Predictions

I updated more regularly than I thought I would. It's not much, as excuses go, but it's all I've got.

Last time I mentioned anything, I was exploring Berlin--more specifically, the Pergamon Museum and its incredible archeological exhibits. I left with a promise to talk about the rest of that trip (which was 5 more days. I think. It's been a while.), so here's what I remember:

I started the trip by almost missing it. Reading the 24:00 time system still throws me off, particularly in the afternoon. 14:00 becomes 4:00 in my head, 16:00 is 6:00, etc. I thought I had a handle on it when I noted our bus's departure time--16:50. Then, a strange thing happened. I read "16:50", thought "6:50", and then remembered "18:50".

Anyway, the result was packing for my entire trip in 20 minutes flat. I made the bus, and (spoiler alert!) I didn't even forget anything important on the way out.

Our itinerary went something like this (in continental, or railway time):

16:50 - Ride several different buses to Nykoping. Find the only open seats are by the toilet, which has the sickly scent of diapers.

20:00 (ish) - Arrive at Stockholm Skavsta airport (a misleading name, as it's an hour away from Stockholm, and not connected to the true Stockholm airport, Arlanda.).

20:00 - Doze fitfully on the cold airport floor.

02:30 - Give up dozing, watch Lord of the Rings instead (extended edition, no less).

05:30 - Board Ryanair flight to Berlin and tsk scornfully at its distastefully bright yellow seats.

06:00 - Sleep like the dead for the entirety of the flight, including the landing.

07:00 - Stumble onto the train into the city.

10:00 - Arrive at hostel, learn the computer system is down. Decide that a 4 hour walking tour was the ideal next step.

11:00 - Begin walking tour.

03:00 - Finish walking tour, check in at hostel, promptly pass out on bed.

And thus our first day in Berlin passed in a hazy cloud of sleep-deprived insanity. That night we awoke, more rested and infinitely more hungry, and found a hearty German restaurant/pub called Marcus Brau, where I had a huge bratwurst and the superb sauerkraut.

As a side note, I begin each new trip with a superior and frightfully unfounded sense of optimism about how easy it is to travel. To Berlin's credit, navigating their metro system is a relatively simple task, though unfortunately this only served to cement my wrongful notion of possessing excellent public transportation skills.. Having been to Rome, London, and Barcelona in the months between now and then, I can confidently compliment Berlin's efficiency and its somewhat stunningly uncrowded trains.

Berlin provided a foil to Athens. No disrespect towards Greece and its people, but Athens felt like a city that had already reached its peak--it has a deep and complex past, but it all happened such a long time ago. Berlin, on the other hand, was at the heart of the most dramatic history of the 20th century--both World Wars and the Cold War. Hitler fought and died in Berlin, and the Iron Curtain clove it in two (Was that too pretentious? Too pretentious. Sorry).

Regardless, twenty years is not very many years at all--particularly to historians--and it was fascinating to explore a city still feeling the effects of its deeply resonant past (That was also pretty pretentious--I can't help it, I'm in one of those moods). It's easy to see divergent views on how Berlin should handle its heritage. The Berlin Wall is almost completely demolished, but everyone knows where it once ran. The old Luftwaffe headquarters looks as I imagine it would have in the 1940's, a malignant grey presence that towers over its surroundings (though I suppose by the 40's much of the immediate area would have been nothing but rubble). A street away from the traditional city center, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe claims an entire city block. Less than half a mile to the South, Hitler's bunker (and the site of his suicide) is now an apartment complex; an informative sign only appeared in the last decade or so as its residents grew tired of answering tourists' questions.

We spent a day at Sachsenhausen, which served as the administrative center of the Naxi concentration camps and a fairly horrific camp in its own right. Today, it's a desolate and forbidding triangle; the museum is spread across the few original buildings that have survived the intervening decades. The Soviets installed a triumphant monument to socialism after they assumed control of the camp in 1945--it's a subtly dissonant presence on the already unsettling grounds.

I stood in this camp, at the edge of a gravel pit where 10,000 people died in just weeks, and I cried.

Estimates place the total number of deaths at Sachsenhausen between 30,000 and 40,000. Murder on such a scale is simply staggering to contemplate. In fact, these experiences defined the trip: filled with fascinating but frequently horrifying history. The heady mixture of vitality and tragedy is what, in my mind, sets Berlin apart from my other travels.

