The Emperor's New Throne

It just occurred to me that I left the most notable, potentially horrifically embarassing example of German design encountered in Berlin, the capital of Prussian functional design: the Park Inn Hotel.

Okay, the hotel itself is actually very nice with multiple stars to its name and a prime location near the center of town. The morning continental breakfasts were lavish (we are on The Continent you know), dinners filling, and the facilities Prussian-ly clean.

To stay in an establishment far beyond my Fulbright stipend's price range, the Fulbright Commission put us up with roommates. Several months ago Keith and I decided to room together. Keith is studying vocal performance in Mannheim (I forgot to ask about the steamrollers). Keith is the kind of person it’s difficult not to get along with. Easy going, clean, rumbling baritone laugh; ideal roommate. But regardless of our flexible or otherwise accommodating natures, nothing prepared us for our encounter with the room itself.

Here I have presented a schematic of the room: As is the case in nearly every double room I’ve encountered in this country, there are two beds slid next to each other. Each bed is allocated a duvet and a prime viewing position for watching the TV bolted to the wall. Out the window offered a spectacular view of Berlin that stretched to the horizon, punctuated by towers, domes, and urban sprawl. The sink was located next to the beds so either party could use it while the other was occupying the shower or toilet space. You were assured knowledge of the other person’s activities in these other facilities by the glass walls.

Yes, glass walls around both the shower and toilet. This wouldn’t immediately seem like a terrible problem as the glass was fogged, but only on the lower two thirds of the wall, and even fogged glass offers outlines. This would have been awkward on its own until you notice the door for each facility. Or rather, the door for the facilities (Door B). It operates on a single 180 degree hinge. If someone has shut themselves into the toilet, the other person cannot simultaneously use the shower without asking permission to open the door on the guy sitting on the pot. Not that this would be a difficult operation as the door is completely clear, as in you-can-see-every-detail-of-the-person-on-the-other-side clear.

Like I said, Keith is a great guy, but I really don’t need to know a single detail about his life on the other side of the bathroom door. The bathroom’s designer apparently thought otherwise. To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to know any more details about my own activity on the commode than Keith, but again, the designers thought otherwise and placed a mirror directly opposite the toilet so you can watch yourself in all your vulnerable glory. If you really have an exhibitionist streak you're sure to get a kick out of Door A which opens to the hall. At the right angle, you could share a coy wink and wad of toilet paper with anyone walking down the hall.

Needless to say, Keith and I worked out a system of boldly announcing our intentions in the glass-enclosed portion of the room, suggesting the other person turn on (and up) the TV every time the clear door became necessary.

Then, beyond the embarrassing scenes that the door might induce, the arrangement isn’t even Germanically functional. The floor is flush to the lower edge of the double-duty door with a kind of squeegee liner, theoretically rendering a bathtub unnecessary for the shower. Instead, the shower has an unsunken drain on the floor and you step directly from the tile of the foyer to the tile in the shower. As you clean yourself up, the walls steam up and the water is contained by the sealed door and fogged walls. But then you open it. All the accumulated condensation on the door slides to the floor and the entry way quickly sprouts a puddle.

What were they thinking? Well Ben, another fellow Fulbrighter, tracked down this article from the New York Times .

To summarize, glass bathrooms are becoming luxury items in hotels. Theoretically I could have gazed out across the city of Berlin if I kept the water a little chillier and I wanted to make Keith feel particularly awkward. The clear shower or bath walls are seen as sexy lures for couples who can’t enjoy designer facilities and a little more insight into their partner’s hygienic life at home. I can see the appeal, but Keith and I don’t fit this description. Neither would any other business associates or coworkers who might be attending a conference and want to split the cost of sharing a room.

Regardless of the potential awkwardness surrounding the shower's arrangement - call me naïve or prudish (I am from the Midwest you know) - I don’t think couples would want glass around the toilet. Somehow the sexiness of that room seems reserved for a very limited percentage of the population.

Keith and I, along with all the other Fulbrighters, managed to make it through the week without any traumatizingly embarrassing moments, but the potential for them was lurking around every corner and behind ever closed (but clear) door.

