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Everybody’s Darlings – and Why I Don’t Usually Like Them

I will now talk about places I have travelled to and did not actually like that much. This is something that doesn’t often happen on travel blogs, as Andrew recently pointed out to me. His words were something like: „Everybody always writes about places they like. No one ever says: ‚Don’t go there, it was horrible!‘ That can’t possibly be true.“ He’s got a point. Now I won’t tell you not to go anywhere, because everyone has to decide for themselves. But when you hear which places I do not like, you won’t believe me anyway.

There are these places in Europe everyone loves. When you mention them on a twitter chat, or at a hostel, or on your facebook page, or just randomly over dinner with travel-loving friends, the reaction will always be along the lines of: „Aaaah, I LOVED [insert place here]. It is so lovely in [insert season here]. I could totally live there, especially in [insert trendy neighbourhood in said city]. There is a place on [insert famous street here] that serves THE best [insert local food here].“

I have a confession to make: These places are usually the ones I am not so keen on.

Oberbaumbrücke, Berlin, Germany

Berlin sure is everybody’s darling, eh? I’m not debating this one.

Of course there is exceptions. After all, the city I live in, Berlin, tends to be in the list of said places. So do a couple of places that I have never been to, such as Paris, Barcelona, or Venice. While I do want to see these places at some point in my life, I am not all too fussed about them right now. I am sure they will be nice and all, but I’m just not feeling a great passionate urge to see them very soon. Because in the past, Everybody’s Darlings have not necessarily worked for me.

This especially goes for the three I am about to discuss now. I can already hear everyone screaming „Sacrilege!“ and „Impossible!“ and „How could she!“ Ah well. Please disabuse me of my notions in the comments. Here go the places in Europe that everyone seems to love except for me.

1. Prague, Czech Republic

There, I said it. I am not a huge fan of Prague. As is usually the case with things like these, I suppose the circumstances weren’t entirely in my favour. I went there as a weekend trip from my voluntary service in Poland with five other international volunteers. I was heartbroken at the time for several reasons and while I liked the group, I didn’t truly connect with the others as much as they did with each other, and they set much focus on the consumption of loads of beer while I wanted to see the city. Also the weather was quite chilly and grey that March of 2007.

Prague Astronomical Clock, Prague, Czech Republic

People dream of seeing the Prague Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Square. I was semi-impressed.

While all that made it difficult to enjoy being in the moment, I found the famous Old Town Square to be ridiculously overcrowded and the famous clock to fall short of my expectations. I also noticed I should have done more research – relying on my travel buddies had not been a good plan because they basically just wanted to go from beer to beer. Generally for some reason I couldn’t hear the music in my heart that I had expected to.

I think Prague was overladen with expectations from my side that it could not live up to. Because of that, this one is probably at least partially my fault. I am willing to give Prague another chance. It’s just not very high up my list right now.

Prague Castle, Prague, Czech Republic

Prague Castle is an admired and cherished place for many travellers.

2. Dubrovnik, Croatia

For most travellers who have been to Croatia, Dubrovnik has been one of their highlights. For me it was different. The first couple of times I went to Croatia, I didn’t even make it down there. I had planned on seeing it on my great trip through the Balkans and was always sidetracked by other places that struck me as more interesting – Bosnia, Montenegro, or even just the smaller places along the Dalmatian coast. I finally went to Dubrovnik on my way to the island of Korcula and stayed there for three days in late August 2011.

Dubrovnik, Croatia

You think this is gorgeous? So do most people.

Bad circumstances to add to my dislike in this case: It was unbearbly hot. I had been travelling for 10 days and hadn’t found back into the rhythm of it, I probably should have started out with just some chill-time. And then I got ill and spend a considerable portion of my stay there between my hostel bed and the bathroom.

But all these things aside, there were many things about Dubrovnik that just weren’t down my alley. For one thing, I found it ridiculously overpriced by comparison to what else I knew of Croatia, and have been around that country rather much. I also found the street vendors to be particularly aggressive. There was a moment of peace when I stood in the market and smelled the lavender that people were selling. At once I was pressed from three men in English and Italian to buy some – and the moment was over. No one spoke Croatian, and in general I didn’t see why people were so much more taken with the small alleyways and red roof tops here than in any other Dalmatian town, like Makarska for example – I had visited that in the midst of high season and totally crowded, but I still liked it loads better than Dubrovnik. I think Dubrovnik doesn’t live up to the beauty other Croatian towns have to offer. It is overrated.

Alleyway, Dubrovnik, Croatia

Cute alleyways in Dubrovnik – but hey, not any better or worse than those in Sibenik, Makarska, or Zadar.

3. Vienna, Austria

The last one on my list of only-okay travel destinations everyone else loves is the Austrian capital. I have been there twice each for a couple of days and while I suspect that if I hung out around more locals, I could have seen a different side of it, it all comes down to this: Vienna is too pristine for me.

Karlskirche, Vienna, Austria

Karlskirche is beautiful, sure – but I just feel it could be anywhere.

There are not even really any bad circumstances to this phenomenon – no connected bad memories of an emotional kind, no sickness, no weather issues. Vienna just doesn’t speak to me. It has this specific kind of beautiful that seems to me like the majority of the girls on Germany’s Next Top Model. Pretty on the outside, hollow on the inside. No edge, no character. Just this very neat, preppy, clean appearance. I never quite got behind it.

