Sweet Caroline (Berlin, Germany, part 4)

Today is our last full day in Berlin, dear reader. An early start was required to beat the crowds to Checkpoint Charlie and mop up the bits we started but didn't finish. I'm not talking early like at 5:00am bike ride, but early for Berlin. And Jayne. We closed the apartment door at 8:15am.

It was Sunday morning so it was quiet anyway and we'd attended the usual tourist stops so we walked straight to the Checkpoint. Curiously there were road closures so Berlin's streets were even more deserted than usual.

Intimidating? Wonder how old he is now.

Every path we turned onto seemed to be populated by groups of people in running gear. Many were sporting clear plastic bags containing bananas and running shoes. A curious combination. Do you keep your bananas with your shoes? Ok. Admittedly I'm not allowed to keep to bananas at all, but it's still weird.

In Australian please. Oh. The top. Not used to that.

After the 9,021st person in running strip with a number pinned to their chest walked past, it dawned on us. The Half Marathon is on TODAY. FML. It was crowded enough yesterday. That explains why the barricades we saw yesterday were still in place.

American imperialism or capitalism? Is there a difference?

We arrived at Checkpoint Charlie and the police had closed the road for us to ensure we got the best pictures. Nice. Photos were taken from all relevant angles. No traffic. No crowd. My favourite is the shot of the checkpoint with the McDonalds store in the background. That, if nothing else, explains American foreign policy. A major win for JFK. Or is that KFC? Who can be certain?

The Topography of Terror was not that far away and we arrived before opening time. We thought we might be able to access the outdoor section. Ah, no. Closed is closed. The only response was to go in search of coffee. And maybe a pastry.

The 'preferred' car of the East Germans.

In a scene from the Man from Ironbark, (oh, really? Google it. You'll love it. Oh, alright, here it is). We wandered here, we wandered there, but in search of coffee. And then, there it was, lights shining in the distance. Yeah, OK, it was a café, on a Sunday and it was open. Now that's a Venn diagram. The tablecloth still bore the crumbs from yesterday, the coffee was average, the pastries were good and the people were lovely. Trade was hot. Well, it was Sunday morning and nothing else was open.

It was quiet on the streets.

We calculated the distance back to the Topography of Terror, how long it would take to walk it and then left the café at the appropriate time. Jayne determined a shortcut and we arrived a few minutes early to witness the ceremonial opening of the gates. Nah, just some security guy opened the gate to let us in.

The remaining wall outside the Topography of Terror.

We elected to go through the outdoor part of the exhibit before it became too hot. I know, we're still not used to the sunshine. The indoor section we needed to complete with the audio guide was the final section of the exhibition. Still, it had to be done. Once completed, we repaired to the café for a coffee and water. It was Sunday. There was nothing happening and we could take our time. I was particularly keen to get to the Brandenburg Gate without the crowds and the Reichstag had only been seen from the hop on/off bus. Let's go. 

The wall hasn't completely gone.

We were making good progress until we hit Potsdamer Platz - quick assessment and then a stroke of genius - we could go under the marathon route via the metro underground station - happy days: we had outsmarted the road closures and could continue on our touristy way to the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag beyond it.

But, no. An easy path to the Gate was not possible. We were surrounded by crowds and barricaded roads. I searched for a map of the run and steered us around the course to the Brandenburg, where sadly, in the parklands opposite the gates, the half-marathon was finishing. Crowds were to be expected. So, I dismissed the idea of obtaining a less touristy photo of the gates than those I took yesterday.

Joggers. Whatever.

The Reichstag was still on my list. We followed the map to the gates. No issue. The crowd grew larger as the noise level increased. Again, all English lyrics, not original artists. Most disturbingly, we were constantly assailed by the finish line PA pumping out Sweet Caroline, punctuated by all the half dead runners (and their supporters) wheezing "Oh, oh oh," at every chorus. We had to get away so we crossed the road and crossed back again, following the 'official' map so we did not impede the runners but could still get to the Reichstag.

