Daniel

Tuesday, August 16, 2022

This was our last day in Charlottenburg. For our second week we were going to somewhere slightly more outside the city with a swimming pool. I had had some communication with our Airbnb hostess already and I did not like the cut of her jib (she messaged that on arrival we would need to pay the Berlin guest tax and an extra daily fee to use the pool – these were covered in the small print of the Airbnb ad as I discovered on examination but if you ask me, the red hand rule should apply). Over yet another lovely breakfast in Savigny Platz, I mourned Charlottenburg, our charming apartment and our laid back musician host.

Our new hostess informed us that check-in was at 4. She did not seem inclined to be flexible. We were due to check out from Jan’s place at 12. What would we do in the heat of the day with all our luggage? When Jan came to the flat accompanied by a huge bunny (somehow typical), he very kindly said, “Stay as long as you need to, I have to run to a class, can you keep the rabbit?” With that he threw a bunch of rabbit food pellets on the drawing room floor, dropped the bunny beside them and zoomed out the door.

Delighted with ourselves we left the bunny with his lunch and went out for ours to an Asian place around the corner.

After lunch we left Jan’s place and after some difficulty with the Berlin taxi app (it won’t let you register with a foreign number) got a taxi from across the road where the taxi driver was returning from his lunch.

Our new hostess – let us call her Margaret – was there to greet us when we arrived in her place deep in former East Berlin. I think, probably, her heart was in the right place, she was training in a Ukrainian teenager to work for her, but she put the heart cross ways on me. Unlike Jan’s house, hers was absolutely immaculate. The instructions on what we could and could not do and how all the appliances worked took forever. She lived downstairs and honestly, I was terrified to put a foot out of line for the duration of our stay. Had I had young children, I think I might have died of nervousness as the house was full of breakable china at child height. It felt…unfriendly. But I have to say she had the portable air conditioner as promised and the pool (daily fee dutifully paid) was super.

It was much more rural but that was part of the plan. Mr. Waffle and I went to the absolutely enormous local supermarket (the size of an IKEA, impossible to find anything due to too much stuff) and the boys attached Michael’s laptop to the TV and sat down (moving Margaret’s furniture, gasp) to play some game on the big screen.

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

We had a swim in the morning and then Mr. Waffle and I decided to trek into town leaving the boys behind and imploring them to take great care not to upset our hostess. There was one bus stop nearby but the bus came every ten minutes (how often during our stay did I stand across the busy four lane road watching the bus arrive and depart without me? Very often) and it only took 15 minutes to get to the centre. It was kind of amazing because it really felt that we were staying out in the sticks particularly after the previous week when we had been right in the centre.

When we got into town, the Neues Museum had sold out for the day (do you detect a theme in our museum visits?). We went to the cathedral instead and climbed the 267 steps to get a view. Toasty and tiring but worthwhile.

The cathedral itself is largely reconstructed. In a gesture which tells you a lot about the East German regime the only part of the cathedral undamaged during the war was the Hohenzollern chapel but when the rest of the (damaged) cathedral was being restored in 1975, the regime blew up that bit for ideological reasons. Apparently it was amazing and had survived the war entirely intact. Oh well.

Confusingly, a range of Hohenzollern tombs are still available to view inside.

There was a large statue of Martin Luther at our bus stop in town.

He’d been around.

On the bus home there was a couple with a small baby who howled. I felt really sorry for them. The mother waved a muslin square over the pram but the baby continued to howl lustily. The mother was beautifully dressed and looked very fashionable and in control but from beneath her trendy sunglasses, a tear escaped and her husband patted her anxiously on the arm. When they got to their stop, they leapt off and the mother immediately took the baby in her arms. It reminded me so vividly of when herself was a small baby and it took me an hour and a half to drive the 20 minute journey to a friend’s house. Every time she cried, I stopped the car and sat in beside her and took her out of her car seat and sometimes cried myself. Ultimately, this is not recommended but having a small baby has its challenges.

