I'm missing Munich so much lately... I don't know why. I feel like I don't really fit in here, in Berlin. Maybe if my situation here was more similar to the one I had in Munich it'd be different. But here I'm stuck with the same (American) people day in and day out, speaking English, not going out because nobody invites me/nobody wants to, which obviously doesn't afford me the opportunity to meet new people or make other friends. It's been difficult.
I feel like in Munich everyone was SO open to being friends with ANYONE, because we all came there on our own, not knowing anyone before. I mean, even the few people who came with a couple friends were open to making new friends and including everyone, no matter who they were or where they were from or what they look like, etc etc. I feel like within this group there have been cliques established and it's too late to change them or change anyone's mind about what they want here/what they're doing here.
We're all so bogged down with being in a new(ish) place with these people who we have to see all the time, and I feel like the rest of the group isn't as open to meeting new people because they're so comfortable with where they are already. I don't know. I just want to make a group of Berliner friends, or have that month I spent in Munich last me the rest of my life. I am probably romanticizing it a little bit, and I definitely wasn't happy ALL of the time but really... I want to go back. Now.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Old Country... home? Weekend in Warsaw
This weekend I took a train to Warsaw for two days with friends Libby and Roxana. I wanted to see where I come from, where my great grandparents walked around, and possibly find out a little bit more about my family.
Being in Warsaw is like being in two different cities. See:
Same place. The huge spatial differences only occur about a ten minutes walk from one another. It was really strange and interesting walking from the huge skyscrapers into the Old Town. It's so cheap for corporations to have satellite headquarters in Poland now that all of them have been snapping up any free available land and workers. There is construction everywhere in the city, and even more giant skyscrapers on the way.
It was really only whilst I was walking around Old Town that I felt I may have belonged there once, long ago. None of the buildings are taller than five stories, and they're all different colors with different ornate decorations on the windows and doorways. The Old Town Square is all paved in cobblestone, and there aren't any cars throughout the district. The restaurants are all tiny and cute (and cheap) and the people are all very nice.
Old Town at night
The only thing that was hard was the fact that I didn't speak Polish. Obviously I knew this would be somewhat of an issue, but I wasn't quite ready for what happened at the Milk Bar we went to. Milk Bars are kind of a Communist relic in Poland, old cafeterias with really cheap food. We went in, ordered, and gave our receipt to the ladies at the window. They kept yelling at us in Polish, which was... difficult. I had NO idea what they were saying, and wasn't getting any food. Luckily a nice older lady negotiated with them for us and we all eventually got the food that we ordered. I think.
I wasn't able to find anything about my family there this time, unfortunately. We did go to the Warsaw Uprising Museum, but there was very little there about the Jewish population during this time. My friend (he lives in Warsaw) told me that there would be a Jewish Museum opening next year and that I should come back and see it... I intend to.
Being in Warsaw is like being in two different cities. See:
Same place. The huge spatial differences only occur about a ten minutes walk from one another. It was really strange and interesting walking from the huge skyscrapers into the Old Town. It's so cheap for corporations to have satellite headquarters in Poland now that all of them have been snapping up any free available land and workers. There is construction everywhere in the city, and even more giant skyscrapers on the way.
It was really only whilst I was walking around Old Town that I felt I may have belonged there once, long ago. None of the buildings are taller than five stories, and they're all different colors with different ornate decorations on the windows and doorways. The Old Town Square is all paved in cobblestone, and there aren't any cars throughout the district. The restaurants are all tiny and cute (and cheap) and the people are all very nice.
Old Town at night
The only thing that was hard was the fact that I didn't speak Polish. Obviously I knew this would be somewhat of an issue, but I wasn't quite ready for what happened at the Milk Bar we went to. Milk Bars are kind of a Communist relic in Poland, old cafeterias with really cheap food. We went in, ordered, and gave our receipt to the ladies at the window. They kept yelling at us in Polish, which was... difficult. I had NO idea what they were saying, and wasn't getting any food. Luckily a nice older lady negotiated with them for us and we all eventually got the food that we ordered. I think.
I wasn't able to find anything about my family there this time, unfortunately. We did go to the Warsaw Uprising Museum, but there was very little there about the Jewish population during this time. My friend (he lives in Warsaw) told me that there would be a Jewish Museum opening next year and that I should come back and see it... I intend to.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Jewish Museum
Today I went to the Jewish Museum. The first thing you notice when you walk up to the building is, obviously, the architecture. The building on the left while facing the museum from the front is an older, neoclassical/baroque building called the Kollegienhaus. It holds the ticket stand, security, and cafe. On the way in I was stuck behind a group of students from Tulane who commented "The Jews don't joke around." um. okay. They proceeded to complain about the €2.50 ticket price. Americans.
The building on the right was designed by Daniel Liebskind. It is a zig-zag shape, filled with blank walls, windows, and voids. Here is a picture from the top, courtesy of Wikipedia:
The museum itself was incredibly interesting. It doesn't focus solely on the Holocaust like a lot of Jewish museums tend to do, but starts with Jewish-German history from the time of Constantine. One of my favorite things in the museum was this "pomegranate" tree. The museum provided paper pomegranates for you to write a wish on, and you can hang them on the tree. It was beautiful.
The museum weaves its way through rural Jews in Germany, enlightenment, 1920s Berlin, the second world war, up to Jewish experiences in the present. Some of my favorite things in the museum included the interactive "voids" where you could put on a set of headphones and listen to information about important Jewish artifacts that had been lost, the depictions of Jews in 1920s Berlin, and the final room in the museum. It held 18 different pictures of Jews in post-1945 Germany, Austria, and Switzerland accompanied by audio files of them discussing what the picture was and what it meant to them. This was my favorite:
After I was finished in the museum, I talked to the information people regarding my new thesis. [My new thesis, by the way, is regarding my own and others Jewish identity in modern Europe, as well as an exploration of modern Jewish media and spaces within Berlin.] The info desk person said there was a large celebration for the tenth anniversary of the museum occurring this week, and gave me a number to call on Monday once it was over. He said there were many people that would be happy to help me... just not this week.
This weekend I'm headed to Warsaw, and I hope to see/experience the country where 75% of my family came from and be able to relate that to my thesis as well.
The building on the right was designed by Daniel Liebskind. It is a zig-zag shape, filled with blank walls, windows, and voids. Here is a picture from the top, courtesy of Wikipedia:
The museum itself was incredibly interesting. It doesn't focus solely on the Holocaust like a lot of Jewish museums tend to do, but starts with Jewish-German history from the time of Constantine. One of my favorite things in the museum was this "pomegranate" tree. The museum provided paper pomegranates for you to write a wish on, and you can hang them on the tree. It was beautiful.
