contrasts

If yesterday was the day of symphonic organ concerts followed by Russian discos, today was another day of the uniquely Berliner brand of stark contrasts that occur so organically in this old new city. Last summer, I missed getting the last ticket to Berliner Unterwelten's tour of the stunning Flakturm and settled for the Dark Worlds tour of bomb shelters instead. This time, I was behind schedule again but managed to get tickets for the 13:00 tour. To pass the time, I wandered into a lovely rose garden (thereby fulfilling my annual rose garden summer dosage) and climbed the hill beside it to find myself on the roof of the Flakturm itself, intensely fortified as if enemies might come charging up the hillside at any second, although suicide jumpers seem the likely problem. The fascinating view of outer Berlin merged not long after I arrived with the sound of swinging bells from several directions ringing in the noon hour. Campanological life in Europe is good.

Smoked salmon is cheap here. The Deutsche Bahn convenience store carried Lachsbrötchen for 1,90 EUR. In fact, sandwiches are super cheap and relatively healthy here, a most welcome relief from the generic paste-filled sandwiches that pervade the Low Countries. Peach drinks are also popular, although a stalking wasp forced me to gulp mine down faster than I'd intended. For the few moments I had the drink to myself, however, perched on a bench on the wide concrete expanse of Gesundbrunnen soaking in the sun and idly watching the people idly drinking their German beers, I reveled in the delight of being utterly free to do whatever I wanted with my time. Without my tools for work and with extensive public transportation, I'm bound neither by a schedule nor by my mobility. My Tageskarte allows me total spontaneity. It's heaven on earth.

The tour got off to a slow start, and our tour guide spoke German at such breakneck speed that I reluctantly tuned him out for most of the time, choosing to read and reread the posters on the walls rather than deal with the linguistic mayhem caused by this auditory hailstorm. But just as I was tempted to leave, he led us into the massive corridor of concrete pillars and ceilings that had nearly collapsed under their own weight and the weight of time and neglect, and I knew my time had been well spent. BU's not-advertised policy of forbidding photographs, however, seems utterly contrary to urbex ideals.

Lacking the time I'd hoped for to race home and change into true summer clothes (the depths of the Flakturm were chilly), I hurried instead to the Haus der Kulturen der Welt and joined a crowd of thirty or so intent listeners for Jeffrey Bossin's electroacoustic carillon recital, which ended with a truly glorious klang. To have heard two electroacoustic carillon concerts within two months is really not bad. Afterwards I met the staff from Studio TU Berlin and two composers on DAAD grants, rushed home to change into the summer clothes I'd been waiting since June to don, and met Jeffrey for Mövenpick ice cream.

This left me too little time to rush through the Deutsche Guggenheim, so I opted to hop on the S-Bahn and hop off wherever I fancied, which proved to be the Hauptbanhof. After wandering its glassy corridors and grabbing a veggie wrap, I went in search of the artificial beach I'd seen from the rails and instead found sand sculptures, which I skipped, and further down, concrete things mounted in the ground on the Spree on which many young things were sitting, drinking beer, and enjoying the sunset. I sat down, snapped up my wrap, and snapped away with my camera, hoping to catch the surreal moment. Under the spell of twilight, it seemed as if the ultra-modern, clean glass monolith of the DB was the only building in a world whose borders ended at the other shore of the Spree. Beyond that shore was simply endless sunset, the only inhabitants us young'uns sipping and eating and watching nonchalantly in our sunglasses as the orange orb of the sun disappeared beneath the edge of nothingness.

And then the sun set and we suddenly felt colder, so we went on, and I went on and found the source of the distant drumming I'd been enjoying. I gave the man some spare change and took a picture of him at his suggestion, only to realize that he was asking me to use his camera, which I tried unsuccessfully to do as the camera did not cooperate. Giving the cold shoulder to obnoxious tourists and easily discouraged Germans on bicycles, I sauntered eastward along the Reichstagufer and found myself on the surreal Band des Bundes, with its icy skyward winding Paul-Löbe-Haus (footed by a surreal shubbery) and Kahnian Marie-Elisabeth-Lüders Haus, one of the absolute most beautiful modern buildings I've seen in ages. A massive flock of birds kept sweeping dizzily over me from one side of the Spree to the other, and the beautiful colors of twilight made this incredible feat of architecture a drug for the rest of the evening. It must have taken me a good half hour or more just to walk the three blocks that constitute the Band des Bundes.

P.S. for Head 2: Same giant spiders proliferating here as in Hamburg. Need bag of peanuts and good aim on the double! Also, although Friedrichstraße seemed sketchy on the side we wandered into last year for Starbucks, the other side is the theater district and bursting at the seams with classy cafes (and someone doing a fire show). The mosquitoes are everywhere but do not find me appetizing at all, again a welcome relief from the Belgian mosquitoes who could never, ever, ever get enough of me.