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My Relationship with Berlin – „It’s Complicated“

Berlin – that place I have called my home for two and a half years now. That German metropolis that has no equal in this country (sorry, Hamburg, but it’s true). That explosion of history and high tech, of fashion and morbidity. That urban space in the midst of the Brandenburgian nothingness, that mixture of socialist concrete blocks and Nazi edifices, parks and lakes, Wilhelminian buildings and modern architecture. That eternal construction site. That city of bankrupt craziness. That hipster capital. Berlin.

This is my love story with her.

View of the TV Tower at Alexanderplatz from Dorotheenstraße in Berlin Mitte

Berlin and I go way back. The first time I ever saw her I was ten years old. My mum had a big birthday and her gift was a trip with all of us to Berlin. Part of that trip was a visit to the theatre. I don’t remember much, just how glamorous and exciting it was for me. Today my parents still tell me that the entire performance I was hanging on the actors‘ lips, ready to practically fall onto the stage from our seats in the first row of the balcony, and I am told that upon leaving the theatre, I said: „I have never seen something this beautiful in my entire life.“ Oh, the wisdom of a ten-year-old girl.

As I grew older, Berlin was the hipster girl I admired from the distance and wanted to be friends with, but she was too cool, too popular and too stylish for me. I came to see her every now and again – on a school trip, with my family, and later, in college, to visit friends who had moved here – and I was always equally enchanted and intimidated. It was strange and vast and alien. I liked coming here, but I always felt a weird sense of relief when I could return to the respective smaller, cozier place I called home at the time.

Radar Tower Tempelhof Airport, Berlin, Germany

Radar Tower at Tempelhof Airport – the area of which today is open to the public for walking, skating, kite sports, and any kind of recreational activity

In my second year of college, I came to Berlin for a three month internship. This is when I started noticing the strange pull that she had. I lived in Mitte, right in the center of all the coolness, surrounded by a life that was so intense it tore at my very core every day. I fell onto the big street I lived on when I left the house, and immediately the city seemed to scream at me: „Look, here I am! Do something with me! Visit me! Touch me! Party me up! Create! Fulfill! Live! Live live live!“ As much as I dove into it and tried to soak it up, being there for only three months, it overstrained and exhausted me. Berlin demanded a lot of energy and attention. There was no hiding away from her. Quiet nights at home were overshadowed by the life I felt roaring, blustering outside my window. I returned to my quiet little Greifswald after an eventful summer, and I felt like I had had a passionate and crazy affair, now to return to the partner that made me feel at home. I figured that Berlin wasn’t for me, not long term. At least not yet.

The German Cathedral at Gendarmenmarkt in Berlin Mitte – across from it you will find the French Cathedral which looks exactly the same

I returned to Berlin seldomly, and always just for a couple of days. Then in 2010, as fate would have it, I started my 5 month travel adventure by spending ten days in Berlin. I crashed at different friends‘ houses in Treptow, in Friedrichshain, Kreuzberg and Mitte, thus living myself from the East toward the center. I had coffee on top of coffee on top of coffee. I roamed the manky streets of Friedrichshain and the tidy ones of Mitte, I saw the hipster culture in Kreuzberg and the calm and settled residential areas in Treptow. I was once more ever so amazed at Berlin’s diversity, and I didn’t find her tearing me apart as much as I had felt it 5 years previously during my internship. I left Berlin, and the seed of longing had been planted in my heart.

Kaiser WIlhelm Memorial Church, Berlin, Germany

The Kaiser WIlhelm Memorial Church is left with its ruined tower to remind passers-by of the horrors of war

After my trip to Central and South Eastern Europe, I returned to Tübingen once more, but in my heart I knew I wanted to live in Berlin. That year I spent New Year’s there with one of my closest friends who had just moved there. On New Year’s Day we took a long walk at Rummelsburger Bucht, and I spoke to her about my wish to live in Berlin. Being in this city that was so full of life ignited such dreams in me, such notions of inspiration and fulfillment. I had actual dreams about coming to Berlin and living there. The city called for me on some weird, spiritual level I couldn’t possibly explain without sounding out of my mind. And here is the weirdest thing: Just after that New Year had started, I was offered a job in Berlin. Totally out of the blue. And within one single day, I knew my dream would come true. I would be moving to Berlin.

