Berlin Day 1: The Jewish Museum

This morning started out badly. I had a dream in which I had a pet bird, housefinch-sized. Most of the dream that I remember, he was my pet. The dream ended when I noticed odd colored orange blood all over the floor. I looked at my bird and found him dead, with a pin-sized hole in his forehead. Then I woke up. An ominous way to start the day.

Now, for some god-awful reason, all museums in Berlin are closed down on Mondays of all days. All of them, or almost all of them at any rate. I’m not sure why. I suppose they don’t like closing on Sundays, one of the best days for visitors to come, and they need to close one day a week for maintenance and repairs or some such. Who knows. In any case, that’s how it is. So when I planned out my activities for the day I was basically found myself with the following readily available options: The zoo, the Garden of Eden, Brandenburg Gate, and the Jewish Museum (the only museum open Monday. I didn’t check, but I suspect it’s closed Saturday instead).

Yesterday, two different sources had insisted that the weather would be good today. That should have been my first warning. It was pouring outside when I woke up. This took out three of my four options, and suddenly the indoor Jewish Museum seemed very inviting.

So I set out on my quest. It was, actually, embarrassingly easy. Either I’ve learned to navigate foreign subway systems better or Berlin has a nice, simple, efficient subway system. Probably both. In any case I got to the tourist information place pretty flawlessly, and the lady at the desk was able to direct me to the museum via the subway without any problem.

The Jewish museum was unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It combined a museum with architectural art, resulting in essentially an interactive piece of art or museum, depending on who you ask. To give you an example of the artistic design of the building, I’m told it has no right angles, though I don’t have this on good authority. What I can say is that I don’t think the floors were rarely flat nor the ceilings rarely parallel to it. The walls were inconsistently slanted , and its exhibitions at odd angles. It was very effectively disorienting. The architect also built several exhibits into the museum that served mostly to set a somber mood: the Tower of Exile and the Memory void.

The Tower of exile not just an exhibit, but also a large portion of the building. The “Tower” is essentially a cement-sealed void that runs up and down the full height of the multi-tiered building. There is nothing in this enormous chamber except the museum visitors and the thick, unpainted cement walls. Thus there is no electricity in the room, and though the door into the chamber is glass, the glass is so dark as to allow no light in. The only source of light is natural, and built into the building’s basic design. That source of light is an opening in the cement to the outside world. It’s at about 10 or 11 stories up, and though you can’t get a close look at it, I suspect it’s a very small opening. The light given to the people in the chamber is what has reflected down, from wall to wall, down through the height of the building. I could not decide whether standing in that room was more depressing or relaxing, but above all it was memorable.

The Memory Void errs even stronger on an unsettling note. The architect of the building intended it to be the brother of the Tower of Exile, a cement tunnel running vertically through a section of the building. An artist has expanded upon this with his exhibit titled “Fallen Leaves”.

To understand this exhibit, imagine a thick steel disc, about the size of a soup bowl. Now imagine a smiling face welded into the disc. It resembles a two-dimensional human head. Now imagine a pile of them, a pool of them covering the ground all over. Thousands of these metal disc-faces in a variety of sizes and facial expressions covered the ground across the Memory Void. It is the artists intent that you feel free, and even encouraged to walk on them. There is no other way to traverse the room.

“Sure” you say “I could walk on a sea of metal faces. That wouldn’t be unnerving.” But what you may not have taken into account is the sounds that metal discs make scraping against each other, or the acoustics of a cement tunnel. You can hear the shrill echoes of every step you take long after you’ve taken it.

It was easily the most memorable museum I have visited thus far. It had a surprising dedication to Jewish culture and History. I’d always known somewhere in the back of my mind that the Jewish had been persecuted throughout history, but I had never actually put that into a historical context outside of the Holocaust. I could have spent far longer there than the 3 hours I did, but it was getting late in the afternoon and I wanted lunch.