Now what probably didn’t help was that I had fallen in love with Krakow before I met Vienna. Now that Polish little sister of Vienna has the same Austro-Hungarian architecture and coffee house culture, the same turn-of-the-century morbidity and grand artistic tradition – but it is just ever so slightly more run down and truly old. I find it to be authentic. In Vienna I always feel like I wasn’t pretty enough. In Krakow I can be myself, out of style or out of fashion, and still love the city’s beauty and originality. Vienna is like a living room out of a magazine – pretty to look at, but who wants to live in the constant fear of spilling red wine on the white couch cushions. Against Krakow, it was bound to lose in my book.

Schloss Schönbrunn, Vienna, Austria

Schönbrunn in Vienna – a fairytale kind of palace. I find it too clean.

I think all of this just proves how much about travel and discovery is about the chemistry between the traveller and the place, and how very much it is like falling in love. Some places – as some men – are perfect. But they’re just not for you.

What do you think? Do you disagree with me on my picks? Are there any places everyone loves that you don’t see anything in at all?

First Bosphorus Bridge in Istanbul, Turkey

This week brings you an iconic, a well known bridge again. It connects continents – Europe and Asia, Ortaköy and Berlerbeyi – Istanbul and Istanbul.

1 Türkei - Istanbul (1. Bosporus)

This is the first Bosphorus Bridge, or in Turkish Boğaziçi Köprüsü, that spans over Bosphorus strait in the heart of that amazing metropolis that is Istanbul. I have written one of my most emotional blog posts about this city, and I consider it to be one of my places of desire, a true Sehnsuchtsort that my heart always aches for a little bit. Maybe it has spoken to me so much from the very beginning because it has bridges, connections over water, at the very heart of its being.

Ortaköy, from where this picture is taken with a view of Asia, is one of my favourite spots in Istanbul. Not only do they sell delicious Kumpir (essentially a baked potatoe filled with cheese and different salads) underneath the bridge, also it is a lively place that yet lacks the hassle and the hectic tourist masses of the Sultanahmed area with the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. It is beautiful at every time of day with the light in its different shades playing on the water, and it feels a bit magical to be in this almost liminal space that seems to go by different rules than any other – it’s not like the rest of Europe or like the rest of Asia. It is particular and transitional, and funnily that has never made me uneasy, but always calmed me down immensely when I was there. I wish it on every traveller to get to see this place one day.

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!

The Sound of Bosnia

My favorite travel chat on twitter was on the topic of SOUNDS this week, and it made me finally want to write about a force that drives me in my everyday life like almost non other – music. When it comes to music and travel, the sounds of the Balkans have left a deep and lasting imprint in my heart

When I visited Bosnia on my Balkans trip, I fell in love with the city of Mostar. There, one of my favorite hostels in Europe, Hostel Majda’s, was offering amazing tours of the Hercegovina region. As we were dashing along Bosnian freeways through sometimes meagre, sometimes overflowing landscapes, our wonderful tour guide Bata would put on this song:

It is called „Miljacka“, which is the name of the river that flows through the Bosnian capitol Sarajevo, and is sung by Bosnia’s king of folk, Halid Bešlić. It is essentially a love song that tells of missing someone and wanting to be with them, and about betrayed love:

Jednom si rekla, nisi porekla, da sam za tebe jedini.
Mene si zvala, a srce dala drugome, da ga isprosi.

Once you said, and you didn’t deny, that I’m the only one for you.
You called to me, but you gave your heart to another, when he asked for it.

The lyrics are corny to a degree that I can only take in Slavic languages, and they really don’t correspond much with the feelings the song triggers inside of me. It transports me right back into the midst of green rolling hills, to rivers of an unearthly green-turquoise colour, to never-ending blue skies, whitewashed houses and pebbled streets in medieval old towns. All my love for Bosnia & Hercegovina washes over me when I hear this song.

I went to Mostar three times on my Balkans trip in 2010 alone (and I’ve returned there since, if only once). During my second stay, I took a day trip with a Canadian friend I had made in Mostar to the nearby town of Blagaj. We wanted to spend some time in the Tekija which, I swear, is one of the most spiritual, peaceful and truly indescribable places I have been to in my life. But before we treated ourselves to the peace of mind that we knew we would find there, we climbed up the steep hill to the old fortress of Blagaj which used to accomodate the rulers of Hercegovina. It is in ruins today, but it is still mighty and proud. If you know me, you can guess what happened when I got up there. I felt an overwhelming urge to sing. And I did.

Fortress, Blagaj, Bosnia & Hercegovina

And I sang this song:

It is called „Đurđevdan“, St George’s Day, and it was written by famous Yugoslav artist Goran Bregović. Like „Miljacka“, it is about missing the one you love.

Evo zore evo zore
Bogu da se pomolim
Evo zore evo zore
Ej đurđevdan je
A ja nisam s onom koju volim

Here’s the dawn, here’s the dawn
That I might pray to God
Here’s the dawn, here’s the dawn
Oh, it’s St George’s Day
And I’m not with the one I love.

Singing out in nature is one of my favorite things to do. You should try it sometime. It is so liberating.

My third time around in Mostar I hardly could tear myself away from the magic of the place. More posts will have to be written on it. When I finally had made a decision to leave, Bata came to me and told me that there would be a concert the next night by a famous Mostar based band called Mostar Sevdah Reunion, and that I was surely going to love them. Bata knew me well already at that point. Even though I had never heard of the band before, I was sure that if he said I was gonna love them, it had to be true. I extended my stay for the concert and never regretted it.