We had a swim with the boys when we got home; getting full value for our daily pool charge.

We had dinner in an Australian bar in the Sony centre in town (judge away, I would). I had Currywurst again but I couldn’t recapture that first fine careless rapture. It was a handy spot because we were going to the cinema nearby afterwards.

As I was leaving the Gemäldegalerie on my recent trip, people had been putting out deckchairs on a small part of the vast desolate tree free plain that surrounds it. Upon inquiry it turned out that they were laying them out for an open air cinema screening. Notwithstanding my trauma, I was intrigued so I booked us four tickets to see “The Godfather – Part 1” which, as it happened, neither Mr. Waffle nor I had ever seen.

This was the night of the screening or return to the scene of the crime. There was an Arte short first on “The Thinker” by Rodin which, as Mr. Waffle said – sorry about this but it’s true – explains why no one ever watches Arte. Nevertheless, the setting was superb – by night, by day it obviously remains a boiling desolate plain – the temperature, just right and the seats more comfortable than you might expect. We all enjoyed “The Godfather”. Talk about the film that spawned a thousand tropes.

As all had gone so well it was almost inevitable that something would go wrong on the trip home. And so it was. We had some difficulty getting the bus, so much difficulty in fact that we ended up having to get a taxi home. There were recriminations and a disagreement about which bus stop we should have stood at – sharpened by the sight of the last bus sailing past on the other side of the road – the curse of the Gemäldegalerie. Still, all in all, a pretty good day.

Thursday, August 18, 2022

In the morning, we got further value from our swimming pool fee and spent ages tossing a ball around the pool.

I finished the pack of 1980s perfume miniatures which I had been trailing around Europe with me. We found them in the bottom of my mother’s wardrobe and in a waste not want not spirit of which she would heartily approve, I have been using them up. I’d forgotten about those very heavy musky scents which were popular in 80s. I felt like a spy about to seduce James Bond at the casino tables. I have to say, I was glad to see the back of them and have done my duty.

Bathed in the last of the Opium, I trotted out to the bus stop accompanied by the men folk. We went in to the Fernsehturm which is a rotating tower. Tickets were a bit pricey but I recommend. I paid extra to be seated by the window in the restaurant (I mean, if you’re going to go to a rotating restaurant, surely it’s worth spending the extra money to sit at the edge).

I said everyone could order what they wanted. Possibly a bit of a mistake. Maybe bread and water would have been better. However, as you might expect, great, rotating views over the city. Someone on tripadvisor complained that the views stayed the same as you rotated which we found mildly hilarious. Even with 90 minutes of rotating and no radical changes on each rotation, I thought there was plenty to see.

For

For dinner we went to trendy Bergmanstrasse in Kreuzberg. It was trendy and there was a direct bus home. A win.

When we got home, I double checked with Mr. Waffle that he had put away Margaret’s outdoor cushions (he had been sitting on the large terrace overlooking the forest). That night there was a thunderstorm. I woke up and went to the window to see the lightening. What did I see on the terrace? Margaret’s sun umbrellas rolling around like marbles. One of them was perched precariously over the edge of the terrace hanging on by a spoke. Below it sat Margaret’s porsche. I ran out into the rain and rescued the umbrellas in the nick of time.

I told Mr. Waffle about our narrow escape in the morning and he was suitably contrite. At the time he was draping clothes over the spiral staircase down to the pool in the hopes that they would dry. This was in our apartment but I couldn’t feel that Margaret would approve. He did point out that we were both in our 50s and living in fear of this woman was ridiculous. But yet.

Friday August 19, 2022

The weather was a bit clammy but not too hot. We were within striking distance of trendy Prezlauerberg but public transport was not ideal so I decided to undertake what google maps assured me was a 15 minute scoot to get there. I got a bit lost and it took 40 mins instead of 15 – a taxi would possibly have been cheaper but never mind, it wouldn’t have given me the same sense of achievement.