And yes, reader, that is the reference to today's title. If you really feel the need to hear THAT song the link is above. Shudder.

Somewhere we chose the incorrect path. The map was not to scale and the diagram that had us walk down through the park along the side of the finishing line was, well, deceptive. As morning wasted into afternoon, Jayne suggested that we might not ever get the the crossover point behind the half-marathon. The Reichstag, like the Russian front, was a bridge too far. We turned optimistically for home.

The view waiting for the joggers to pass.

The streets were deftly navigated to avoid the joggers. Apparently there were almost 24,000 feeble minded people who thought running 21km on a beautiful Sunday morning was a good thing thing to do last year. We looked to the sky and the TV tower and made for our area of Berlin, away from the Gate, the crowds, the joggers, the sweat and "Oh, oh oh".

Following the course map, we avoided awkward collisions with those involved in other pursuits. Until the inevitable. We had to cross the path of the half-marathon. Beam me up Mr Scott. 

The Dome.

Sadly, curiously, interestingly, pathetically, (choose the appropriate adverb for you) we had arrived at a crossover point. We could not get home without threading through the runners. This was, dear reader, several hours since the run had commenced and we were a long, long way from both the starting and finishing line. Yet, the stream of humanity on the course proper continued as if the starting line was around the corner. Except for the reddened faces. The puffing and panting. The less than fluid running styles. And the number of bodies being tended to by paramedics on the road side. Fun times. Happy days. It was obviously a great way to spend a Sunday in Berlin.

The road crossing proved too daunting and we had already chalked up 12 km on foot, albeit not at pace. Fortunately, there was a pub at the corner with outside tables. Beer time. We sat, enjoyed our beer, despite the numbers of smokers around us, and watched many, many people torture their bodies and minds. Pretty sure they wished they were where we were. There was no interest on our part to change places.

The pulpit.

As the end of our beer loomed, so did the necessity to cross the road and brave the half-marathon participants. We had witnessed a number of people broach the rubicon, including food delivery drivers (btw they have the same disrespect for road rules and pedestrians as they do in Australia), cyclists and people with prams. Fortified by Berlin's finest, we strode toward the crossing. We stood there, hand in hand waiting for the right moment to make our escape. This was everything I'd read about as a kid. It was the escape from Colditz Castle. Stalag Luft 17. Steve McQueen. It's on.

The view to the Lustgarten.

Seriously? I just walked when I saw a break in the slowing, staggering mob and assumed Jayne was behind me. It was akin to walking across a school playground. Be mindful. Be alert, as John Howard used to say, but not alarmed.

Free of the red-faced, (Barnaby would have been at home) panting mob we made our way back to our area and the Dom. It was time to look inside the cathedral. After parting with €20, we went inside. It was the usual awe inspiring space. A cavity that soared forever into the dome and the expected opulence and extravagance of the other areas. I try to inoculate myself against the excess but I am captivated every time.

The view across to the Rathaus.

After dodging the usual morons who want to stand in the middle of 'the shot' while they check their video of an inanimate object, I bid Jayne a fond farewell and walked resolutely to the 267 stairs that climbed to the Dome viewing platform.

Photos were taken from all points. It wasn't particularly crowded, but it wasn't a particularly brilliant day to be viewing Berlin.

The bear outside our hotel.

The exit was at a different point. I was behind a mother and child who were not, at any stage permitting anyone to pass them. They knew I was there. They probably knew there were people behind me, but even when there were landings they hurried on to occupy the entire stairwell. Amusingly the boy (ok, he was in his 20s) behind me hustled past to be blocked by what had stymied my progress from the top. He went nowhere.

Back in the main part of the church, we did one last circuit to admire the opulence and extravagance and then walked home. Perhaps we stopped to pick up a few necessities for the night and for tomorrow's trip. 

Next stop Prague.

Yes another transit day. I'm trying to stay calm.

Until next time. Should I survive.

