During the latter part of the second world war, when Berlin was increasingly coming under the air raid attacks Hitler had promised would never occur, this call to scramble fighters in the Berlin sector was often heard on the radio: "Alle nach Bäre -- everyone to Berlin!"
In Bear city, I thought of this often.
I have long harboured a secret desire to visit the capital of Germany. My first German textbook in high school, Deutsches Leben, Erster Teil, had a map of the city as its frontispiece, and Unter den Linden and Tempelhof (the airport) and the Brandenburger Tor were all strange, attractive, far-away places to a 12 year old. Heidelberg, which I briefly visited seven years ago, is a great city in its own right, but it is not Berlin.
When I told Dr Böhme (one of the GPs I see) of my intention to go, she was filled with enthusiasm, remembering childhood visits to an aunt there.
I used to work with kind Dagmar from Potsdam -- "Daggy", we all called her -- over 30 years ago; and, more recently, knew a charming young woman working in Sydney during a Wanderjahr after finishing high school who went there for university, and spoke highly of the city.
I had plenty of incentive to visit and look around.
The flight was before 7am from Gatwick, and to get there by train would have required me to catch a train around 4am, so I booked into a hotel near the airport for an overnight stay. I wanted to be at the airport around 5, and, with half-hourly transfers, I really needed the 4:30 transfer run. So I woke naturally at 3:30 in order to be awake at 3:45 for my alarm to go off -- having set it to waken me in time for a 4am wake-up call.
It was dark, wet and overcast when we left and, of course, I got through the check-in procedures without more problems than those of having to remove anything metal and then chase lots of loose coins around the bottom of that tray.
Then I had time to kill...
It was wet as we prepared for take-off. As previously, I had chosen a window seat, so I got a good view of nothing, at least for most of the flight.
I remembered reading accounts of bombing raids over Germany, of "10/10ths cloud cover" (can't see a thing), and thought of the slow, droning progress that the Lancasters and other heavy aircraft made across the channel and across France. How surprised would they have been, limited to under 500kph (from memory), to have seen how quickly the distance is now covered, and in what comfort.
I know they say, "Don't mention the war", but it is a reality which is moderately close in London and far closer in Germany, despite the distance they have moved on.
Approaching Berlin: a watery part of the world.
And the outskirts as we come down again.
Schönefeld Terminal buildings
A covered walkway leads from near the terminal to the railway station.
My friend who had worked near me had sent me useful instructions on how to get to my hotel. She has done the Berlin-London-Berlin journey a few times, and knows her way around the city. However, I couldn't work out what platform to catch my train from, or whether to buy separate train and bus tickets, or whether I could buy a combined ticket. It was all very foreign to me, despite the printed e-mail I clutched in my hand.
Several other tourists approached me to ask for directions, but we were all just bewildered together.
Eventually, I found an elderly gentleman from Köln who spoke English and knew a bit more about the trains than I did, though he, too, was bewildered about the correct platform to choose. He, at least, knew where the enquiries office was and assured me that they would sell tickets there.
Sure enough, I found the office, occupied by a tired but pleasant woman who really needed someone else to help deal with the steady stream. She spoke little English and I spoke little German (though it was coming back) and we eventually sorted out tickets as well as a printed itinerary for the journey. And instructions about finding the right platform and endorsing the ticket. I was pleasantly surprised by how cheap tickets are.
Schönefeld Bhf.
Water, water everywhere...
Bahnhof Alexanderplatz
Alexanderplatz was to be my train terminus, and next was to be a 248 bus to the corner of Axel-Springer-Straße. I was looking for Number 42.
But where would I find the bus? The station is vast, so is the adjoining square. Surely there must be a vast bus terminal as well.
Not as such. Plenty of other things, but no bus stop nearby, and only the advice that it was a six minute walk to where I would catch one.
I looked around me, and walked all over the land, but to no avail. Several people I asked were as ill-informed as I was. A bus driver waved his hand vaguely and said, "Dort!", but he was really merely keen to make sure I didn't board his bus, which was scheduled for a break, something I had already picked up from his destination board.
I went in the direction of "Dort", which took me across the road. In retrospect, he probably intended me to cross the plaza rather than the road.
I found a lady of about my age with a motorbike that would get her into any Hell's Angels chapter. She looked like a German version of the last of the Fat Ladies, but was most pleasant, explained where I should start looking, and advised me to get more help when I got there. "In der Nähe von Alexia," she told me. So I had a landmark to look for.
Over there I found some WWF people who pointed me the rest of the way to a bus shelter on the roadside, and I was eventually nervously underway on the bus two after the one I had anticipated catching. As I had said to Naomi before departing, I missed having Chris with me, particularly in a strange place where being lost in company is always far more comforting than being lost alone.
I also had plans for the afternoon, and was worried about timing.
Photos above: views from the bus shelter and nearby.
At last I reached the Hotel Lebensquelle -- not in the most salubrious part of town -- sharing a lobby with several businesses including a Physiotherapy School and good old Aussie CSL. The smokers and the stink of stale cigarette smoke in the shared space didn't encourage me to think of this place as quite the Well of Life that it claimed to be, but the man on the desk were pleasant though a trifle morose. He took my particulars, instructed me about breakfast and gave me the key.
I was in room 425 on the 4th floor, accessible by a lift which had an outer door that swung like an ordinary door, though it wouldn't open until the inner doors were open.
The corridors were dingy and looked as though they had had little maintenance, but were clean; however the room was a little haphazardly laid out but well-lit, clean and tidy. I was pleasantly surprised.
The next stop had to be lunch...
In my room: bed, benches and bathroom. What more could one want?
And the wi-fi worked at least as well as my home system.
I never got to checking the TV..