The museum weaves its way through rural Jews in Germany, enlightenment, 1920s Berlin, the second world war, up to Jewish experiences in the present. Some of my favorite things in the museum included the interactive "voids" where you could put on a set of headphones and listen to information about important Jewish artifacts that had been lost, the depictions of Jews in 1920s Berlin, and the final room in the museum. It held 18 different pictures of Jews in post-1945 Germany, Austria, and Switzerland accompanied by audio files of them discussing what the picture was and what it meant to them. This was my favorite:
After I was finished in the museum, I talked to the information people regarding my new thesis. [My new thesis, by the way, is regarding my own and others Jewish identity in modern Europe, as well as an exploration of modern Jewish media and spaces within Berlin.] The info desk person said there was a large celebration for the tenth anniversary of the museum occurring this week, and gave me a number to call on Monday once it was over. He said there were many people that would be happy to help me... just not this week.
This weekend I'm headed to Warsaw, and I hope to see/experience the country where 75% of my family came from and be able to relate that to my thesis as well.
Buchenwald
I felt as though my visit to Buchenwald deserved it's own separate, more reflective post regarding my experience there. So here that is. There are no pictures in this post. I did not bring my camera to Buchenwald. Honestly, I feel that taking pictures at a concentration camp is incredibly disrespectful. I was raised with the notion that taking pictures anywhere holy (inside of a synagogue, in a cemetery) was just not done. I felt the same way about a concentration camp. I was a little bit insulted and hurt when I saw others taking pictures there, although I do understand that everyone does things differently. In my opinion though, Buchenwald is something that you should remember for the rest of your life without the need to take photographs.
As we arrived, I really wasn't sure what to expect. Buchenwald was a forced labor camp, where mostly foreigners and foreign POWs were kept. As overcrowding occurred near the end of the war, more and more people were outright murdered just to make room for others. There was a large Sinti and Roma Gypsy population here as well. There was also a special block for children and young people. Buchenwald was also a camp where a lot of medical experimentation went on, and there were memorials for that as well. After Buchenwald was liberated, the Soviets turned it into a camp for Nazi prisoners.
As we entered the actual camp itself, I felt an overwhelming sense of vastness. All of the barracks are gone, replaced with long rectangles filled with stones. Every so often there was a small plaque in German, Russian, English, and French explaining what the barracks that formerly stood there housed. Throughout the empty space, there were memorials for Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, POWs, Children, and victims of medical experimentation, among others. We walked throughout the open space for a while. All I could possibly think of were the people who walked there before I did, and what conditions they were under.
I also thought a lot about what these people could have become. Was someone who was murdered here going to go on and find a cure for cancer? Would they make a film that changed the industry? Would they be one of the next world leaders? This is a thought that is constantly on my mind whenever I think about the Holocaust. Eleven MILLION people were killed. How many of these people, had they not been victim to Nazi atrocities, would go on to change the world? I think this, above all, is the thing that affects me the most about the Holocaust. What could have been.
After walking around the former camp for about an hour and a half, we headed to the museum for the Second Buchenwald. As I said before, after Buchenwald was liberated the Soviets turned it into a sort of prison for Nazi-related peoples. I really can't say how I felt about this museum. I recognize that people there were killed, and some unjustly, but my deeper person can only think of one thing: they were Nazis. The illogical part of me says that all of them deserved to be there and everyone who died deserved it. I know this is a somewhat antiquated way of thinking, but I really can't help it. It's a lot to do with the way I was educated and raised, and even more to do with the fact that I am Jewish.
Following that museum we went into the museum on Buchenwald. A lot of it was in German, so I took in what I could. I was a little bit overwhelmed with information at this point, and hungry. We went to head out of the camp. On our way out, we crossed paths with a small building. This is where I basically broke down and needed to leave.
We entered the first small building. Inside there was a plaque explaining that it was in this house that the Nazis murdered about 1,000 young Soviet soldiers by shooting them point blank. I couldn't stay in the small building for too long, I was very overwhelmed with this information and with being in an enclosed and small space where so much murder took place. I went and stood outside. Attached to this small building was a larger building, the crematorium.
I am absolutely revolted by the fact that the crematorium is open. I think it is an atrocity. I can't even fathom why people would want to go into a building like that. People were BURNED in there. Thousands of people, discarded like trash. Why would you even want to set foot in there? There are ways to remember people. There are ways to remember the horror that occurred during the second world war. This is not one of them. I think this building should be shuttered forever, and that nobody should ever, ever go in it again. I realize that my opinion is my opinion, and that people will disagree with it, but this is how I feel. I really needed a space where I could say something like this, and inside the camp was not that space. I said it to my mother, and I feel a lot better saying it here as well.
Needless to say, I didn't go inside of the crematorium. I stood outside, crying and saying Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for mourning). It was one of the hardest things I've done, standing outside that terrible place and saying this prayer. After I finished saying Kaddish I went and placed some stones on a few of the memorials. In Judaism it is customary to place stones on graves instead of flowers. Stones don't die.
After we left the camp, I didn't feel like I could really discuss it with any of my peers. It was a deeply personal experience, and the only person I wanted to talk to was my Mom. Nobody else in this group is Jewish. This is difficult, and I'm glad my Mom could talk to me afterwards. But in the discussions between my peers that followed, I discovered that I really couldn't comfortably take part in them. I don't want to be on a high horse about it, but nobody in our group knows or understands what I went through at Buchenwald. Writing about it helps immensely. I'm also in contact with people in the Jewish community in Berlin, working on my thesis and discussing what happened to me at Buchenwald.
As we arrived, I really wasn't sure what to expect. Buchenwald was a forced labor camp, where mostly foreigners and foreign POWs were kept. As overcrowding occurred near the end of the war, more and more people were outright murdered just to make room for others. There was a large Sinti and Roma Gypsy population here as well. There was also a special block for children and young people. Buchenwald was also a camp where a lot of medical experimentation went on, and there were memorials for that as well. After Buchenwald was liberated, the Soviets turned it into a camp for Nazi prisoners.
As we entered the actual camp itself, I felt an overwhelming sense of vastness. All of the barracks are gone, replaced with long rectangles filled with stones. Every so often there was a small plaque in German, Russian, English, and French explaining what the barracks that formerly stood there housed. Throughout the empty space, there were memorials for Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, POWs, Children, and victims of medical experimentation, among others. We walked throughout the open space for a while. All I could possibly think of were the people who walked there before I did, and what conditions they were under.