So I rushed my way through the last floor and made my way to a local café. There, I was conned into a buffet which had little that I would describe as edible on it. Ah well. It was food.

It was still raining after I had finished my lunch. Unfortunately this was not included in the plan I had for the afternoon, which was to visit the Tiergarten, which translates to The English Garden. What I had read of it made it out to be very beautiful. Since it was today or never, I decided to brave the rain and explore the Tiergarten.

It was late in the afternoon and raining lightly when I arrived. To greet me was a long circular road surrounded by greenery. At its center was an enormous, obelisk-sized monument adorned at its tip with a golden anger.

The garden itself wasn’t all that impressive. It was, in essence, a park. Lots of water and trees and plants, all arranged quite beautifully as nature will tend to do, but nothing that I couldn’t find within an hour’s drive of my home in America. But despite its humble demeanor (humble, at least, in comparison with the wonders I had seen every day in the past weeks) I was very happy to spend time there. It offered a serene and meditative surrounding, and I happily endured the rain for several hours to appreciate the atmosphere my surroundings provided.

Eventually the time came when I decided that I would have to either leave or miss dinner. As it turned out, I missed dinner anyway, but I also left.

My hostel is wonderful. The surrounding makes everyone open and social, and it’s the first time in a week I’ve had actual contact with people beyond the usual “Where are you from?” stuff.

I’ve met a goofy fellow american named Terry, a girl who speaks Hebrew, and two girls from Slovania, and they have all felt very friendly and warm to me. Though I’ve spent very little focus of writing on it, my stay in this hostel has been truly wonderful, and I regret how quickly I will have to depart.

Consequently, the old children’s cartoon Sylvanian Families bears no connection to Slovania, it seems.

My last night was spent staying up late into the evening talking politics with a man from Spain. He was well travelled, and had spent time living both in Scotland and in New York. We spent much time discussing the beauties of Scotland (I finally had someone who understood!), and he informed me that if I thought Scotland was beautiful, I should definitely visit Norway.

He thinks that the most significant difference between the cities he has lived in has been the underlying atmosphere and attitude of the people. The Scottish, he says, have a very different attitude from the Americans in New York, just as they are dramatically different from the population of Spain (I don’t know what city). He felt of all of them, New York was the most dangerous, and he constantly lived with the fear that offending the wrong person would get him killed. I wish that didn’t seem like a given for me. I guess that’s just how I feel in all cities.

Berlin Day 2: the Unsuspecting Awake

I slept in more than I’d planned today. I woke up, took a quick shower, and ate breakfast over idle breakfast conversation with two Slovanian girls that was well worth whatever time I lost for it. I can’t explain this phenomenon. Everyone here is friendly and personable here. I can’t recall when I’ve warmed up to people so quickly.

Well I can, but it’s been a very long time. It reminds me of the old Getaway days.

Perhaps the weather is right, the people are right, and the atmosphere is right so everything just clicks. Or maybe we’ve all just been travelling for long enough, either in isolation or with a companion, that when we’re put into a social environment our barriers just crumble. At least mine have. I sincerely trust almost every person I’ve met here with a certainty that is neither rational nor, I suspect, a good idea. But I do.

Perhaps the change is simply in myself, and everything else other people reacting to it. When people become feel trusting enough to drop their guards, I have always found that sincerity becomes easily seen, and people are universally more comfortable dealing with people they can read that way. Sincerity, like violence, beckons more sincerity. I wish I could show sincerity at will.

In any case, this has put me in a good mood despite the rainy day. It won’t stop me from exploring San Soucci park and palace. That’s where I am as I write this, by the way. Or at least, that’s where I’m headed. I’m actually on a bus at this moment. That information is hardly useful to you now though, as I’m going to stop writing here.

Foreshadowing

“A step. Just another step.” Allan urged himself.

He took it.

“And another.”

He took it.

“And another”.

He took another step.

