berlin

So, I knew I was going to Berlin with my mother and aunt, which, naturally, meant it was going to be very cheap. This was exciting. I was also, however, traveling by myself for the first time. I saw nothing wrong with this, but in retrospect I probably should have expected some crazy antics to go down on the way there.

Well.

Apparently, people from the Netherlands do not take many trains to Germany. They take so few trains, in fact, that SOMEONE high up in the Netherlands rail administration was sitting in his office one day, and thought, "Gee, let's only run trains to Berlin from the Netherlands every four hours!" and all of his cronies applauded and so it was.

This wouldn't be so bad if not for the fact that the Netherlands train website neglects to inform you of a few things. One, by saying "you have five minutes to switch trains," the website actually means, "your train will be late and pull into the station exactly thirty seconds before the train to Germany leaves." Two, just because the train has the word "reserveren" next to it, it does NOT mean that you should stop and ask someone if you need a reservation to get on the train because if you do stop, the conductor will say "no, but you should get on because the train is leaving," and you will turn to get onto the train but the door will slam in your face, the conductor will smirk at you, and the train will pull off into the great white frontier, leaving you slackjawed at platform number two, wondering what the HELL just happened.

So there I was, standing on a train platform in Deventer, the Netherlands, backpack slung over my shoulder, with four hours to kill before my next train pulled in. It figures.

Deventer, as I found out, is a small town, but the streets weave in and out of each other like some ridiculous crochet peice, and finding a computer on which you can email your poor little mother to tell her you'll be four hours late is nigh impossible. It's almost old hat by now to see streets paved with cobblestone instead of pavement, and canals everywhere you look. There were banks everywhere, with huge glass windows that revealed everything that was going on within them - as though I really want to see what's going on inside a bank - as well as were adorable little storefronts peddling jewelry, which dangled and glinted in the sun and small cafes that I passed by longingly, but set my face straight once I saw their menus. Nowhere was there an internet cafe. I began to wonder if this place had internet at all - and then I found, of all things, a Mac Store. IT FIGURES. I sent my email - and started wandering.

Four hours later, I caught my train. Five hours later, I chugged into Berlin and started walking. Forty five minutes later, I got to Bonnie's hotel. Forty seven minutes later, I had a drink in my hand and all was well.

Berlin is such a city, and it seems as though it's awake twenty four seven; it's bigger than Paris, brighter in places than New York, and louder than anywhere I've been. Towering modern architecture meant that we saw stone buildings with pillars crammed up near boxy buildings that gleam with silver and gold plates, and buildings with all clear windows. It would have been a jarring sort of thing, if not for its prevalence in the city. Everything - and I mean everything, from the buildings to the trees to the construction equipment - was decked out in twinkling white lights, so that the entire city was made up of little glowing stars at night. Some buildings had spotlights in front of them, illuminating their faces with bright blue or red. The city was so thoroughly modern that it's hard to tell what makes it stand out from everywhere else I've been, but it did - you can see the sheer size of the city in the crowds of people that bustle from one side of a street to the other, hear it in the honking of car horns (more here than anywhere else I've been), smell it in the exhaust, and just feel it, the city pressing down on you - not on the brink of collapse, but holding you, pinning you tightly.

It's a city so full of history - the wall (you all know which one, I daresay) stands like a crumbling behemoth, tired and in ruins, coated with layers upon layers of withering, fading graffiti. We went to a museum and as tiring as it was to read lines and lines of text, it was a very cool museum; half Berlin Wall history, half nonviolent protest history. The walls were waxy white, but had been lovingly decorated with plaques and photos and newspaper clippings in an extremely endearing way.

Berlin's Jewish Museum was such an experience - the architecture needs to be experienced to be fully comprehended, so I'll settle for saying that it was an altogether educational, moving experience. There is one part of the museum where you are asked to walk across a floor covered in thick metal slabs carved into shouting faces; their mouths are wide open, wailing, and with each step, the noise is loud and echoes like screams up and down the walls. It is absolutely bone-chilling. I don't know that I can adequately relay the experience, so I'll trust that someday, you'll visit the museum so you can see what I'm talking about.

Overall, this weekend was one of relaxation - I spent two and a half days with my mother and aunt; we did a lot of walking, took in some sights, and I paid for one thing - my mother's souvenirs at the Jewish Museum. I ate like a king - well, okay, a plate full of meat and a steak at the cafe in Well isn't exactly eating like a king, and the king's mother probably does not pay for the king's food, but STILL. Good eats.

Next up: Ireland, days before St. Patrick's day - all right.
This weekend: Prague. Let's see if I can catch my blog up before then, hm?