Modern Gonzo on the Eurail
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It has been almost sixteen
hours, and my brain felt lightly seared - pinkish raw on the inside, like ahi
tuna. We had successfully
managed to kill an initial six-hour wait in a dreary Dortmund train pub by
securing large packs of Tic-Tacs and using them as makeshift poker chips in a
game of classic no-limit Texas Hold'em. A local man sat at the bar, slouched over his warm
beer, under a broken light, utterly defeated. Rowdy teenagers had gathered earlier at the station, but had
long since moved on, leaving the train empty save for seven stranded travelers,
a bored girl behind the bar, and a mustached man who guarded the toilets,
charging a neat 50c a pee.
Finally, at 2:45am, we could catch the third of six connections, and
begin the slow journey from Berlin to Amsterdam. If we had been on the right train, the journey would have
taken a mere six hours in total. Instead, I was wondering aloud that only the
best German engineering could ensure that, no matter how expertly I pretzeled
my body, it was impossible to get more than 23 consecutive seconds of
sleep. Of course, the true success
of travel is all in one's attitude, and when one travels Europe by Eurail, it
is vital not to go off the rails. Back the train up to summer
in Berlin. A city whose
turbulent modern history has left an iconic 96-mile scar. But the War is over, the World
one and the Cold one, and today's Berlin is a microcosm of culture, cafes and
cool. It has become Europe's
third most popular city for tourists (after London and Paris), and somehow
offers good value where the rest of Europe surges forward in a blitz of Euro
glory. At least,
this was my feeling at the comfy beach bars along the River Spree. A ¤3 cover for a pool in the river, soft electronic beats
wooing the sunset.
Even the hotel, a white-faced lesson in minimalism named the Ellington,
presented swank for budget prices.
Duke Ellington might have played in this building when it was a bar, and
David Bowie might have partied here when it was a club, but the SS also held
concerts here too, and so it goes for all Berlin - a lovely garden growing atop
the cold cement bunkers of history. Here the Nazi's planned their thousand year
Reich. Here the Soviets ruled a world of fear and suspicion. And, here was born the Love
Parade, where a million people party in the streets and embrace cultural
diversity (it's moving out of Berlin this year). And here is a city with possibly the best nightlife in
Europe. These
were my thoughts at 3am at the massive industrial complex that is Tresor, a
pounding techno club that believes there's no such thing as "too much strobe". "You can tell the difference
between an East German and a West German," explains Henrik, our Swedish
guide.
Check out the photos!
But show me the Gonzo. Show me the last place I'd
ever expect to find myself, like, say, driving a bright blue Trabant, honking
in triumph as I zoot pass the site of Hitler's bunker. The Tabant, or Trabi,
was THE car of the GDR.
Small, ugly and inefficient, over three million Trabi's were built from
1957 to 1991, of which only 58,000 still remain, largely in the possession of
googly-eyed collectors. The
average GDR citizen had to wait 13 years for a new Trabi, and pay out their
noses for the privilege. It was
perhaps the only car where a used model was worth up to three times more than a
new model, and the joke goes that to double the value of a Trabi, all you had
to do was full up the gas tank.
That the car kept the same design for nearly 40 years, including its
unusual gearshift that is easy to use (providing you don't plan to ever drive a
"real car"), speaks volumes about communism. In the GDR, the state provided everything, just so
long as by everything you were expecting nothing. The exterior is made of a soft resin, which insures maximum
carnage in the event of an accident. A company called Trabi Safari lets tourists take the
wheel of a brightly colored Trabi, and in a homage to the Italian Job, follow a
convoy around the main sights of Berlin, scaring the hell out of just about
everyone involved.
