Berlin

It was laundry day.  Shorty and I packed everything into large trash bags, then dragged them three blocks to the laundromat.  Dad and Cosine joined us about half an hour later.  German laundromats are strange.  Instead of feeding coins directly into each machine, you put them in a central machine, then push a numbered button corresponding to the machine you want.
 
 

At the laundromat.

Shorty and I sat and waited for the washers to get done.  Dad and Cosine came about half an hour later and helped us load the dryers.  We reloaded the clean clothes into trash bags and took them back to the hotel.

Today we thought we'd take a look at the new dome of the Reichstag.  The stylistic mix between the old building and the dome is jarring but not unattractive.  The impression I'd gained from a postcard I picked up the previous day is that it was much more interesting up close.

It's a fortunate thing that it was, since we waited over an hour in a long line on the steps of the Reichstag.  It was cold and windy, and we huddled together trading sections of the Herald Tribune back and forth.
 

The Reichstag.

The principal architectural subtext of the new Reichstag is clear.  The entrance to the building has huge windows.  From the lobby you can see through more windows into the parliamentary chamber, complete with German seal and bright violet seats.  And most famously, the dome itself looks down into the chamber, though for obvious security reasons, the view is somewhat distorted.  But the point is that the government in the new Reichstag is open to the people; decisions are made not behind closed doors, but in full view of the public.  An admirable message, but one that I fear implies that the Third Reich did not enjoy popular support, and absolves the public of complicity in its terrors.  On the other hand, the building may absolve no one, and function instead as a call to the public to take responsibility for its government.
 

Interior of the dome.

Message aside, the dome, when we reached it by elevator, was mesmerizing. It's a large hemisphere.  On its outer edges, ramps ascend to a platform at the top, where a mirrored cone descends toward the roof.  Everywhere in my field of vision were lines, reflections, and curves as well as the sweep of the city.  At the base of the dome is a timeline about the Reichstag from when it was first built to the present, with text in both German and English.

After spending maybe half an hour in the dome, we headed on in search of lunch.

We were all very, very cold.  The Reichstag dome isn't really connected to the rest of the building.  It just sits independently on top of the roof without any type of climate control, so while we were in it, we were sheltered from the wind, but it was still freezing, and after waiting in line for so long, we were cold, hungry, irritable people.

We walked through the cloaked Brandenberg Gate in search of a cafe.  We ended up stopping first at the shop run by the Komische Oper, which sold everything from postcards featuring obscure American TV shows, to old costumes, to ampelmannchen paraphernalia.  I was naturally seduced, and bought a "Rettet die Ampelmannchen" poster, a "Rettet die Ampelmannchen" bumper sticker (my little Mazda is doing its part for the cause in Indianapolis), and a t-shirt featuring the walking guy on the front and the stopping guy on the back.  If one is so inclined, one may also purchase wine stoppers, mouse pads, and coffee mugs.  The battle's over, so the whole thing is pure merchandising now, but it's activist consumerist fun nonetheless.

Next to the shop we found a little cafe, where we sat and warmed up.  I just ordered coffee, but stole a little bit of everyone else's cake.  We made this very light, since it was getting close to dinner time and we had to eat early to get to the opera on time.

Having warmed up a bit, we got on the subway and went to Checkpoint Charlie. Sort of strange to see such a potent spot in my Cold War imagination: it's nothing, at least it is now.  There's a sign depicting an American soldier on one side, a Soviet soldier on the other.  There's a guardhouse on the median in the middle of a quiet street.  There's a museum decorated with
fragments of the Berlin Wall, or replicas thereof.  Looking from West into East, the street just goes on; without the sign you'd never know where you were.
 

Checkpoint Charlie.

We had dinner at an Italian restaurant we'd noticed near the cafe.  I was pleased to be able to read most of the menu, since the names of the dishes were in Italian, with more extended descriptions in German.  I had the rabbit.  Cosine chastised me for ordering something cute, but after 7 years of vegetarianism, the item that had made me break down four years earlier
was lamb, so this was no worse, really.  I was surprised to find that rabbit is significantly greasier than I would have thought.  Lots of bones, too.

The opera demographic in Germany is surprisingly young.  Not as young as the Run Lola Run demographic, but not the sea of grey hair opera audiences tend to be in the states.  We found our seats on the second balcony, and waited for the opera to start.

I had seen La Boheme once before, a student production at Indiana University.  Naturally, one would expect the Berlin Stadtoper to outdo even a very fine student production (and the one at IU was very fine), but this had all of us floored.  The voices were good, of course, but my ear isn't good enough to tell you exactly what was so good about them.  They were nice
to listen to and they were all able to keep from being swallowed by the orchestra at big moments.  This production also had the advantage of having singers who could act, and a director with an amazing vision.  The set was updated very slightly, to an indeterminate period in the 20s or 30s: the Marlene Dietrich era.  The second act is set in a cafe--the set was stunning art deco with neon lights and a glamorous Musetta by turns sultry and kittenish.  Interestingly, the members of the chorus separated into romantic pairs dancing, men with women, men with men, and a table of incredibly stylish lesbians.  It all looked like a Madonna video, which doesn't necessarily sound like a compliment, but it all came together so well.

During intermission we stood in the lobby and raved about the opera, then returned to our seats.  Just as the conductor was coming into the orchestra pit, a woman scrambled up onto the stage and started yelling into the audience.  People in the third balcony unfurled banners and started dropping leaflets on the people below.  Audience members hissed and booed back, but
the woman kept yelling until she and her co-conspirators were escorted out by security guards.

"What the hell was that?" I asked Cosine later.

"They're protesting the war in Afghanistan," he said.

"Strange place to do it."

"Tonight's production was being televised," Dad said.

"Oh.  Well, quite a stunt, then."
 
 

Christmas market.

Next to the Stadtoper, there was a Christmas market where I managed to buy a gluhwein mug that indicated that it was purchased in Berlin and whose purchase was not immediately followed by a rapid and painful descent to the ground.  We wandered through for a while, looking at the Christmas ornaments and punk rock t-shirts and listening to the organ grinder grind away.

Next--December 27: A bird mistakes me for a toilet