tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26509463165078132122024-02-19T07:26:42.611-08:00Un salto nel buioGenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-49954662587568088972011-07-29T21:44:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:30:04.432-07:00Visual assignment 2First, the prompt from Jen and Chandan:<br />
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<i>We come to travel with our fantasies. These fantasies, at the border of reality, make the line between the real and the fantasized, the personal and the public, the outer world and the inner world ambiguous and porous. For this assignment we’d like you to offer one picture or image that you’ve taken here in Berlin that captures best for you the crossing of your fantasies about this summer abroad and the world of difference you actually found here in Berlin.</i><br />
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<i>Make sure to include a caption (200-500 words) that describes what you’ve been thinking about while in Berlin. Like memory, fantasy is also a supplication or contestation of socially made “reality”; “reality” is most often asserted as away of controlling what can be asserted as socially possible. What terms of possibility do you think your fantasy was contesting or playing into? For example, a specific racial script, a specific national script, a specific gendered script, a script of community and family membership. Was your fantasy and how it shaped your arrival/experience here in Berlin one that you think secretly desired a contestation of these scripts or did it ease your travel by conforming to normative possibilities? An example might be that you wanted to come to Berlin to be that every-American who found in Berlin the promise of late nights parties, dancing and an anything goes atmosphere, and found yourself being something very different. You will want to place your reflections within a context of migration and identity, and learning about the history of cities, states and communities. </i><br />
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My fantasy was of a simple, textbook-like Berlin. For example - Nazis: Bad. The persecuted: Good. Communists: Bad. Capitalism: Great. East Germany: Over. (Re)unified Berlin: Thriving. <br />
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But Berlin was not that simple, and it did not reveal itself to me like words on a page. I had to go find it, explore it, uncover it. And much of what I discovered was really, really awkward. And I'm not talking about "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" awkward - this is state archives, changed street names, lower and uppercase W's and E's<i>, </i>can't-tell-where-the-wall-used-to-be<i> awkward</i>. This is physical sites and symbolic rituals like those at the <b><a href="http://genniegebhart.blogspot.com/2011/07/for-state-to-remember.html">Bendlerblock</a></b>'s Memorial to the German Resistance, in which the state cannot commemorate the heroic acts like von Stauffenberg's without also confronting the immensity and ruthlessness and horror of the Nazi regime against which he fought. And that, as I stand at the gates looking in on the military ceremony, seems like all the more reason for the state to forget that Operation Valkyrie ever happened. <i>This</i> is uncomfortable.<br />
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The things that matter most to me about Berlin are the things that are not shown, and not discussed. They have physical manifestations in these abandoned sites I've spent the past few weeks obsessing over (see: <b><a href="http://genniegebhart.blogspot.com/2011/07/eelitz-bay-eilstatten-hay.html">hospitals</a></b>, <b><a href="http://genniegebhart.blogspot.com/2011/07/spreepark.html">theme parks</a></b>, and <b><a href="http://genniegebhart.blogspot.com/2011/07/backtrack-2-in-which-adventurers-picnic.html">military bases</a></b>). These places' heydays, the heights of their respective operations, coincided with Germany's darkest moments. Normal people did normal things here, at the wrong times. So today, we cannot heal our wounded where the Nazis healed their wounded, or train our soldiers where the Soviets trained their soldiers, or entertain ourselves where "Ossies" entertained themselves.<br />
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Instead, at these places I watched five layers of paint fall off to expose naked wrought iron. Which color did the Nazis paint? Which color signifies the point at which the Soviets occupied the building? And why, near the end, did the Soviets have such a thing for mint green? At these places I also marveled at the Soviet newspapers behind every sheath of peeling wallpaper. A hidden message from the headlines of the past? No, more like a DIY wallpapering trick that someone seems to have figured out, if the dates on the headers are any guide, in 1985.<br />
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To me, this is all novelty and irony and excitement. But if I lived near these places and had to coexist with them in my everyday life - and people do - I imagine it would be easier to not ask so many questions.<br />
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Let me make it clear that I don't think collective amnesia and state memory and all that jazz is a German phenomenon - it's not. We could talk about the Indian Removal Act, or Chile's 9/11, or the myriad ways in which all <i>x </i>years of my adult life have been, and in all likelihood will continue to be, saturated with hyped up, fear-fueled frenzy about "terrorism" and "illegal immigrants." (Clearly the Jackson School has taught me well.) But I'm at least used to these episodes of memory altercation, and have good people like Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert and the professors at my liberal university to wade through it with me daily and keep my head above water. But I don't know how to swim in German history. This is a history of which I still feel woefully ignorant, and a history that I tried my best to understand in just four weeks on the ground. I am leaving with an education that I did not expect, and will not forget any time soon.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-64819068453154253022011-07-26T11:20:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:30:02.397-07:00Backtrack 2: In which the adventurers picnic in the halls of former power<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning of Chapter 4 in <i>Inglorious</i>.</td></tr>
