A Weekend in the City (Pt I).
Arrival.
I always knew Berlin would be a place that I wanted to spend a lot of time in. Facebook updates and stories over drinks of people who had fallen in love. Its troubled and rich history an interesting basis for what is now a metropolis that caters so well to the young and those seeking freedom. Nine nights were booked without hesitation, and I’d have happily never left again. My train from Amsterdam arrived into Hauptbahnhof as the sun set over Alexanderplatz. The TV Tower reaching up into a warm orange sky as street musicians blew horns and sang Stevie Wonder. Club posters and vague scrawlings beckoned to passers-by from lamp posts and rails. The heat from a long European summer’s day still lingering behind the breeze as I made my way across the bridge to Warschauer Strasse.
‘…I wish those days … could … come back once more.’ Railway lines led in the same way the city was once divided, one back towards the city, past riverside clubs, historical monuments and buildings of Potsdamer Platz, the other into industrial spaces, mystery and the unknown.
‘…Why did those days … eh …-ver have to go.’
The singer danced his way into the crowd as people drank beer and smoked.
I paused and soaked up the moment. A seemingly homeless man jittered along in the front row, lost in thought and music.
A beautiful and vibrant scene to arrive into, fitting given the calibre of the next week’s events. I boarded the train and headed for my hostel. The U-Bahn snaked its way over the water and into the heart of Kreuzberg. The East Side Gallery to the right while Watergate lay unknowingly below the turreted bridge straight out of a fairy tale or children’s fantasy. Buildings bathed in graffiti and stark messages rose up amongst leafy green trees and falafels of Utopian quality. The Turkish presence was ubiquitous and I was thirsty for delicacies and beer.
I got off at Görlitzer Bahnhof and climbed down the stairs into my new adopted home. The U-Bahn divided the street down the middle in a way that was aesthetically appealing to me. Shops selling drinks, food and newspapers lay beneath. As I followed signs marked ‘Baxpax’ to another set of stairs, the hostel opened up into a beautiful scene too; a cool summer breeze making its way through the bar, gliding over couches, past pool tables and over two euro bottles of Berliner. Hints of minimal techno smoothly reinforced our location and orange lighting gave off a sense of comfort.
I checked in and sat down. Strung out and tired. There was a strange feeling of excitement and possibility rushing subtly within me. What did the next week have in store?
I contemplated downstairs while swooning over the greatest shawarma ever crafted by man and gazing at my newly opened map of the city. Anything, really. I met some people and drank wine in a park. The guy fashioned camping stoves out of aluminium cans and demonstrated with the knack and manufactured passion of a morning show infomercial host.
I sat in awe at his demonstration. The girl was drunk.
A church rose behind us as people played guitar and sat on steps. The first night of many, and this proving to be the least enjoyable of my time in Berlin, but already freedom was kicking in, injected into my veins by some invisible and non-apparent needle. I left the two people, who were camping in a nearby park, and made my way home past still thriving off-licences and restaurants. People sat on tables out the front, basking in cheap beer, good conversation and warm air.
A boy sat with his dad as Turkish men debated some point over cigarettes.
All content in their own way.
The stairs were familiar now and the orange glow welcoming. The 24 hour bar area still inhabited but the 16 bed dorm quiet. I climbed onto my bunk and lay for a moment with ideas and possibilities before sleep overcame and thought became dream;
my first day in Berlin awaiting and a very special time ahead.