I also thought a lot about what these people could have become. Was someone who was murdered here going to go on and find a cure for cancer? Would they make a film that changed the industry? Would they be one of the next world leaders? This is a thought that is constantly on my mind whenever I think about the Holocaust. Eleven MILLION people were killed. How many of these people, had they not been victim to Nazi atrocities, would go on to change the world? I think this, above all, is the thing that affects me the most about the Holocaust. What could have been.
After walking around the former camp for about an hour and a half, we headed to the museum for the Second Buchenwald. As I said before, after Buchenwald was liberated the Soviets turned it into a sort of prison for Nazi-related peoples. I really can't say how I felt about this museum. I recognize that people there were killed, and some unjustly, but my deeper person can only think of one thing: they were Nazis. The illogical part of me says that all of them deserved to be there and everyone who died deserved it. I know this is a somewhat antiquated way of thinking, but I really can't help it. It's a lot to do with the way I was educated and raised, and even more to do with the fact that I am Jewish.
Following that museum we went into the museum on Buchenwald. A lot of it was in German, so I took in what I could. I was a little bit overwhelmed with information at this point, and hungry. We went to head out of the camp. On our way out, we crossed paths with a small building. This is where I basically broke down and needed to leave.
We entered the first small building. Inside there was a plaque explaining that it was in this house that the Nazis murdered about 1,000 young Soviet soldiers by shooting them point blank. I couldn't stay in the small building for too long, I was very overwhelmed with this information and with being in an enclosed and small space where so much murder took place. I went and stood outside. Attached to this small building was a larger building, the crematorium.
I am absolutely revolted by the fact that the crematorium is open. I think it is an atrocity. I can't even fathom why people would want to go into a building like that. People were BURNED in there. Thousands of people, discarded like trash. Why would you even want to set foot in there? There are ways to remember people. There are ways to remember the horror that occurred during the second world war. This is not one of them. I think this building should be shuttered forever, and that nobody should ever, ever go in it again. I realize that my opinion is my opinion, and that people will disagree with it, but this is how I feel. I really needed a space where I could say something like this, and inside the camp was not that space. I said it to my mother, and I feel a lot better saying it here as well.
Needless to say, I didn't go inside of the crematorium. I stood outside, crying and saying Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for mourning). It was one of the hardest things I've done, standing outside that terrible place and saying this prayer. After I finished saying Kaddish I went and placed some stones on a few of the memorials. In Judaism it is customary to place stones on graves instead of flowers. Stones don't die.
After we left the camp, I didn't feel like I could really discuss it with any of my peers. It was a deeply personal experience, and the only person I wanted to talk to was my Mom. Nobody else in this group is Jewish. This is difficult, and I'm glad my Mom could talk to me afterwards. But in the discussions between my peers that followed, I discovered that I really couldn't comfortably take part in them. I don't want to be on a high horse about it, but nobody in our group knows or understands what I went through at Buchenwald. Writing about it helps immensely. I'm also in contact with people in the Jewish community in Berlin, working on my thesis and discussing what happened to me at Buchenwald.
Weimar und Dessau: Was ist Ost Deutschland?
After a couple beers at the Festhallen brauhaus in Weimar, I texted a (non-German but German-speaking) friend asking him "Was ist Ost Deutschland?" To which he replied "ein guter Plot für 80s Filme." So there you have it.
We left for Weimar early Friday morning and the train ride was lovely. I got to discuss my (revised) thesis with both John and Nara, and see some of the beautiful East German countryside. Once we arrived in Weimar we checked into our REALLY awesome hostel. Here is a picture of me in the hostel, courtesy of Libby:
We had a lovely watermelon-esque room.
After getting settled into the hostel we checked out the Bauhaus Museum, and then were free to walk around Weimar for the rest of the day. It is a REALLY cute little town, beautiful architecture with hints of Prussian and Weimar royalty, society, and intellectuals everywhere. Here is the Rathaus and the town square:
Dominic and I decided to partake in the Liszt-y activities occurring that weekend. It was Liszt's 200th birthday on that Saturday the 22nd, so the city of Weimar celebrated in a grand fashion. There were special museum exhibits and a huge concert for his birthday. After a lengthy argument (in German, mind you) with the woman selling tickets at the Liszt exhibit about whether I was a student (€7) or a Schuler (€3), we saw the Liszt exhibition at the Schillerhaus. After that we walked to the Schloss where there were a bunch of old pianos on display in conjunction with the Liszt exhibitions.
This little boy would NOT let us play the piano. He kept taking the drum sticks they provided for us away and saying "Nein! Nur ich!"
ein Alte Klavier
Me in a French salon with Victor Hugo, Liszt, Beethoven, and some other intellectuals. This was the last picture I took before I got a "kein Fotografieren im Museum!" from a docent. Oops.
On Saturday we went to Buchenwald. I'll make a separate post on that.
Sunday we headed to Dessau and the Bauhaus museum. Here are some of my favorite pictures from there:
All in all, I really enjoyed both Weimar and Dessau. I'd love to return to Weimar soon, and even Dessau (not on a Sunday, though!)
We left for Weimar early Friday morning and the train ride was lovely. I got to discuss my (revised) thesis with both John and Nara, and see some of the beautiful East German countryside. Once we arrived in Weimar we checked into our REALLY awesome hostel. Here is a picture of me in the hostel, courtesy of Libby:
We had a lovely watermelon-esque room.
After getting settled into the hostel we checked out the Bauhaus Museum, and then were free to walk around Weimar for the rest of the day. It is a REALLY cute little town, beautiful architecture with hints of Prussian and Weimar royalty, society, and intellectuals everywhere. Here is the Rathaus and the town square:
Dominic and I decided to partake in the Liszt-y activities occurring that weekend. It was Liszt's 200th birthday on that Saturday the 22nd, so the city of Weimar celebrated in a grand fashion. There were special museum exhibits and a huge concert for his birthday. After a lengthy argument (in German, mind you) with the woman selling tickets at the Liszt exhibit about whether I was a student (€7) or a Schuler (€3), we saw the Liszt exhibition at the Schillerhaus. After that we walked to the Schloss where there were a bunch of old pianos on display in conjunction with the Liszt exhibitions.