Arm aber sexy (Poor but Sexy)

(A winning description of Berlin and your favorite blogger, right?)

(The Berlin photo album, also attached to the end)

Every year the German Fulbright Commission convenes a conference of all the German Fulbright awardees. They also invite Fulbrighters from each of the other European commissions. The goal of the conference is to foster inter-Fulbright relationships and to learn a little bit about the wider mission of the Fulbright as we act as ambassadors to our home countries. I was mostly excited to visit Berlin again and reconnect with many of friends I haven’t seen since leaving Marburg at the end of September.

You may remember that I visited Berlin last December, but it’s such a vast city with so much going on that I knew I would need to check it out again, and the conference was the perfect opportunity.

One of the icons of Berlin, the Fernsehenturm (TV tower), that was set up right outside our hotel. Location, location, location.

The conference itself offered interesting insights into German history and culture. We were celebrating the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the 60th anniversary of the German constitution so there was a panel of experts (including the former head of the Green Party) who discussed how a united Germany has been getting along for the last two decades. The consensus is it’s doing pretty well, but isn’t perfect (what else is new).

A window at the Humbolt University. It was built up in the East. What was your first clue?

We also had smaller discussions about academic differences between the U.S. and Germany and how the city of Berlin is going to dig itself out of bankruptcy. The plan is to market it to companies and investors as a poor but very cool place to live. We’ll see how that pans out. I’ll admit my skepticism. I was curious what the other non-German Fulbrighters gained from these programs. I have a pretty solid working knowledge of modern German history and politics, but I suspect that isn’t the case for someone studying in Budapest or Madrid.

Some of the Fulbright musicians were able to perform for the rest of us. Everyone groaned when they found out it might be three hours, but the time flew by in the hands of these incredibly talented folks.

My favorite part of the conference was getting all the Marburgers back together again so we could compare experiences gained in our respective new homes. We also shared a few travel tips, German terminology, and German alcohol (both beer and wine), much of it provided through the conference (this Fulbright scholar thing has its perks). The experience was capped off with a Fulbright sponsored good bye party at the Kulturbraurei (Culture Brewery) where it was confirmed that German DJ could maybe learn a thing or two from their American counterparts such as 1) 90s pop is a lot of fun, but it won’t crowd the dance floor, 2) if you’re going to play techno, make sure it moves and if it doesn’t, two songs in a row will do it, not six, and 3) listen to requests when they’re suggested, not three hours later.

Happy to be back together.

I also had a chance to explore more of the city including a second, less harried visit to the Pergamon Museum where I spent some quality time with fellow Fulbrighters and epic friezes of Greek gods and the entry to Babylon. Keith, Shane and I also swung by the Berliner Dom, a massive Protestant church in the center of town. The soaring dome is reminiscent of St. Paul’s in London. The interior doesn’t share St. Paul’s restrained Renaissance austerity. It’s an orgy of Neo-Baroque. Everything that can be covered in marble or gold is. Around the nave, supporting the soaring dome mural are statues of the great reformers including Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli. They’re all angrily scowling in disapproval either at the congregation or the ornate trappings they are ensconced in, or both.

Luther on a pedestal he probably wouldn't want.

I also visited the Gemäldegalerie which features art from the 13th to 18th centuries (the “Old Masters” though calling stuff from the 19th century “New” seems a little odd). The museum is divided into three long halls that are subdivided into smaller galleries. One hall contains “Southern” European art from the French and Italians. The opposite hall contains “Northern” European art including Flemish masters and Germans. If you like pastels and warm light, check out the Italians. If you like shadows and moralistic images, head north (exceptions made for Rubens).

Ruben's and St. Sebastian. The martyr really doesn't look that upset about the whole arrow thing.

This is why I love to travel with these people.