Slightly chilled and uncomfortably wet, Allan had been trudging on in this fashion for over an hour now. His backpack wasn’t any help, and at the moment Allan was starting to suspect that someone had stolen the contents and replaced them with lead. He stopped for a moment to take a drink from his water bottle and as he did, his head strayed just slightly to the right. Just a bit too far to the right.

For a brief moment, a look of horror crossed his features. Abruptly he turned his head back toward the road and began marching twice his previous pace, closing his water bottle as he went.

“Allan?”

It was too late. Allan knew it was. Still, he pretended he hadn’t heard, and kept his steady, determined pace.

“Allan.” Logos annoyingly persistant voice tickled the back of Allan’s mind. “Allan, what was that to your right?” Logos voice was calm, but his tone demanded an answer.

“I couldn’t say, rightly,” Allan responded nervously, “didn’t really get a good look at it.”

“Allan, you looked right at it.”

“Oh.” Allan replied, noncommittally.

“And…?” the voice gently prodded.

“I told you I didn’t get a good look at it.” Allan responded irritably. Hastily, before Logos could prod him further he added “But it could have been, I mean I didn’t see it but if I had to guess…” Allan paused to gather his courage “It might have been some sort of ancient majestic and beautiful palace.” The last three words came out as a single stream of syllables.

Logos pretended to be surprised. “Oh my, how perfect! It’s just what we’ve been looking for, Allan!”

“Yes, but” Allan stuttered half-heartedly.

“Well why don’t we go up and have a look then.” Suggested Logos.

“It’s just that”

“Allan” Logos interrupted in that tone of his.

“It’s just that I’m already drenched from the rain and I’m”

“Excellent! That palace appears to have a very sturdy roof.” Logos mentioned cheerfully.

“It’s just that I’m so tired from walking, and we’ve already seen so many ancient majestic beautiful palaces today.” In response, Logos remained silent. Somehow, that was worse. Allan couldn’t argue with silence. He realized suddenly that without realizing it, he had stopped walking. Staring determinedly at the path in front of him, Allan took a defiant step forward.

“Allan,” Logos voice streamed through his temples, “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“Yeah. And when we went to that palace I spent all of my energy.”

“Okay, Allan. But when will you actually be in Pottsdam again?”

“Oh, don’t” Allan protested weakly.

“Never.” The voice insisted smoothly “You’ll never be back here again. Not in the next decade, at least.”

Allan came again to a stop. His shoulders slumped forward in a foreshadowed resignation. “You’ve seen many ancient majestic beautiful palaces today, yes, but you haven’t seen this one.” Allan stayed silent in response, but tilted ever so slightly to his right. “You’ll thank me, Allan, you really will.” Logos piped cheerfully. “Just a little bit of energy. It’s a bargain, really! You’ll remember this the rest of your life!”

And so it was that Allan began to trudge reluctantly, unevenly, toward yet another majestic, beautiful, and ancient palace.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

I think that’s a good way to introduce an indescribable day of wonders. Not that I won’t try to describe them.

the San Soucci Palace

It was almost noon when I got to San Soucci Palace, but my guide suggested that, due to the attraction’s popularity, it would be best to buy tickets before the afternoon in summer. So I figured on postponing lunch until after the palace tour. As I approached the palace, from outside the gates ,the courtyard looked very much like a Roman coliseum. Sets of marble pillars formed two halves of a circle, and a small stretch of pavement between them connected the beams like a line connecting the dots.

From the street, it looked both impressive and offered a refreshing change from the structure of many other grand buildings I had seen recently. A I walked higher up the hill and the Palace came into view, I was surprised at how small it seemed. The whole thing looked to be about the size I’d expect of a mansion. Unlike most mansions, though, the building also seemed to be made of white marble, with the center of the building capped with a large green metal dome. What looked to be a coliseum structure from the road proved not to be bowl-like in its interior, but completely flat.

The line I stood in for tickets was not a short one, but I did get it eventually, albeit expensively in spite of my student discount. But as with everything expensive but worth seeing on this trip, I had to assure myself that the price was really not all bad considering the experience it would provide me.