While the song „Miljacka“ is typical Balkan folk, and „Đurđevdan“ is essentially an old gypsy song that has been modernized and, well, balkanized, the music style you have here, in the song „Čudna jada od Mostara grada“, is very specifically Bosnian. It is called Sevdah – hence the name of the band – which is a Turkish loan word in Bosnian meaning a variety of things ranging from love over caress to longing. The song’s title means „Strange pain from the city of Mostar“, and it is again about disappointed love. In the song, a girl says:

“Mene boli i srce i glava,
Jer moj Ahmo s’ drugom razgovara!”

„There is pain in my heart and my head
Because my Ahmo is talking to another!“

The girl’s mother then tries to curse Ahmo, but the girl won’t let her because she still believes in his promises. It is all very endearing, and granted, the range of topic isn’t huge in Balkan music – it is always, always, always about love – but the drive of melody, the variety of instruments and the spirit that runs through the songs in unmatched elsewhere, I think. Seeing the Mostar Sevdah Reunion live, in Mostar at that, open air, and dancing under an endless starry sky, made the beat of the songs and the beat of my heart melt into one another. The rhythm of Sevdah has never left me since.

If you are on twitter, you should join my favorite travel chat #RATW, which stands for Reality Abroad Talk Wednesday, when you next have a chance. It is a weekly chat on Wednesdays 12 pm EST which makes it 5 pm for me in Berlin and a convenient end-of-work-day activity. It is hosted by the lovely folks of Reality Abroad who make everyone feel like family and are absolutely worth a follow!

Street Art in Polish – Gdańsk Zaspa

One of the things that I love about Gdańsk is the fact that every time I have been there so far, I have discovered new places and yet more incredible things. I owe this largely to the wonderful people I have met there and that have taken me to see things I wouldn’t have thought of myself. My latest visit gifted me with another hidden gem of the city – the quarter called Zaspa.

I sit in the hostel common room in the morning attending to my blog when next to me someone says: „Przepraszam!“ – which is Polish for „Excuse me“. I look up mechanically, and my friend Karol is standing next to me smiling. I’m up hugging him within split seconds. He is one of the people who, when I leave Gdańsk, ask me not if, but when I will come back. Having made friends that look forward to my returning there – that is a gift that I truly treasure.  Karol is off to show a bit of the city to two hostel guests, and I am totally up for joining them. So we’re English Terri, Belgian Dries, Polish Karol and German me as we set off for the discovery of Gdańsk beyond the Old Town.

After having shown us the university and the cathedral and the park of Oliwa (which I have written about before, but in German), Karol parks his car here:

Former airport, Zaspa / Gdansk, PolandDoesn’t look so spectacular, eh? But Karol is not only passionate about showing people around, he is also knowledgeable about the city’s past. This used to be the landing strip of an airport. Immediately things fall into place in my head. My dad has asked me a few times if the airport in Wrzeszcz still existed. I have also read about that airport in some of the novels that are set in Gdańsk and that I love. I never knew where that airport used to be, I was just sure that it didn’t exist anymore. Now all of a sudden I’m there, on the pavement of a former landing strip. And this is an important moment for me, because when my father, who was born in Eastern Prussia, today’s Mazurian Lake District, was five years old, in 1945, he fled from the Russian front with his mom and his sister, and they fled on an airplane that left from the place that I am right now standing on. Have I mentioned that I am in love with places that are densely filled with history? Gdańsk is paradise for me.

But the airport is not what we came here for. I have passed by Zaspa on the SKM, Gdańsk’s version of a metro, many times before, but I never seem to have made much of looking out the window – I figured this was basically just a residential area with socialist blocks. Seen those. Lived in one in fact. Not a huge fan. Now that we approach those blocks, I can’t understand how I have overlooked their beauty so far – which lies in the murals.

Zeppelin, Zaspa / Gdansk, Poland

A large part of the residential block buildings are dressed – yes, that is what it feels like, they are dressed up in enormous wall paintings. Socialist block residential areas have always freaked me out a bit – I find it so strange that they are really just residential. No shops. No life, really, at least not nowadays. Just house beyond house beyond house. Now what I see here, with the art surrounding us every step through the area, is very very different from that impression that I had so far.

Fingers, Zaspa / Gdansk, PolandThis must be one of my favorites. I love how it is hard to tell if the fingers are putting thet puzzle piece into the gap or if they are taking it out, and how that central dominant part of the picture is red and white – the colors of the Polish flag.

Budowa Jednostki, Gdansk / Zaspa, PolandThis surely wouldn’t be Gdańsk if not at least one of the over-dimensional works of art referenced the Solidarność movement, the trade union established in 1980 (notice the number in the mural!) that played a significant role in bringing down socialism in Europe and that originates here. The writing says „Budowa Jednostki“ – „The Building of Unity“. This is not just graffito. These walls ask to be looked it again and again. Karol tells us that their coming about was inspired by street art in the style of Banksy – cheeky, funny, yet deep. I find most of the pictures to be very Polish though, and very original and typical for this country.

Chopin Mural, Zaspa / Gdansk, Poland

This one is dedicated to Chopin, or Szopen, as the Polish spell him. Yes, he was Polish, not French. In fact he was so Polish that even though most of is body was buried in Paris, his heart was taken out and buried in Warsaw, as he had requested before his death. And while we’re at it, just for the record: Marie Curie? Also not French. Polish. Her name is Maria Skłodowska-Curie, as street names in Poland will proudly tell you.