Of course, I have managed to completely gloss over a great deal of Berlin's other charms. It's a city for artsy-fartsy teenagers who are too cynical to admit they love being part of the counterculture, hipsters-in-denial. (Hint: I'm talking about myself, here.) Not to slip into cliche, but the experience is largely a product of what you, the prospective traveler, desires to make it. If I had wanted, I could have done nothing but get lost in alternative art galleries, or spent the entire week absorbing the weight of past atrocities. 

Point being: Berlin was awesome.

Cheers,

Daniel

The Wonders of Berlin (pt. I)

It's my fifth day in Berlin. It's amazing how my traveling experience changed once I was alone. Everything requires more courage to initiate. There's no one to turn to when I feel confused, and no one to laugh at my foreign blunders as I stumble clumsily around the city. I feel conspicuous with a backpack and camera, acutely aware of potential faux pas (faux passé?) and preemptively embarrassed of the ones I know I've already committed unknowingly.

However, the values of moving at my own pace make it worthwhile. There is time for introspection, opportunities to stop and gape with vacant abandon, slack-jawed with no nagging thoughts of group cohesion to interrupt my stupor. (This is not meant to cast a poor light on my travelling companions, who are a marvelous group.)

Today, on a whim, I decided to shell out 6 euros for a trip to one of Berlin's museums, the Pergamon. (I am aware that this sounds like a Pokemon.) After bumbling about the city's (excellent and timely) subway system, turning up at the entrance was a relief. I was surprised by its size--German architecture frequently opts for overbearing intimidation, and Pergamon was no exception.

I had reflected, as I was departing my domicile, that lunchtime would be an ideal time to arrive. Tourists and the culturally minded would be otherwise occupied by Berlin's excellent culinary attractions, leaving the museum relatively uncrowded. Sadly, I was mistaken: The entrance line stretched across half of the plaza, and the half hour that followed was spent jealously watching various school groups enter the museum uninhibited, often composed of teenaged students already looking bored.

I've been to a fair few museums, including Berlin's own museum of natural history the day before, and often find the content to be underwhelming, or something I had already known. The Pergamon was different.

After a surprise 50% student discount and a free audio tour (I was already thrilled with these developments), I entered the entrance hall (hurrhurr). I don't generally consider myself the sort of person who gasps, yet there I was, staring at the Pergamon acropolis temple with my jaw on the floor--the the first gasp of many.

Germany has had a highly active archeological scene, particularly considering its roles in both World Wars and the Cold one. Its archeologists have painstakingly recreated much of the Greek frieze from the Pergamon's previously shattered remains to a stunning extent. This recreation in Berlin was just as impressive as the acropolis in Athens.

In just the next room was the Market Gate of Miletus. Cue another gasp. Despite having been heavily damaged in WWII, plaster casts and patient work restored the facade to its prior 17m tall glory.

When first perusing the tourist pamphlet I had received from Wombat's (the hostel I've been staying at), the summary of the Pergamon claimed the entire Ishtar Gate was on display--all 120m of it. While this is incorrect, I still (surprise!) gasped when, in the next room, a healthy percentage of it had been reconstructed. Don't get me wrong, I love the austere (and historically false) white marble of Greek architecture. However, the brilliant cobalt of the Ishtar gate is simply stunning on another level entirely.

Fair warning: I intend to spend the rest of this post extolling the museum's many virtues. If you don't want to hear about it, skip to the bottom now.

I foolishly neglected to take a picture of the model. Here's
a neat illustration instead.

You are, astoundingly, still reading. In that case, we'll go to the next room, which had many more millennia old artifacts from Babylon. The exhibit included a model of the Tower of Babel, which looks like something Sauron would be proud to live in. I was under the impression scholars had no idea what it actually looked like, but the audio tour corrected me: they're simply not solid on the details. Ancient Mesopotamian architecture looks like it was lifted directly out of the shadow of Mount Doom. (can you tell I've been into Lord of the Rings lately?)

Babylonian relics sufficiently examined and goggled at, I moved on to the display of Islamic art. Despite the sheer majestic weight of the gates, it was this section of the museum that impressed me the most.

I am now obsessed with Islamic textiles. In climate-controlled glass cases, within stiflingly dry rooms, lay centuries-old pages of the Koran. Exquisite illustrations and incredible calligraphy. Intricately detailed leather and gold that was literally woven into the pages. Until now, and despite my intellectual acknowledgement of the contrary, I've had a habit of viewing history in black and white. In my mind, this mental image paired well with my perception of the past's simplicity. The riot of colors in Islamic art have finally succeeded in changing my perceptions. The complexity and vibrancy of the artwork are striking. 

