Defending the Germans
It is no coincidence - and a testament to the political importance of history in Germany- that both former West German chancellor Helmut Kohl and former East German boss Walter Ulbricht were self-appointed historians by profession.
Time Out Berlin Guide 2009 Edition
I’ve lived in Germany for almost a year now and this is only the second post in which I use the N-word, or Nazis as they call them round here. Germans have absolutely no qualms about mentioning the war - pick up any newspaper and chances are that you will come across a reference to WW2. Confronting history is a national pastime and the phenomenon has, true to Teutonic tradition, one of those unwieldy gobstoppers that I like to call übercompounds - Vergangenheitsbewältigung. Although I don’t know if I’m going to let that one into the übercompounds’ hall of headache, as it only consists, believe it or not, of two nouns - “Vergangenheit” (past) and “Bewältigung (translated here as “coming to terms with”). Anyway, there’s been much soul searching and handwringing - the harshest critics of Germany are the Germans themselves. Nobody is going to assuage their guilt, for the sole reason that they do not want to be forgiven. Although they would appreciate it if you occasionally refrained from bringing Hitler up, even if it is just in internet debates. They get it, you know. Many of them had to visit a former concentration camp as part of their curriculum. And yet Americans continue to be hung up on the war, maybe because this was the last conflict in which their involvement was, well, conflict free. Ditto for the UK, perhaps because this was the last time it was regarded as a world power, in the waning days of its Empire, before reluctantly handing over the baton to America.
Speaking of empires, no country that has ever had colonial ambitions (and they all have) comes clean out of this mudslinging contest. Nobody. Descending from the people of two former colonial powers, Spain and Denmark, I should have a pretty heavy cross to bear. Spain for culling or raping their way through a whole subcontinent (when not giving them smallpox or illnesses the native population had never been exposed to), Denmark for raping and pillaging their way through Europe, and later for colonising Greenland and turning the population into alcoholics. And making them learn Danish. At least we didn’t make them take up cricket! That’s just cruel.
Perhaps something similar will happen to WW2, and in a couple of centuries it will be just one more item in the extensive catalogue of human atrocities like the Great Leap Forward, the Scramble for Africa or the Dirty War. Fretting about Auschwitz didn’t stop the Killing Fields. Or Darfur.
So now that I’ve immersed us in a grand collective Mea Culpa, should Germany be exonerated? Of course not, nobody should. And that’s the point, we’re all in the same boat. Of course it’s essential to be reminded of the atrocities of which humanity is capable (and yes, these are still people - there are no mass murders, no monsters, just people committing the unspeakable). We do not want history to repeat itself despite doing so with more frequency than we’d wish. And yet we must be doing something right - there are less people dying in armed conflict since records began, despite the often misleading impression, thanks to technological developments, that remind us daily of conflicts we otherwise wouldn’t be aware of.
Again, my little rant is not going to stop the History Channel from being the Hitler Channel. I’ve yet to watch a documentary about the Weimar Republic; or German Romanticism (the German variety is known for valuing wit and humour as opposed to its more serious English counterpart); or Martin Luther and the rise of Protestantism, which would eventually funnily enough lead to secularism; or Karl Marx and the rise of social conscience; or that German scientist were great innovators and often recipients of the Nobel prize until the 30s. No, why expand our viewers’ horizons and dismantle prejudices when we can show a documentary about the role of donkeys under the Third Reich (I can’t find a source, but you’ll have to trust me on this one, was sober) Never mind that I’m about as personally responsible for ransacking the Aztec empire as Germans nowadays are for putting Jews on trains to Poland. For example, I was recently in Amsterdam where I found out that some locals still direct German tourists to the Anne Frank House when asked for directions to the nearest coffeeshop. Apparently they haven’t forgiven them yet for taking away their bikes under the WW2 occupation, as commemorated in the Dutch expression ‘okay, first return the bike’, which means ‘first things first’. Well, I’ve NEVER thought that I would agree with ANY National Socialist policy but I’m totally behind this one. In a similar vein, I suspect that this is the same reason Mussolini wanted the Italian trains to run on time after having, presumably, experienced first-hand Romans’ automotive skills. Amsterdammers should not been given back their bikes until they learn to distinguish between red and green (perhaps there’s a high Daltonism incidence amongst its inhabitants). So there you go, Nazis might have been responsible for genocide, kickstarting WW2 and causing the death of millions and the destruction of cities, asphyxiating the rich Weimar cultural scene, banning good taste (i.e. Bauhaus) and being the sole reason of existence for the History Channel. But they stood up to the Dutch cyclists!