This little boy would NOT let us play the piano. He kept taking the drum sticks they provided for us away and saying "Nein! Nur ich!"
ein Alte Klavier
Me in a French salon with Victor Hugo, Liszt, Beethoven, and some other intellectuals. This was the last picture I took before I got a "kein Fotografieren im Museum!" from a docent. Oops.
On Saturday we went to Buchenwald. I'll make a separate post on that.
Sunday we headed to Dessau and the Bauhaus museum. Here are some of my favorite pictures from there:
All in all, I really enjoyed both Weimar and Dessau. I'd love to return to Weimar soon, and even Dessau (not on a Sunday, though!)
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Hansaviertel
Once upon a time, there was a village. Actually, there were a bunch of villages. And these villages were really cities. And these cities were all part of a league. The league was not for justice, but rather so people could make a lot of money off of other people who weren't making money making things that other people with money wanted. These people called themselves the Hanseatic League, and they thought they did a pretty good job of creating and protecting cities. So when the small locality located between the Tiergarten and the Spree in Berlin was built, the people who built it thought it would be a pretty good idea to name it after this league. The Hansaplatz, located in the center of the small locality, contains an U-Bahn, a theater, a library, and a church. The buildings in and around Hansaviertel were built by different architects from around Germany and the rest of Europe.
I (Rachel) did not like Hansaviertel's aesthetic aspects. It thoroughly reminded me of my frustration with the Gropius reading, and how I really LIKE that everything and everyone is different. I enjoy seeing quirky things about neighborhoods and people, rather than being forced to look at the same thing over and over like I was in Hansaviertel. I felt trapped in in the neighborhood, and wanted to leave as fast as I could. It was interesting though because the people there did not seem devoid of culture (the theater looked like it was playing some interesting shows), books (hansabucherei in the middle of the platz), or happiness (lots of babies playing. Everywhere.), but I really couldn't imagine ever living in such a place.
Our visit to the Hansaviertel encouraged us to explore different parts of Berlin that we probably would have never explored on our own. We stayed there for a little over an hour, walking the streets and taking snapshots of the tall, concrete apartment complexes that had an odd contrast in color; all were gray but had light blue, yellow, or red palettes—one building even had all three of those primary colors! It was a weird choice of color combination—but I guess it added color to the neighborhood!
The architecture that was in Hansaviertel was fairly modern and had little differences aside from the color palettes and adorned no decorations at all (aside from the occasional lonely flower pot sitting somewhere). According to Walter Groupis, “…but seem senseless for people to surround themselves with imitations of past times—Gothic, Rococo, Renaissance, Baroque—so utterly different in structure from our own.” Groupis highlighted on the fact that most architecture is built with reference to the past. He stated, “the effect of imitating past styles for both the interior and exterior of our buildings is just silly as if we were to wander about our streets in the clothing and hairdos of those times.” He believed that mimicking past styles, concepts, methods, medium, and etc. of the past is ridiculous. If one would like to establish one’s own identity in society, one must begin to think of new, modernized techniques that align with the present time, “Modern individuals of 1926 need cities, buildings, dwellings, and appliances from their own time, the clear results in form and technology of the means and methods that our intellectual achievements have made available.” I almost felt overwhelmed by the fact that everything appeared so dull…and gray. The buildings weren’t ugly—I guess they lacked history for me. I’m sure these structures have an interesting history, but their physicality only says to me that they were built in an organized and industrial way to accommodate the citizens of Hansaviertel and nothing else. Despite that, it was a fun and knowledgeable experience for my group and me. We enjoyed the autumn leaves and the cool, refreshing breeze.
The Hansaviertel neighborhood is home to a housing project referred to as Interbau, the buildings representing the modern, post-war world. The feelings that these buildings inspire at this point in time must be different than those of the late 50’s, as I felt they looked oppressive and cheap. I have been surrounded by architectural design that inspires feelings of beauty, for most of my life at least, and though the Interbau buildings have an embedded philosophy that brings power to the structures, the aesthetic quality left me feeling that they were relics of East Berlin, rather than the west. The slab buildings have little character besides small embellishments of color, or sections of differing construction materials, like brick. What kept coming to mind was that this uniformity and utilitarian feel was intentional, a way to construct residences with this Gropius quote as a basis for design:
“There is no justification for the fact that every house in our new outlying developments displays a different floor plan, a different exterior appearance, a different construction style, and different construction materials. On the contrary, such variety exhibits senseless waste and the uncultivated formlessness of a parvenu However, making houses completely uniform must be avoided, for the violation of individuality is always short-sighted and wrong. The planned construction methods must therefore aim at standardization and industrial reproduction of structural elements, not entire buildings…” – Gropius, pg. 442
To move away from the past is a progressive act towards the future, and at the time, these buildings looked closer to 1970’s designs, but in contrast to the last fifty years’ worth of architectural development, which always seems to include elements of the past, these buildings look dated. I am reminded of those films from the fifties that would show “the world of tomorrow”, with automatic houses and vehicles that looked futuristic at the time, but now look like relics of the age in which they were created. This quote from a long term resident of Interbau highlights the impression of the time: “My father could have bought an old villa in Dahlem" for the same amount of money, "but he was convinced the future was being built here” - Peter Schaefer, NYTimes.com - Berlin's Hansaviertel at 50
Though the Interbau development was an attempt to reach a wondrous, futuristic point of design, I find that idea of the future to be drab and sad. Like I said though, the idea was attractive at a time, so the buildings stand, to me, as a monument of time rather than attractive design.
The Hansaviertal is a modern housing community rebuilt in 1957. According to Gropius, the modern movement in building focused on creating a new architectural style that represented that time period. As a result, fundamental concepts included organic forms and maximizing simple spaces and new materials (glass, concrete, and iron). As we walked through the Hansaviertal, we noticed that the residential buildings reflected the modern movement because they were simple, minimalistic, straight-edged, and made of mainly glass, concrete, and iron. Also, most were painted in white or drab, grey tones with spots of primary colors (red, blue, and yellow).
We really like that the buildings are spaced out, surrounded by greenery, and felt like its own community. Since the buildings were further apart, it made the whole area feel more accessible and open. The incorporation of green spaces and views of the Tiergarten created a closer connection to and appreciation of nature. The prime location is really special because not only can residents feel closer to nature, but also everything was close by. The Hansa library, Hansaplatz U-bahn station, Grips Theater, Akademie der Kunste, grocery store, apothkare, and churches were all in walking distance.