Details on the Reichstag building – where the German parliament holds its sessions

I have now lived here for 2 1/2 years. And I can’t say it’s always been easy. What I feel for Berlin has never been the deep spiritual love I feel for Gdansk, or the strong blood ties that bind me to Hamburg. It has always been more of a flirt, a fascination, and a passionate affair. Berlin still tears at my soul, demanding my attention. She still acts up when I don’t give it to her, but spend a weekend in my flat not doing anything. She still exhausts me with her hustle and bustle, her rude salespeople, her impatient drivers and her endless supply of entertainment opportunities. At the same time, the longer I am here, the more I love her. None other has challenged me like this. None other has taught me so many things. None other has made me tough for life like Berlin, and at the same time allowed me to indulge in sweet hedonism. She is perfect for me now. I am but in my twenties. I might ditch her for the safe haven in the future (most likely, I will). But right now I need to grow, and I need to grow from her.

The Victory Column in Berlin’s Tiergarten commemorates the wars in the 19th century that led to Germany’s unity in 1871

Berlin, you’re a witch, an enchantress, you’re a siren and a hydra. You’re about any mytholgical figure I can think of. You tear me apart and you put me back together, you take all my energy from me and you give it all back. I love you with all my heart. You are the place for me in this crazy, unstable, troublesome and beautiful phase in my life.

Have you been to Berlin? What do you love (or hate) about it? What does the city you live in mean to you?

Festival of Lights Instagrammed – A Colour Collage

Oktober 24, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 9 Kommentare

Every year Berlin lights up in autumn for the so called Festival of Lights. The most iconic buildings (and a few random ones in between) are then bathed in colourful light projections. To be honest, last year I didn’t even bother going. I figured it would be crowded, and that a few lights wouldn’t make an enormous impression on me. Now the other week I did an instagram post on the Pumpkin Festival. It was a lot of fun looking for motives, so the other day I asked my dear friend Ulrike of the Berlin photoblog ansichtswechsel if she would like to go for a little photoshoot with me to the Festival of Lights. And I learned: It wasn’t crowded, and a few lights do make an enormous impression on me.

TV tower at Alexanderplatz

I ended up taking so many pictures on my own that an instagram post didn’t seem to be enough and I had to do an instacollage one. You will find tons of pictures of this taken on professional cameras by proffesional photographers. My instagrams cannot compete there. But I do think they capture the atmosphere of the festival.

We started out from the TV tower and made our way from Alexanderplatz to the Berlin cathedral.

Berlin Cathedral and TV Tower, Berlin, Germany

The Berlin Cathedral to the left, the TV tower to the right

I enojyed the cathedral being bathed in flowers and pouting lips – it secularized the church and made it pop art. What neither Ulrike nor I really got was the salad projected on it – but oh well 🙂 It only got better though. Apart from the funky, colourful pop art patterns, there were beautiful and almost impressionistic installations that showed musical notes – in black and white first, then gradually merged with colour until the pictures showed visually exploding music.

Berlin Cathedral covered in music

After wards we went on to the Bebelplatz where famous paintings where projected onto Hotel de Rome. I especially liked how the windows came into play – one in the upper left corner was lit up, and the light came to play with the painting. At the same time, in front of the university building, two opera singers were performing beutaifule duets from different pieces. It was magical.

Hotel de Rome and German Cathedral, Berlin, Germany

Hote de Rome at Bebelplatz to the left, and the tower of the German cathedral at Gendarmenmarkt to the right

Via Gendarmenmarkt with the concert hall and the German and the French cathedral, we walked over to Potsdamer Platz – one of the weirdest and historically most underestimated places in Berlin, in my opinion. The futuristic architecture of today doesn’t tell of the role this place played in the 20s with its traditional and elegant shopping centres, and in the divided Berlin when this was no man’s land between the two Germanies. Now, the steel and glass constructions are perfect for light projections, and we couldn’t take our eyes off it.

Kisses from Potsdamer Platz

And it wasn’t only the walls of the buildings that were lit up – the ground was too, and the trees were shinign in an unearthly, eerie green colour along Leipziger Platz.