Sgt. Major (Berlin, Germany, part 3)

The overnight rain had cleared to a beautiful morning as we prepared to hit the Big Bus again for day two of our 48 hr tickets, prior to the guided walking tour from Brandenburg Gate, commencing at 2pm (English). In a counter intuitive move, we did not start at the beginning. Instead, my dear reader, we chose the third stop as the place to board the bus.

The canal behind the Dom.

The early morning walk there took us past the overly populated tourist spots that I wanted to re-photograph with the 10mm lens. Life starts late here and we were wandering before 9 am. Photographs taken, sans people, we walked down Unter den Linden to the bus stop. Aside from the joggers, who are in viral proportions, the most amusing sight was someone who had just woken from the night before.

The Dom in the early morning.

Rising from a bench or the gutter, I couldn't be sure, he appeared as if from nowhere. He staggered onto the road, annoying cyclists. Fortunately there were few cars. He had trouble walking a straight line and staying vertical so clearly he couldn't walk home. Then he spied a rideshare step-through scooter. He righted it after he fell over it, trying to straddle the seat. The next attempt was to move it into the traffic. Unsuccessfully. He managed to turn on the lights and found the horn, but sadly that was the extent of it as, keeping to our predetermined timeline, we moved out of sight.

Humboldt Forum.

Despite our dawdling pace and regular stops for photo ops, we arrived at the bus stop quite early. Coffee time. One of the best things about Europe, real Europe, not England, is that they understand coffee. They still haven't mastered the 'long black', and no, an Americano is not the same, but a double espresso is reliably the way to start the day.

Not even the 10mm lens could capture all of this museum.

Caffeine levels restored, we returned to the bus stop. We boarded and went upstairs and found the top had been rolled back to allow people to enjoy the sunshine. And, for those from the shallow end of the gene pool, to stand up while the bus was moving. Disappointingly, he didn't lose his head as we passed under a bridge.

It was quiet everywhere.

Our first hop-off destination was the Victory Column for a photo shoot, given that the day before, with the bus roof on, we had not been able to glimpse the top of the iconic landmark. The pillar stands in the centre of a roundabout. The column stands on a plinth that commemorates the 19th century German victory against Prussia and others. On top of it gleams a golden statue of Winged Victory, aka Elsa to the locals. Not the one from Frozen. There are major roads on five sides with parkland between two of the intersecting roads. I was keen to walk from here through the park to our next planned stop but time did not allow such an indulgence. Once again we were, at times, surrounded by and distracted by gung-ho joggings groups. What is wrong with these people? Do they have no respect for their knees? They'll understand when they're my age.

King Friedrich II surveying his realm.

The bus arrived. Love the app watching where they are on the route. We journeyed to the next stop which was the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. It caught my eye yesterday and didn't look much more than a remnant spire - another casualty when WWII bombers destroyed so much of the major cities of Germany. Slated for demolition, the people rallied against the government and ensured its survival as a dedicated monument to peace. They also built an alternative church on the same block. It is significant because of its construction. It is quite a remarkable space.

The Victory Column.

There was a beggar/busker sitting against the pedestrian wall outside the church, singing her heart out. She wasn't a young woman and she had quite a good voice. I had no idea what she was singing but the acoustics were excellent given it was outdoors.

The park behind the column.

This was one of the 15 minute bus stops so we scuttled back to the bus and resumed our seats, excited to think we had accomplished so much in a short space of time. Yeah, nah. We then sat on the bus for 10 minutes before it moved.

Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church

The ceiling in the church.

Next stop was number 14. The Topography of Terror. It is a museum on the site of the HQ for the Gestapo and Secret Police (SS) to remind people of what they did during the reign of Hitler. There was a QR code audio guide which we downloaded. Not long into our exploration, it became very obvious we were not going to get through it today. We had to be at the Brandenburg Gate at 2 pm for our walking tour.

Inside the new church.