I (Rachel) did not like Hansaviertel's aesthetic aspects. It thoroughly reminded me of my frustration with the Gropius reading, and how I really LIKE that everything and everyone is different. I enjoy seeing quirky things about neighborhoods and people, rather than being forced to look at the same thing over and over like I was in Hansaviertel. I felt trapped in in the neighborhood, and wanted to leave as fast as I could. It was interesting though because the people there did not seem devoid of culture (the theater looked like it was playing some interesting shows), books (hansabucherei in the middle of the platz), or happiness (lots of babies playing. Everywhere.), but I really couldn't imagine ever living in such a place.
Our visit to the Hansaviertel encouraged us to explore different parts of Berlin that we probably would have never explored on our own. We stayed there for a little over an hour, walking the streets and taking snapshots of the tall, concrete apartment complexes that had an odd contrast in color; all were gray but had light blue, yellow, or red palettes—one building even had all three of those primary colors! It was a weird choice of color combination—but I guess it added color to the neighborhood!
The architecture that was in Hansaviertel was fairly modern and had little differences aside from the color palettes and adorned no decorations at all (aside from the occasional lonely flower pot sitting somewhere). According to Walter Groupis, “…but seem senseless for people to surround themselves with imitations of past times—Gothic, Rococo, Renaissance, Baroque—so utterly different in structure from our own.” Groupis highlighted on the fact that most architecture is built with reference to the past. He stated, “the effect of imitating past styles for both the interior and exterior of our buildings is just silly as if we were to wander about our streets in the clothing and hairdos of those times.” He believed that mimicking past styles, concepts, methods, medium, and etc. of the past is ridiculous. If one would like to establish one’s own identity in society, one must begin to think of new, modernized techniques that align with the present time, “Modern individuals of 1926 need cities, buildings, dwellings, and appliances from their own time, the clear results in form and technology of the means and methods that our intellectual achievements have made available.” I almost felt overwhelmed by the fact that everything appeared so dull…and gray. The buildings weren’t ugly—I guess they lacked history for me. I’m sure these structures have an interesting history, but their physicality only says to me that they were built in an organized and industrial way to accommodate the citizens of Hansaviertel and nothing else. Despite that, it was a fun and knowledgeable experience for my group and me. We enjoyed the autumn leaves and the cool, refreshing breeze.
The Hansaviertel neighborhood is home to a housing project referred to as Interbau, the buildings representing the modern, post-war world. The feelings that these buildings inspire at this point in time must be different than those of the late 50’s, as I felt they looked oppressive and cheap. I have been surrounded by architectural design that inspires feelings of beauty, for most of my life at least, and though the Interbau buildings have an embedded philosophy that brings power to the structures, the aesthetic quality left me feeling that they were relics of East Berlin, rather than the west. The slab buildings have little character besides small embellishments of color, or sections of differing construction materials, like brick. What kept coming to mind was that this uniformity and utilitarian feel was intentional, a way to construct residences with this Gropius quote as a basis for design:
“There is no justification for the fact that every house in our new outlying developments displays a different floor plan, a different exterior appearance, a different construction style, and different construction materials. On the contrary, such variety exhibits senseless waste and the uncultivated formlessness of a parvenu However, making houses completely uniform must be avoided, for the violation of individuality is always short-sighted and wrong. The planned construction methods must therefore aim at standardization and industrial reproduction of structural elements, not entire buildings…” – Gropius, pg. 442
To move away from the past is a progressive act towards the future, and at the time, these buildings looked closer to 1970’s designs, but in contrast to the last fifty years’ worth of architectural development, which always seems to include elements of the past, these buildings look dated. I am reminded of those films from the fifties that would show “the world of tomorrow”, with automatic houses and vehicles that looked futuristic at the time, but now look like relics of the age in which they were created. This quote from a long term resident of Interbau highlights the impression of the time: “My father could have bought an old villa in Dahlem" for the same amount of money, "but he was convinced the future was being built here” - Peter Schaefer, NYTimes.com - Berlin's Hansaviertel at 50
Though the Interbau development was an attempt to reach a wondrous, futuristic point of design, I find that idea of the future to be drab and sad. Like I said though, the idea was attractive at a time, so the buildings stand, to me, as a monument of time rather than attractive design.
The Hansaviertal is a modern housing community rebuilt in 1957. According to Gropius, the modern movement in building focused on creating a new architectural style that represented that time period. As a result, fundamental concepts included organic forms and maximizing simple spaces and new materials (glass, concrete, and iron). As we walked through the Hansaviertal, we noticed that the residential buildings reflected the modern movement because they were simple, minimalistic, straight-edged, and made of mainly glass, concrete, and iron. Also, most were painted in white or drab, grey tones with spots of primary colors (red, blue, and yellow).
We really like that the buildings are spaced out, surrounded by greenery, and felt like its own community. Since the buildings were further apart, it made the whole area feel more accessible and open. The incorporation of green spaces and views of the Tiergarten created a closer connection to and appreciation of nature. The prime location is really special because not only can residents feel closer to nature, but also everything was close by. The Hansa library, Hansaplatz U-bahn station, Grips Theater, Akademie der Kunste, grocery store, apothkare, and churches were all in walking distance.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Juxtapositions: Graffiti and Architecture
One of the things that has struck me the most about Berlin are the various contrasts that the city has. The TV tower next to the old Church, the young Turkish women in hijabs with full makeup and painted nails, the dirty clubs that charge €7 for a gin and tonic....
One of my favorite of those contrasts looks like this:
I'm constantly seeing this beautifully constructed buildings with graffiti on the bottom. I really don't know how I feel about it. I am just as conflicted as the building itself looks. On one hand, this beautiful building is in and of itself art. The intricacies of the architecture and detailing on the building should be appreciated for what they are. On the other hand... graffiti is art too. This really reminds me of my freshman seminar at PSU, we spent like four weeks talking about graffiti and it's place in a city. We watched an OLD documentary on graffiti in NYC subways. We all debated for what seemed like hours on end about what graffiti's place was and seemingly every conversation and debate ended with this: It is subjective. Art is what YOU think it is.
So, reader, I ask you... Do you think graffiti is art? What do you think about these beautiful, historical buildings with graffiti on them?
One of my favorite of those contrasts looks like this:
I'm constantly seeing this beautifully constructed buildings with graffiti on the bottom. I really don't know how I feel about it. I am just as conflicted as the building itself looks. On one hand, this beautiful building is in and of itself art. The intricacies of the architecture and detailing on the building should be appreciated for what they are. On the other hand... graffiti is art too. This really reminds me of my freshman seminar at PSU, we spent like four weeks talking about graffiti and it's place in a city. We watched an OLD documentary on graffiti in NYC subways. We all debated for what seemed like hours on end about what graffiti's place was and seemingly every conversation and debate ended with this: It is subjective. Art is what YOU think it is.