Prezlauerberg is lovely. Lots of young families, trendy cafes and antique shops.

I saw some more Stolpersteine as I wandered around. Definitely a constantly sobering sight.

That afternoon we went into the Neues Museum. There was a special exhibition on Schliemann. Mr. Waffle was the person who introduced me to the concept of the Schliemann layer, and here was a chance to find out all about him. He was an absolute disaster. He basically dug up without a care in the world for archaeological niceties. No wonder he found all those layers.

Good museum, though a little tiring.

Entirely unrelated but Mr. Waffle and I were baffled by these large pipes we saw above head height all over the city. Apparently the water table is very high in Berlin and if you are doing any building work, the first thing you have to do is pump out the water from the site. Sub optimal.

In other water related news, later that evening there was a problem with the water and I sent Margaret a message via Airbnb. She responded immediately: “The technician is coming.” Some time later, she messaged that the technician had been and the issue was resolved. When she said that the technician was coming, I didn’t think she meant then at 10.30 on a Friday night but clearly even plumbers tremble before Margaret’s forceful personality.

Saturday, August 20, 2022

After my triumph of the previous day, I persuaded a slightly reluctant Mr. Waffle to scoot into Prezlauerberg with me. Due to my efforts of the previous day, we got there no trouble. I was delighted with myself. We had breakfast and wandered around the Saturday market.

In the afternoon we went to the outdoor Berlin Wall Memorial. I thought it was really well done and very interesting.

Mr. Waffle and Michael went back to the house but Dan and I stayed on for a bit. When it was time to leave, I realised I had made a terrible mistake. We got there by tram and bus relying on Mr. Waffle to navigate. For reasons unknown Google maps holds buses in utter disdain and did not include any bus routes and Mr. Waffle was not there with his bus app. We were on our own. We hopped on a tram anyway and got out at a junction that looked vaguely right. Spoiler alert, it was not right. We ended up tramping back in the rain for miles.

Daniel was terrific, patient, cheerful not at all grumpy.

I on the other hand became gloomier and whinier by the second.

Eventually we got to a familiar landmark – the Lidl near the house. We picked up dinner because it would have killed me to have to go out to the supermarket again that day.

Sunday, August 21, 2022

We went in to mass near Friedrichshain. I will tell you this, they can celebrate the 300th anniversary of the re-introduction of Catholicism to Brandenburg all they like, it’s still pretty difficult to find a Catholic church.

The priest was Brazilian and the congregation was small. He asked whether any of us were visitors from the altar. I was horrified, Catholicism is not a spontaneous audience inclusion kind of religion. Anyhow an American family took the hit and we looked at the floor. The priest included that line from the “Our father” – “for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory”. Protestants include that as part of the prayer but Catholics do not. Had I got up at 8.30 to go to a Protestant service? Mr. Waffle pointed to the statue of the Virgin Mary which made that seem unlikely. In fact, reassuringly, the whole set-up screamed convent chapel and school and, on inspection so it proved. The school was called after Edith Stein who is one of Europe’s patron saints – who knew. Poor old Edith converted from Judaism to Catholicism and became a nun (I’m sure her family were horrified) and then, the Nazis carted her off and killed her anyhow. Depressing.

We then had a lovely breakfast in a Russian cafe beside the local synagogue. I would give Berlin the best overall breakfast experience in Europe award.

Afterwards we scooted the short distance home. Mr. Waffle had become so confident that he even stopped crouching on the scooter and was able to exchange some rudimentary conversation. We could legally have parked the scooters ourside Margaret’s house but I knew she wouldn’t like it so I hid them down the road.

We had a quiet afternoon: a swim; a walk in the forest near the house for me and Daniel and a scoot around the glorious allotments. I had learnt from our trip to the DDR museum that about the only individual indulgence that the regime tolerated was gardening. The regime wasn’t enthusiastic but ultimately decided that gardening might be a good place for the population to channel energies which might otherwise be used for protesting. Having so little for themselves, they seem to have poured their hearts and souls into these small allotments. They were amazing and the pictures don’t at all do justice to the variety and delight in these postage stamp sized plots.

