Berlin-by-Number

Number of overnight guests: 54

Total number of nights with out-of-town or out-of-country company: 87

Number of meals cooked for guests: lost count (never counted in the first place!)

Museum tickets: 55

• Contemporary art: 3
• Expressionism: 5
• National gallery: 5
• Egyptian: 10
• Schatzkammer in Munich: 5
• History of Bonn: 5
• Story of Berlin: 5
• Technik in Flensburg 5
• Natural history: 10
• Speer's Germania: 2

Concert tickets: 37

• SEED: 3
• Hip hop festival: 2
• Messiah: 5
• Piano: 3
• RIAS Kammerchor: 2
• Jessye Norman: 2
• Jazz clubs: 6
• Sarah Kaiser: 6
• Organ in Dom: 5
• Black Seed: 3

Opera tickets: 4

• Madame Butterfly: 2
• El Turca en Italia: 2

Ballet tickets: 7

• Alice in Wonderland: 3
• Nutcracker excerpt: 4

Musical tickets: 8

• Robin Hood: 3
• The King and I: 5

Professional basketball game tickets: 20

• AlbaBerlin: all 20!

Street festivals: 8

Open-air markets: 5

Church services: 40-some + one midnight Christmas Eve mass

We encounter the stars

. . . and I haven't washed my hand since!

We had a wonderful visit from our friends Kevin, Peggy, and Taylor Ladd and Peggy's mom Suzy for several warm days in June, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of Berlin. (Kevin, when I investigated my camera I found no photos to confirm your visit. I know you have some--can you share?)

As we were exploring the Sony Center at Potsdamer Platz, we noticed a long red carpet snaking into a temporary pavilion advertising the film "Kung Fu Panda," along with television moderators announcing to passersby that Jack Black and Dustin Hoffman would be appearing that evening for the German premier. Jack Black? Dustin Hoffman? The kids' blood pressure went through the roof! Did she really say they'd be here? In two hours?

We went on to visit the Brandenburg Gate, but, well, yes, the kids were a wee bit preoccupied. Jack Black--pant--pant. Dustin Hoffman--pant--pant. Must return to red carpet--pant--pant.


We were back in position at 7:00, the four kids with our camera in front of the microphones and we adults indulgently and modestly back at the railing where the cars would be pulling up. We watched as the black chauffeured cars pulled in and the German celebrities piled out. They posed as the photographers descended, and we looked at each other shrugging, mouthing, Who's that?


Finally the car with Dustin Hoffman drove in and stopped, and dear little Dustin stepped out, put on his suit jacket, and strolled right over to where Peggy and I were standing to shake our hands. What a coupla middle-aged groupies! he was thinking. And, yes, we were thinking, Dustin Hoffman just shook my hand! Dustin Hoffman just shook my hand! Two grown women! How embarrassing!


Meanwhile Jack Black had already popped out of another car with gyrations and contortions and panda roars and was working the crowd on the other side. Together they must have spent a full hour patiently signing autographs and taking pictures with kids leaning out over the railings.

Near the end, Anna managed to lean far enough out on Jost's shoulders to get an autograph from Jack, Hannes shamelessly flattered him into signing a "Kung Fu Panda" fan, and Anna wriggled through to reach Dustin for a signature.


But Taylor scored the highest coup with the photo on Suzy's camera that Jack Black took of Taylor and himself, a photo that I would love to post here when those world travelers get through unpacking!

And what are we left with? A fan and some scraps of paper with illegible scrawls, some cockeyed crowd photos, one precious photo of Taylor with a movie star--and some humility, hopefully, that we too succumbed, for a few moments, to the fleeting pull of the celebrity.

Germany and Euro 2008

We're Nummer Zwei!

We're Nummer Zwei!

We wrote a bit about Deutschland Fußball Fever in a previous post, but we're sure you'll need an update, given the dearth of television coverage in America for international soccer competitions.

No one can say we fans didn't give it our all. We wore the wigs and the leis. We waved the flags. We screamed ourselves hoarse. We drove honking through the streets of Berlin until the wee morning hours to celebrate our victories (well, we didn't, but many did!). We staggered drunkenly from beer gardens when our team stumbled (again, we didn't, but many did!).


And the team . . . the team played brilliantly, the team played dismally: we just never knew which team would show up. Against Portugal and Poland they were a well-oiled, explosive machine. Against Croatia and Turkey we wondered where they'd gone. And then finally, against Spain, the new European champion, they were simply outplayed.