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(EDIT 7/28 - Today we passed all the documents to a German guy from the state archives of Berlin. He said the archives are generally interested in all things GDR, and that it's especially rare to find documents like these that the Soviets left behind. I think we all feel very good about this.)<br />
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Today Juliya's cousin translated the Soviet documents (how cool does that sound?) that we found at Kaserne Krampnitz this past Friday. (I mentioned these in an ecstatic blog post on the day that we found them.) We haven't been able to find much on the history of Kaserne ("barracks") Krampnitz, but the gist is that the Nazis moved their driving and riding school to the site from Hanover in 1937, the Soviets took over the complex a single day after the Germans abandoned it at the end of the war, and then they abandoned it themselves in 1992. Since then it hasn't been touched, except to make these movies called <i>Enemy at the Gates</i> and <i>Inglourious Basterds</i>. Maybe you've heard of them? <br />
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<br />So, the barracks. The first building we hit was the officers' <i>kasino</i> above, with all the very nicely cleaned and finished rooms that Tarantino and his crew must have used. Although this site was used for its fair share of WWII movies, the Soviets left their marks all over it--or, more aptly, obliterated any and all traces of the Nazis. We ran across a few fireplaces with eagle-shaped holes carved out of the walls above them. And, when we ventured into a four-story barracks building after the officers' <i>kasino</i>, we spotted similar signs of de-Nazi-fication on the front of the building--empty circles, carved-out eagle and swastika shapes. Of course, they also left plenty of Communist symbols and slogans. In one attic Juliya translated the phrase "The most beautiful clothing is the strength of muscle and the resilience of skin" plastered above news clippings of Soviet body builders! Sweet.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8HRfG99BXS7Uw3rV6FeRRniqyQ4P2dl2WTypnZAEHkS06PGMA9HZ1Jvgn32CYamIUdFpTRRh_9-QO6ekr-7WcA20CvxaCue3yyifn9EqCU5lnxycUMSS36wtwvUvpzalqlzB6r_Y7dQ/s1600/272477_10150248074402986_4604461_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8HRfG99BXS7Uw3rV6FeRRniqyQ4P2dl2WTypnZAEHkS06PGMA9HZ1Jvgn32CYamIUdFpTRRh_9-QO6ekr-7WcA20CvxaCue3yyifn9EqCU5lnxycUMSS36wtwvUvpzalqlzB6r_Y7dQ/s320/272477_10150248074402986_4604461_o.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Soviets weren't so thorough with all of their de-Nazi-fication of the complex, though. In the third building we found the infamous ceiling mosaic of an eagle surrounded by swastikas. There's some debate as to whether or not it's the real thing. Some say there's no way the Soviets would have left it intact and that was put up for <i>Enemy at the Gates</i>, but from recent viewing of said fantastic 2 hours of Jude Law's face I can tell you that I, at least, didn't spot any eagle mosaics in the film. Others say the Soviets painted over it with red paint and that the paint has since chipped off. From what we saw, we're on the "it's the real thing" side. (In other news, it was around noon when we got to the eagle room ,and Elizabeth and I were getting kinda hungry, so we camped out on a carpet there and picnicked on our delicious sandwiches from Le Crobag. Talk about irony. Maybe we're turning into hipsters.)<br />
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But the finds didn't stop there. We found a handful of rooms with maps plastering the wall--in RUSSIAN! Maps of Europe, maps of Asia. The world according to the Soviets. I bet they sat around in those rooms plotting about how they were about to totally take it over. Sweet. Photo ops abound. <br />
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We kept finding stairs and going up them until we got to the top floor, which seemed to be lots of offices. This is where we found "the documents" that Juliya and her cousin translated today. No juicy history-altering revelations, or dramatic "Hey, so I'm in Berlin, and you gotta hear about what just happened..." letters from 1989--instead, just stories about regular people doing regular things, which was almost better. Many of them were evaluation-like documents describing soldiers as honest, shy, handsome, hardworking, physically fit, reserved, disciplined, respectful, moral, putting others before himself. One detailed what kinds of books one soldier liked to read. In one of the little autobiographies a soldier stated that he "understands governments and political parties, the right way." One of the information cards detailed a soldier with a spotless service record for years who was suddenly caught drinking on the job five consecutive times as his service came to an end. Another soldier, a solid tank engineer, was reprimanded once for dressing poorly and another time for shirking work as a dishwasher. A big stack of papers outlined what food, equipment, and clothing each soldier was rationed, and how much each item cost in German marks. Lots of little stories. I liked them.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-52480201063068745062011-07-25T04:27:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:30:00.660-07:00Backtrack 1: In which the adventurers return to Bee-litts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I'm at the internet cafe on Rosenthaler, killing time before our last (!) lecture with Chandan at Humboldt in three hours. After a few weeks of buying 1.50 Euro tea and listening to blaring Motown remixes at Cafe am Engelbacken, we've discovered this gem of an internet cafe just a few stops away on the U8: two floors, benches with comfy pillows, some Amy Winehouse (RIP) gently wafting from the speakers, a bring-your-laptop-and-don't-buy-anything kinda crowd. It's like they knew we were coming.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The side.