Terri, Dries and Karol go on to do more exploring after Zaspa, I have to be back in the Old Town. Karol drops me off at the SKM stop. As the train moves through Zaspa on its way toward the main station, I pass by a bunch of the murals again. Going through here won’t be the same anymore. Another stop on the SKM route has gained its own specific face. I am getting to know this city better and better, and I am loving it.

I love you Mural, Zaspa / Gdansk, Poland

Thinking of Kraków…

Dieser Post basiert auf diesem deutschen Originalpost.
My first visit to Poland was when I was 8. The second visit of this place that I would come to love so truly didn’t happen until 13 years later. I had been learning Polish for two years and was excited and curious for this country that I had but a dim and distant memory of. After all, I had decided to make it part of my life by studying its language, culture and, above all, its literature. I signed up for a four week language course in Kraków.
Krakow Panorama, Poland
Back then, one rather chilly day in early March, I got off the bus from the airport at the main station just by the Planty, a green belt, a little park that encircles the old town. Looking up to a grey sky and breathing in Polish air for the first time as an adult, I was full of anticipation and a giddy nervousness, as though I was going on a first date. The church towers led the way, and I walked towards them in the direction I supposed the old town’s center to be in. I walked down Floriańska Street towards the Rynek, the main square. I didn’t know that Floriańska was a famous street. I didn’t know it led to the Rynek. My legs carried me on as if they knew they way, as if they’d walked it a hundred times. A feeling, nay, a certainty came over me that I had been here before. There was music everywhere. Pictures flashed in front of my inner eye, pictures of heavy red velvet curtains that I would see at Cafe Singer in the Jewish quarter Kazimierz later during my stay. My soul seemed to recognize the city from a former life. Until today I feel sure that this first visit to Kraków wasn’t actually the first. Instead, I was coming home in many strange, yet very natural and sensible ways.
Sukiennice
When people ask me today why I love Kraków, this experience is really the only answer I have for them. To be quite honest I don’t understand the question. Kraków was the first city I ever really fell in love with. I have been there many times since, and every visit just makes my love for it grow.
A collage of memories:
Sitting bei Wisła (Vistula) River, just below Wawel, which is the castle hill. A sunny day in early April. The river is making a large bend here, and it runs calmly and proudly as though it couldn’t ever run wild and burst its banks. In this moment I realize that I have never felt like a stranger in this city.
CIMG2229
Or having my first Zapiekanka at Plac Nowy (New Square) in Kazimierz. Zapiekanka is the Polish version of fast food: a baguette, essentially with mushrooms and cheese, grilled in the oven and topped with lots of ketchup and chives. Yum! And there’s no place in all of Poland where they are better than at the Okrąglak, the funny looking round building inmidst of the square that used to be a market hall. So say the locals, and so say I.
Okraglak, Plac Nowy, Krakow, Poland
Running across the Rynek, hurrying to meet someone or other, and from the tower of Mariacka, St. Mary’s church with the two unevenly high towers, the melody of the Hejnał is sounding out to my ears, falling right into my heart, and I have to stop and listen to it. „Hejnał“ (which funnily enough is pronounced something like „hey, now“) is derived from a Hungarian word for Dawn. It is a very old Polish signal melody. Legend has it that when the Mongols tried to invade Poland in the middle ages, a guard was keeping watch on the tower and sounded the Hejnał to warn the people of Kraków when the army approached the city. He was shot mid-melody so that he couldn’t finish. Until today, every full hour an interrupted Hejnał is sounded in all four directions from Mariacka’s tower. Yes, even in the middle of the night. No, it is not a record. Listen to it here.
Mariacka, Krakow, Poland
Having a kosher* dinner at Klezmer Hois in Kazimierz and accidentally stumbling upon a Klezmer concert in the room next door. I’m standing in the door way, covertly hidden away. In front of a  delicate dark red curtain with golden ornaments, there is a man with a double bass, one with an accordion and a young woman with a violin. Their play is sweet and snappy, lively and melancholy. Hava Nagila. Bei mir bist du scheen. The woman will at times put down the violin and start singing. Her voice is deep and velvety, it sounds like the dark wood boarding on the walls. Like the stone pillars and the lace doilies on the tables. From dark depths, the voice is softly climbing up, sighing high, desperate, the way Klezmer clarinettes usually do. I feel like sighing myself. Magical, magical Kraków.
Klezmer Hois, Krakow, Poland

Stari Most in Mostar, Bosnia & Hercegovina

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. From now on I plan to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog – ideally once a week. 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!

This is the Bridge that made me fall in love with Bridges.

Stari Most, Mostar, Bosnia and Hercegovina

When I first came to Mostar on a bus from Split in Croatia, it wasn’t a great start. The fifty year old bald bus driver made a pass at me, I didn’t find the hostel for an hour, and when I did, I was so relieved I started crying and had an asthma attack. But none of it mattered the minute I set foot into the old town.

I am in love with Mostar, with its complicated history and its cultural and ethnical difficulties, with the color of the Neretva river that is unlike any I had seen before I came there, with its people that have, or so it seems, never lost hope and radiate with the knowledge that it is a great gift to be alive, with its overflowing beauty and sadness and complexity and joy.