The disappointment was great, but somewhere we almost lost sight of this important fact: Germany got second place. That's a great achievement! Go Germany!

Anna turns nine

Zum Geburtstag viel Glück!

Here's Anna's early morning bouquet after her wake-up birthday song

Our "little" Anna celebrated her ninth birthday on June 26th with cousin Hannah and our family here at home, and then again on the 28th with all of us and her two best friends, Jessica and Sarah, at an amazing invention known as a "climbing forest." This was her day:

Sarah, Anna, and Jessica before the big adventure

We rode the elevated train for about an hour to the outskirts of East Berlin to a protected part of the forest called "Climb-Up!" We paid an entrance fee for our six climbers and then they received hard hats, gloves, and climbing harnesses with carabiners and rolly-thingies (I'm sure that's the technical name!) for sliding down zip lines.

The climbers then received a careful introduction into their equipment and how they would safely navigate the courses that had been built high above us among the trees. And then they were off!

Anna and Hannah show their ready stances

What fun! The courses all begin with a ladder that guides the climbers up to a series of platforms, connected by a variety of obstacles that they have to cross to go from tree to tree: hanging logs, nets, suspended stumps, moving ropes, rotating poles, skateboards, and zip lines—all suspended up to 30 feet in the air!

The climbers are connected with their carabiners to guide ropes at all times so there’s no danger of falling, but even so their concentration and focus was extremely high. Each of the courses has a different difficulty level—the perfect place for our group of six ranging in age from eight to eighteen.

Here you can see Lara's altitude on this mid-level-difficulty course . . .

. . . and here in the close-up you can see the concentration!

After two and half hours of climbing the kids were tired but ecstatic—Anna said this was the most fun birthday party she’d ever had!

Happy birthday, big girl!

We love you!

The German flag

Deutschland, Deutschland

Since the end of World War II, the German flag has been a symbol of ambivalence for most Germans, bringing with it ugly whiffs of nationalism gone terribly wrong during the insanity of the Nazis. It was flown at official buildings, but the thought of hoisting it frivolously on the front porch or during a garden barbecue would have been met by the average German with revulsion and suspicion. The flag and its accompanying patriotism were too closely associated with the deep national disgrace of the Third Reich, and for more than half a century they had not come to terms with it.

But now, unbelievably, this is what we see when we go outside: German flags fluttering from the window of every other car and people walking around adorned in German-flag-themed afro wigs, scarves, and sweat bands. And surprisingly for this land of philosophers and musicians and intellectuals, the catalyst for the sweeping change was soccer.

Two years ago during the World Soccer Cup, Germany spawned a Cinderella soccer team that came from nowhere and knocked out the traditional giants to nearly win the world championship. People who were in Germany during those days say that the country was unified and hopeful and patriotic as they had never seen it before, with people dancing and singing in the streets and smiling and embracing strangers. Not exactly typical German behavior, but liberating nonetheless after decades of collective guilt. What emerged was a newborn patriotism, and a rehabilitation of sorts for the German flag.

The reason for the proliferation of flags again now is the European Soccer Cup, a bit like America's Super Bowl or World Series to the 10^th power. All of Germany—all of Europe—is glued to their televisions when the games are broadcast, and afterward here in Berlin they take to the streets with raucous singing and convoys of honking cars.

As of now, Germany's hopes for a second chance at a title are still alive. And German flags are flying everywhere, proudly.

Anatomy of an apartment

Them Bones, Them Bones . . .

Neue Kantstraße 3

I have to admit: I have sometimes complained about certain features of this apartment. The wood floors have slivers. The floorboards squeak. The bathroom sink and the washing machine leak. I can't keep the floors clean. The walls and molding desperately need a good paint job. Yada yada yada.

But what wins me back every time are those beautiful bones. Like an aging diva, she's got her wrinkles and extra pounds and leaks, but you just can't ignore her gorgeous bones. Built in 1906 in the heyday of the ritzy Charlottenburg neighborhood, less than a mile from Princess Sophie Charlotte's castle, this was a city apartment for the upper crust, the landed gentry. From here one could easily promenade to the Kurfüstendamm or Savignyplatz to see and be seen. Here was the representative salon for entertaining the society denizens.

Just imagine the maid
opening these spectacular Art Niveau
stained glass double doors and saying,
"Dinner is served, my lady."

