Something quite unexpected happened this weekend; I think I fell in love with Germany! Most of all with Berlin. The people there seemed deservedly proud of their surroundings; Berliners know they live in a place which is truly in the midst of a cultural revolution. They are shaking off any dusty, ill-advised stereotypes and heading with full force towards becoming a city that could be considered a work of art in itself. There was a palpable feeling of creativity in the air; I felt like I could spread my arms and I'd touch a hundred different art, music or food movements all at once. It seemed that if it wasn't happening in Berlin, it wasn't really happening. We spoke to an American immigrant who found himself infatuated with the place and eventually moved here for good. He explained this feeling of change in the air: "This is that period when Berlin finally becomes that city that it so longs to be". What a wonderful time to visit.
The whole weekend was enlightening, and the highlight was a particular bike ride which I felt I had to get down on paper, so here goes!
"On yer bike!" was a phrase coined by British politician Norman Tebbit in 1979, when I was merely a twinkle in my mother's eye. It's pertinence to rioting and unemployment was before my time, but it's a philosophy I love to take with me whilst traveling. As much as I enjoy pounding cobblestone streets with my partner in crime (a pair of beat up Birkenstocks), with only a few days in a city you get to see a lot more on two wheels. Berlin was the perfect playground; not only was it flat, but it was also completely unchartered territory. This was my first time visiting Germany, and I could feel the tingling of anticipation that awaits me whenever my feet first hit the floor in a totally new city.
We hop off the bus and on to a pair of clumsy beach cruisers, their tired wheels squeaking with clockwork regularity. For me, the feeling of that first minute of peddling is unparalleled. Sometimes I think those brief moments encapsulate everything I love about traveling; the city lays before you, bathed in the golden light of a late afternoon. It's the same afternoon sun as the sun at home, of course, but somehow it's more iridescent, more beautiful because it shines on strange streets and strange faces and the air almost prickles with possibility. You press down, test the resistance of the pedals and in that second are thrown forward by the momentum of discovery. There's a feeling of invincibility there. Your senses are heightened, and you peer into every side street, every shop window, every passing face and grin at the unfamiliarity of it all. In these moments, there is a romance to everything. Things like laundromats and bakeries and skulking smoking teenagers make you smile. I have never smiled at a laundromat in London! This is why I like traveling. It turns me into a child; wide eyed, completely enraptured by the smallest details that would normally pass in a flurry of banality. I am happy to simple exist and to observe, peddling and grinning, grinning and peddling, the afternoon sun warm on my back.
As some of the best journeys do, ours had no real destination. We wound our way through trendy streets filled with concept stores, through large squares covered in chalk art and beat boxers performing to crowds of afternoon wanderers. We turned onto a main road and followed it in what felt like a hopeful direction, when a hole in the wall to our right appeared out of nowhere. We peer in and dismiss what looks like a building site; scaffolding and planks scatter the concrete, and all is still. We were about to ride on when a piece of wood nailed to the wall caught my eye. Scratched into the wood were the words: 'Culture Cave'.
Intrigued, we stepped through the make-shift doorway, and straight onto the page of someone else's travel essay. It was the kind of ethereal place you only ever hear about when you listen, green eyed, to your friend's dramatized travel tales. Like the time they "were lead by this grubby nomadic goat herder to this totally authentic local spot" down a back alley of a village in the rural Tajikistani highlands. The type where you 'ooh' and 'ahhh' and secretly don't really believe it was quite as cool as it sounds, or you act pleased for them but grumble and wonder why things like that never happen to you because you always seem to end up in some "hidden bar" with fifty other Lonely Planet clutching, disappointed looking 20-somethings. Well, in Berlin, it happened. We found paradise!
As we round the corner, the Spree river stretches out before us like a gorgeous glistening serpent. Lining it's banks were rows of old fashioned sun chairs and brightly colored hammocks. They swayed happily to the sound of minimal house which the Germans do so well, and the music mingles with the afternoon breeze giving it texture and warmth, flowing from a DJ booth set just above the vegetable garden and beside the sunflower patch. A small labyrinth is marked with wildflowers and poppies, and sand warms the soles of our feet as we cross to a small wooden bar serving german beer. An old fashioned street lamp sits casually next to a woven totem pole, on which hang shells, feathers and a white model owl, surveying the scene. Somehow none of it seems incongruous.
Two beautiful German girls stand behind a barbecue grilling organic meat, and the last of the September sunlight traps in the tendrils of smoke that drift upwards towards a dusky purple sky. A girl in dungarees walks barefoot around the garden, watering the flowers with a russet red watering can. She pauses every once in a while to gaze contentedly out at the river, stretching her arms skywards before returning to the garden.
We lie here for a long while. The sun set and we stayed, swinging in our hammock, occasionally catching each other's eye and laughing at how odd and perfect it all was.
And here I am with a smug utopia story. Sorry about that. You probably have a quiet smile, and might be wondering about my tendency for hyperbole and 'creative license'. Or maybe you're getting on your bike, and we can trade stories when you're back with a smile on your face and a new paradise found!
How to get there:
The CultureCave is open until November 2013
Rent a bike, cycle to Alexanderplatz, and takes signs for Ostbahnhoff. If you see the Barbie Dreamworld exhibition on your right, you are headed in the right direction. Turn down the street with a big Lidl and a gas station, and keep your eyes peeled for a hole in the wall on your right. About a 10 minute cycle.
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