Off the Rails, on the Eurail

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.

Gonzo Gallery for Off the Rails, on the Eurail

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