It was worth it. Though the palace was small, it’s architect, Fredrick I, certainly had a sense of style. In able to be allowed inside the palace for a tour, we were made to put on these huge, thick wool slippers over our shoes, so as to be gentle on the floor. No one else on the tour seemed to have a problem with them, but they drove me insane. Maybe it’s the way I walk, but the damned things kept going crooked on my feet, no matter how frequently I straightened them. But that is neither here nor there.

Fredrick I built his palace in the Rocco tradition. As neither art nor architecture has ever meant very much to me, let me explain why I care. A feature of Rocco style is that the room does not achieve magnificence through containing great pieces of art. Rather, the room itself is a piece of art. Thus, the overall visual appeal of the room was far more important to its design than was the comfort the room offered, or the practicality of the rooms use. For instance, one hallway boasted very ornate couches, the seats of which were far too thin in width to actually have a person comfortably sit on them without slipping off.

By extension of this philosophy, if the entire room was to be the piece of art, the room must refrain from containing any centerpiece as that would attract too much singular attention to one portion of the palace. You see, people cannot look at a statue and think “what a room to put this piece of art in!” The pieces must add to the epic nature of the room without competing for it. The room itself must be the piece of art, and thus uphold a sense of unity. Having any central focus to the room would fragment that unity.

So in each room there was not one, but dozens of pieces of impressive art or furniture. There was never just one picture on the wall, the wall had to be tiled with them. There could never be a singular sculpture, there were always several scattered around the room. And to tie everything together, Fredrick was very liberal in his use of gold paint. The stuff was everywhere – twisting and crawling up the walls in various patterns, often meeting on the ceiling in one swirling mass. It was so blunt a tactic as to be quite gaudy, but such is Rocco style.

The overall effect of the room was actually somewhat dizzying if you tried to focus on it. You are standing in a piece or art, in a room where the entire contents are eye-catching no piece could outbid the other to catch the eye.

Not every room was done in this style, however. When Fredrick I died, his nephew became king and he had several parts of the building redone. Judging from the results, I’d disagree with the decision. But one of the extensions, the Voltaire room (King Fredrick was good friends with Voltaire, who evidently stayed in the palace on several occasions), was redone in a very different, if somehow impressive, theme.

The room brings 3-dimensional artwork to the world of wallpaper, with 3-dimensional vines spouted from the wallpaper and crept up the walls. Scattered along these vines were parrots that likewise sprung from the paper.

I cannot be sure what the artist did to make this room, but the parrots did cast the illusion of being separate from the wall, even as many of their bodies protruded only slightly from the wall. While I enjoyed these parrots, my favorites were the 5 herons. Some looked serene, others agitated, and they gave no illusion of being separate from the wall as the parrots did. But I’m a sucker for the grace of a heron.

The San Soucci Palace Garden

After the tour, I went out back to view the palace garden. My guide had as much to say about the garden as the palace itself, and so I was looking forward to seeing it. Having now seen it, let me say: ol’ Fredrick really outdid himself. A long walkway from the palace’s rear exit led downward through more than half a dozen shelves of ground (it was once one big slope, but Fredrick had had the hill carved into the appearance of massive stairs that I refer to as ‘shelves’, as each stair is taller than I). This all led to a massive fountain with several statues of Greek gods encircling it. Between the various gods were half-moon shaped marble benches.

From the top of this walkway, one can easily see the spire of some great church in the distance. Past this pool is a bridge which crosses a brook that flows parallel to the palace. I spent a long time up at the time, making sure to capture the wide variety of photos this picturesque view offered, before proceeding down to the fountain itself. As grand as the fountain was up close, as it turned out, the fountain itself was far from the most interesting thing I noticed when I got close.