The floor, the trees, and me in the middle of it all

In between all the colours, there were quotes by artists – and I will close with this beautiful one by Picasso:

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

Potsdamer Platz

EDIT: For Ulrike’s pictures of the Festival of Lights, go to her blogpost about it here!

Pumpkin Festival Instagrammed – A German Thanksgiving

Oktober 10, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

As autumn is running its course and I have grown a little bit more domestic as of lately, I will have to write more about the joys to be found in the amazingness that is Berlin. You cannot possibly ever be bored in this city, and there is always something to discover. A domestic life in Berlin is probably still just as exciting as a few weeks of travel in some other areas of the world. I stroll through the city on small adventures, taking pictures with my iPhone, so very often. My first post of instagram pictures was on Leipzig and it was quite well received, so I think I will be doing instagram posts more frequently. In this one I am taking you with me to Schöneberg’s yearly pumpkin festival.

As far as neighbourhood festivals go, I feel like Schöneberg is the queen of hoods in Berlin: Primavera is their spring festival with a focus on asparagus, now the pumpkin festival is for autumn, and then there is the traditional and infamous LGBT festival in the summer. I quite like Schöneberg on the whole. It is laid-back, calm area with lots and lots of beautiful art nouveau city houses.

In between all of that, the pumpkin festival is on Akazienstraße and has your regular stands for jewellery, clothes, knicknackery and food – most of the latter offering pumpkin specialties adding to their regular offers. I have a heart-shapes waffle with apple-pumpkin-mush. Delicious! We also get to try different pumpkin chutneys and pestos, a pumpkin ginger jam, and of course pumpkin soup. There is also pumpkin decor on many stands. It is a grey day, but the bright orange does lighten it up a lot!

It also happens to be Harvest Festival weekend, in German: Erntedankfest. It is a Christian holiday (although not an official state holiday in Germany!) with some similarities to the American Thanksgiving. I remember it from when I was small as the weekend when our church would look especially splendid in its autumn decor with orange and golden flowers and corn. I am reminded of that as my friend and I stroll along the section of the festival that is actually dedicated to pumpkins, incidentally just in front of the Church of Apostle Paul.

The pumpkins come in all different shapes and sizes and have funny names such as Butternut, Hokaido, Baby Boo and Spaghetti. There are signs for each specific kind that tell you if you should grill them, fry them, cook them or pickle them. Some are round, some are long, some have funny pointy outgrowths that look somewhat indecent. But the way they are all lined up they are sure beautiful in their variety. And I do feel grateful for this harvest as I look at them and take my pictures.

Are there neighbourhood street festivals where you live? Do people eat a lot of pumpkins this time of year where you are from? Did you know they come in so many different shapes and sizes?

A Mystical Place – Kap Arkona on Rügen

Oktober 8, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

Kap Arkona. An intriguing name for an intriguing place.

It is a rather grey and rainy day as we get in our rental car and drive to Putgarten, where we have to pay the whopping 4€ for parking and then start walking. We walk through the small village of Putgarten with its clean tidy houses and cobble stone streets.

Andrew stops for recording songs every now and again. He will later use them for sampled pieces of electronic music. It makes me more aware of the soundscape that surrounds us. The little shuttle’s motoric roar on the pavement. The clip clop of horse shoes as a carriage passes us by. Wind, always wind swishing across the wide open landscape and the already barren fields. The light houses that we have seen light up from our bedroom window in Lohme at night and the sighting tower are visible early on over the width of the countryside.

We turn left at the fork in the end of the path toward the light houses first. The smaller one is made from red brick (my heart beats faster…) and designed by Karl Friedrich Schinkel, an architect responsible for most of the Prussian neo-classical architecture in Berlin’s city centre. It is almost 200 years old. Its taller brother is 100 years old and the one that we have seen light up. They look like Laurel and Hardy.

The lighthouses are quite iconic, but funnily enough, what gets to me more is the view of the tiny building across from them, just by the entrance to one of the two military bunkers. It is simpler and less considerable, yet the white and red colours against the grey sky glow and glisten in my eyes.