Monday, August 22, 2022

We got a taxi to the airport. Dan and our Kurdish taxi driver discovered a shared enthusiasm for Fenerbahçe FC. In discussing the fortunes of the club, Dan displayed a fluency and ability in German which was both reassuring (as he is studying it for his final school exam) and surprising (as he hadn’t spoken much German at all over the holiday, perhaps the occasion hadn’t really arisen). The taxi driver was from a place called Mardin. He was full of enthusiasm. “Is it very warm?” I wondered fresh from my fortnight of baking in Berlin. “Well, yes,” he said proudly, “it can get as hot as 50 degrees but it’s a dry heat.” Nevertheless, I think Mardin in summer time is not for me. It was his children’s first day back at school. “Ours are going back on Thursday,” said Mr. Waffle. “What, Thursday, this Thursday?” said Dan in horror. Poor Dan.

The airport experience was fine actually although we did spend some time queuing at the wrong check-in desk (maybe herself is right that we are holding her back with our poor airport performance). And then we were home and our luggage was home too.

If you are still reading, I salute you. More domestic news in due course.

Thursday, 11 August, 2022

Daniel and I went out to breakfast in the Literaturhaus. Michael was feeling a bit under the weather. Until that moment, it had not occurred to me that one of us might get Covid on holidays but it occurred to me pretty strongly at that point. You will be relieved to hear that his symptoms were not Covid like (he had a bit of an upset stomach – perhaps the influence of the Currywurst of dreams?) and was better by the evening.

Those of us who were well enough went to the KaDeWe for an air-conditioned lunch. Very nice actually – top floor, good views, not too dear and the food good in an upmarket self-service kind of way.

My mother always spoke very fondly of the wonderfulness of the KaDeWe. She was not wrong. I enjoyed the food hall and, in particular its truffle based offerings.

Michael having perked up somewhat when we got home, we went to dinner across the road to a lovely Italian restaurant.

Also food related I was gutted to see on our friend the internet that my favourite place for breakfast in the world – the Crawford gallery cafe in Cork – is closing down. They certainly knew how to charge and seemed to have a very loyal customer base so I am a little baffled. Alas.

Friday, 12 August, 2022

Leaving the menfolk at home to entertain themselves, I set off on a frolic of my own with only my mobile phone to guide me. Interest in Berlin’s art gallery was limited. Their loss.

Unlike many other museums in Berlin, the Gemäldegalerie is not on the Museum Island. I began my journey by getting the S-bahn two stops in the wrong direction. Then I had to go out on to the sun-drenched streets to find the U-bahn and I passed an air-conditioned shop. I went in. I bought a pair of jeans. It was hard to imagine ever wearing jeans again but I am wearing them as I type. They were a good buy but then I had to cart them around all day in 34 degree heat. Overall, perhaps not my brightest move.

Anyhow, I ploughed on. According to google maps it was a quick ten minute walk from the metro stop to the gallery. It was more than 10 minutes. It was beside a wide unshaded, busy road and 2 in the afternoon. I honestly thought I might die from heatstroke as I struggled along with my newly bought jeans. When I got to the place that google assured me was the Gemäldegalerie there was no sign of it. There were a couple of other cultural buildings but the place was basically deserted. I was in a wide barren plain with no hint of shade (technically a very large surface car and bus park). I asked all three passersby that I saw where it was but no joy. There seemed to be some kind of philharmonic orchestra place and a thing called the culture forum or something but of the Gemäldegalerie there was no sign. I was trotting around on the verge of collapse in an increasing state of desperation (of course still carrying the wretched jeans) when I met a dapper older gentleman in neatly ironed trousers and a blazer. He was going to the Gemäldegalerie and he would take me with him. Sadly not without standing in the sun for a further ten minutes pointing out other cultural glories within spitting distance. He was from Munich and also had a flat nearby from whence he had come to see the glories of the gallery. “I’m sorry,” I said, desperately, “I have to get out of the sun.” We went to the culture forum place. The Gemäldegalerie was inside. Honestly the signage left a lot to be desired. I scuttled to the bathroom to wash my face and hands.