One of the most truly astonishing displays was the improbably well-preserved interior of an Assyrian house, called the Aleppo room. My pictures are laughably inadequate; here's one from Google instead. Just imagine standing in it.

Predicting my dumbstruck immobility, the audio tour--
after detailing the room's fascinating history--
told me to "leave the Aleppo room so others may view it."

And there's more. Oh, so much more. Weapons. Carved crystal. Astounding woodwork and exceptional masonry. Yet, despite my attempts at finding the right words, the only way to appreciate it is to go yourself. It seems a light and inconsequential recommendation, but if you enjoy really old and really pretty craftsmanship, you owe it to yourself to visit the Pergamon

If you skipped the last couple of paragraphs (and I don't blame you; I get irritatingly verbose), now's probably a good time to resume reading. I'm currently in a Korean restaurant a few blocks from the heart of Berlin (yes, you read that correctly--Korean), and my flight leaves tomorrow morning at 8:00. I'm in the midst of writing a post that covers the entire trip, and includes my (admittedly poor) excuses for the lack of updates. Barring unforeseen complications, it should be up in the next few days. I'll see you then.

Cheers,

Daniel

Temporarily Greek

I've spent the last week in Athens, Greece, and it's been wonderful.

First of all, my class schedule is erratic and irregular. It's bizarre. It turned out that I had a full week available for travel if I ditched one class--and seeing as the one class was a Corporate Finance lecture, I had no reservations booking my flight to Athens.

One of my closest friends is studying with College Year in Athens, an American study abroad program in, uh, Athens, so lodging was never an issue. In theory, he's not allowed to host overnight guests; I've actually been staying at the Student and Traveller's Inn in (haha) the Plaka if anyone's curious. It's a great place, though it's remarkably similar to my friend's apartment.

My flight was at 9:45 out of Stockholm, so naturally I left my apartment shortly after midnight in order to catch the right buses to make it on time. The longest leg of the trip turned out to be from Jonkoping to Stockholm--from 1:45 to 7:30--and that's all AM times. But yeah, it was three hours to Zurich, Germany, and after an astonishingly short 20 minute layover, two more hours into ATH. From there I grabbed a taxi into town.

I must have lucked into one of Athens' nicest cab drivers--my friend had warned me repeatedly of the local drivers' penchant for ripping off tourists. Mine, however, quoted a (quite reasonable) flat fee, then offered to take me into town via the scenic coastal route. Along the way, he offered the kind of advice only a longtime resident could give, including gems such as, "Oh, I'd say definitely 80% of the street food is safe to eat. The other 20% is, yeah, don't eat that," and "I wouldn't go into the strip clubs if I were you, you'll pay the girls and nothing will happen."

Upon my arrival, I found my Swedish phone only worked sporadically, apparently deciding to connect calls and send texts on a whim. However, the resultant communication mishaps let me explore the surrounding area in great detail during my quest to locate the CYA student center. Tl;dr: I got a little lost.

The Temple of Poseidon at sunset. Yeah.

The next day was devoted to exploring Athens on foot during the daylight hours. My friend's apartment is located approximately 20 meters from the gigantic Panathinaiko Stadium, which is built entirely out of white marble and seats about 45,000 people. Oh, and it hosted the first modern Olympic games in 1896. It's what we walked past to get to anywhere.

Over the past week, I've walked the ruins of the Parthenon, the Temple of Zeus, the Temple of Poseidon. Wandering around the Plaka and Monastiraki, I'd be strolling down the street and catch a glimpse of the Acropolis out of the corner of my eye.

Athens is a strange city. There are incredible ruins scattered everywhere--it's hard not to run across one even when walking to a grocery store. Yet the city as a whole is filled with pedestrian apartment blocks in tan, the ground floors covered in graffiti, the streets potholed and uneven. It's difficult to appreciate that the Athens area has been continuously settled for seven millenia.

To wit: A great trip. I could talk about the weather (20 C warmer than Jonkoping), or the food (Two delicious gyros for 3.80E! Three pizzas for 16E!) or a whole host of other things, but it's largely unnecessary. I am, however, grateful I had the whole week--it was infinitely less stressful when I knew I could come back the next day.

I highly recommend a visit.

Cheers,
Daniel