The river isn’t the line that divides the city into the Bosniak (muslim) and the Croat (catholic) halves of the city. The old frontline is, and it’s a few hundred meters to the right of this picture. I still feel the Old Bridge, or in Bosnian Stari Most, has the potential to connect the two halves. I learned from the locals that everyone loves the Bridge. It was destroyed by Croat forces in the Balkan wars in the 1990s, and was remodelled and finished in 2004. It is the heart and soul of Mostar, the city carries the Bridge in its name – Mostar means Bridgekeeper. People from all sides and backgrounds identify with the Bridge in this city – through their segregated schooling of Bosniak and Croat kids, through their different football clubs, even now that the Croat side is building their own bus terminal as not to have to use the one on the Bosniak side.

The Bridge brings them together as one.

Istanbul – A love of my life

Diesen Post gibt es auch auf Deutsch.

Istanbul and I, that is love for life.

Bayrampaşa

On the night bus from Vargas in Bulgaria, I feel a sudden jolt of fear. I must be out of my mind going to one of the largest cities in the world, all by myself, without even so much as a city map in my purse. I have no idea about Istanbul. I haven’t even read Orhan Pamuk! Slightly panicked, I still think that maybe a bit of awe will do me good. I get off the bus in Bayrampaşa and pair up with a young Swedish couple to find the way downtown. In the next few days, we will explore the city together on occasion.

Eminönü

There is water everywhere. Everything is blue and gold. Mosques oversee the city from the shores, proudly, powerfully. A Western orientalism is surfacing from inside of me, and I might romanticize the beauty of it all, but I cannot help myself: I’m enchanted. We go to have breakfast in the passageway below Galata bridge – the bridge of the Golden Horn, Haliç. The waiter speaks excellent German. He worked in Radolfzell at Lake Constance for five years. As a welcome gift, each of us gets one of the pretty colorful saucers from him. The Turkish yoghurt is dripping with a thick layer of honey and tastes like a summer vacation.

Bosphorus

It is windy and fresh on the boat, the sun is beaming, and so are we. Every look to the shore offers a new, ever-different, ever-constant beautiful sight. I see all those things and I don’t know what they are called or what their function is, I cannot tell if they are palaces, government buildings or sacred places. I have no presuppositions toward Istanbul, I am completely naive and unprejudiced – maybe that is why every new outlook comes crashing not only to my eyes and my brain which is struggling hard to comprehend the beauty; no, all the things I see find their way directly into my heart. A feeling of freedom, of liberation comes upon me there on the green and blue waves of the Bosphorus. Europe and Asia, modernity and antiquity, I find myself at the core of a gigantic metropolis of opposites that tries to merge European lifestyle and middle-eastern joy of life into a unique and wonderful entity.

Gülhane Park, Istanbul, Turkey

Sultanahmet

Through Gülhane-Park and along the mighty walls of Topkapı palace, we make our way to Ayasofia. The streets are full of life, tourists are recognized as such at once. Street vendors call after us, „hey lady! lady!“, they’re screaming, trying to sell us anything and everything – kebab, orange juice, jewellery, carpets. We can’t bypass the juice, it is squeezed right at the street stand and is so tasty, so fresh and sweet that I don’t ever want to drink juice from a carton again. We meet a sixty year old gold smith who is drinking his Çay next to us. He shares with us the wisdom of his age, the lessons life has taught him. Some I agree with, some I don’t.

Taksim Meydanı

I’m meeting Emre, my Couchsurfing host, in the evening at Taksim Meydanı. I’m early and give in to my darkest tourist cravings: Venti Iced latte at Starbucks. I haven’t seen a Starbucks on my trip so far anywhere, and God knows I haven’t missed it, but now that I do see one, an Iced Latte seems like heaven, and it is. Chaotic traffic, exclusively young people, an overdimensional Turkish flag, fancy hotels, Dürüm stands. Life in all its richest form at the roundabout around the metro station, fast and energetic, but I cannot find it in myself to feel stressed out by it. Emre and I walk over to his apartment on a cul-de-sac – and suddenly everything goes quiet. Dozens of homeless cats are playing games on the ridiculously steep and narrow street. The life of Taksim is raving just a few blocks away. It feels good being in this place right away. Good and right. Five days later, when I walk from there to my shuttle bus that will take me to Bayrampaşa, I will feel like I have lived here rather than just visited.

Fındıklı

Fındıklı is the metro station that I get to when I keep walking down toward the water from Emre’s place. At the shore of the Bosphorus I have my breakfast every morning – Starbucks coffee and börek. Bosnia may have the Balkan’s most delicious burek, but Turkey is the mother country of börek. The view over the water – indescribable. A playground where kids are yelling right across from me is putting a smile on my face. I don’t lose that smile for the entirety of my stay in Istanbul.

Gülhane Parkı

Rosehouse park, as is the English name, at Topkapı Sarayı is an oasis of peace in this gigantic megalopolis. It is green and colorful and inviting. I’m sitting on one of the benches, behind me two guys are playing guitar. I’m moving to the lawn, waiting for them to play something I know. Here it comes: „Wonderwall“. I’m starting to sing along, they invite me over, we play music. They are from Lebanon. It is very easy to meet people here. All of a sudden it starts to rain. I’m seeking shelter underneath a tree. A baby kitten is hiding underneath my long skirt.

Kitten, Istanbul, Turkey

Sultanahmet Camii

It’s loud and busy inside the Blue Mosque. Shoes must be taken off, but there is no need for a head scarf in the visitor’s area. Children run and play on the soft carpet. People are sitting cross-leggedly on the floor, tourists are reading out their guide books to each other, the camera clicking won’t stop. Inspite of this, it’s a deeply spiritual place. People are praying inmidst of life here, not in silent reclusion. I find mosques to be so much more inviting than Christian churches. I consider myself a believing Christian (although actually I believe in many things, but that’s for a different post), but churches are so often intimidating in their unsubtle demonstration of religious power and greatness. Mosques just wrap you in a huge hug when you enter them. I think of St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome, and I associate: big and impressive. I think of the Blue Mosque. I associate: warm and alive.