Or peeping at your callers
through the beehive keyhole on these locks.
(See the bee buzzing nearby?)

Or glancing out the window to see
what Baron Schmidt and his wife
are eating for dinner tonight
in their dining room across the tree-lined street.

Or waltzing on the polished parquet floors.

Or refreshing yourself with cool water
from the recessed sink in the water closet.

Or walking out through this grand front door
to take your spoiled Berliner Hund for a walkchen.

When you went to give instructions to the cook
for the evening's meal,
you'd admire the Delft tiles imported from Holland
that decorate the kitchen walls.

The cook could always run to the market
through the hidden kitchen door
to the spiral staircase that the servants used.
The old gas lamps are still in their original recessed panels.

Wait a second, how did this picture get in here?
The poor maid's closet-sized bedroom
is now our overpacked storeroom!
Fortunately, she doesn't mind.

What's that rattling? Ah, yes, them bones, them bones, them dry bones . . . them dry Berliner bones!

The rites of spring

Spargel Zeit

Those of you who don’t like your veggies have permission to skip this posting, because this is all about the green things—or actually, about the white things.

Springtime in Germany is synonymous with white asparagus season. White asparagus is the albino cousin of our green veggie. Called the “royal vegetable” in Germany, it’s grown under earthen mounds so no photosynthesis can take place to turn it green. As soon as the first little white head pokes out of the ground, it’s harvested by night and whisked away to roadside stands and open-air markets around the country.

Actually the first boxes of white asparagus appear in the markets in early April, but those in the know turn up their noses. It’s not German asparagus, you see, but imported from the hothouses of Egypt or Morocco. We wait and we wait until the beginning of May when we see the pale piles with the proud sign: Deutsche Spargel. And then we attack.

White asparagus is chosen for its pure white color and its thick, straight stems. The farmers recommend that you buy one pound for each person who is eating. For our family that makes a good five pounds at six euros a kilo—about $22. No wonder they call it the royal vegetable!

Those fat stems require a lot of preparation work—they all must be peeled and trimmed before steaming for up to 25 minutes.

Here's the maid a-peeling,
and the naked stalks a-steaming

The traditional accompaniments include boiled new potatoes,
Schinken (a bacon-like ham), and either hollandaise sauce or melted butter.

Guten Appetit!

Onkel Holger joined us in our Spargel campaign

Recommended dessert: a good nap.
(The rhubarb cream pie comes later.)

Tourists on the loose

Downtown, Downtown!

A fringe benefit of having so much company is that we get the opportunity to play tourist again and again in a place that's become our home. And once we leave our comfortable little neighborhood, we're reminded that this really is a city of three and a half million inhabitants. Here are some random "postcard" shots from recent forays into downtown Berlin with friends.

Hannes the gatekeeper, in front of Berlin's central landmark,
the Brandenburger Tor.
The Berlin Wall jagged out from the east
to claim the Brandenburger Gate for East Berlin.
President Reagan stood right about where Hannes is standing here
when he gave his famous 1987 speech:
"Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"

This is one of the astounding skyscrapers
that tower up from Potsdamer Platz,
before World War II the busiest traffic center in Europe.
It was mostly destroyed during World War II,
and then for years during the Cold War it was the no-man's land
or "death strip" behind the Wall, a scene of desolation.
There are still scraps of the Wall left behind,
but definitely no more no-man's land.

Here's a view from inside the Sony Center Tower
at Potsdamer Platz.
We're down below sipping coffee and tea
at Jost's favorite historic watering hole, Cafe Josty!

A corner of the Reichstag, the seat of the German parliament.
This building bordered the Wall on the west.
Photos displayed inside show it as a blackened hull
after the bombing of World War II.

This new glass cupola sits atop the old Reichstag
to replace the old conventional cupola destroyed in World War II.
We got up early to avoid the three-hour wait to visit the cupola
and enjoyed a spectacular panoramic view of Berlin.

Not far away is the new and very unusual
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe.
Designed by an American architect, it's an entire city block
of tombstone-like columns on uneven ground.
The ground sinks so low at times that you can feel truly entombed.

Here's another memorial in front of the Reichstag
with the names of the government officials
who were killed during the time of the Nazis.

And finally, the true tourist shot:
Lara, Hannes, and Anna in front of
a remaining grafitti'd chunk of the Berlin Wall.