No seriously, test your general knowledge…what do you know about Germany? How much do you know about its history that doesn’t involve swastikas? Or walls?
Ye Olde Amsterdam: The Capital of Daltonism
Fair burghers of Berlin! Harken to this humble harbinger! When people say that Berlin reminds them of NYC during the 80s, it might not *necessarily* be meant as a compliment. Well, I got your attention now, but don’t shoot the messenger and all that jazz. Anyway, I’m back in the Prussian capital after spending a few days swishing through the Schengen area - no passports, only euros - like the true (EU) international woman of mystery that I am. Apart from the part where I got seriously bovine bored at staring at cows for hours on end, as if I were forever trapped in a Milka advert. Or when we would stop for 10 minutes between borders to change engines and the entire crew to make it country appropriate, giving both crews the opportunity to pop out for a cigarette. This shit doesn’t happen to Jason Bourne! He hasn’t been to Amsterdam yet, because government-trained-killing machines pale in comparison to Dutch cyclists. They don’t call red “Amsterdam green” for nothing.
So I thought it would be a good location to celebrate my 10 year anniversary and recent engagement. That’s right, 10 years together. No, I don’t know what I put in his coffee, still trying to figure how I let this happen in the first place (incidentally, really hard to get a coffee in Amsterdam despite the profusion of these so-called “coffeeshops”, as Coleridge famously said before getting hit by a cyclist - Coffeehouses, coffeehouses everywhere, but not a drop to drink!). Anyway, a decade is not such a significant milestone, surviving Amsterdam is. Unbeknownst to us, there might be a large number of couples out there who also thought the Dutch capital would be a picturesque yet quirky avenue to celebrate their 10th anniversary, who are now pushing up daisies, Heineken bottles or whatever grows at the bottom of the canals after an unfortunate encounter with one these psychotic pedal pushers. Amsterdam Tourist Board, I’m implying NOTHING. But while you’re at it, could you perhaps change your logo from “Iamsterdam” to “I’llbeamsterdamned if don’t push that psychotic cyclist into the river” or something the natives can actually pronounce. You’re doing your citizens a a great disfavour. Dutch people speak English with such an effortless élan, better than many natives in fact. Yet their accent makes “Iamsterdam” come out more as an “I hamster am”, making them sound like an emancipated pet instead of a proud citizen of the prettiest European capital and all around lovely town.
Things I didn’t do in Amsterdam:
1) Go to a coffeshop
2) Queue at the Anne Frank House
3) Queue at the Van Gogh House
4) Navigate stag parties on a Saturday night at the Red Light District (Also, don’t Vegas girls get more for posing in their underwear?)
5) Push a psychotically smug cyclist in the river.
Things I did do in Amsterdam
1) Have a coffee
2) Go to the Rijksmuseum without having to queue
3) Go on a boat tour without having to queue
4) Go to the Red Light District during the day as part of a tour. Get reminded every 2 min how unbelievably liberal the Dutch are and how everything is so hunky dory in ye olde Amstedam, even among professional leg spreaders. Apparently the Dutch have the monopoly over liberalism just like the Dutch East India Company had the market locked down in other (equally liberal!) times by exploiting brown people in skirts and pirating Spanish ships (I’m over it!). The Dutch East India Company was, incidentally, not mentioned that often.
5) Regret not pushing a psychotically smug cyclist into the river.
The Berlin Integration Test!
So next month I’m doing this so-called “Orientierungskurs” as part of my language course. For those not plugged into the matrix that is the Volkshochschule (like any other institution, the Volkshochschule heavily favours green for all decorative purposes), an Orientierungskurs provides students with a grounding in German history and politics. The participants do not only become “oriented” but also integrated into German society. And apparently Danes are heavily encouraged to integrate (well our potatoes are different, and we have been known to open beer bottles with things that aren’t lighters. Like newspapers, or other bottles of beer). Actually I don’t know if the German government is particularly concerned about the accretion of Danish ghettos, as long as it doesn’t involve longships of course. I do, however, get half of my course fee reimbursed at the completion of the Orientierungskurs, so I assume that’s the gist of it.
