Mein erstes Wochenende

The angels in my life could not let my comments of Friday evening go. As a result I spent the weekend enlightening myself, and wishing I’d never thought so much of my warped humor.

On Saturday morning, I slept late. Following my bliss, I set out to slowly explore Potsdammer Platz through Unter Den Linden to the Museum Island (where Central Berlin's most historic structures reside). I felt sure I could find interesting subject matter for photography.

I came upon the new Euopean Holocaust Memorial north of Potsdammerplatz. It is a vast shadowy acreage of grey stone boxes . . . suggesting coffins, a maze, clausterphobia, stepping stones, and great numbers of abstracted figures. A visitor's center is hidden at the far Eastern edge of this sea of stone. Inside, the world comes to terms with this aspect of European history. Though these events are brutal and outrageous . . . I cannot disassociate myself from them. Current political dynamics in the United States resemble the Nazi plan for a final solution. I could no more stop George Bush from invading Iraq, as any number of Germans could stop Hitler. The total effect is to be educated and sobered by the cruelty amongst ourselves, and to apply oneself to improving the world consistently, relentlessly, lovingly . . .

Through the Brandenburg Gate, I traversed Unter Den Linden. There was a book fair in the Bebelplatz, but all the views were obstructed by restoration scaffolding festooned with vast advertisements. In a park beside the Opera House I sat in the OperaPalais restaurant and had a marvelous lunch of Spaghetti Bolognese, and an Ice Cream Sundae for dessert. For part of my lunch a busking violinist played classical pieces under a leafy Linden Tree. The setting, decorated with fire engine red geraniums and cool bright green grass, was a happy contrast to the morning’s survey of European history.

I walked into the Berliner Dom and photographed the rotunda. Finally, I hopped over to the HackesherMarkt and Bahned my way to Nollendorfplatz, for Berlin’s LGBT Stadtfest.

Despite the language barrier, the proliferation of beer and bratwurst . . . an LGBT fest is an LGBT fest. I was reassured by the colorful consistency, the confident tolerance, and the respectable coordination of this large and diverse urban community. I noted that everyone attended the Stadtfest, not just the LBGT community. Next to the mosh pit and the DJ turntables were stay at home Mom's with their strollers and fussy babies. Two little boys even tried to join an African drumming troupe in the course of their musical performance. Berliners (considered rude by their German peers) were kind and welcoming to me, especially given my rudimentary German language skills. I've reassured the other Germans that Berliners are not cold and rude.

Sunday, I went to church in the memorial Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedaechtniskirche at 10am. Although I didn’t understand what was said, I could follow the structure of the service, via my Protestant background. Eventually I took communion with the congregation . . . and was surprised to see that German’s use White Wine for mass. Not very bloody, but I guess Jesus did not designate white or red (skipping this set of obvious sommelier jokes).

After church, in my continuing effort to lose weight, I walked from the Halensee Station to Nollendorfplatz (about 1/3 the width of the city). I spent another afternoon people watching in the pleasant summer streets of Berlin, and feeling very much at home in a city where I don’t know a soul. I returned home early to sort out the laundry situation . . . and went to bed sleeping in a Thunderstorm (just like home).