It was as I was circling the fountain clockwise that realized that there was more to this place than I had realized. A path led off to the garden’s left, walled by thick but trimmed hedges. I could see from where I stood that the path led to another fountain, very much like the one I was standing at, only slightly smaller. Peaking out from above that fountain was the top of an obelisk. It looked to be a good deal further on the path then the fountain. Momentarily I was stunned – clearly this garden was much bigger than I had realized.

But the garden was very symmetrical in design, and so when I turned around I was unsurprised to see that the path stretched not only to the left, but also to the right of the palace. And in the other direction as well, there was a fountain slightly smaller in size than the one I was standing at. Behind that fountain, a portion of a huge green dome was visible in the distance, likely belonging to a massive structure. I resolved to find out.

But as first thing is first, I decided to see if I could get all three fountains and the obelisk in a single photograph.

The idea was to line them all up in a row, get a slight angle, and snap the photo. In order to do this, of course, I needed to get on one side of the line of spectacles. Figuring the obelisk would fit in best if it was the last in line, I began walking toward the green dome.

Having set out on this path, I quickly realized how solid green hedges could play tricks on the eye in regard to distance. The walk to this fountain was significantly further than I had anticipated, and before I reached it I came to a crossroad of paths that, for the first time, opened vision up to my right. This allowed me to see a grand structure that, for my money, looked like a palace. It wasn’t the San Soucci palace, certainly, but it looked posh enough to be a palace of some sort.

I stared for a while, and I would have went to see it right away, but I refused to let even a palace distract me from my goals in photography. So I set out again for the fountain, resolving to return and investigate this place at a later time. When I reached the fountain, however, I found that it too opened into a crossroad. To the right was yet another grand structure; this one looked to be both a large building and a quaint-looking windmill!

At this point, I started pondering the exact meaning of the phrase “palace garden”. Naturally I has assumed that it meant ‘garden of the palace’ but I was beginning to wonder if the meaning might be closer to ‘garden of palaces’. I had only been down the path to one side of the Sans Soucci Palace, I could only imagine what was on the other side! Even as I stood at this fountain, a good distance from the palace, I still could not really see the huge green-domed structure at the end of the path. The path’s very narrowness (it really wasn’t all that narrow) effectively obscured the view, but the one thing that I could see was that it was still a good distance off.

I am a stubborn man, however, and if I wasn’t going to be distracted by one surprise palace, I certainly would not let some windmill distract me from my goal.

The fountain actually opened up to something larger than just a cross roads. It was actually a small garden in and of itself, with the shrubbery circling the fountain from a few yards back, and this fountain as well was encircled by sculptures.

After a good look around, I nicknamed this place “the rape garden” as several of these statues seemed to depict some very questionable situations. There were three statues featuring a naked man restraining a very unhappy looking woman. I felt the story mostly writes itself. A fourth statue depicted what might have been a consenting woman with a very rough man, but I wouldn’t bet money that this is the interpretation the sculptor intended.

Why would a king pay a small fortune to have his very own rape garden? I guess the better question is ‘why not’?

I took my picture, though the sizable distance between the objects made the picture as a whole turn out less impressive than I would have hoped. I considered exploring the palace to my right, but like a dog who always wants to be on the other side of the door, the amazing spectacles I must surely have missed were nagging at my brain. So rather than explore the grandeur in front of me, I reversed the direction of my expedition to find out what lay behind me.

I quickly discovered that the path going out left from the San Souci palace bore some significant differences from its counterpart. I found no castles on this side, but what I did find was an assortment of eccentric palace gardens, and large caves skillfully cultivated from the directed growth of trees and shrubbery. The tunnel, in particular, was most impressive. However, nothing rivaled the palace-like buildings I’d seen, so I determined to go back and explore the ornate buildings I’d left behind me.

Oddly enough, though I was headed to where I’d been, I found a different path to take me back in that direction. So far as I could tell, this second path ran parallel to the first, but I liked this second path better, for it was both scenic and less crowded with people. I’ve always enjoyed the path less traveled. This one ran alongside a trickling stream. Every now and then, I’d run into a few pretty statues. Once and a while I’d find a rape statue, seemingly random in placement.