Here is your correspondent upon gaining access to the bathroom. You might have thought that the gentleman from Munich should have known that I needed to get out of the sun without me telling him.

However, my suffering for art was totally worth it. The place was deserted – maybe because tourists can’t find it? – and it had a wonderful collection.

Lots of northern European stuff (Dürer, Van Eyck, Vermeer, Rubens) as you would expect but plenty of Italian paintings as well (Caravaggio, Botticelli, Titian) and ones you’d recognise.

I spent two very happy hours there. A friend of mine describes visiting the National Gallery in London as like going to a party and finding an old friend in every room. It was like that. If you are interested in art, I cannot recommend it highly enough. Here is your correspondent after two calming hours in the gallery.

It was still toasty enough when I emerged and I decided to try out the scooters with which Berlin is so plentifully supplied. I was able to practice in the large car park before scooting back to the metro by a slightly quieter road. Delighted with myself.

I have no recollection of what the menfolk said they did that day, possibly skulked at home like vampires trying to avoid the 34 degree heat (something to be said for that) but that evening, Mr. Waffle and I went out a walk around our lovely quartier and an ice cream and it was a very satisfactory conclusion to the day.

I also got a message from our Airbnb host asking if I could water the plants on the balcony. I obviously had been doing so all week because I’m not a monster. I asked whether he had a watering can. He did not (somehow unsurprising) and he referred me to the 500ml carafe in the kitchen. No wonder his plants had been wilting. I think I came just in time to save a couple from death. We spent a bit of time on the small balcony early in the morning and late in the evening when it wasn’t too warm. The street had lots of trees which provided a certain amount of protection and made for a lovely view.

Saturday, August 13, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went for breakfast on the Kurfürstendamm and I felt like a Mittel Europa sophisticate. We decided to tackle the Pergamon museum. We schlepped in to the Museumsinsel only to find that the tickets were sold out for the day. Alas.

Were we downhearted? A bit, to be honest. We went to the Jewish museum instead which I would recommend but sad in parts as you can imagine. However, the story of Jews in Berlin is about more than than the holocaust. Did you know that Felix Mendelssohn’s grandfather was a famous Jewish philosopher?

I liked this picture by Joseph Oppenheimer of two gentlemen heading to the opera.

However, it was not all opera. One of the many things I found disturbing was a room where all of the anti-Jewish laws from the 30s and 40s were listed on long sheets of paper from floor to ceiling. You could flick through them like large posters in a shop and there were so many of them beginning with small changes and ending with destroy all records (at the end of the war). There’s something about the way the law was neatly used to limit and confine and eventually kill millions of people in a controlled and orderly fashion that I found particularly depressing.

There was some information about Kristallnacht and I noticed that a furrier’s shop which had been targeted was around the corner from where we were staying in chic Charlottenburg.

Sunday, August 14, 2022

August 15 is the Feast of the Assumption (in Italian it’s Ferragosto and marks the middle of the holiday season – and every year it reminds me of au pairing in Naples in the summer of 1988) and in German, it is, as we were reminded at Mass, Mariä Himmelfahrt which, I kind of find hilarious. It’s a bit like Cinderella (you know, Cendrillion in French, Cenerentola in Italian and Aschenputtel in German). Anyway we learnt that it was the 300th anniversary of Catholic emancipation in Brandenburg in a way that I don’t fully understand this seems to be thanks to the Belgians (which was pretty forward looking of them as their country didn’t yet exist). I have to say, I was quite surprised; it seems a bit late.

