The Wandering Two…

“All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin. And therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words ‘Ich bin ein Berliner!’

– John F. Kennedy

Berlin, devastated by Allied bombs, punished by Soviet artillery and imposed collectivism, is history alive. Today the unified capital deals admirably with communal guilt and distance from “National Socialism; 1933-45.” Monuments to the victims, the Holocaust, the Wall cannot be avoided by indifference or recalcitrance.

Overwhelming contrast between former East and West, blurring in some districts, remains.

Western quarters flower with prosperity, renewal, and a cosmopolitan civility. The monotone Eastern “neighborhoods” struggle to emerge from a crushing grey sameness – families gentrify previously faceless strasses.

Our welcome, Hotel Am Steinplatz, is an unexpected harbor in our journey. It is an exquisitely designed, intimately-staffed jewel in the heart of the film and arts district.

The immaculate sauna and hotel spa soon becomes addictive, albeit with trendy guests comfortable “schvitzing” in birthday suits.

After a cursory tour of the decentralized sprawl, we elect to spend our days in leafy Charlottenburg, the area surrounding our hotel. From here we stroll to cozy coffee shops, terrific restaurants of every persuasion, and fashionable boulevards rivaling Paris.

The efficient AB Bahn train provides access to other areas for ventures to the Mitte (Brandenburg Gate, The Wall, the Reichstag) or other recommended sights. Hauptbahnhof station with 6 levels, glass, tubes, and escalators is “Bladerunner” realized. We quickly realize that leaving the serenity of our ‘hood is not worth checking the required tourism boxes.

One excursion to the Eastern side is noteworthy: we attend the Achtung Berlin film festival’s World premier of “Rabbi Wolff”, an Oscar-quality documentary that brought the new Germany into focus for us. I chat with Rabbi Wolff, wish him well, and feel exhilarated being part of the festival’s SNL-like ensemble.

Clearly this isn’t my father’s Berlin.

All photos taken on iPhone6S+

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If you come from Paris to Budapest, you think you are in Moscow;
If you go from Moscow to Budapest, you think you are in Paris.

-Gyorgy Ligeti

Albert’s salon.
36 tulips in our bedroom.
“Heidi” chocolate from Romania.
Szechenyi baths on a summer’s day.
Doner kebab on the Oktogon.
Fat-bellied ping-pong in the park.
Hungarian stews.
Lemon basil sorbet.
Alexandra’s ceiling.
Toby the dog.
Public photo paranoia.
Cute state-subsidy babies.
Toby the dog likes strawberries.
Hipsters in the ghetto.
Ruin bars.
Bed bug party-hostels.
Drunken British bachelor parties.
Chinese discount-store duffle bag.
Piano pyrotechnics dazzle at Liszt Institute.
There are no rules; just make it gold.
Surprising local wines.
Sour cream.
Facades worthy of an empire.
Italians, Russians, Americans, Koreans.
Dog shit.
Graffiti upgrades the neighborhood.
Ancient Andrassy subway.
Soviets, just here to help.
More sour cream, please.
Hip barbers–no ladies.
“Don’t take my picture”.
Alcoholics unanimous.
Cute dogs.
Old Commies.
Street food.
Queen of Spades amazes.
The Hungarian Radio Orchestra.
Transcendental Liszt.
92 steps up to Albert’s.
Brooklyn on the Danube.
Pigeons.
Dogs off leash.
Mazel Tov tapas.
Robotic car park.
Urine.
Cool sunglasses.
District 8 discovered.
Day trips rejected.
Rooster testicle goulash.
Sunday lunch post-concert at Menza.
Beet risotto, where have you been?
Soaring architecture.
Gellert baths on a winter’s day.
It feels like where I come from.

All photos taken on iPhone6S+

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“A representational photograph says, ‘this is what Vienna looked like.’ An interpretational photograph goes one better and says, ‘this is what Vienna was like. This is how I felt about it’.”

– David DuChemin

High drama at the Spanish Stables!

Roma (Gypsy) thieves/pickpockets make two runs at Lisa’s backpack just after we arrive in Vienna’s Imperial Centrum.

Two teenagers, male and female, nicely dressed with trendy hair, reading a map every time we saw them to appear as tourists. We realize later they are tailing us in the shadows (photo evidence appears at end-of-day review of snapshots).

We notice the clasp and drawstring of Lisa’s bag unexpectedly open (she senses nothing – they are artful!). Still clueless, we fasten her backpack and continue around the corner pausing to photograph the marvelous Lipizzaners in their street-facing stables. The plot thickens….a bump in the crowd.

Lisa softly gasps, surprised and perplexed: “that woman just touched my backpack”!

The Gypsies immediately turn and slither away silently. Alarmed, we check the bag – nothing missing –  apparently, they are thwarted again.

When we realize their larcenous intent, I give chase yelling “robbers! robbers!” I catch up to the pair in 75 meters near the Palace Gate among horses and carriages. The guy takes off down a side street, lost in the crowd. I yell at the anxious girl: “you are a thief!” while desperately looking for police to assist in her arrest. None in sight.

I don’t grab her or take possession of her large purse (which I figure contains other stolen goods). With no police around to corral her, she weasels off in another direction from her brother/cousin. A peripheral concern is a possible confrontation with their “manager”. I remain inexplicably calm throughout the action sequence.

Nothing actually stolen, although we feel our karma violated for a few hours. Now Lisa positions her bag front-facing, and we constantly survey for dodgers. (Saw some others today who had a puppy with them – seems they use the pitiful doggy as bait to attract “marks” to rob.)

No real damage. The upside is that Lisa saw me run real fast, and thinks I’m a HERO!

Once this Dickensian chapter is behind us, we ramble for four magnificent days among the tranquil treasures of this once-Imperial capital.

We know what we like, having been here several times before: coffee every morning at the open-air Naschmarkt; neighborhood discoveries alive with local citizenry; the pageantry of an obscure performance of the Czech opera “The Cunning Little Vixen” at the grand Staatsoper.

Dinners are a relaxed promenade in glorious Spring weather to favorite eateries. Huth, where crispy char is served over beet risotto; aged, stuffy Gmoa Keller for required Wiener schnitzel – where we are sure the Bolshevik revolution was conceived.

All photos taken on iPhone6s+

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