The final day of the conference, after a trip to the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag, we flashed forward to the 20th century at the Neue Nationalgalerie. Somehow I always manage to miss the Impressionists (this would be remedied with a trip to Paris). The museum itself is famous, let alone the art it houses. The architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe designed a glass and steel entry hall. He’s considered one of the fathers of modern architecture, emphasizing function over style, and he gave birth to the Chicago style. Think of the IBM Plaza in Chicago, think of the CN tower in Toronto, think of any blocky glass and steel structure. You’re thinking of Mies. Personally, I’m over the functionalism and glass thing, but maybe you aren’t.

Modern.

Back at the museum, you then descend a stairway from the bare entrance to the art of Picasso, Munch, and Miro. It wasn’t a terribly large gallery and we soon found ourselves lost in the Berlin Metro system on our way to meet Miya for coffee. There, at the one coffee shop in Berlin that offers free wireless internet, the Copenhagen Crew convened - Erin, Marty, Miya, Ashlan and I – to discuss our adventure in the frozen North...

until then, Tchüss!

The photos again

The Black Rider's Last Stand

Or, Why you should always buy a train ticket in Berlin

The first night I was in Berlin, while waiting at a bus stop, Jason slipped me the key to Berlin: A temporary transportation pass. Berlin is riddled with trains, buses and streetcars and Jason offered me the temporary pass he had been given by the university when he first registered. On a piece of flimsy paper, the pass states the bearer is a student and can ride whatever he wants whenever he wants. In bold, capital letters in also states his name. Jason has since received a more permanent card but keeps the temporary one around.

"You can just wave it at the bus driver. He usually doesn't even look at you, let alone at your ticket and name."

So the system was enter, wave the tattered pass and go to my seat. Simple. I entered the bus, performed the operation and rode to Jason's apartment. I used the temporary pass the next day on the bus and had it in my pocket when I got on the train.

As I discussed when I first arrived in Bonn, the ticket system here is very different than it is in the states. You don't swipe a card at any point when boarding the train. Instead, employees of the transportation department rove the trains asking for your ticket. When you're asked for your ticket, you've been "patrolled."

Personally, I have never been patrolled in Bonn. I don't know if it's a function of being a small city, or if I just have the luck to never be on a train they're checking out. I always have my student card with me, which gives me a free ride anywhere in Bonn or Cologne, but I've never needed to get the thing out. Jason had only been patrolled once in Berlin and the procedure was much like the bus. He got out his pass and the officer glanced at it from a distance, noticing he was waving a piece of paper, but not investigating any further.

Friday, we were on our way back to Jason's house to get dinner going before heading out to the goofy Berliner club. We were chatting on the train when Jason announced:

"Next stop's ours."
"Got it."

Back to chatting when suddenly a piece of paper was being waved in my direction. Earlier there had been a homeless guy looking for change on the train, so I put my head down and tried to ignore the imploring hand.

"Uh, Matt, you need to show them your ticket."

I looked up and saw a squat woman in a black parka brandishing a badge of some kind. Presumably it gives her the authority to check my ticket. Right then our train pulled to a stop.

"Oh, Entschuldigung." (Oh, excuse me)

I dug around for my wallet and whipped out the tattered piece of paper Jason had let me borrow, giving me free reign over the city. She squinted at it and took it from me, beckoning that I should follow her. Crap.

Jason and I were led from the train and onto the platform where another guy dressed in a black parka and a black beanie was waiting. Patrollers aways where "street clothes" when they go around looking for "Schwartz-Fahrer" or "Black-Riders." I think this is a very cool name for people who ride trains without tickets. At that moment I wasn't feeling cool, though. I was mostly terrified they might notice Jason and I apparently share the same name.

The guy on the platform was holding a palm-sized digital device that looked like a portable credit card swipper. The woman who had found me on the train handed my (read: Jason's) tattered pass to the second Patroller.

He held the piece of paper out and read the expiration date "13.11.1008." Just so you know, in Europe (and around most of the world) the date proceeds the month and year. This makes a lot of sense as it has the values in increasing order. The day first, then the month and finally the year. When you write the month it becomes "13 November 2008" conveniently separating the numbers from each other. No comma necessary. As you may have noticed from my writing, I am generally not a fan of commas except as breathing indicators. I'm not sure where our American order for the date came from, but I'm going to side with the Germans on theirs being the best way to write a given date.