A good deal off I thought I could see a third path running parallel to my own, but I couldn’t be certain it was even part of this ornate palace garden. Then, after I had gone quite a ways, this path opened up wide in front of me, to a building much smaller than a palace, but so highly decorated as to border on gaudy. Like a young child, I immediately forgot all thoughts of visiting the palaces I’d seen before, and raced ahead to see the one now in front of me.

Have I neglected to mention that a light rain had been dampening my spirits throughout the day? It had been. The rain really seemed determined to plague me in Germany. I suspect I have also neglected to mention the backpack I kept with my. Naturally, when I stuffed my things in this pack, I did so with an aim to keep my valuables unavailable to those in my hostel that might ‘appreciate’ them while I was gone. So I had my plane ticket, passport, the emergency cash I felt a tourist ought to have just-in-case. Oh, and a digital camera and my obscenely expensive Robin Hobb novel were there too, and as a result my pack was both quite heavy and important. Also definitely not water-resistant.

What were you thinking, past Allan? Screw you.

My solution to this issue was to put the backpack on before my raincoat, and keep the backpack under it. Things turned out almost painfully tight, and it looked like I had a pregnant woman riding on my back, but my things did, in fact, stay dry, even if I cannot say the same for myself. But I have wandered off topic.
As I said, I happily rushed toward this small but highly decorated house. It was further away than I might make it sound – the path was fairly straight and very long, so the first I saw of the house it was still a good bit away. Eventually though, I passed the rape garden and approached the house. To both sides of the house steps were life-size statues of gentlemen and gentlewomen, leisurely enjoying loitering around the stairs. For color, the statues were painted entirely in gold with no details to their features.

Big Garden

It didn’t take me long to purchase a Sans Souci garden pass, which let me into any building in the garden (Sans Souci palace not included) for 9 euros, nor did much time pass before I was inside. The interior of the house, however, wasn’t really as impressive as the exterior, and it wasn’t a very large building. Almost as quickly as I’d arrived, I was compelled to leave again in search of the two grand structures I’d seen before (and now had purchased entrance into. There was a catch though – the road I’d been on, parallel to my original for a very long time, seemed to wind independently past the building I’d found.

What ensued involved an hour and a half of wandering the entangled paths of this palace garden. By the end I was hot, wet, and wondered if the pass I had bought to enter all the buildings also entailed permission to use bedrooms within. Finally, however, I stumbled onto a crossroads meeting with the very first path I’d taken, the one leading to the right of the San Souci palace. I was significantly further along the path than I had been before. From the end of the path, the giant green-domed structure struck me as mysterious. Still, it seemed at least a small walk away from me.

I stood there on the garden path debating the merits of heading towards the green dome. Not once, but twice I began walking back toward the San Souci palace, only to have this nagging voice in my head insist that the small walk would be worth the mystery that was the green dome. More importantly, I knew that if I didn’t have the heart to walk there when it was this close to me, I would never have the heart to come back once I had put distance between us. Thus despite my lesser judgement, I turned on my heels and began toward the dome.

I must have walked a strong and steady pace for a good ten minutes before it occurred to me that for a short walk, the building seemed no closer than it had when I began my trek. Recall I mentioned how thin these paths were, and walled on either side with tall shrubbery? This had played with my perceptions far more than I had realized. Once I truly looked, it was clear that I had absolutely no conception of how close or far I was from the elusive green dome. It could have as easily been another hour away as it could another five minutes of walking.

Crestfallen and weary; tired and frustrated, I headed back to distant fountains, obelisks, and rape gardens. Had I not been in this state, I might not have been so shocked when the path abruptly opened up to my left, revealing – you guessed it – a grand palace-like structure. Honestly, I felt embarrassed that I hadn’t detected a pattern yet. It’s just so difficult to think of someone building structures of grandeur the likes of Maryland has never seen on a massive scale, let alone in some pattern.