Apparently there is now a greater sense of urgency to the Nationalist debate after a certain Thilo Sarrazin not only added fuel to the fire but, as far as I’m concerned, took a huge dump on it. Many people outside Germany are (blissfully) unaware of this gentleman, busy as they’re with their own homegrown racists, (and they don’t trust foreign ones anyway). Sarrazin is the author behind a book called “Why Germany is going to the dogs and it’s all the BROWN foreigners’ fault because they’re genetically more stupid and they’re dumbing down our once great nation”. Or something along these lines. It has been hard to avoid this self-proclaimed martyr to freedom of speech, given that he has been peddling his putrid pseudo-Darwinian “theories” with a healthy dose of rancid xenophobia on every single platform that would have him. And most of them would because, as far I’m concerned, there seems to some confusion between the right to be heard and the right to be listened to. Mr Sarrazin has the right to regurgitate his racist bile. I have the right to ignore him on the grounds that his arguments are more bereft of logic than a Tea Party convention. His arid field of prejudices is thirsty for logic! ( And yes, I know that I’m giving the guy press by refusing to give him press, but I’m just another tiny little star in the great constellation of internet whiners).
Yet I’m not a target of Sarrazin’s dubious proclamations on non-lederhosen wearing people (and word is that there are quite a few of those amongst “natives” too), despite doing an Orienterungskurs, because I’m white and middle class. HAH! In yer FACE, pseudo Darwinian arguments barely disguised as raging xenophobia! I would still like to integrate into my host country, even if my recent levels of beer consumption might be contributing to this alleged national dumbing down. I have therefore devised my own integration test! It’s still a work in progress but without further ado, here are some potential questions for my “Berlin test”:
You know you’re seamlessly blending into the capital without dramatically affecting general levels of stupidity when:
1) You view people who open beer bottles with an actual beer bottle opener with suspicion. That’s what cheap plastic lighters are for!
2) You have to ask other people for “Feuer” because you ruined your last cheap plastic lighter trying to open a beer bottle
3) You hand roll all your cigarettes and view filter cigarettes as an evil capitalist plot to deprive you of all the money you could spend on a significantly higher number of hand rolled cigarettes to which you’re by no means addicted, because everybody knows that only filter cigarettes are addictive because they’re capitalist.
4) You view hand-rolled cigarettes as an essential part of a healthy (but laid-back!) lifestyle.
5) You enthusiastically rave about Berlin’s “Multi-Kulti” which to you translates as “eating as many falafels/kebabs as possible when out in Kreuzberg”.
6) You always claim to have recently discovered Berlin’s best falafel/kebab that’s “like €2 because you would never pay €3 for one - that’s what inebriated backpackers do” - said backpackers clearly, unlike you, not self-appointed falafel guru and kebab connoisseurs.
7) You prematurely bemoan the sad demise of this cherished street grub establishment, knowing in your heart that it will soon become overflown with the great unwashed masses as word of mouth spreads that the best multicultural deep frier is to be found here, a rumour to which you by no means contributed. You know you’ll eventually have to pay €3 for those crispy chickpeas as the establishment’s popularity dramatically increases (something about supply and demand and the owners not necessarily wanting to be multicultural snack providers for life!!!!)
8) You think that 5am is a perfectly reasonable hour to go clubbing. You thus avoid rush hour at Berghain.
9) You can’t understand what those pedestrians are doing on the pavement - they’re getting in the way of your bike. Can’t they walk on the road or something?
10) You are so over Mauerpark fleamarket, which is not only a tourist trap but occasionally also seems suspiciously profitable. You still go the park though, because you want to catch the Sunday Karaoke, as you can’t beat its feel good factor, and also because you secretly want to sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (Ok, the last one might be just me, and it’s actually Blondie’s “Call Me”)
Zeitgeist for beginners: A brief introduction to East Berlin
“How quickly revolutions grow old; and, worse still, respectable.” G.K. Chesterton
Yesterday I moved to the East, after spending two months in the West, in elegant Schöneberg. Sandwiched between prim Charlottenburg and perennially radical Kreuzberg, this charming Berlin neighbourhood nowadays feels like an ageing courtesan reminiscing about her glory days during the Weimar Republic, when she was the cultural heart of Europe, the cradle of political radicalism, the centre of unbridled 20s hedonism, the home of the divinely decadent Sally Bowles. It has clung on, and rightly so, to the title of Europe’s oldest gay quarter, but is otherwise like an old aunt with patrician features and a glint in her eye. The radicalism has gone.
El Dorado - Europe’s most decadent club during the flapper era. Now an organic supermarket.
If Christopher Isherwood were to return to Berlin, he would go East, provided of course that he had a fondness for minimal techno, flea markets and psychotic cyclists. Oh and the alternative scene, of course. Everybody in East Berlin is into the alternative scene.
Even good old Kaiser’s has received the alternative treatment.
Bananas are no strangers to urban alienation. Who knew graffiti was the perfect medium to express the angst of tropical fruit?