Regardless of what I think about the order of the month and day, the point was it 13.11 had passed. He then began to lecture me about having an expired card and where I should go to get a permanent pass. I nodded and said my "Ja's." I also threw in a few "Yes's" so that I would come off as a particularly incompetent recent immigrant who wouldn't have noticed that the pass clearly enumerated the steps I should take to get a permanent pass. Things were looking pretty good for me. He didn't seem willing to dish out any penalties.

He then asked for my ID "either your passport" my eyes got wide "or any government ID." He repeated this in English as I hesitated. and made pleading eyes at Jason. As I said before, his name was clearly printed across the top of the pass. A very different name would be found on my documents (one with multiple "T-H" combinations which really seem to terrify the German tongue).

I shifted my weight uncomfortably, explaining that I didn't have my passport. This was a true statement. I also contemplated the penalties of identity theft. "Uh..." Then the female patroller, who was scrutinizing Jason's pass looked up and squinted at the temporary one, which lazily tilted the upper corner, and Jason's surname, straight into her line of vision. Crap again.

She grabbed the temporary paper, held it to Jason's and glared at me. Now what. Her partner saw what had happened. "Okay, ID, bitte." I deflated trying to express my deepest apologies in my body language as I dug into my wallet and got out my drivers licence. He then demanded 40 Euro, the standard fine for Schwartz-Fahrer-ing. I again dug into my wallet and handed over a little bit of Fulbright's stipend and Jason and I were allowed to walk away without incurring any further German scrutiny. Crime doesn't pay.

Jason apologized. He figured the Patroller on the train must have heard us speaking English and examined our papers with a little more enthusiasm than they normally would. I was just glad to rid myself of the sinking feeling I had felt as I stood next to the Patrollers. Jason offered to split the fine as a consequence for his poor advice (It should be noted here that Jason was also the source that told me Tchibo was the best place to get a cell phone in Germany).

The next day, I bought my day ticket and rode public transportation completely legally. And that is the story of the Black Rider's last stand.

Die Hauptstadt (The Capital)

It’s time for the latest installment in an ongoing series of entries that should be called “Matt Feeds His Wanderlust," and here is the photographic illustration of the following events.

After a week of puzzling over fossils and statistics, I set out Thursday night for Bohemian, bourgeois Berlin, a town once called “Armer aber sexy” (Poor but sexy) by one of its mayors. The last time I visited, tagging the sauropod conference I just saw the natural history museum and a few restaurants. This time I had a hankering to do the full tour of the capital, visiting monuments and museums and hanging out with my friends from Marburg until I needed to settle once again into my lab space back in Bonn.

I stayed with Jason, a twentieth century German history grad student from Northwestern. He was fortunate enough to find a fully furnished apartment with an Ikea futon and soaring ceilings. He met me at the main train station and led me into the massive public transportation system that flows through Berlin to meet Katie, who was visiting for the weekend from Frankfurt where she studies accounting, and Halley, an international studies student in Berlin and Katie’s host for the weekend.

After sharing a drink at a little bar in a basement vaguely reminiscent of the dungeon bar (sans Muppets or old locals) we agreed to meet for a day of monument hopping on Unter den Linden, one of the main, swanky drags of Berlin.

Our first stop was the Brandenburg Gate, the symbol of Berlin may be comparable to the Statue of Liberty. The gate was built in the 18th century as one of a series of entrances into the city. Images of the gate grace Euro coins from Germany and images of the gate with fireworks in the background seem particularly popular calendar covers.

The gate was decked out for Christmas, with a large Christmas tree and hundreds of tourists. This meant street performers dressed as the Berlin bear, Soviet guards and American soldiers were wandering around looking for photo ops. Of course we seized the moment and took pictures of our own.