Blue Mosque, Istanbul, TurkeyTaksim I

Taksim, oh, Taksim. I have lost my heart Taksim. Life is of higher density in this place than it is elsewhere. Emre and I are having dinner in a simple small restaurant. We pick the fish that they will grill for us ourselves in the window. With that comes a salad, and watermelon for desert. All of it is so intense, food has never tasted like this. A Canadian guy in Bulgaria said to me: “I didn’t know that cucumbers had a taste before I came here! I thought they were just water!” I feel like that with everything I eat in Istanbul. Emre and I are exploring the tiny cobblestone streets with their millions of street cafes and bars. We have a beer in a bar where there is never a song playing that I don’t love. I cannot even decide what I want to look at first, and everything is changing all the time, but it doesn’t go unstable or in any way uncomfortable, it is never disconcerting. Glistening colored lights on house walls. Cigarette smoke and the smell of Dürüm in the air. People meeting, on accident, greeting each other with a warmth that touches me, that touches places in my soul I didn’t know existed. The place is full of energy, infectiously so. Happiness is coming over me in waves.

Kadıköy

From Beşkitaş we take the ferry to Kadıköy on the Asian side of Istanbul. At Haydarpaşa train station, the place that Muslims traditionally start their Hajj to Mekka, we’re slowly entering the port. We’re drinking Turkish coffee at the shores of Bosphorus and enjoying the chilled out atmosphere. It doesn’t feel very different on this new continent. It does a little though. I can’t describe why. The clouds above Europe are turning grey with a thunderstorm. A sky of such width as I have never seen is stretching from horizon to horizon. That this city can be so massive and that there is still always so much sky to see!

Ayasofia

Ayasofia, the famous. A place on many Bucket Lists, from what I gather. A historical place. Beautiful. Unintelligible. To me, it makes me sad. Again I think of Rome, this time of the Sistine Chapel. My host mom said about it: „It was like a mall in there.“ Ayasofia is not a spiritual place anymore. It is now only a museum. Only? Maybe that is the one way to protect this incredible site from the claws of history, the ravages of time. It is difficult for me not to see Ayasofia as a holy place, but as a tourist object. I can’t feel it. It remains to me, inspite of its beauty, soulless.

Ayasofia, Istanbuk, TurkeyTopkapı Sarayı

I must have landed in the gardens of Alamut. Again I’m thinking that my Western perspective must be romanticizing the oriental style into fairytale magic. I wonder if a Turkish person sees Topkapı the way that I see the Prussian castles around Berlin, like Sanssouci in Potsdam. And if they do, then what would they find Sanssouci to be like? I lose myself in the different palace buildings and the countless gardens. In one room, a young man is singing from the Quran. I stand still for twenty minutes listening to him, tourists passing me by who don’t stop even for a second to turn their heads. Can’t they feel the power, the magic in this music?

Topkapi, Istanbul, Turkey

 

Ortaköy

„It has to be night,“ Emre says, when at 8 o’clock we are making our way to Ortaköy. We buy Kumpir and sit at the waterfront. Kumpir is a delicious dish that I know from a few small places in Germany in areas with a large Turkish minority. It is essentially a baked potato, but the flesh is mashed with cheese and filled with different veggies and salads – mine has couscous and olives and goat cheese and is beyond delicious. Boğaziçi Köprüsü, the first bridge of the Bosphorus, is lit up in all colors of the rainbow. A dark blue night sky is shimmering through a lose cover of clouds. Ortaköy Camii, the mosque, sits proudly and quietly behind us. Life is buzzing around us like in a beehive. The waters of the Bosphorus are making quiet, laughing littel waves, but they aren’t so unsteady as for the waters to go dull. Instead they are glistening like distorting mirrors. The shining lights are thrown back into the night air. The city offers everything, but it isn’t asking for it. Its greatest gift to its visitors is that in this place, they can just be. Whatever that means to every one of them.

Taksim II

Taksim is not losing any of its charms during the day. I buy a ring. I want to wear the city on my finger. The long precinct, İstiklâl Caddesi, is packed with street musicians. They play music of such different styles and sounds, the atmosphere changes on every meter with the music.  Emre and I are smoking Nargile (shisha), eating Dürüm (kebabs), drinking Ayran (salty fluid yoghurt) and playing Tavla (Backgammon). We’re sitting in a back yard with many people who are having Çay or coffee and where old books are sold. We’re just people watching. I haven’t ever found it so easy to find peace in a big city.

Haliç

The shuttle bus from Taksim to Bayrampaşa is going along the entire Southern shore of the Golden Horn. Once more I look over to Beyoğlu. On the horizon above Istanbul, a red moon is rising. I’m leaving this city ever so wistfully. I couldn’t stand it, if I didn’t know it with all my heart that I will come back – one day.

2012 in pictures

2012 has blessed me with beautiful travel experiences. As I look back on them, I feel very lucky. I haven’t left Europe much for travelling – but going through my pictures I don’t regret that. There is so much to discover in close proximity to my home. Join me on a quick recap of the beauty I have experienced in 2012:

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This was Chemnitz in Saxony in March. While everyone always claims it to be rather ugly, I was surprised at how much beauty could be found there. It is much more than just its socialist past.