The two bunkers were mainly used by the military of the socialist German Democratic Republic, although one was built for the Nazi Wehrmacht. They house exhibitions today. Military history is not unusual up here, I have been to bunkers on the neighbouring island of Usedom, too. Andrew seems fascinated. I have never given it too much thought. Maybe because it makes me slightly uncomfortable.

We keep following the path that leads us to a small tree-lined alley. To the side there is a small stamped out trail in the grass. I suggest we go down there, through the bushes wet with raindrops. Just a few steps into the thicket and we get to the top of the massive cliff, to the overgrown ledge barely secured by a wooden bannister. The views of the Baltic from here may be the most spectacular we have had all weekend. The sun is breaking carefully through the thick grey clouds, the sea is howling under us, golden marram grass and even the bright orange fruits of the sea buckthorn are contrasting the reserved dark colours of sea and sky.

Andrew is recording sounds again, but all of a sudden he points behind me and tells me quietly to look – there is a deer, staring curiously at us, quite close and not really as shy as it should be. I carefully try to take out my camera and photograph it, but as it goes, the second I press the button, it decides to hide away into the thicket and I only catch its rear. As much as it has felt like we were the only two people in the world up here, I am enjoying the fact that we had a quick moment of company of an inhabitant of this magical and slightly mysterious place.

In one of the small souvenir shops, I go to look at the jewellery. The rings are tied to adder stones, or as they are called in German: Hühnergötter, chicken gods, – small rocks that have natural holes in them. They are found on Rügen often, and according to ancient Slavic pagan beliefs, they protect from the Kikimora, a poltergeist from Slavic mythology who killed or harmed poultry and eggs. Today most people use them for decor, but they still remind of the Slavic history of the region – because the earliest settlements in what today is Northeastern Germany were not Germanic, but Slavic. I pick a ring with an amber stone. The saleswoman unties it from its adder stone and I start wearing it right away. It has intricate silver ornaments holding the tear-shaped amber. A mystical, a nostalgic piece of jewellery. It will give me bittersweet memories of this weekend and of this place that I love so much whenever I wear it.

Leipzig Instagrammed – A Fragment

Oktober 4, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 6 Kommentare

As I leave Leipzig on the train to go back to Berlin, the sun is setting in bright golden colours, sinking, falling onto and into the Saxonian fields and woods, swiftly changing the sky from grey to yellow to orange to red until the light fades entirely. I am quite sure that I will be on this train again fairly soon. I have had an initial fix. And now I want more.

Conference trips are great. They often take you to interesting cities, and if you’re lucky all expenses are paid. That is beside the fact of course that there is an ideally interesting conference to enjoy. The problem with conference trips is: You never have enough time to actually see the city. I want to take you to Leipzig with me nonetheless because I can see a love affair starting here, and my small number of impressions may be all the more powerful because they are few. I did not even take out my proper camera. Therefore, my impressions come to you through the filters of our ever so beloved instagram.

Granted I had been quite sure I would enjoy Leipzig. It had been described to me as the new Berlin; or as Berlin, but more cozy; or as Berlin, but less gentrified; or as Berlin, but *gasp* cheaper (I know, incredible, right?). Basically it had sounded like a more perfect version of the German capital. And it may very well be. It is green and friendly, incredibly lively, the streets are lined with the secession buildings I love so much, beautifully restored and glowing in their clean white, pale yellow or light grey paint – or with colourful street art.

The city centre combines modern architecture and old buildings to a harmonic whole. Street musicians entertain the crowds, and people take their time to linger for a while and listen. There is an exceptionally high number of kids running and playing on the green strips downtown, and your obligatory group of punks is hanging out right next to the screaming children. I must admit that I thought Leipzig would be somewhat more morbid, dark, and bohemian. I find it quite clean. But I instantly feel that it would be a city that I would absolutely love to live in. I feel comfortable here.

The conference is in Specks Hof, an old trade fair building with beautiful secession windows in the stairway showing allegories of different professions, but also of virtues. I especially enjoyed this man, symbolizing “Love for Peace”, and the woman standing for “Talkativity”.