Near the Gate is the American Embassy where the Stars and Stripes are proudly displayed. We had a lot to see, so we passed on the opportunity to visit a little swatch of the good ol’ U.S. of A. The next stop was the Reichstag. The building actually isn’t large enough to house all the parliamentary offices, so more modern (read “glass and concrete”) buildings were set up in the area. The line to take a tour and see the view of the city from the bubble of glass at the top was pretty long, so we passed on the opportunity, opting to wander the lawn and take pictures while Halley, who has toured the building four times, filled us in on the details. For instance, inside you can still see Russian graffiti left by the invading Soviet Army in 1945. Apparently it’s a bit nasty if you happen to read the Cyrillic alphabet.

As we strolled I caught a whiff of marijuana smoke. I saw the knot of teenagers, huddled together passing something around. I recognized the moment as the first (and probably only) time I have ever stood near a national monument and smelled cannabis. Oh, Berlin.

The next stop was the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Denkmal für die ermordeten Juden Europas). Inaugurated in 2005, the memorial is a grid of concrete blocks of varying heights placed on a sloping brick field. You can walk between the blocks and get lost wandering through the vast expanse of concrete along with dozens of other visitors. The monument actually doesn’t have a label or explanation associated with it. According to Wikipedia (the most reliable source, I know), this is because the creators wanted visitors to reach their own conclusions about “what it all means.” The memorial is also notable for probably having the lowest graffiti to concrete ratio in the entire city.

We then wandered around Christmas markets and down Unter den Linten, walking by museums and theaters before Halley stopped by a Ferris wheel at one of the markets. “Hey guys, do you want to? “ Well, who wouldn’t want to take a ride to the top of the city to get a good view? The ferris wheel had one of the fastest revolution rates I have ever experienced, making the whole event that much more exciting as we tried to snap of pictures with horizontal horizons that didn’t make Berlin look like it was in the midst of an earthquake.
A reasonably straight horizon. The view is into the former East Berlin which is dominated by the Fernseheturm (TV Tower), a symbol of East Berlin in the mid twentieth century.

Finally we went to Checkpoint Charlie where pieces of the Berlin wall and signs declaring the division between the two Germanys are still on display. It’s interesting to see museums and monuments to an event that only occurred eighteen years ago. Talk about living in historic times.

That night we went out with one of Halley’s friends for a night on the town in Berlin. Also in the group were Jill and Catherine, two more Marburgers. It was great to see both of them and catch up as we walked first to a Falafel stand then to the bar. Most of what I knew about Berlin nightlife came from seeing “Cabaret” and a vague knowledge of the city’s reputation for crazy nights so I wasn’t too surprised when we started climbing a fire escape to get to the entrance. We paid a one Euro cover, which sent off some warnings in my head. If a place charges a cover, it’s to promote a feeling of exclusivity that just the atmosphere is worth paying for. But a one Euro cover told me, “We really want to be cool, but are a little worried that raising the price might drive people away.”

You try to categorize this place. I'm glad I had the experience, but next time I may check out a different club.

The décor reminded me of someone’s living room, with random furniture and potted plants ringing the dance floor. Just by entering the place, our group lowered the median age by about ten years. It was also 70 percent male, though there were none of the signals that I had missed at Le Copain. The music was pounding electronica and techno (as I expected) and everyone kind of bounced to the beat. One of the nice things about Germany is everyone dances like an awkward suburbanite, because we all are. Just people watching in the place made the time fly by and soon we were back on the street, waiting for the train in the wee hours of the morning.

The next day (Saturday), Katie and I met on Unter den Linten again to check out the Deutsches Historische Museum (German History Museum). The museum spanned 2000 years of German history from the Roman occupation to the fall of the Berlin wall and subsequent reunification. I wasn’t prepared for the scale of the place. The Smithsonian is already overwhelming. Imagine tacking 1400 more years of history onto the exhibits. Highlights included original copies of documents such as Luther’s 97 theses, maps of the Prussian empire and the rapidly expanding world.
Arms and armor that probably came from someone's family collection. It's interesting to think of such artifacts as part of your direct history. In The U.S., armor is always presented as a kind of symbol of backward European values and economics. The more important question I want to deal with is when I can I try such a suit on?