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Istanbul – my Place of Desire, my Sehnsucht, my love. The first words I ever wrote about it were: „Istanbul und ich, das ist die ganz große Liebe“ – Istanbul and I, that is love for life. My trip in March, the second one I took there, will be followed by many more.

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Wittenberg – the city of Luther and reformation. The church tower holds writing that says: „Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott“, a famous Luther quote translating to „A mighty fortress is our God„. I went there in April on a volunteer gathering.

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At the Elbe river in Hamburg on the Saturday before Easter Sunday, there’s Easter bonfires every year. An old tradition, pagan, driving out the evil spirits of winter. Something I grew up with and that always makes me feel like home. Also I love fire. And I love water. And when the flames are reflected in the river, it is divine beauty.

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In Szczytno, Poland, my father was born when it was still called Ortelsburg. This is one of the famous Mazurian lakes in early August summer sun. It had a touch of eternity to it.

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This is Olsztyn in Poland. I just adore red brick stone…

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… and because I love it, I loved this church in Vilnius, Lithuania!!

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But the Baltics had more to offer than city life. This is a castle park in Cesis in Gauja national park in Latvia, named after…

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… the river Gauja!!

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The Latvian capital Riga was possibly my favorite city in the Baltics. It reminds me a lot of my mother’s home town, Bremen – no wonder, since Riga was founded by monks who came from exactly that German city in the middle ages.

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Riga was followed by Estonia’s Tallinn in all its medieval beauty. This is a modern site though – the Song Festival Grounds where music festivals are held and just recently before we got there the Red Hot Chili Peppers had a gig too. Imagine all of this filled with a huge choir singing folk songs… one day I will go to the Tallinn Song Festival. High on my bucket list!

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On my birthday we went to see the Estonian National Park Lahemaa. Bogs, swamps, forests and relics of Soviet times, a lovely tour guide who explained to us about cultural and social whatabouts in Estonia as well – it was a lovely start into the new year of my life!!

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The trip to the Baltics finished in late August with a three day stay on the Curonian Spit in Lithuania. Endless beaches, deep dark forests and the lovely sounds of the Baltic Sea – my heart grows wide even at the thought of it!

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In September I discovered a small part of the deep West of Germany – this is a shot of Hambach castle, an important place for the German national movement in the 19th century and one of the birthplaces of our modern democracy.

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My finish is my discovery of the year – Gdańsk! I fell for it long and hard. There is much more to discover about Tricity and the whole Kashubian area in the North of Poland. I am nothing but grateful for the fact that 2012 has given me a place that I could love so deeply. I hope you will follow me as I explore it further!

Tricity’s Waterfronts, or My Happiness

Making me happy is not the hardest thing: Let me travel. Show me something – anything! – that is beautiful. Make me sing. Bring me to one of my Places of Desire. Teach me something about the world. Or get me to anywhere where there is water.

Any of these things will put a smile on my face and love into my heart. Being in Gdańsk, or really in Trójmiasto – that is the Tricity area consisting of Gdańsk, Sopot and Gdynia – has made it possible for all the things on the list to be given to me at once. It can be really overwhelming.

It is cold this time around in Gdańsk – not that it was exactly warm when I came in November. As I walk from Happy Seven Hostel (easily one of my favorite hostels in Europe!) toward the Long Market, I wrap my scarf around my face to keep the cold from gnawing its frosty teeth through my skin. My own warm breath clings onto my scarf in tiny ice crystals. The pavement on Długie Pobrzeże, the waterfront street, is slippery and wet, frosted with a not so thin layer of ice on top of the snow. The sky is blue and shiny. The air is fresh. It feels like the first day in the world. As carefully as I feel I should tread here, my eyes are as though fixated on the outlook I am facing and that I love so much.

Gdansk, Mottlawa

There is the Motława River, glistening in the sun. The sillhouette of the Żuraw, the old and mighty city gate, stands still and black and mighty before the sun. As I approach the water, I see that it is frozen over slightly, and covered with half melted snow, and the tracks of swan and seagull feet paint pretty pictures on the surface. I walk towards the sun, and the light tickles in my eyes – the only party of my face that isn’t covered to be kept warm. Eventually I turn back, and I see this:

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Sunlight is suffusing the houses with its wintery morning light. It is not actually a warm light, but when it hits the red brickstone, the houses look like they were shone upon by an August summer sun. It is the red brick stone that savours the warmth of yet brighter and warmer days. I love the material more than words can say.

On a different day, I take the SKM to Sopot. I have been here once before. Almost 20 years ago. My memory of it is very faint, but it exists. It was summer, the August of 1993 to be precise, and I remember the beach to be very white, whiter than any I had ever seen. The sky was misty, and there were lots of white birds I suppose must have been seagulls – „No,“, said my mom when I related this memory to her once, „they were swans. Lots of them. I had never seen swans on the Baltic Sea before.“ I remember the Grand Hotel dimly – grey and big and mirroring in its slightly run-down morbidity many tales of former grandeur.

What will it be like to go there now?

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Through Sopot’s downtown, I make my way to the pier. In summer it actually costs money to go there. I find this in tune with the very chic, elegant spa-town feel of the main street. I am not saying that it isn’t beautiful. I just tend to feel a bit displaced when I encounter somewhere like this. Everything and everyone looks so gorgeous and tidy, and it makes me very aware of my jeans being torn and my hair being messy, and I’m practically waiting to slip and make a perfect slapstick fall that passers-by will sniffily pretend to have not seen. I’m missing an edge, because Sopot’s picture-book perfection is making me queasy. And then… then I get to the water.