In my defense though, this castle was the most impressive and grandiose I’d seen yet, including the San Souci palace itself. Picture it if you can: the property began with a fountain just off the path, followed by a huge yard of green ending just past the life-sized statue of a naked dude aiming his already-knocked bow (more than likely a character out of some mythology).

Then two sets of stairs either side of this steep hill leading to a small sheld with a grove of thick vines growing between poles forming a huge crescent, with a pool of water the centerpiece. Feeding water into the fountain were 5 handsome metal lions heads. Further up there were more stairs, then another shelf, more stairs, then suddenly palm trees everywhere! Elsewhere on that level were an assortment of huge pools in odd formations, all leading up to a statue of some lord welcoming you into the courtyard. Just beyond the courtyard was the magnificent structure that initially had attracted my attention. The place must have been as expansive as it was expensive. Thus, no matter how hard I may have tried to do otherwise, my tired bones would not let me hesitate on the matter of investigating this place.

The Orangery

The ensuing tour informed me that the place I had found was called the Orangery. Was it used as an orchard at some point? It’s hard to believe, but who knows.

Again they’ve got these over-the-shoes slippers they made me wear. Oddly enough, although the place was much larger and impressive in structure, no king or prince had ever lived there, and thus the interior sculptures and structure were generally less impressive. It did, however, have it’s own odd unity.

Each room’s walls were painted white, but each room had its own separate color theme that every artwork, curtains, and furniture piece followed. Honestly, I thought the whole thing was kind of silly, but each to their own.

The best part of the place though, was a room much taller, wider, and lengthier than the other rooms; it had a museum-like quality to it. Indeed, that was the intent, for the building owner had an expensive collection of copies of works by a famous painter. Now, I’m aware that there are numerous famous painters I’ll be more specific: someone.

I’m afraid I’m writing this from memory, and my memory is failing me. Maybe Rafael? But whoever it was, their talent and notoriety is on par with his. These paintings were clearly meant to be the focus of the room, and certainly they were all the guide mentioned. There were, after all, a huge amount of paintings. But what I appreciated even more were the statues.

Places around the room were statues with a common and interesting theme to them. They all seemed to be of young children interacting in different ways with animals. One sculpture was of a child holding two snakes, another giving a dog water. Yet another statue was of a child feeding a puppy. One statue was of a woman allowing an eagle to perch on her arm, feeding it from her hand. I suspect this was meant to represent a goddess, or someone from mythology. These were not the only statues, but I think you get the idea. I can’t help but wonder if there was a larger unifying theme to these, but if there was, I missed it.

At any rate, after the tour I visited the gift shop. There, I found a map of the entire area. After wandering the garden as long as I had, a map of the area was both refreshing and shockingly informative (though to the reader, perhaps less shocking). The area, for roughly a square mile, was spotted with notable grandiosity. I had seen only the tip of the iceberg, even from the outside I had only happened upon maybe a quarter of what was there. I could have spent a week exploring this garden; it contained more wonderment in a square mile than some countries could aspire to have at all.

This revelation should have struck me with awe, but having spent the time I had investigating it all, to see its true size after all that time seemed somehow chiding, as if the garden had been taunting me all day. See, by this time it was late in the day, of my last day in Berlin, and the last of my energy was more than spent. Surely the map must have known this and shown me the true extent of the gardens bounty only after it seemed out of my grasp! How dare this garden put so many wonders just out of my grasp, forcing me to leave them unexplored by Rathbone eyes?

Intimidated and defeated, I sulkily walked back down the steps, through the massive courtyard, and embarked on the path back to the San Souci palace – a new path once again, but this one was wide and straight, so I had know doubt as to where it led.

Far From Over

On the way I found a long walkway bordering the Potsdam Univerity Botanical Gardens. The walkway was wooden, decorated in an oriental style, and seemed quite charming. I stopped in my path and studied it, contemplating paying the garden a visit. On cue the rain started coming down harder. I started walking again.

