Actually, I'm more of a jam-filled donut. Oh for goodness sake - of course I've been to Berlin since the wall came down! 1998, for example, when I spent a warm spring week there. Or the year before that, when I went for Christmas. So what possessed me to report here (and actually, to anybody else who cared) that I hadn't been there since the boundaries were smashed? As usual, I guess I'd ruled out reality in favour of a bit of drama. But anyway, the points are that (a) I've been there both pre- and post- 'the changes', and (b) I've just been back again. Now I'm home, with pages of scribbled notes in my diary, the highlights (or lowlights, depending on your point of view) I'm going to share with you here. Please forgive the non-linear narrative; Berlin just isn't that sort of city.
A Small Room in Berlin? I don't know what Christopher Isherwood would have made of the apartment we stayed in: a huge, empty, concrete space, with a kitchen/bedroom at one end, another bedroom at the other, and a massive dancefloor/performance area - complete with floor-to-ceiling curtains - dominating the middle. Fabulous, glamorous, strange. I loved it.
Sightseeing: a boy who looked like he should have been in a Depeche Mode video (circa 1984) scurrying along the stasse carrying an ornate cake box. A Chris Ish lookalike staring at transparent undies in a sexy lingerie shop window. Loudmouthed American kids playing hide and seek on the Holocaust Memorial. Blade Runner cityscapes everywhere you look. Seeing the word 'PRAWNCURRY' on an otherwise unreadable menu on our very first night and deciding that I'd ordered the very best thing on the menu as soon as it arrived. A huge poodle on the train - a sort of glam rock version of Pete Burns - with ballet dancer tippytoes and soft, soft curls. A beautiful girl serving us cocktails in a bar, telling us how much she loves visiting Devon and inadvertently making me feel bulky and a bit old. Gazing up at the windows of what was once Christopher Isherwood's apartment (yes, I am obsessed). Stroking the doorbell of what was once David Bowie/Iggy Pop's apartment (ditto). A tiny little man wearing a hooded duffle coat, with what seemed to be an entirely purple face peeping out from inside. A Lego giraffe from the top of a very tall building. A huge, glamorous hotel lobby, where I waltzed with the reunited friend after I'd used their 'facilities'. Ketchup under my nails and curry powder in my hair as I gazed up at the TV tower. An open air, rooftop bar on the sixth floor of an artist's squat in Kreuzberg. Prostitutes all wearing what appeared to be the same 'uniform' (long white patent leather boots, tightly fastened corsets, tiny mini kilts) teasing the boys on a street in Mitte. Karl Marx Allee. The remains of the wall at the East Side Gallery ("and you ... you will be Queen").
Namedrop: brunch with Sam Riley on our very first morning.
Stupidest Quote Ever (said during this trip, but I'm not telling you who said it): "So did they take the wall down as part of their Millennium celebrations, then?"
Best Moment: arriving at the airport to be greeted by a friendly face bearing huge hugs.
Worst Moment: feeling sick all day long on leaving day, then enduring an extremely rocky flight as we landed at Bristol airport during a storm.
What's Next: a review at a restaurant owned by one of the most annoying men in Bath this evening, followed by more reunification at GP. 'Hedda Gabler' on Saturday evening. A new friend on Tuesday evening. Work, work, work ... but all good, good, good. More Berlin diaries to follow. And an overall feeling of fabulousness after a really brilliant long weekend away.
Life is a cabaret indeed.
5 comments:
Next time I venture away from the heartland, I'm coming on holiday with you. Do I get a prize for guessing who made the 'wall' comment? Don't be ashamed, Sugar - it's very funny (and very you). Intrigued by the purple people eater, love the DM boy with cake, nice touch about ketchup and curry powder. The angels are in the detail.
Melissa, you give the world a fresh perspective, you really do. Welcome home. I hope the hooded man didn't follow you.
ok, help me out here. Who in the name of liza minelli's tights I'd Christopher Isherwood?
Funnily enough H, Christopher Isherwood invented Liza Minelli's tights! He wrote a coupla books too. He's dead good, but sadly, dead.
I came across this blog by accident having googled Fay Weldon. The Animal Disco may not approve of Fay (I beg to differ), but the work here - especially the current opening page post - sums up, for me, what writing is all about. The poodle, the man looking into the shop window, the girl in the bar, the hotel lobby, the curry powder, and yes, THAT hooded man: personal, powerful, original. It's the stuff of real travel guides; emotion, humour and observations from a heart that beats to the pulse of life itself. I am hugely impressed. And I believe that Fay, should she google herself and stumble her way into here, would be too. I will be back, and I may have a very interesting offer for the AD herself.
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