So, reader, I ask you... Do you think graffiti is art? What do you think about these beautiful, historical buildings with graffiti on them?
Eating, Walking, Running Berlin
This past week has been FULL. On Tuesday after class Roxana, Libby, and I went to the Old Museum. It's a giant Schinkel neoclassical building:
that houses Greek and Roman art. Since I USED to study ancient Greece, a lot of it was very interesting for me.
Me and my earphone scrubs
A statue of Aphrodite
A Roman sarcophagus
On Thursday Melissa, Annie, and I gave our group a tour of Viktoriapark. It's a fairly large park in the middle of Kreuzberg that houses a giant Schinkel-designed memorial to the Napoleonic Wars. Here it is:
And here is the view of the memorial from the front of the park:
And here is everyone taking pictures of the memorial, featuring Max giving me a lovely look of interest:
Friday we went to Potsdam, and explored Sansoucci Park. Here's a few pictures from there:
Me, Libby, Roxana, and Ashley in the garden in front of the Roman Baths
Ruins from the old Schloss, shown to "raise awareness" of new construction (awareness=funds)
Roxana and I in front of a gate a Schloss Sansoucci
This weekend I visited the Deutsches Filmathek (German Film Museum), which was REALLY cool. They had original storyboards from The Birds, Apocalypse Now, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Gone With the Wind, and a bunch of other well-known New Hollywood films. I really enjoyed that, as well as the whole exhibit on German film. I learned a lot that I didn't know before! I wish I could post pictures from there, but they don't allow pictures in that museum. Unfortunately.
On Saturday I ate my first Berlin Currywurst. How, you may ask? I went to a vegetarian fast food restaurant called . Really good. SEE:
See.
that houses Greek and Roman art. Since I USED to study ancient Greece, a lot of it was very interesting for me.
Me and my earphone scrubs
A statue of Aphrodite
A Roman sarcophagus
On Thursday Melissa, Annie, and I gave our group a tour of Viktoriapark. It's a fairly large park in the middle of Kreuzberg that houses a giant Schinkel-designed memorial to the Napoleonic Wars. Here it is:
And here is the view of the memorial from the front of the park:
And here is everyone taking pictures of the memorial, featuring Max giving me a lovely look of interest:
Friday we went to Potsdam, and explored Sansoucci Park. Here's a few pictures from there:
Me, Libby, Roxana, and Ashley in the garden in front of the Roman Baths
Ruins from the old Schloss, shown to "raise awareness" of new construction (awareness=funds)
Roxana and I in front of a gate a Schloss Sansoucci
This weekend I visited the Deutsches Filmathek (German Film Museum), which was REALLY cool. They had original storyboards from The Birds, Apocalypse Now, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Gone With the Wind, and a bunch of other well-known New Hollywood films. I really enjoyed that, as well as the whole exhibit on German film. I learned a lot that I didn't know before! I wish I could post pictures from there, but they don't allow pictures in that museum. Unfortunately.
On Saturday I ate my first Berlin Currywurst. How, you may ask? I went to a vegetarian fast food restaurant called . Really good. SEE:
See.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Berlin, Berlin, du bist sehr........
I'm writing this while listening to Lou Reed's "Berlin." I thought this was pertinent to mention.
I'm still adjusting to being in Berlin. I think I got so comfortable in Munich so fast that it really became my first European "home," which is causing me to really miss it. But I live with the comfort that I can ALWAYS go back, Munich will not leave, and I need to be present in Berlin here and now. I am slowly getting used to the daily grind here, and I'm starting to see the appeal of this dirty and poor but rich in culture and heritage city. It's getting better, just give me some time!
Last Friday we went to Pfaueninsel, which was absolutely gorgeous. The sun came out for a little bit and we got to see where the Prussian royalty frolicked about on their "days off."
Schloss Pfaueninsel, which we didn't get to go in but apparently has a Tahitian room. I'll be back...
Dominic making friends with the Peacocks
In front of the Luis Temple
That night we went to see a friend of Ryder's DJ at SO36, a popular club/bar in Kreuzberg. That was REALLY fun, I made some new friends there who had some good suggestions as to where to go out to clubs, etc. My Australian friends that I met in Munich are visiting me in Berlin right now, and they came along with us. It was a great night.
Saturday was a lazy day of reading and sleeping for me. At night, Roxana, Libby, Dominic, Melissa, Ryna, and I went out to The Fritz club, which was a lot of fun. They played really good music... I danced a LOT.
On Sunday Roxana, Libby, Natalie, and I went to the Flohmarkt at Mauerpark. I bought a Hofbrau Munchen stein there, which I'm very happy to finally have. A little piece of Munchen in my flat is always lovely.
Today Annie, Melissa, and I are going to Viktoriapark to prepare for our tour there on Thursday. It's raining and windy outside, which is lovely weather to go a park in, no? Luckily the weather report says it'll be sunny on Thursday so the rest of the group can enjoy the park more than we will today.
I'm still adjusting to being in Berlin. I think I got so comfortable in Munich so fast that it really became my first European "home," which is causing me to really miss it. But I live with the comfort that I can ALWAYS go back, Munich will not leave, and I need to be present in Berlin here and now. I am slowly getting used to the daily grind here, and I'm starting to see the appeal of this dirty and poor but rich in culture and heritage city. It's getting better, just give me some time!
Last Friday we went to Pfaueninsel, which was absolutely gorgeous. The sun came out for a little bit and we got to see where the Prussian royalty frolicked about on their "days off."
Schloss Pfaueninsel, which we didn't get to go in but apparently has a Tahitian room. I'll be back...
Dominic making friends with the Peacocks
In front of the Luis Temple
That night we went to see a friend of Ryder's DJ at SO36, a popular club/bar in Kreuzberg. That was REALLY fun, I made some new friends there who had some good suggestions as to where to go out to clubs, etc. My Australian friends that I met in Munich are visiting me in Berlin right now, and they came along with us. It was a great night.
Saturday was a lazy day of reading and sleeping for me. At night, Roxana, Libby, Dominic, Melissa, Ryna, and I went out to The Fritz club, which was a lot of fun. They played really good music... I danced a LOT.
On Sunday Roxana, Libby, Natalie, and I went to the Flohmarkt at Mauerpark. I bought a Hofbrau Munchen stein there, which I'm very happy to finally have. A little piece of Munchen in my flat is always lovely.