Of course the twentieth century history is really the most fascinating as I learned about history from the German perspective on the origins of WWI and the rise of Hitler. Propaganda posters and caricatures were mingled with artifacts from the life of a normal German in the 1920s and 30s.
The Hitler Youth never really ceases to get me riled up. I see Boy Scouts a way to teach young people about conservation and independence. Sure, there's a patriotic aspect to the program, but the Nazis fundamentally undermined the values of scouting by making it an extension of a political party...oh I could go on but have decided ot spare you.

After all the tension and strife that characterized most of German history throughout the 20th century, there was something very satisfying of ending the experience with images of the Berlin wall collapsing into rubble and proclamations of a united, stable Germany. Leaving the final exhibit was like walking out of an inspirational sports movie.

The bustling Unter den Linden with the linden trees that give the place its name all decked out for the holidays.

That night we had authentic Mexican food near the Natural History Museum, prepared by Mexican immigrants who knew how to handle their spices (even if they didn’t quite know how to handle their time, as we waited for maybe an hour to finally get our food). That night we celebrated Jill’s birthday party and a small Marburg reunion ensued. It was wonderful to catch up with David, Marco, Chris, The Tates, Catherine and Jill, getting everyone’s perspective on life and work in the largest city in Germany.

Sunday, we met David and Marco for brunch at a trendy little cafè in a trendy part of town. Katie had to catch her train at 3, but I wasn’t planning on getting out of town until 6 or 7 which left just enough time to check out the Pergamon Museum before heading home. David and Marco decided to join me in Berlin’s massive monument to ancient art. The museum is most famous for its reconstructions of ancient buildings on a monumental scale. German archeologists took apart the Pergamon Temple in Turkey, then put all the statues and columns back together inside the museum.
The pieces of the temple were cut along those lines and reassembled in Berlin. Of course if and when the German government will return these pieces to Turkey is a matter of much debate.

The same was done with a Roman market entrance and the Ishtar Gate, the entryway into Babylon.
A relief from the Ishtar Gate. Does it look just a little bit familiar? Dozens of these lions and mythological, griffin-like creatures lined the entry way into the city, covered in turquoise and lapis. This is what the conquered Hebrews saw when they first entered the city during the Babylonian exile, the event that finally promoted them to commit their shared experiences to paper (the origin of the Torah).

Photos really don’t to the scale of any of these monuments any justice, but I wanted to have my own images of the classic Babylonian lions and Greek statuary.

Naturally, David and Marco were museumed-out before I was, but they let me cover most of the exhibits and put up with my running commentary, so we headed to dinner. We walked by Baroque churches and performance halls and saw Neo-Classical buildings lit up at night, not to mention dozens of exclusive designer boutiques with the “Armer aber Sexy” vibe that Berlin loves to cultivate. Marco had used the website mitfahrgelegenheit.de, a ride sharing website, to arrange a cheap trip home to Dusseldorf. He found out there was an extra seat in the red Golf we would be using to cross the country, so we had a few more hours to kill cooking a meal and discussing research and graduate school (only the most thrilling of topics, I know).

We finally met our car at midnight. I stumbled through a German conversation, acutely aware that I should be able to arrange my thoughts in German much more readily then I was able to. The experience has really galvanized me to work on my language skills while trying to work on my fossils. After a rough night of trying to get comfortable in the back of the small vehicle, we made it to Dusseldorf and finally to the train back to Bonn. I decided to get an early start on the day, but regretted my decision when I felt like a dirty, greasy mess around 2 that afternoon. I have since recovered my sleep schedule. I really enjoyed Berlin, but Bonn has a much smaller, dare I say more German, vibe. Berlin is an international place with people representing nearly every country on Earth. Bonn is a place that typifies modern German culture and I’m excited to get to know it better (hopefully with sharpened language skills).

I hope your weekend was lovely and you are as excited for Christmas as I am. My family and Carolyn will be here in less than two weeks!

Tschüss!