In one of the lunch breaks I walk over to the market square. At the Forum for Contemporary History, a sign reads: “Careful! History leads to insights and causes consciousness.” Just in front of this, there is a statue that a colleague once sent me a picture of and that I am happy to now have seen myself because I find it deeply impressive. It is called “The step of the century” and shows a figure whose right side is stretching in the Hitler salute and marching in goose step, while the left half of the body is bowed down in submission and with the arm performs the socialist greeting, usually accompanied by the word “Friendship”. The figure’s head is crouched into the coat, as though in hiding, trying to gain distance from the totalitarian regimes the body language is so affirmatively demonstrating. The statue symbolizes a willing support of the system with the body; and an opportune and deliberate closing of the eyes to the injustice of it. I think it is, in its simplicity, one of the most powerful monuments to German history in this country.

Before I make my way to the train station on the last conference day to return home, I stop by Nikolaikirche which unfortunately is closed. Massive and influential protests against the regime of the German Democratic Republic (GDR), socialist East Germany, took place in and around this church in the autumn of 1989 and played a significant role in the soon to follow downfall of the wall. This part of German history, I feel, is quite present in the city centre. On the ground in the square behind Specks Hof I find an unobtrusive, small reminder of the Volksaufstand, uprising, in 1953, one of the first occasions when GDR citizens protested against their gouvernment. They were brutally chastised. The monument shows the date and the traces of the tanks that were used by the state power to regain power.

Since I cannot visit this Nikolaikirche, I make my way to Thomaskirche where the great German baroque composer Johann Sebastian Bach was cantor for quite a while and found his last home. There is a devotion taking place, and I am so lucky as to enter the church as an acapella choir is singing a beautiful and sorrowful piece that almost tears my heart apart. The church is very plain – after all this is deeply Lutheran country. Protestantism came into existence not very far from here. I love the beautiful dark red crossed struts in the dome of the church, and the plain white walls and pale reddish marble of the arches.

When I say that these few excerpts out of my perception of Leipzig are all I could muster this time around, I am sure you agree with me that it is not enough. I am once more convinced that there are diamonds to discover in close proximity of home – it is not always necessary to travel far.

Romantic Humility – Rügen’s Chalk Cliffs

Oktober 1, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

There is a view of the Baltic Sea from the bedroom window. I wake up early and witness the sky growing slowly lighter and lighter. Only last night after our arrival, we took a walk down to the beach and sat in the fading light of the sunset, listening to the eternal sounds of waves crushing upon the rocks. Not violently or angrily though. The sound was just steady, calm, inviting even – inviting thoughts, feelings and musings to surface from the innermost depths of our beings.

We didn’t talk much. Now in the early morning haze of an in-between phase at the verge of sleep and wake, the misty morning appearing outside the window and Kap Arkona shining through dimly in the distance, this feeling of peace is still with me. And at the same time I am excited for the adventures of the day.

We want to walk from Lohme, the small village in Rügen’s Jasmund National Park, along the coast to the famous chalk cliff called Königsstuhl, King’s Chair. Anyone who likes art history and knows about romanticist painting may have heard of Caspar David Friedrich, a German painter from the nearby mainland town Greifswald (a place I truly love). The chalk cliffs in this area were among his most appreciated motives.

He painted them in beautiful romantic fashion, expressing the depth of human feeling, longing and the almost desperate will to live all facets of life, be they good or bad. At least this is what I see in his paintings – and I will be reminded of this romantic emotional overload walking in the beautiful coastal nature of the island of Rügen today.

We start out by the beach, but soon we are not sure how to follow the path, because there isn’t really one. Because of that, we make our way up through the forest to the upper part of the hiking trail. It is somewhat exhausting to ascend from the beach, but walking on the soft forest ground is less hard on the feet than walking on the pebbled beach was.

The forest is thick and green in its last bit of summer gear. Rays of sunshine fall through the tree crowns onto the mossy cover on the ground, like spot lights trying to point to something exciting. But there is just silence and, far beneath us, the growling of the sea.

Every now and then the forest will thin out toward the steep edge of the cliff, and beautiful views will open up in front of us. Andrew thinks that the Baltic seems like a finite sea, not as endless as others. He says he finds himself aware of the fact that there is land on the other side and half expects to see it somewhere in the distance. I remember that I felt the same way at the Black Sea, and that this was one of the reasons that I liked the Bulgarian coast – because it reminded me a bit of the Baltic.