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20121223-134527.jpgThere are swans and seagulls in the water. Fog is all around, but the horizon still marks a fine line between skies and earth, between eternity and the material world. The Grand hotel in the distance is white and shiny and I cannot believe that it is supposed to be the same place my memory held. I know that soon the look of the majestic and wealthy world class hotel will have replaced my old and faded image from the early 1990s that still exists in my head. I grieve upon that knowledge for a moment. I liked the unrestored Grand Hotel. It told a whole life story. This new one has nothing to do with me in all its phenomenal beauty. Incredible that we, a family of five, could afford to stay there 20 years ago. My mom and I found old bills in a photo album, dinner there for the five of us cost some 140,000 Zloty – in today’s currency rate that would be 35,000 Euros. Times change.

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My eyes go back to the water. The ocean is the same in an elegant place like this as in any other. My Baltic. Its waters connect so many places I have seen and loved. Skagen in Denmark, where Baltic and North Sea meet. Greifswald, my German college town. The Curonian Spit in Lithuania with its fir tree forrests and white sandy beaches. Latvia’s Riga and Estonia’s Tallinn, the lively and individual Baltic capitols. It calms me to think of these places.

On this weekend, there is also a quick visit to Gdynia’s beach. It is of beauty that is beyond my capacity to describe but in two words: Olbrzymia Cisza. In Polish that means: Gigantic Silence.

Tales of Gdańsk – Narracje

narracjeJPGThe last time I went to Gdańsk, I came into town for a Contemporary Art Festival called Narracje that consists of light installations that are projected on walls of different buildings throughout the city. Narracje [English: narrations] is held in Gdańsk for the fourth time, and its motto is the Shakespearian „Art thou gone, beloved ghost?” The website had me so hot for it that I just had to come and see it, and it has been all over my facebook feed, too. Speaking of ghosts, spirits, unearthly relics of the past in a place like Gdańsk and transforming all of this into art – there is basically not a thing about this that I do not like.

We are a group of six when we make our way to the Gdańsk shipyard where a large portion of the installations is set. I am beyond excited, because I have never actually been on the territory of the shipyard – and when we get there, it is so tangibly laden with history. Walking those grounds is like walking along where the Berlin wall used to be. I sense how the entire place is filled with energy, with spirits, how the area tells both of endurance and revolution, of suffering and victory.

We end up on a tour of the installations in the shipyard that is done by the curator of the entire festival, a Canadian of Polish descent named Steven Matijcio. I find his explanations very inspiring. All of a sudden so many of the installations make sense when at first glance they don’t tell me much, even though some of them are unbearably beautiful. I don’t know squat about contemporary art, but Steven combines theories, ideas and notions that I know from literary studies with a material that is strange to me. For every piece, he explains the installation’s immanent meaning first, only to relate it to the building that it is projected on and the entire space that it fills. In some cases, the work of art would be only half as meaningful, had they projected it onto a different wall. We start talking to him about 10 minutes into the tour. One on one his personal passion for all he artwork he is presenting in this festival comes across even more intensely. The day after I go to his tour of the installations in the Old Town, talk to him more, and enjoy it to bits and pieces that I can get all the questions of my chest that come to mind.

There are many, many, many installations that would be worth mentioning. I will just talk about two that I found most moving, but in very different ways.

The first is by Belgian artists Aline Bouvy and John Gillis and is called Venusia. We see it on the first night, projected against Hall 42a’s outside wall in the shipyard. The name of the installation being inspired by Venus, it is obviously a piece about human interaction and relationships. A collage technique filmic installation with powerful, almost sacral music played to it, it is of eerie beauty and intensity with its sudden images of arms trying to reach and lips meeting each other. Prominent to me in it all are the takes of Eyes of different shape and color, all merging into one as though to create the image of one vision for the world, one love, and one mother goddess of all emotion. It is truly aesthetic and as I stand there, I wish I could see the whole 8 minutes, but we don’t have time. I found the installation on the artists‘ website for you though. Click here and scroll down to the very bottom of the page!

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Past and Present blend into each other at the wall memorial at the Polish Post Office

Angels of Revenge shows close-up film clips of people attired with horror movie props talking about what they would like to do to the person who has wronged them most on their lives. They are not actors, but real people talking about other real people and about real events. Having been cheated on. Having been stabbed in the back for a job or money. All of them adress their tormentor directly – they talk to the camera as though it was the person who has done wrong unto them. In effect, an onlooker of the installation feels like they were addressed. The hatred, the thirst for revenge, at times disappointment, but mostly just blind anger – all of it is hard to take and very disturbing. The things they say are just phantasies – but are they? Very, very bad words are used. The installation is in English with Polish subtitles. I finally start to read and try not to listen, because in English, without any notable language barrier, all the emotion hits me with yet greater force. The entire yard is buzzing with accusation. Connected with the history of the place, it is almost too much for me. I am glad that we cannot linger too long because I might cry. But if art is supposed to tear us out of stupor and make us feel and think and re-evaluate, than this has certainly done it.

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I have not managed to shoot any decent photos with my iPhone. I recommend Algebraiczny for stunning pictures. And I did put the 5th edition of Narracje in my calendar. I will be sure to come to Gdańsk for it next year.

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