We went to the Pergamon Museum. It was very satisfactory. Part of it was closed. That was a definite win as there is only so much of antiquity you can take in on one trip. I thought that the Ishtar Gate and the Gate of Miletius were amazing. Huge and transported brick by brick to Berlin. And, although there was loads of other stuff to see, it didn’t feel overwhelming. We all really liked it.

We went to the museum cafe after and a robot waiter (basically a tray on wheels with cat ears) was supposed to deliver our order. The human waiting staff seemed to find it very tedious. It was absolutely useless and slowed everything up. I think it’s a while before the robots will be coming for the service sector jobs.

That evening is was a balmy 31 degrees and I managed to persuade Mr. Waffle to go for a scooter ride with me around the streets of Charlottenburg. Although we have a combined age of 105, you will be pleased to hear that no accident befell us.

Monday, August 15, 2022

I went for a solo breakfast to the ludicrously named “What do you fancy love?” Grand but not sure it was worth the online enthusiasm. Breakfast featured the ubiquitous quark (described by our German teacher as a German cottage cheese which it is not at all but that’s the best I can do for you) which I hadn’t even thought of in years. Still a bit of an acquired taste if you ask me. I enjoyed ordering in German and engaging in mild small talk with my waiter. Unlike the French, the Germans are very encouraging when you speak their language and do not wince if you make a mistake.

It was our last day in Charlottenburg and Mr. Waffle and I decided it was now or never for Schloss Charlottenburg. We left the boys at home (we are sometimes merciful) and slogged 2kms from the S-Bahn stop to the castle in the hottest part of the day (no I had learnt nothing from my Gemäldegalerie debacle and, as they say, I will not be taking questions at this time). As we got out of the train, I noticed a lady behind us looking a bit feeble and using a walker and puffing vigorously on a cigarette. There is a lot more smoking in Berlin than in Ireland. Anyway about 500m into our walk I saw her ahead of us. I know the heat slowed us down but still and all. I think there must have been some better exit which we failed to find, due to heat exhaustion. Like all of Berlin, the area was littered with scooters but, as I had forgotten my phone with its scooter unlocking app, they were sadly unavailable to us.

Anyway we arrived eventually. Sweating but with our marriage intact. People, what day of the week was it? When I used to go on holidays in France with my parents as a child they used to say often, like very often, “fermé lundi”. And they imported it into day to day speech and expanded its meaning to cover the idea of an annoying yet explicable closure of any establishment. You would think therefore that I might have remembered it and spared us the pain of a 4 km slog in the hottest part of a hot day to go to a closed monument. Sigh.

When we got home, the boys were cool and refreshed in the house. Daniel agreed to go for a walk in the Tiergarten with me. It is in the middle of Berlin and I heard a man on the S-bahn describe it as like New York’s Central park: a green lung in the centre of the city 5kms long and 2kms wide. Since then I had been desperate to go. It’s fine, nice even, but, you know, a park. We had a cup of tea in the English tea house which was pleasant but as Samuel Johnson said about the Giant’s Causeway worth seeing but not worth going to see. Or maybe I was just too hot to appreciate it fully.

We travelled on to the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtnis Kirche. A ruined church in the centre of Berlin, it’s been preserved as a memorial to the war. I don’t know that I was totally able to appreciate it after my long day of touristing.

That evening it rained. A real thrill. We had dinner in a not very nice restaurant but it was lovely not to be sticking to our chairs in the heat. Over dinner I remarked that something was being thrown around “like snuff at a wake”. “What?” said the boys in unison. Apparently I had never said it before in their hearing. Perhaps an Irish phrase – it implies a slightly reckless plenty. I’ve passed it on to the next generation now anyhow, hard to see them using it. Still, I never thought I’d use this old person’s phrase myself and here we are.

Stay tuned for the next Berlin installment when our plucky band decamps to East Berlin. “More?” you gasp in horror. Yes, more.