In this moment, I don’t think past the horizon, though. I know that everything comes to an end, even the largest ocean, even the longest hour. But this moment is eternal to me.

At the Königsstuhl, we just take a quick glance at the impressive cliff with its peculiar shape.

Then we descend to the beach over 412 steps. Downward this might be okay, even though signs warn us everywhere that it will be a good work-out. Being an asthmatic, I am glad I don’t have to do it back up. We now walk all the way back to Lohme down at the beach.

This photo is courtesy of Andrew – that is me wandering off in the distance.

The sounds of pebbles under our feet. The occasional scream of a seagull, maybe. The wind. The waves. The colours of the pebbles are white, grey, black and occasionally red. The sea is blue and grey. So is the sky. The cliffs are bright white. Occasionally there is a fallen tree, dead. Sometimes a bit of green emerges. I feel thrown back to the very basics of my being. Unobtrusive colours and sounds that make up for lack of excitement in intensity. Everything feels huge. Loud and vast and wide.

My stone

There is one tree trunk packed with stones and pebbles that people must have left there as though it were a tombstone on a Jewish cemetery. Andrew picks up a medium sized rock, I choose a smaller pebble, and we place them in the midst of the collection. It looks like a beautiful work of art. I feel great at the thought that we have left our tiny man made sign in this place.

Andrew’s stone

Once again, I think of Caspar David Friedrich. His pictures show humans in the face of the vastness of the world, they teach us humility. I was right in anticipating the feeling of his art to come into my heart. I felt small and humble in the face of nature’s greatness today. For a great intro to the most famous painting of the chalk cliffs, check this youtube video.

Luftbrücke (Air Lift) Monument in Berlin, Germany

September 29, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 2 Kommentare

Today we are back on metaphorical bridges. This is not an actual bridge, but a monument for one – the Berliner Luftbrücke, or as it is called in English, Air Lift. Only the literal translation is Air Bridge.

As you might know, after World War II both Germany and Berlin were under the control of the allies who had split country and city in four sectors for control. Berlin, having itself an English, American, French and Soviet sector, was in the middle of the Soviet sector of the country that was later to become the socialist German Democratic Republic. Between June 1948 and May 1949, the Soviets blocked the Western allies‘ access to Berlin. They wanted to take control of the entire city.

But the Western allies did not give in. They set up an air lift by which they flew supplies to West Berlin, and succeeded to keep West Berlin in their control so that it became part of the Federal Republic. The planes, called Rosinenbomber (Raisin or Candy Bombers), landed on Tempelhof airport, the Nazi built inner city airport that today is shut down, but open to the public for recreation. It always gives me the chills to go there and think about its history. The monument is just outside of the airport building.

Ernst Reuter, mayor of Berlin, gave a moving speech in September 1948 in which he called upon the Western allies and said: „People of this world – look upon this city and recognize that you should not, cannot abandon this city and this people.“ And they didn’t. The Air Lift is a symbol for solidarity and for the will to freedom and democracy, a bridge between peoples in times of need.

I f you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

Baltic Love – Rügen in Light and Shadow

September 25, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 5 Kommentare

My love for the Baltic Sea is endless. My eyes grow wide and dreamy when I talk about it, and I have an infinite supply of tales to tell about different cities, especially the hanseatic ones, along the shores of this most beautiful of seas. When Andrew and I made for two days on Germany’s biggest island Rügen, I was excited like a four-year-old at Christmas. I will soon tell you about our hikes from the little village of Lohme, where we stayed, along the coast with its famous chalk cliffs. But today all I want to share with you is my passion for the Baltic Sea in pictures.

My sister once said she prefered the North Sea, and when I asked her why, she said: „Because I like the Elbe River better than the Alster.“ To someone from Hamburg that makes immediate sense. The Elbe and the North Sea are less domesticated, more untamed, wilder. The Alster and the Baltic are calm and reliable – some may say boring. I cannot for the life of me agree with the last point. I have seen the Baltic shimmer in all different shades of blue and green and grey, I have seen it crushing towering waves onto the sand and lie still like a mirror. It has never once bored me.

