Gray City
In Berlin, my flatmate Richard set his camera for black and white. "I thought the city would look best that way," he said. Mostly because the city is, in fact, in shades of gray. Luisa said it’s a city best enjoyed if you have a keen imagination. She has a point. The most prominent building in Berlin—the construct that appears on city postcards and guidebooks, the answer to the Eiffel Tower or the Space Needle, is basically a television tower. It's sort of sad. Though the overriding image that probably best characterizes Berlin would be a crane and the German flag. And a lot of the historical buildings, sites, walls, bunkers, are no longer there, were never fully built, or are hidden.
Hitler’s bunker, for instance, is buried in an innocuous residential area with high-rise apartments and a gay sauna flanking. There are no signs indicating its presence although the Jewish memorial is nearby. A large part of the Berlin mindset seems to be whether or not they can or should reconcile with the past. Should they forget? Appoint national holidays? Shunt the responsibility to another generation? I would suppose that’s why you’ve got this strange juxtaposition wherein on one site, there’s a construction of a huge Holocaust memorial—coffin-sized slabs of graystone jutting across two sloping acres. On the other hand, just one hundred yards away, Hitler’s bunker, the site of his eventual suicide, remains relatively anonymous and buried—having not been exposed since 1987 when the construction of the surrounding buildings required it to be unearthed for a brief while.
Much of the Nazi architecture (large and geometrical, as if they used large cubes of granite in lieu of bricks) has been gutted and/or pretty much stamped into the ground in the years during and after the war. The Soviets were anxious to hammer out their own influence which is probably epitomized best by the construction of The Wall. Only a block-long stretch of it is still there. Pebbles of rubble currently sell for around eight Euro. I suppose this is, in the end, a triumph for capitalism.
Another triumph for capitalism would be Berlin's current architectural state. In one commercial block, I counted six H&M’s. The buildings are uniformly ugly—and those signs. Those signs! These tumorous red letters jutting from the faces of the buildings and spelling out SANYO or KFC or EROTIKA. Despite the blister and glare of the letters at night, there’s something sad and sagging about it, like the city’s reliving a collective hangover after a Westernized binge. And in the center of this area, the Zoologischer Garten, is the bombed-out husk of an old church.
The business center of the city had previously been in the Eastern block. The buildings there are basically sheets of glass wrapped around iron rods. In fact, much of the governmental institutions moved from the Reichstag to a newer building across the street modeled after a car engine of all things. You can tell, too, from the cylindrical structures embedded into the iron grid of the body proper. I get a similar impression when I look at other metropolises that tried to commercialize too quickly—that the city planners are attempting to imitate the buildings of, say, New York City. It doesn’t quite work that way though because the consequent constructs always seem sort of flayed. Architects generate those lavish interior adornments and snap together the skeleton frame, but completely forget the skin.
As a touring city then, Berlin is not exactly what I'd call fun. Though I do like the city tours in that they’re incredibly informative—basically aerobic classroom lectures. And, as mentioned earlier, the lack of tangible historical artifacts can frustrate one’s interest. Our tour guide: "Hitler wanted to build a huge arc commemorating his victories, one that would dwarf Paris’s Arc d’Triumph, on the space where we currently stand. Which is now a car park. Close your eyes and try to imagine what it would’ve been like. Please." One of the tours we took was about the Third Reich. It was supposed to last three hours but instead ended up lasting around four and a half. What can I say? The city might not be pretty but there’s a lot to talk about.
Hitler’s bunker, for instance, is buried in an innocuous residential area with high-rise apartments and a gay sauna flanking. There are no signs indicating its presence although the Jewish memorial is nearby. A large part of the Berlin mindset seems to be whether or not they can or should reconcile with the past. Should they forget? Appoint national holidays? Shunt the responsibility to another generation? I would suppose that’s why you’ve got this strange juxtaposition wherein on one site, there’s a construction of a huge Holocaust memorial—coffin-sized slabs of graystone jutting across two sloping acres. On the other hand, just one hundred yards away, Hitler’s bunker, the site of his eventual suicide, remains relatively anonymous and buried—having not been exposed since 1987 when the construction of the surrounding buildings required it to be unearthed for a brief while.
Much of the Nazi architecture (large and geometrical, as if they used large cubes of granite in lieu of bricks) has been gutted and/or pretty much stamped into the ground in the years during and after the war. The Soviets were anxious to hammer out their own influence which is probably epitomized best by the construction of The Wall. Only a block-long stretch of it is still there. Pebbles of rubble currently sell for around eight Euro. I suppose this is, in the end, a triumph for capitalism.
Another triumph for capitalism would be Berlin's current architectural state. In one commercial block, I counted six H&M’s. The buildings are uniformly ugly—and those signs. Those signs! These tumorous red letters jutting from the faces of the buildings and spelling out SANYO or KFC or EROTIKA. Despite the blister and glare of the letters at night, there’s something sad and sagging about it, like the city’s reliving a collective hangover after a Westernized binge. And in the center of this area, the Zoologischer Garten, is the bombed-out husk of an old church.
The business center of the city had previously been in the Eastern block. The buildings there are basically sheets of glass wrapped around iron rods. In fact, much of the governmental institutions moved from the Reichstag to a newer building across the street modeled after a car engine of all things. You can tell, too, from the cylindrical structures embedded into the iron grid of the body proper. I get a similar impression when I look at other metropolises that tried to commercialize too quickly—that the city planners are attempting to imitate the buildings of, say, New York City. It doesn’t quite work that way though because the consequent constructs always seem sort of flayed. Architects generate those lavish interior adornments and snap together the skeleton frame, but completely forget the skin.
As a touring city then, Berlin is not exactly what I'd call fun. Though I do like the city tours in that they’re incredibly informative—basically aerobic classroom lectures. And, as mentioned earlier, the lack of tangible historical artifacts can frustrate one’s interest. Our tour guide: "Hitler wanted to build a huge arc commemorating his victories, one that would dwarf Paris’s Arc d’Triumph, on the space where we currently stand. Which is now a car park. Close your eyes and try to imagine what it would’ve been like. Please." One of the tours we took was about the Third Reich. It was supposed to last three hours but instead ended up lasting around four and a half. What can I say? The city might not be pretty but there’s a lot to talk about.
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