I can’t help thinking this European vacation is my mid-life attempt of reaching back to childhood days when speaking another language felt as natural as breathing. I've signed up for a month-long French immersion class to hopefully regain some of the fluency I had as a child. As always, I decided to add other countries on, 'cause they are just right there! The first extra country was a given — a visit to a good friend in Germany.
My friend, K, moved to Bonn a few years ago with her husband and son, who is now 5. This 5yo, after a year of German pre-k and a year of French kindergarten, can effortlessly switch between English, French and German. At a recent work party with various international kids running around, K mentioned that she would point to another kid and state their language: German! French! and her child would run up and start playing in that language. I thought back to my own kindergarten which was also all French and am nostalgic for a time I could jabber away with such ease and confidence. My French has rusted with age and disuse, and I'm not sure I've achieved confidence in Spanish despite my Duolingo-ing it 3 min a day over the past decade. How fun would it be though to have someone point to a potential friend and instantly communicate.
The closest I got was in Berlin. I added on Berlin because, well, it is just right there. Plus I'd heard so many good things. With a too-short 1.5 day stopover before making my way to Bonn, I made no pretense of being anything but a tourist. Wearing shorts made that obvious in any case as the locals refused to acknowledge the 30 degree heat and wore long pants or skirts with boots, either combat or cowboy.
A flight delay from Vancouver led to missing my connection which led to losing my first afternoon in Berlin. I made it to my hotel that first night in time to drop my bags before hoofing it up the Ritter Sport World of Chocolate for a chocolate-making workshop. Priorities. I ran up to the guy taking attendance for the class in German, a little concerned that maybe I'd forgotten to check an important English language option:
Me: Is this an English workshop?
Him (in English): uh, well...you understand a little German, surely?"
Me: not a word
Him: oh, you must be American!
Yikes! Luckily, when I explained I was Canadian and he switched to French and asked if that was ok, I felt confident enough to uphold the Canadian bilingual stereotype and say, sure! He himself was Danish and could switch easily between English, French and German, (and presumably Danish and many others). He did whisper-translate some of the German instruction into a mix of English and French but in the end it didn't really matter what language was used as the workshop consisted of going up to a set of cereal canisters like those used in hotel breakfast buffets and shick-shicking two servings of my chosen ingredients to my bowl, which I then passed back to the multilingual dude who added my chocolate of choice (50% dark, of course). My job was reduced to stirring it and pouring the mixture into a mold. I'd repatriated my own supply of Ritter Sport from Canada for the trip so I didn't really need to make myself two more bars or accept a third one with mystery ingredients (I think he added gummy bears?!) that he gave me as restitution for the principally German workshop. To be fair, it wasn't all German, part of the workshop included a video with a section in Spanish showing the company's Nicaraguan chocolate farmers saying how great the company was.
The next day, my one full day remaining in Berlin, I walked or metro'd from sight to sight, appreciating the striking memorials:
the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe — a block of 2711 rectangular pillars of varying heights looking like a stone wave rising and sinking into the ground, and allowing you to disappear among them, and isolate yourself from the surrounding street noise
the Memorial to the Murdered Sinti and Roma (persecuted as "Gypsies")
the Memorial to those imprisoned and murdered for Homosexuality, and
a few different remnants of the Wall including the East Side Gallery, a 1.3km section painted with beautiful murals by international artists right after the rest of the Wall came down
War context is woven throughout Berlin with markers and placards everywhere in the centre, no shying away from the past. However, one place not marked was a little patch of scrubby grass in front of Communist-style apartments erected on the site of the old Hitler bunker. That patch is where the shallow graves of Hitler and Eva Braun were found after the war. No marker — just weeds.
But taking a guided small-group walking tour also exposed embarrassing holes in my knowledge of history (and geography for that matter). Did you know...?
The wall that separated East and West Berlin did not also separate East and West Germany. A simple look at a map would have made that clear since Berlin is way over on the east side of the country and had that been the case, West Germany would have been 7 times the size of East Germany. Berlin was squarely and wholly in East Germany. Which leads to...
The Berlin Wall wasn't so much bifurcating East and West Berlin, as condoning off West Berlin. There was no need for a wall around East Berlin which was the capital of East Germany. They weren't trying to keep people in the capital, they were trying to stop the leak of East Germans out via West Germany which was run at the time by the US, UK and France and so a pipeline to the West
The original Wall was actually really thin, only 9 inches thick. People with guns on the other side were the deterrent. It was subsequently built into two parallel walls up to 15' high in some places, with fortifications, electrification and topped with barbed wire and of course, more guns
While there are many complicated causes and factors that led to the rise of Naziism, a final straw I hadn't heard before was that an anarchy-minded non-German arsonist setting fires in the Reichstag (the legislature) was what lead Hitler to ask the German President to sign the Enabling Act that allowed Hitler to bypass the Reichstag and consolidate his power as a dictator.
But Germany is a vibrant and multilayered country that is so much more that WWII history. It's got:
beautiful rivers in Berlin (the Spree) and Bonn (the Rhine)
greenery and highrises
cheezies that are peanut butter-flavoured
solar-powered sunset catamaran rides with audio guide commentary on sewage plants and mentions of "romanticizing pre-fabrication construction" whatever that means
gorgeous houses and brutalist architecture; and
a Canadian embassy I stumbled across that had floor to ceiling posters of English Bay in Vancouver, the Rockies, the Prairies, the CN Tower, a Ferris wheel (Halifax, maybe?), an Atlantic lighthouse as well as, of course, polar bears, canoeing among fall leaves and a tepee under the Northern Lights.
Germany also has a mix of people and personalities, from the Berlin hot dog vendor who got mad at me for ordering a "currywurst-hot dog" (#3 on her menu) since "that is no thing! There ist currywurst! There ist hot dog! Different!!" Scowl. And only gave it to me once I stopped saying it and instead pointed to #3. To the warm, international friends of my friend K and her husband at their child's school's 75th anniversary party in Bonn, to their German friends I met later that night who greeted me with a smile and handshake at the start of the evening and ended it late the same night with tight hugs.
Though I wasn't able to switch away from English as easily as my new 5yo playmate to communicate with any of those lovely people in another language, I did manage it at the Reichstag in Berlin. I'd gamed the sold out timeslots for the legislative building's glass dome by making a reservation for high tea at the restaurant on the roof. I had dutifully gone through security screening and passport check at the security cabin entry point, waited my turn to be escorted up the elevator, drank my Prosecco while nibbling on a taleggio and leek tart, a selection of macarons, a strawberry tart and hummus and salmon sandwiches (two different sandwiches, not combined) and walked up the circular ramp inside the glass dome to the top, admiring the 360 degree view of Berlin. Once down again, I left the old legislature building and walked into the other side of the security cabin to leave. There were tons of security guards milling about and I hesitated when I saw more screening belts and magnetometers. I timidly got the attention of some guards thinking maybe they screened you on the way out like at some Middle Eastern airports. But Oh mein Gott, nein! I’d inadvertently walked into the security guard staff hut. Suddenly there were a lot of loud security guards waving their arms at me and yelling, Toilet?! Startled, I said, Exit? Someone finally pointed me out the door to the sign on the far fence outside that said Exit. Trying to recover some dignity after the whole Toilet/Exit debacle, I turned as I left and confidently, flawlessly said, Gracias!!
I have yet to visit Berlin, but your diary tells me I MUST, and soon. Throughly enjoyed reading! Thanks.
Great pics, Mary. Berlin...must see for me.