobble stoned sidewalks and streets were so 19th Century. But they are actually incredibly efficient and cost-effective. A water pipe bursts or a new fiber optic line needs to be put in, an entire block can be dug up, re-piped or re-cabled, and can be re-paved within 24 to 48 hours. And you would never know anything had ever even happened. Try that with asphalt or concrete! When they started laying a new sidewalk around the corner, I had to stop for a hug.

For 28 years, Bernauer Straße in Mitte played reluctant host to one of the most famous stretches of the Berlin Wall. Iconic images of Berliners trying to escape to the western section of the city by jumping out of apartment windows or by tunneling underground largely came from this area. Over the years, the densely packed urban apartment buildings along the Wall were demolished, and were replaced by a “Death Strip” which served as a buffer zone between an outer-wall and an inner-wall. 26 years after reunification, you can still see remnants of the Death Strip along Bernauer Straße. Much of this has been converted into parkland, but other stretches are being redeveloped as residential and commercial space. This block - now fenced off for impending construction - plays host merely to a single lonely sentinel of the commerce soon to arrive.

A lot of tourists like to visit the Mauerpark - a large park that now occupies space that used to be part of the "death strip" along the path of the old Berlin Wall in Prenzlauer Berg. But I like to go under the Mauerpark, along Gleimstraße, and through the hauntingly beautiful Gleimtunnel. Originally built between 1903 and 1904, the tunnel was sealed shut between 1961 and 1989 when The Wall cut directly through, leaving the space almost completely untouched up until now by development and renewal.

   I love bridges, and Berlin has quite a few beautiful and historic bridges to fall in love with. But while in many cases, the best view is from the bridge looking out, in the case of the railroad bridge at the Friedrichstraße S-Bahn station in Mitte the best view is looking within. That is to say, when you exit the train station going north to cross the Spree River, the pedestrian walkway is actually part of the support structure of the bridge. Between the roosting pigeons, homeless squatters, urban commuters and general debris, this walkway is startlingly filthy. But despite all of that, when I descend through the guts of this bridge, I still think it is one of the coolest sights in the city.

Berlin has always had this thing about hosting the Olympics. Even though the one time it managed to host the games back in 1936 was not considered to be an entirely unqualified success, it did provide the city with a surprising number of facilities that it still uses to this day. So, not long after reunification, Berlin made an all out effort to make a bid to host the 2000 Summer Olympics. As part of this effort, the city built the architecturally significant Schwimm- und Sprunghalle in Prenzlauer Berg. This impressive swimming and diving facility remains a heavily-used city amenity, even though Sydney ended up getting the games. I don't think Berlin built anything this grand and expensive in its more recent effort to attract the 2024 Olympics - which it also lost.

When heavy industry left Berlin after the war, and when the Spree became part of the border between East and West Berlin, much of the riverfront became unusable. So when the city reunited, and when Berliners tried to figure out what to do with these large tracts of waterfront property in a decimated urban waste, they did what only Berliners would do. They brought in barges full of sand, and turned these wastes into beach bars. While many have since disappeared as Berlin has redeveloped, a few beach bars like this one across from the Hauptbahnhof in Moabit have survived. It is amazing how a little sun and sand on the waterfront can have such a wonderfully calming effect.

Today I hug a flea market. As a former collector of old and odd ephemera, I have always loved Berlin's flea markets like this one on Straße des 17. Juni in Charlottenburg. There is something almost mystical about looking at old photographs of people whom you don't even know. What were their lives like? What did they see? What did they experience? In a city like Berlin, the answers to those questions can range anywhere from the mundane to the joyous to the tragic. But there is always a lot to unpack behind the faded smile in the casually taken - and now casually sold - snapshot.

Today I hug the Sandgrube. I have mentioned before how flat Berlin typically is. Many of the major topographical features are actually post-war rubble piles that have since been reclaimed by nature. But in the Grunewald in Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, you find a topographical feature of quite a different variety: the Sandgrube. Spanning 13 hectares and sinking to a depth of up to 25 meters, the Grunewald sand pit served as a quarry for the post-war reconstruction of West Berlin between 1966 and 1983. Now, the remaining hole in the ground serves both as a nature preserve and as a popular place for family outings.

Today I hug Kleistpark. A couple of times a week, when I have to drive through Schöneberg on Potsdamer Straße, I would pass by a rather peculiarly out of place colonnade. I say "out of place" because this particular part of town is fairly gritty, and this colonnade seems to mark the entrance to quite a grand monument. When I finally had the chance to get out of my car to explore what I discovered to be Kleistpark, I discovered much more than I expected. Originally set aside as a hops garden in the 17th Century, in the 18th Century, the park became Berlin's botanical garden. After World War II, as the park faced onto the headquarters of the Allied Control Council for the occupation of the city, it was closed to the public for almost 50 years until finally being reopened to the public after German reunification. It just goes to show what you can discover when you get out of your car to look around.