So, what if Isherwood were to return to the Prussian capital and head to the West again, a place so obviously lacking in brutalist Communist architecture and kitsch GDR furniture? The fool! How will he be able to express urban alienation? Where would he hold his guerilla literary salon? How would he be able to express his individuality without the presence of state planned and mass produced orange wallpaper with floral patterns? I can sense you fear, watching the zeitgeist escape down an alley to an abandoned warehouse where Ricardo Villalobos is holding a clandestine gig.
Me pondering about the unbearable lightness of being, or how to get to my 5th floor saniert Altbau flat without a lift, after an 8 hour brunch and much Käse consumption at the local cafe.
Fear not, with this foolproof guide, you too can become an East Berliner!
1) Get knocked up: If you’re in Prenzlauer Berg, being pregnant will make you indistinguishable from a local. But only if you’re over 30. If you’re under 30 and over 15, you should consider Friedrichshain, which is edgier (read poorer) and also contains less information architects. If you’re a man, and are therefore hindered by nature, a pushchair that costs more than a Toyota Prius is an acceptable alternative. For that extra touch, bring all your sprogs into your local organic Osteria during Sunday brunch and set them loose, like a bunch of amphetamine-crazed marmosets who have just set their eyes on Del Monte’s banana warehouse.
Kollwitzstrasse: breeding ground for freelance graphic designers and gallery owners
2) Never drink at place with a name: Drinking a place with a Google map pin on it is not ALTERNATIVE. This whole business of naming things has been done for millennia. It so conventional. What is it with this penchant for labeling things? It stifles and limits the fluid and slippery postmodern identity. It fails to accurately reflect the transient ephemeral nature of human existence. Nomenclature is out, is too bourgeois. Plus it saves money on an actual sign.
There are of course two exceptions to this rule that will not result in social suicide:
-Bars/shops with stupid quirky names: You can name venues as long as it undermines one of its primary functions, i.e. to remember what the place is called, which let’s admit it, is too conventional and convenient. Convenience is an evil capitalist plot. So is logic. Your name should be as quirky and surreal as possible, and sound like something Lou Reed might have written after a four day binge in the Lower East side. Like ‘Ick koof mir Dave Lombardo wenn ick reich bin (‘When I’m rich I’ll buy Dave Lombardo’). It might have been an epiphany discerned through the marihuana haze. but now makes less sense than Mandarin video recorder instructions. Dave Lombardo is, in case you’re wondering, the drummer of trash metal band Slayer. Still no bells ringing? Good.
If you’re not an art student, and has therefore not had André Breton’s Surrealist Manifesto inflicted upon you, or just can’t afford the drugs, you can always pick lyrics from hip alternative 90s underground bands like Sonic Youth (signed to Universal Records, and not Sony, like that other beacon of anti-establishment, Rage Against the Machine)
“I’m just popping down to ‘I stole my sister’s boyfriend. It was all whirlwind, heat, and flash. Within a week we killed my parents and hit the road’” (Luckily they know more about vintage clothing than nomenclature -excellent selection and very lovely people)
-’ Meta digits’ are okey: Bar 103 is, you guessed it, a bar on number 103. Street numbers are immune to the capricious and transient nature of urban topography. Number 103 is and will always be number 103, whether is a horse hospital or a bar, or preferably a horse hospital turned into a bar. Which brings me to the next rule:
3) Never drink in a a venue that was built for that purpose: Ideally it should have originally been a brothel (a horse brothel?), because nothing is as edgy as downing capirinhas in a former syphilis hotbed. Otherwise, anything else will do - a hedgehog hospital, a anarchist sanctuary, a nuclear shelter, a pickle factory. You name it -The more unusual the better. Unless it is one of those dives that has remained unchanged since the Wall came down, because as I have mentioned before, nothing screams individuality more than state planned and mass produced orange wallpaper with floral patterns.
The public baths in Prenzlauer Berg, now a funky edgy establishment for the urban disenfranchised youth. And corporate events.
The KulturBrauerei, because nothing says culture like beer
This is obviously a very brief sketch, although rest assured that I will fill in the contours as I become more familiar with my new neighbourhood. For a comprehensive and hilariously incisive take on the Teutonic equivalent of that most pretentious of London creatures, the Hoxtonite, I can’t recommend enough Ich werde ein Berliner. In fact, this post is my little homage to this brilliant blog.
Tom bowled over by the urban alternative experience. Or was it one too many Fruhstück at the Ost Fee?
Our local, The Fairy of the East. Many people in East Berlin are away with the fairies. Sometimes without chemical aid. Lovely staff, four different sorts of Chai and 5 min from my house. What more can a girl ask for?