Pedestrians scramble, cars swerve, and as I tried to make sense of the
gearshift, riding the clutch like a rodeo clown, the only word that could
pierce the cough of the exhaust-puking engine loud was "scheize!" Naturally, I loved every second
of it. Architecture can evoke
emotion as much as art, and when the two come together, as in the Memory Void
inside Berlin's stunning Jewish Museum, the result rattles the goosebumps on
your heart. The museum
explores all facets of Jewish life in Germany, beginning on the top floors, in
its golden age, to the bottom, the holocaust, the lowest point of not only
Jewish history, but possibly human history too. Designed by Daniel Libeskind, the zinc-faced building
is alive with shapes and angles, as if Frank Gehry were making origami. The Memory Void is a cement
chamber, empty, save for 10,000 circular iron faces at the bottom designed by
Israeli artist Menashe Kadishman. I took a picture, and then noticed a sign that
said "the artist wants you to walk on the faces." So I did, and others followed. The creak, crunch and moan of the iron,
echoing in the large chamber, cannot help but overwhelm the senses with the
tragedy of European Jewry - each face a victim, each sound a cry of
despair. At the Tower of the
Holocaust, a large desolate cement chamber sits empty, the silence
deafening. I stood alone
here for a few minutes, in the dark, feeling ghosts envelope my body. Outside, in the Garden of Exile,
large, angular pillars are designed to leave you disorientated, on unsure
footing. Following the exhibits, I
watch German schoolchildren learning about the religion their forefathers tried
to eliminate, tracing the roots and absurdity of anti-Semitism. They're taking notes. So am I. Architecture as art, history as future, the Jewish
Museum, deservedly one of the most popular attractions in Berlin, is a living
lesson in horror, hope, and human spirit.
I explore the districts of
Prenzlauer Berg, Mitte and Friedrichshain, salivate at the food on the top
floor of the KaDaWe, Europe's biggest department store, bike along the Berlin
Wall, take in the Reichstag, along the canals. There's a certain amount of satisfaction, savoring this
world of modern Berlin. Seeing
signs for Jewish attractions, or gay guys walking hand in hand, or kebab shops,
or bars alongside the former wall.
It took time and tragedy, but the evils of the past have been defeated,
and today, their victims are walking tall. And so Berlin, home of so much pain in the past,
has become a living city of optimism, that perhaps in the end, good triumphs
after all. If the sign on the platform
says Amsterdam, and the sign on
the train says Amsterdam, and your pre-booked seats are waiting for you, you
would think: "I'm on a train to
Amsterdam." Well, Chris Rea
is on his Road to Hell, and I'm on my Train to Dortmund. The carriage up front split,
somewhere somehow, and suddenly, a simple six-hour high-speed train to
Amsterdam turns into a 17-hour odyssey to every little town along, and not
along the way. Like a second
marriage, it's one of those things you laugh about later, but not when you're
in it. Using the crust around my
eyes, I smear down my top five train misadventures on the window for prosperity
(or, perhaps, prosterity, a new word which now belongs to me):
And so, in light of the
smear, my epic Eurail journey was pretty tame, and since I was averaging only
four hours of sleep a night anyway, it was possible to arrive in Amsterdam and
head straight to Vondelpark to met a lovely local named Jona, who appeared by
bicycle dressed like a Bohemian princess. Since those first few sunny days in Berlin, the rain
invaded like a Viking horde, pillaging its way across Europe, the wettest June
on record. Amsterdam, built on a
dam by the river Amstel, was getting a carwash, so we hovered under a bridge
until the storm passed, and proceeded to explore this unique city with its
fascinating character. It's
hard not to get a buzz walking alongside houses that were built before Columbus
accidentally discovered North America.
Built on a swamp, those famous wooden structures of Amsterdam sit on
wooden stilts, which are slowly sinking, lurching the houses above in all
directions, like the teeth of Austin Powers. Amsterdam's houses do not "sink", instead locals
say they "dance". If anyone's ever seen me dancing after two genevers (Dutch gin) too many, the description makes perfect
sense.
Check out the photos!
The Dutch, who briefly ruled
the world as a trading power, have given us so many things. Like the microscope (1590), the compact
disc (1979), Australia(1606), and South Africa(1652). They have also given us Dutch Courage, the art of
Going Dutch, and the less-known but just as spectacular Dutch Oven, in which
one farts under the covers in bed.
They are the tallest nation
in the world, and possibly its most optimistic, since they live largely below
sea level and, as everyone knows (except those who can do anything about it), sea
levels are rising. "What happens when the sea levels rise." I ask the striking
Bianca, who is a shortish 5ft 11inches. Here in the Red Light
District, everyone is up to something naughty, something vice. "Coffee shops" have menus of
marijuana and hash the way others might have menus of imported tea, and it
really does make nonsense on the entire drug debate when the only major world
city that has legalized marijuana is also safe, clean and entirely efficient. "The first time I did it
with brownies," says Marcela, to which Meredith replies, "You mean you did it
with an 8 year old?" A ready made joint is about
the price of a beer, and when you take the illegal drug culture out of
marijuana, you realize it's just another form of human indulgence, like wine,
cigars, or Paris Hilton. Speaking
of shameless whores, in the name of thorough journalism I can tell you that it
costs ¤50 for 20 minutes with a lady of the night, not that I pay for such
things, but judging by the amount of beautiful women selling their bodies
behind glass windows with red curtains, plenty men do. "Unlike other cities, we
have kept our historical Red Light District, are proud of it, and it is one of
the most beautiful places in the city," says Balti, our rock n'roll bike guide.