Today I hug the Buchstabenmuseum. Berlin is a city of museums. Heck, there's even an island in the Spree River called Museum Island. But one of the more unusual - and for somebody as into obscurities as I am, more interesting - is the Buchstabenmuseum tucked further up the river by Jannowitzbrücke in Mitte. Dedicated purely to the aesthetic form of letters and characters, one can't help but marvel at how fascinating the often overlooked minutiae of everyday life can be.

Today I hug the neighborhood bunker. When you layer history upon history, and then top it all off with a thick layer of history, you end up with Pallasstraße in Schöneberg. What started out life in 1910 as the world's largest indoor ice arena, became during the World War II years a popular space for 3rd Reich political rallies. In 1943, a massive air raid shelter was built adjacent to the Sportpalast to protect neighborhood residents and event attendees from the increasingly heavy Allied bombing campaign. In 1973, the Sportpalast was finally demolished. But, like other air raid shelters throughout the city, the shelter on Pallasstraße could not be removed. And so, when they built what came to be known as the Sozialpalast housing estate, the architects simply built it around - almost embracing - the shelter. The effect is not entirely attractive, but it is entirely Berlin.

Today I hug the Leise-Park. While I have already talked a lot about the parks of Berlin, there is one that is particularly special: the Leise-Park on Heinrich-Roller-Straße in Prenzlauer Berg. Once part of the St. Marien - St. Nikolai cemetery, the space was taken over by local community groups in 2011 and was turned into a semi-wild green space for kids to play and for adults to find peace. The juxtaposition of still-remaining graves and new playground equipment is surprising at first. But in a city where the ghosts of the dead insistently continue to mingle with the living, it seems oddly appropriate.

Today I hug Gleisdreieck Park. Berlin is a city of amazing parks. Some of them, like the Tiergarten, the Volkspark Friedrichshain and Volkspark Friedrichshain are there by design. Other parks around the city are accidental - or at least they started that way. The area around Gleisdreieck, spanning Kreuzberg and Schöneberg, used to be a large railway yard that fell into disuse after World War II. During this long period of neglect, the area was reclaimed by natural vegetation. When the city was reunited, and when this large area of newly prime real estate was rediscovered, it was decided to redevelop the area as a large city park. Part nature garden, part hiking paths, part open sports training fields, Gleisdreieck Park brings some nature and recreation to the center of the city.

Today I hug a Kleingarten. As you travel throughout Berlin, you see many green areas called Kleingärten, like this one in the Park am Gleisdreieck in Kreuzberg. These are garden spaces, divided into small privately owned plots, where the owners will often build small cabins, plant fruits or vegetables, and perhaps even set up a small wading pool. These are lovely little patches of green, where denizens of the urban jungle can find peace and relative quiet without having to leave the city.

Today I hug a bicycle stoplight. I will not make many friends here, but I really do not like bicycles. Yes, they're clean. Yes, they're efficient. And yes, they're good exercise. But as both a regular pedestrian and a frequent automobile driver, a day simply would not be a day without a bicycle swerving around a blind corner in a confined space where they should not be in the first place, and either trying to run me over or trying to be run over by me. Fortunately, Berlin is crisscrossed by well-marked bicycle lanes and dedicated bicycle stoplights, like this one on Alexanderstraße in Mitte, to make riding easier and safer for everybody involved. And occasionally - but only occasionally - bicyclists even pay attention to them!

Today I hug AEG. At the turn of the previous century, Berlin led the way in the electrification of the world. From facilities like its massive Humboldthain complex in Wedding, the Allgemeine Elektricitäts-Gesellschaft (better known as AEG) made everything from electrical household appliances to motors and turbines. While only a fraction of the original plant remains, the scale still beggars belief. And yet, while working in a factory like this 100 years ago must have been a truly unpleasant experience, with the distance of time the buildings retain a mysteriously gothic and gritty beauty.

Today I hug my family. Over the past year of writing "Ich umarme Berlin," I have maintained to some degree the perspective of the goggle-eyed tourist. But the truth is, Berlin is my home now, and has been for almost two years. It is where I live, it is where I work, and is where my family is. That last part is what makes Berlin special to me, and this quick sketch by my daughter shows that my family shares my love for our home. This family connection - I hope - makes my connection to Berlin more than temporary, and makes me - I hope - more than just a tourist.