One of the things I love is that the Baltic can change colour from grey to blue and back in a matter of minutes. Also I am convinced that the sky is of a more intense blue than elsewhere (if it is blue that is, and not overcast). I feel like the Mediterranean is always blue. Granted, a beautiful blue. But the colour range of the Baltic just seems richer, and sometimes a grey sea is just what I need. Grey and angry.

Images like this make me feel free. Where might that boat be going? Is it maybe without aim and just leasurely, idly swimming by? How symbolic of life is a boat on a sea – trying to fight through the storms it might encounter and trying to hold on to the peaceful sunny days?

The Baltic Sea is also so different from the Mediterranean or the Black Sea with their heat and palms and sandy beaches. Granted, you can have wonderful beach vacations by the Baltic, but generally the climate is of course rougher, harsher. I may like the Baltic better when there’s a strong wind and I’m wearing hiking boots and a rain jacket than when I’m wearing a bikini. The climate also grants that you have the most wonderful of combinations – forests right by the sea. When I walk that line between the rich green leafy thicket and the wide openness of the sea, I don’t need a Mediterranean beach.

I am also fascinated by the swans at the Baltic. Seagulls, yes, but swans? When we went to Rügen now, I was almost surprised that they were there. I had only ever before in the Baltic seen them in Poland. But there were loads of them, and watching them dive into the tiny waves for food or sliding by majestically on the water was beautiful. In this picture, I especially like the two to the right. They look like a long married couple.

When the sun sets at the Baltic, and the sky is exploding in colours that you don’t get to see even in the most beautiful sunsets in the city, light fades, and the sounds of the waves and the wind become more dominant than what is visible to the eye, I get calm and relaxed and I can forget my busy life for a little while. There is peace.

Do you have a favourite sea? Have you been to Germany’s biggest island Rügen? Would you like to go?

Bridges in Spreewald, Germany

Juli 29, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

About a hundred kilometres southeast of the German capital, the beautiful Spreewald, or Spree forest region, offers a lovely daytrip destination for Berliners. Here, the Spree river runs in many tiny reaches through deep green forests. There is an uncountable number of bridges around due to all the different waterways. My Bridges on Sundays post may come to you on a Monday this week – but it has more bridges than it usually does!

There are your regular ones like this one in the Schlosspark, palace park, of Lübbenau, with its gently curved bannisters that to the right go on to pass into a wooden fence. Those crisscrossed fences are very typially German to me and they are called Jägerzaun, hunter’s fence.

There are several of these bridges in Lübbenau that elevate above the water as though they were made specifically to make viewing platforms for curious visitors.

And there are also your tiny wooden footbridges that are really just there to help you get dry-shod to the other side of a creek or a swamp.

The intense green colours and the fresh air were a true treat. If only there hadn’t been so many mosquitos! I will write more about the Spreewald daytrip soon, surely – so stay tuned to learn about what Sorbians are and why I must absolutely come back to this place.

If you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

Abteibrücke in Berlin, Germany

Juni 23, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

Today’s bridge I haven’t actually ever crossed yet, even though it sounds quite intriguing because it leads to the Isle of Youth.

Berlin’s Treptower Park is one of my favourite green areas in the city. It is very big and has corners that seem completely undomesticized – you can actually feel like you’re out in nature, but you’re still inmidst of the big city with all its benefits of the way home not taking forever. The walk by the Spree river toward Plänterwald brings up memories with my lovely friend Ulrike of ansichtswechsel, whose blog you should check out for amazing photography. We like to take this path on our (by now almost traditional) New Year’s walk, when we evaluate our pasts, presents and futures together in ways that only girlfriends can.

En route you pass an island in the river which is called Insel der Jugend, Isle of Youth, and the Abteibrücke, the pedestrians‘ bridge that leads across the Spree river towards it. The bridge has a long history, it was built in 1916 already. I really like how it stretches between the two pretty towers with their somewhat functional architecture and bright red roof tiles. From what I gather, the Isle of Youth is called that because the people who liked to visit were usually young – there used to be a Youth Club on it. But why give up hope. Maybe one day I will cross the bridge and come to the other side younger then I started out. It never hurts to believe in a bit of magic.

If you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

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