Prostitution is regulated and controlled, the women work for themselves as
opposed to pimps, and the world's oldest profession looks almost, well,
professional. It's enough to make
the head of any religious conservative explode, like an over inflated condom. At The Hague, a cold,
unrelenting rain popped the bubble of Parkpop, Europe's largest free outdoor
music festival. In a cold cell
nearby, Charles Taylor, the former president of Liberia, sits in a jail at the
World Court on charge for every despicable sin you can think of. Including, probably, an awful piece of
public art that consists of a large black ramp with pink and blue lines painted
on it, sitting next to the giant head of a monkey, on a leafy Hague
promenade. Back in the
Amsterdam, we celebrate Marcela's birthday by forcing her into a tiny booth
where, for the price of a chocolate bar, she can watch two people having live
sex with all the enthusiasm of someone who has to extract their own eyeball,
using only chopsticks and leg wax.
We visit a terrific world music and roots festival, where I learn that
Hungarian folk music is far hipper than you'd think it is, and zone out to a
big band from Cameroon. The
Bulldog shuts down at midnight on Sunday ("But I thought this city never
sleeps!") and a quiet walk along the wet canals home is a stroll into an old
world dream. St Petersburg
might have been modeled on Amsterdam, and Copenhagen might remind one of
Amsterdam, but rest assured, there is only one Amsterdam.
June 27, 2007
Berlin to Amsterdam, Off the Rails
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"That's not true," argues
Nicole, who grew up in the former German Democratic Republic - a noble name for
the fear-soaked autocratic nightmare that was East Germany.
The 96-mile Berlin Wall was
built in the early 1960's as a means to stop the flight of professionals from
the East to the West.
Hundreds of thousands of people quickly realized that life under the
Soviets was unbearably heavy, and until the wall went up, all they had to do
was stroll to the other side. That
all changed in August 1961, when the people of East Berlin awoke to find
themselves living on the wrong side of history. The wall was built not to stop people getting
out, but rather to prevent them
from getting in. The US,
French and British controlled parts of Berlin was a western island in the heart
of East Germany. Jumping the
wall was like swimming to freedom.
Swimming across the Spree was exactly that. But first you had to get past the dogs, the barbwire, the
armed guards and the snipers.
Some people did, most people didn't. The wall finally came down in 1989, and Germany came
together, and Berlin came together, and today the formerly ugly East Berlin is
young and funky, and the wall exists as an odd legacy, a tourist attraction
covered in thought-provoking graffiti. Personally I couldn't tell the difference
between an East German and West German. Everyone looked like they were doing just swell.
Check out the video!
Check out the video!
"We'll build higher dikes,"
she replies.
We don't yet know if
employing thousands of giant lesbians will hold back the mighty seas, but the
Dutch - who live in Holland, in a country also called The Netherlands, which
borders a large country called Deutschland where they speak Deutsch - are used
to paying the price for survival.
For example, here one must pay to pee. It costs a cool 50c to use the toilet in a bar or
restaurant. At the Park Pop music
festival, you could even buy a ¤2 all day pee pass. Now that's value! Fortunately, given the large amount
of men who roam the streets of Amsterdam, swilling with ale, the new plastic
outdoor pissoirs is just the sort of thinking that may save the city from the
sea.
"No, it's just that, I don't
know if I'm getting high or just feeling weird," wonders Marcela. To which I
chime in, "Either way, it's the same result."
Word Travels Offices
Vancouver, BCA very special thanks to
Bianca, Nicole, Henrik, Eurail,
and my traveling cohorts: Glen, Lorraine, Meredith, Jennifer and
Marcela. Check out www.trippist.com for cool info on backpacking in Amsterdam, or click
my Eat Sleep Play for my reviews on activities, bars, clubs and restaurants.