Today Annie, Melissa, and I are going to Viktoriapark to prepare for our tour there on Thursday. It's raining and windy outside, which is lovely weather to go a park in, no? Luckily the weather report says it'll be sunny on Thursday so the rest of the group can enjoy the park more than we will today.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Franziskaner Klosterkirche
The first building of the Franziskaner-Klosterkirche was constructed in 1250, the year after the Berlin Convent of the Franciscan Order was created. The first and second building were finished by 1350, and there was a restoration of the church in approx. 1500. By 1926 there was extensive restoration of the church, presumably to preserve it's historical significance and place among the Weimar Republic. In 1945 there was heavy destruction of the church through American and English bombing. From 1959-61 There was extensive restoration and clearing of the debris from the bombings during WWII. Since 1993, from May through October there are exhibits and cultural events held through the monastery. 2003 began the preservation and restoration of the historic landmark. The Klosterkirche is a Gothic style monastery.
FUN FACT: The monastery was also established as a high school in 1574. It had many famous alumni, including Otto von Bismarck. It had an excellent reputation due to it's thorough and comprehensive education. Many alumni became well known public figures.
The standing front of the Kirche
We were there!
Rachel-
Upon first viewing of the church, I was most struck by how obvious the TV tower was over the gothic front of the former cathedral. The Fernseherturm is such an omnipotent thing in Berlin, you can see it from almost anywhere. It's really odd to juxtapose this image with that of the ruins of the church. It made me recall the Sebald reading where he discussed the juxtaposition of the ruins with the people trying to live on through them-- the eternal clash of the modern with the not-so-modern. While walking through the church, as one is wont to do while walking through any ruins, I couldn't help but wonder how the church had looked in all it's former glory. Was there stained glass in the church? What did it look like? Who had lived there? These sort of contemplative memories reminded me again of Sebald's recounting of many different stories of destruction during WWII.
After walking around the church for a bit, I noticed that there was a sort of info booth there with a man who looked to be a docent. I approached him, starting with the eternal "Sprechen sie Englisch?" He told me that it wasn't a problem, so I asked him whether or not he had any interesting facts about the church that we might not have been able to find online or in historical resources. He didn't quite understand my English, so I switched to German. He then sold me a (quite useful, actually) pamphlet for one euro and proceeded to talk to Michelle and I about how many people he knew who were living in Germany who didn't speak German. He said he was proud of me for continuing to speak and learn German, and that I should keep speaking it here and take advantage of the "sound around."
Michelle-
As our trek began towards the Franciscan monastery, I was not sure what to expect from the ruin. Would there be gaping holes in a columned disintegrating construction, accompanied by vines draping from a Babylonic open air rooftop? Who knows. But upon exiting the beautiful U-Bahn station nearby, I found that the monastery definitely fulfilled my fantastical expectations of what a classical "ruin" should look like. The gothic style of the building was still apparent in what was left of the monastery: the two walls standing had huge pointed windows that stretched practically the whole length of the walls. It was certainly eerie being able to walk throughout the monastery, meanwhile aware that the roof and other crucial elements of the building were missing. After reading more about the building, I found that citizens, living in the post-WWII desolation of Berlin, often used wood from the monastery's rubble in order to heat their homes and cook. Anonymous, author of A Woman in Berlin, attests to such activities. However, a gifted preacher affiliated with the monastery soon after began lecturing Berliners on the evils of using such holy wood for mere practicalities. Eventually, enough money was donated out of guilt to restore and clean large portions of the ruins.
This leads me to contemplate Jennifer V. Evan's article, Life Among the Ruins. How did Berliners engage with their surroundings in order to survive in a post-war environment? How was the importance and value of place negotiated in times of need? One may answer these questions with a contextual analysis of the Franciscan monastery: a place that was once holy and forbidden to desecrate was recreated into a space of abundant firewood in the postwar mood. Such an example illustrates the idea that a space will only take on the value that it is given, and can be altered instantly based on the creation of a mass need (i.e. firewood). In conclusion, visiting the monastery was a startling experience; the ancient ruin's contrast against its vicinity to the lush and consumeristic world of Alexanderplatz was especially apparent. The TV tower peeking through the ruin's gaping windows was another achingly beautiful depiction of Berlin's visual spectrum.
Dan-
My thoughts of the Franziskaner Klosterkirche were of a divided nature. As I strolled through the ruined building, I felt that connection to a historical place and time, centuries before my own life, that gives weight and perspective to the human experience. At the same time, knowing why and how the building found itself in such ruin conflicted with the beauty of its current form. The void of the building, in that it is a shell, a fraction of its whole, makes the form seem mysterious and engaging. Similar to the painting we saw in class, the abbey has plant life running through its structure. The idealized blend of nature and structure is formed within this space, but rather than Speer’s thousand-year leap into the future, the building stands changed after only sixty-five years. The conflict in my mind is between the truth that yes, as it stands now is intriguing to my mind as a connection to an ancient past, but also that to see it as it is reflects a recent history of unimaginable violence. The Franziskaner Klosterkirche exists as a monument of great beauty and suffering, something that could be said about the entirety of Berlin.
Anna-
Though it was strange and fascinating to see and touch a church of such age, being at the Klosterkirche made me think more of the 19th century than the 13th. The 19th century aesthetic appreciation for ruins would have loved the Klosterkirche, and it pleased my aesthetic sensibilities in the same way. The combination of brick walls and mossy floor and open sky also reminded me of Schivelbusch's discussion of the architects who were pleased that the bombing of World War II had cleared so much empty space, and who wanted an urban countryside. The ideal of urban countryside combines with the aesthetic of ruins in an interesting way. On the other hand, it was strange to think both of the beauty of the place and the violence that created part of its appeal.
FUN FACT: The monastery was also established as a high school in 1574. It had many famous alumni, including Otto von Bismarck. It had an excellent reputation due to it's thorough and comprehensive education. Many alumni became well known public figures.
The standing front of the Kirche
We were there!
Rachel-
Upon first viewing of the church, I was most struck by how obvious the TV tower was over the gothic front of the former cathedral. The Fernseherturm is such an omnipotent thing in Berlin, you can see it from almost anywhere. It's really odd to juxtapose this image with that of the ruins of the church. It made me recall the Sebald reading where he discussed the juxtaposition of the ruins with the people trying to live on through them-- the eternal clash of the modern with the not-so-modern. While walking through the church, as one is wont to do while walking through any ruins, I couldn't help but wonder how the church had looked in all it's former glory. Was there stained glass in the church? What did it look like? Who had lived there? These sort of contemplative memories reminded me again of Sebald's recounting of many different stories of destruction during WWII.