The family car

Zoom, zoom, zoom

I'd like to tell you all how grateful we are for this little car. It's an Opel Astra with snazzy Swiss plates that show all the Berliners we're foreigners, a handy identification in city traffic when we need an excuse for being erratic or a little slow on the uptake. The car belongs to Mom and Dad, who have graciously allowed us to use it for our time here. It has given us a level of freedom and mobility that we have loved—with it we've explored all the corners of Germany, transported heavy cases of fizzy mineral water from the beverage mart, and made day trips around the outlying regions of Berlin.

However, the other thing that I love about this car is that it stays parked most of the time. There are long spans of days during which it's not driven at all, when we have to sit down and ponder when we last drove it and where on earth it's parked. That's when I begin to realize the beauty of self-sustaining neighborhoods in a city of this size, and the high quality of life that's imparted when I can walk or ride my bike to find nearly anything my heart desires.

Yesterday Lara and I rode our bikes the three minutes to Wilmersdorfer Straße, our main pedestrian shopping street, to look for presents for Jost's birthday. We found many, many possibilities, but I didn't need to buy anything—I knew I could drop back in tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day before I actually needed to buy anything. For Reedsportians, that's unthinkable!

There's also something so sensory about riding a bike through a city—you can smell the foods being cooked in the restaurants, there's fresh air in your face, you hear snatches of conversations in many languages, and you're a part of the life around you in a way that a car completely seals out. Of course, the other nice thing about riding in Berlin is that it's completely flat, with nary a hill in the city—my kind of bike riding!

My recurring thought right now is how I can recreate some of this car-independence in my life back in Reedsport. The lack of infrastructure, of course, is the biggest problem. We simply are not a self-sustaining community. And Hannes’s suggestion to build a subway may not be completely realistic. But maybe we could build a grocery store somewhere in the uptown area near the hospital—anyone want to donate some land? And then if we could do something about the rain and those hills. . . .

The Uhlenhorst reunion

A Little Slice of Heaven

We first came to Germany 17 years ago, ten days after our wedding. Jost immediately plunged into his graduate studies and tried to juggle several part-time jobs while we renovated his grandmother’s apartment where we were living and I . . . I hit rock bottom! Those first few months were so hard, adjusting to a new marriage in a new culture and a new language where I had to operate at the effectiveness of a toddler. Except that toddlers are cute, and I was just big and—well, from the looks I got—a little slow.

Conny

It was right about that time that we were introduced to a little Free Evangelical Church that met in a slightly dilapidated townhouse near the shores of the Alster, the beautiful lake in the center of Hamburg. The church was looking for someone to rent an apartment upstairs that had belonged to the former pastor, and we were looking for a church and an apartment—perfect! We went to a service to meet the pastor and we were welcomed warmly. But then the tiny organ at the back of the sanctuary began to play and something started to happen which I gradually realized was meant to be congregational singing, and my terrible homesickness reared its ugly head and I just sat in my chair and wept. It wasn’t exactly the best renter’s recommendation.

Johann

Still, they were gracious (or desperate!) and offered us the apartment nonetheless, and that began a four-year relationship that proved to be overwhelmingly supportive and nourishing for us. Those 40 or so people in that little church truly became our family for those years. When Hannes was born they adopted him as the church baby and I rarely saw him when church people were in the house. We ate and played together, celebrated and cried together. We were an odd assortment of people of all ages and life stages and backgrounds, and we definitely weren’t perfect. But we worked hard at practicing what church was supposed to be.

Astrid

In 1994 the headquarters of the Free Evangelical Church decided that they could no longer keep subsidizing our little congregation, and against our wishes the church was closed and the building where we lived was sold. For us and some others this meant a move to a new neighborhood; for all of us it meant a scattering to different churches.

Jens-Peter

One month ago, though, at the end of the Easter vacation, we all got together again, after 14 years. A few organizers had used our return to Germany as a motivation to call a reunion, and more than 40 people joined together in the fellowship hall of another church in Hamburg to touch base again.

These strange men all became fathers together in 1990.
I think they're recreating a photo of their wives at that time
lined up with their pregnant tummies.

We ate together again—Margret brought her famous Schneewittchen Kuchen—and we laughed together and told about our lives. The hordes of little kids that used to storm our apartment and hang on our legs are all grown up and starting families of their own. Hannes is taller than most of the adults who had held him and tossed him in the air. Several of the older members have died; others are dealing with cancer and its aftermath.

Manfred

But like someone said, “This has got to be a little like what heaven will be like!” Amen.