There were five chapters to the audio guide that each had up to six separate commentaries. Basically it was a history of the Gestapo/SS and their involvement in German politics, the subsequent the war and the life and terrorisation of the German people. In an age of 'fake news' and politicians lying to attain power, this is quite a powerful exhibition. Complacency in Australia is the norm, but it is all too easy to see how a nation was blinded and went down the wrong path. One word, Murdoch.

Brandenburg Gate.

We left the indoor Topography of Terror without even looking at the outdoor exhibition that runs along another purposely preserved section of the Berlin Wall (no artwork here) and determined we would need to return tomorrow, under our own steam, to complete what we had started. We then headed towards the Brandenburg Gate where the bus had stopped this morning. For some, as yet unknown reason, the bus route differed from yesterday. There was a Big Bus representative where we had stopped this morning. He directed us through the Gate and around the corner to a restaurant decked out with lights where we would find Freddie, our guide for the walking tour.

Oh, look, free entry. How absolutely unappealing.

Once again the Big Bus people were spot on. We found the restaurant, the Big Bus sign and Freddie, lurking a few metres away, having his last puff before the tour starts. Like Scandinavia, smoking is such a popular thing. It's like stepping back 50 years in history.

As we passed through the gates, the reason for the altered bus route, the crowds and the inordinate number of joggers became clear. The 2024 Berlin Half Marathon. Free entry, if you can afford the plane fare and accommodation. (Come on Vikki what are you waiting for?)

At the appointed hour, Freddie emerged from his resting place and introduced himself to the growing number of people waiting for the English-speaking tour. He is not, unsurprisingly, German. The accent is pure Londoner, although, he hastens to add, he has lived here since well before the wall fell. Also confessed his past livelihood in the British armed forces. Given his subsequent tour performance, I'm backing him in as a Sergeant. Which brings us to today's title Sgt. Major a hidden track from Jet's Get Born album of 2003.

Even the bridges get statues and fancy lights.

The tour took us past the Brandenburg precinct, through the Jewish Holocaust sculpture memorial, past the site of Hitler's bunker (now a carpark), pausing at the site of the GDR June 17 massacre of protesters (Germany's Tiananmen Square), back to the Topography of Terror exhibition with the remnants of Berlin Wall, and then over to finish at Checkpoint Charlie, central to one of the Cold War major stand offs.

The holocaust memorial.

The sites were indeed all iconic historic places, worthy of visitation and reflection (as much as was possible amid the throng of tourists) and the detail about each stop was impressive. However, Freddie's delivery was more akin to a sergeant-major yelling at his troops. Every now and then in his scripted monologue he would yell parts of it. It caused people to jump on occasion but did little to add to the import of the information he was trying to impart. In fact, it detracted from the tour, imho.

The car park above the site of Hitler's former bunker.

The walking tour concluded very close to the time the last Big Bus was coming through Checkpoint Charlie, so we didn't have to wait long before our chariot took us back to the home precinct and stop 17.

It was time for some well earned beers and a late lunch/early dinner. Straight to Mio. On the way across the platz we noticed large groups of people were gathered in a couple of different places. There were spectators and participants engaged in what looked like ballroom dancing. I've wandered many parks across the world but have never witnessed a scene such as this.

There are bears everywhere. It's the symbol of Berlin.

Across the platz, there was a march and demonstration happening. A march for a free Palestine. Given the political powers at play, I can't see that happening, no matter how important or deserved it may be. Then again, the Berlin Wall was supposed to stand forever too.

We were escorted to our table in Mio and were enjoying our beer when a young male Brit walked in wearing a bright yellow dress and a sunflower headpiece. I mean each to their own. I wasn't judging, but not everyone can wear yellow. He was among that number. It turned out to be a buck's party. Later in the day he was only allowed to walk backwards. We witnessed one trip to the bathroom and remarked on how unwell he looked. I hope someone was looking after him because he had passed the point of no return.

What a day in Berlin. Saturday had something for everyone. Even us. We went home to watch the Curling World Championship. Go Sweden.

Until next time.