After walking around the church for a bit, I noticed that there was a sort of info booth there with a man who looked to be a docent. I approached him, starting with the eternal "Sprechen sie Englisch?" He told me that it wasn't a problem, so I asked him whether or not he had any interesting facts about the church that we might not have been able to find online or in historical resources. He didn't quite understand my English, so I switched to German. He then sold me a (quite useful, actually) pamphlet for one euro and proceeded to talk to Michelle and I about how many people he knew who were living in Germany who didn't speak German. He said he was proud of me for continuing to speak and learn German, and that I should keep speaking it here and take advantage of the "sound around."
Michelle-
As our trek began towards the Franciscan monastery, I was not sure what to expect from the ruin. Would there be gaping holes in a columned disintegrating construction, accompanied by vines draping from a Babylonic open air rooftop? Who knows. But upon exiting the beautiful U-Bahn station nearby, I found that the monastery definitely fulfilled my fantastical expectations of what a classical "ruin" should look like. The gothic style of the building was still apparent in what was left of the monastery: the two walls standing had huge pointed windows that stretched practically the whole length of the walls. It was certainly eerie being able to walk throughout the monastery, meanwhile aware that the roof and other crucial elements of the building were missing. After reading more about the building, I found that citizens, living in the post-WWII desolation of Berlin, often used wood from the monastery's rubble in order to heat their homes and cook. Anonymous, author of A Woman in Berlin, attests to such activities. However, a gifted preacher affiliated with the monastery soon after began lecturing Berliners on the evils of using such holy wood for mere practicalities. Eventually, enough money was donated out of guilt to restore and clean large portions of the ruins.
This leads me to contemplate Jennifer V. Evan's article, Life Among the Ruins. How did Berliners engage with their surroundings in order to survive in a post-war environment? How was the importance and value of place negotiated in times of need? One may answer these questions with a contextual analysis of the Franciscan monastery: a place that was once holy and forbidden to desecrate was recreated into a space of abundant firewood in the postwar mood. Such an example illustrates the idea that a space will only take on the value that it is given, and can be altered instantly based on the creation of a mass need (i.e. firewood). In conclusion, visiting the monastery was a startling experience; the ancient ruin's contrast against its vicinity to the lush and consumeristic world of Alexanderplatz was especially apparent. The TV tower peeking through the ruin's gaping windows was another achingly beautiful depiction of Berlin's visual spectrum.
Dan-
My thoughts of the Franziskaner Klosterkirche were of a divided nature. As I strolled through the ruined building, I felt that connection to a historical place and time, centuries before my own life, that gives weight and perspective to the human experience. At the same time, knowing why and how the building found itself in such ruin conflicted with the beauty of its current form. The void of the building, in that it is a shell, a fraction of its whole, makes the form seem mysterious and engaging. Similar to the painting we saw in class, the abbey has plant life running through its structure. The idealized blend of nature and structure is formed within this space, but rather than Speer’s thousand-year leap into the future, the building stands changed after only sixty-five years. The conflict in my mind is between the truth that yes, as it stands now is intriguing to my mind as a connection to an ancient past, but also that to see it as it is reflects a recent history of unimaginable violence. The Franziskaner Klosterkirche exists as a monument of great beauty and suffering, something that could be said about the entirety of Berlin.
Anna-
Though it was strange and fascinating to see and touch a church of such age, being at the Klosterkirche made me think more of the 19th century than the 13th. The 19th century aesthetic appreciation for ruins would have loved the Klosterkirche, and it pleased my aesthetic sensibilities in the same way. The combination of brick walls and mossy floor and open sky also reminded me of Schivelbusch's discussion of the architects who were pleased that the bombing of World War II had cleared so much empty space, and who wanted an urban countryside. The ideal of urban countryside combines with the aesthetic of ruins in an interesting way. On the other hand, it was strange to think both of the beauty of the place and the violence that created part of its appeal.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Some photos from Berlin/Oktoberfest
I always forget to pull out my camera when I'm somewhere cool, but I suppose that just means that I'm really enjoying it, no? Here are a few pictures.
The Fernseher Turm, the television tower, juxtaposed with an old church. To me this picture really represents the old/new clash that is Berlin.
The Berliner Dom, an old Evangelical Church that is not actually a church because there was never a bishop there.
And here are a few pictures from Oktoberfest, stolen from my friend because I definitely did not take my camera there with me, ever. I didn't want to lose it or have beer spilled on it!!
My friends Gjermund (from Norway), Maria (from Italy), and myself. After a few beers.
My friend Sandra (from Spain), myself, and Michal (from Poland). Sandra is who I'm going to stay with in Madrid!
My friend Tania (from Switzerland), Me, Mike (from the US), and Janet (she's on the Berlin program with me). This is one of the few pictures I have of me wearing my dirndl for some reason. Hopefully more show up!
Probably the best picture taken. Ever. My friends Mike, Gjermund, Tanja, some guy I don't know in a beer hat, and the front of my head. I am in love with this picture.
Tomorrow is die Wende here, which is like the German 4th of July. It's the day that West Germany and the DDR were reunified, and there are huge celebrations everywhere. Hopefully I will remember to take some pictures this time!
The Fernseher Turm, the television tower, juxtaposed with an old church. To me this picture really represents the old/new clash that is Berlin.
The Berliner Dom, an old Evangelical Church that is not actually a church because there was never a bishop there.
And here are a few pictures from Oktoberfest, stolen from my friend because I definitely did not take my camera there with me, ever. I didn't want to lose it or have beer spilled on it!!
My friends Gjermund (from Norway), Maria (from Italy), and myself. After a few beers.
My friend Sandra (from Spain), myself, and Michal (from Poland). Sandra is who I'm going to stay with in Madrid!
My friend Tania (from Switzerland), Me, Mike (from the US), and Janet (she's on the Berlin program with me). This is one of the few pictures I have of me wearing my dirndl for some reason. Hopefully more show up!
Probably the best picture taken. Ever. My friends Mike, Gjermund, Tanja, some guy I don't know in a beer hat, and the front of my head. I am in love with this picture.
Tomorrow is die Wende here, which is like the German 4th of July. It's the day that West Germany and the DDR were reunified, and there are huge celebrations everywhere. Hopefully I will remember to take some pictures this time!
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