Before long a familiar windmill came into view. Now I knew exactly where I was. What I hadn’t seen from afar had been the garden in front of the windmill, more welcoming in appearance than the Potsdam garden had been. Plus there was a place to sit down!

I took my rest sitting in a small wooden hut, scantily created from garden twigs and vines and roofed vaguely by leaves. It didn’t shelter me very well, but it was a place to rest my feet. As I looked around, I was better able to appreciate the myriad assortment of flowers that speckled this garden within the Sans Souci garden.

Of course, flowers weren’t all this garden boasted. It also offered, statue-framed fountains, shimmering pools of water, and my favorite – more tunnels crafted from living shrubbery. On another day I might have spent an hour or so here. Today, it seemed quaint in comparison to the previous wonders I’d seen.

So eventually I stood up. It was nearing 5, when all the palaces closed, and I had some fear that the tourist busses might stop running around 5 as well. So I stood up with the intention of making my way to the bus stop. To do so, however, I had to look to the right just enough to absorb three new facts.

1) The people few people coming in and out of this windmill might be dismissed as workers, except that some of these people had young kids with them, which in this area might label them as tourists. 2) I had never been inside a windmill previously in my life. And 3) The pass in my pocket almost certainly would allow me free entrance into this windmill if it was, indeed, open to tourists.

Once I put these together, I had no choice really.

Oh, there were lots of steps. There were an awful lot of steps. God there were a lot of steps. The thing was a hulking windmill. So I went in.

There’s not much to describe. The inside of a windmill, even a huge one, is pretty much what you’d expect. But it was cool to see the huge weird-ass wind-catchers spin by the windows, and I really enjoyed the experience.

After that I went back to my beloved hostel. In my entire life, I’ve never been so grateful for a half-hour train ride.

Back at David’s Youth Hostel I had a long and wonderful night of pretending to write in this journal while chatting with two Slovanian girls about the differences in our countries. They really didn’t make me want to leave the following day.

When they decided to call it a night I tried again to write, but ended up having my palm read by a middle-aged asian woman instead. It is sometimes hard for me to tell the age of women, especially some asian women. I was fully prepared to believe that she was younger than I was until she mentioned her 24-year old son.

I’ve always loved having my fortune told. I mean, I put no stock in the process, but it’s always interesting to have someone focus their attention on predicting how your life, specifically yours, will be likely to turn out (and in the knowledge that it will probably be a positive prediction).

She told me that I will have a long life, many women, and will do alright financially. She also said I have not one, but two career paths and suggested I might become a politician. I’d be surprised at how accurately she guessed one of my ambitions had I not spent the last half hour talking politics.

She said I should avoid marrying early and not to do too much worrying. She called me a warrior too. Fun fortune.

Leaving Berlin: I'll miss you Slovanian Girls!

Ok, I have a confession to make.; I wrong pretty much everything in Berlin day 2 ½ today en route to Munich. I was tired last night.

I’ve navigated the Munich subway system and without much difficulty was able to decipher the map well enough to get to my hostel. I’m actually quite proud that I was able to get here without difficulty. No getting lost and no need for further directions, what a concept. Go me.

STOP

Okay, go again. That was my dinner arriving. Oh god, it was wonderful. Pasta with mozerella, and some bits of what I think were eggplant. Oh man, some of the best pasta I can recall eating. I guess Munich isn’t so far from Italy. What a meal.

Now what was I saying? Oh, right, I’m here. I’m happy to be staying in my Hostel, the “Easy Palace” which has a name that rings well for me, but has shown few signs of the easy people you’d assume would be there. Oh well. It’s no David’s Crazy Youth Hostel, but it will have to do, for 2 nights anyway.

I’ve written over 13 pages today I think, perhaps it’s about time to quit and read a bit more of my book, maybe sample a beer once my belly clears. Peace out, yo.