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>Anyway, this is the perfect time to catch you, my dear readership of people who share various surnames from my family tree, up on some of the adventuring that has gone down in the past week or so. We'll start with Beelitz last weekend. Juliya and I had only seen the southeast quarter of the complex on our first trip, so Brian, Katy, Juliya and I started with the buildings in the northwest. There's a lot more "town" north of the train station, and at one point we ran into a cute little cafe with outdoor seating. That would have been great, except that it was not 500 meters from three huge, ornate, abandoned, boarded buildings. WTF? All these German people were happily brunching on the lawn in the shadow of this roped off ghost town as if it weren't there. Generally, walking through a crowd of paying customers to duck under the red "DO NOT TRESPASS" tape and climb into the window of an abandoned building is not a good idea - so we kept walking up the road until we found another way into the compound.<br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>This is the first building we ran into. Yup, the surgical pavillion. The crown jewel of all creepy abandoned hospital buildings. This was the least boarded up of all the buildings we had seen so far--in the picture above, the front door was actually <i>missing</i>. Unfortunately, this meant that, in addition to giving us easy ways in, it gave everyone else and their mom an easy way in, so the building had suffered a lot of vandalism and a lot of graffiti. Destruction aside, we found some pretty cool spots.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The elevator shaft, complete with old gated elevator left on the top floor. On the wall next to the elevator was a note written in Sharpie: "ATTENTION. 02/09/05. This elevator is broke, take the stairs!" Thanks dude.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We weren't totally sure what this was--some kind of medical imaging equipment, or just a strange TV on a stand?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We could see this from the outside as we walked in, so we had to find it one we got inside! A big, tiled room with a domed ceiling. There were a few others just like this throughout the building.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This operating room (Juliya translated the Russian sign outside the door!) used to look like <b><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2036/2511362313_0a0b978c19.jpg">this</a></b>. Pretty creepy. It looks like everything's been taken, including most of the tiles on the walls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Russian for Juliya to translate! "My comrades the surgeons! Be careful!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We must have spent two or three hours running around this crazy surgical pavillion. On our way out we crossed the street to the northeast corner of the complex and found the fully-functioning Parkinsons clinic we had read about before. No exploring to be done there, so we headed back down to the southeast corner that Juliya and I had checked out a few weeks before. This time, we wanted to get into the building that Juliya and I hadn't found a way into before--the one with the "poisonous substances" chart in Russian sitting in one of the barred-up windows. We may or may not have brought a hammer with us, and we may or may not have planned to remove boarding with it....but regardless of what we did or did not do, none of the boarding or doors would budge. In fact, the hammer that we may or may not have had actually <i>broke</i>--the head broke right off the handle! So, even if we had a hammer before, we definitely did NOT have one now. That's what you (would) get for buying the cheapest hammer at the hardware store.<br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/282481_10100499017192448_10739539_57489663_3818153_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/282481_10100499017192448_10739539_57489663_3818153_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>A little bummed out--"What are we gonna do <i>now</i>?"--we headed to the other large building across the square. Juliya and I hadn't found an entrance into this one at our last visit, either, but it was worth a try. We found one open door, but it led into a dead end in the basement. Morale running low. Then, we ran across a barred-up, ground level window with a missing bar. The only problem here was that it led into absolute darkness. It was so dark that cold air was blowing out--when's the last time this basement saw sunlight? If it had been just me, or even just me and Juliya, the adventure would have ended there. When a dark creepy basement stands between me and exploring...yeah, I pretty readily admit defeat in that case. Brian, on the other hand, was totally game! He grabbed a flashlight and jumped in while we three scaredy cats waited outside. Ten minutes later he came back and led us through the basement, up some stairs into an interior courtyard, and through a kitchen-looking area to more stairs that led into the main building. What a champ.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/281337_10150248779012986_555682985_7619748_1778208_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/281337_10150248779012986_555682985_7619748_1778208_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup. Everywhere we go.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/283946_10150248778812986_555682985_7619746_6376897_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/283946_10150248778812986_555682985_7619746_6376897_n.jpg" width="131" /></a>From what we saw, this building look less ward-ish and more like an administrative building, or a special events building. The first thing we found was a two-story high tiled domed room with a bath in the middle. Why such a gigantic room for such a small bath? I don't know. After stopping to do one of our by-now-infamous "Jump on the count of three and say 'communism!'" shots, we continued exploring the first floor. This place must have been so beautiful when it was up and running.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264349_10150248785707986_555682985_7619882_5413521_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264349_10150248785707986_555682985_7619882_5413521_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/250166_10150248780232986_555682985_7619775_4478328_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/250166_10150248780232986_555682985_7619775_4478328_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/226061_10150248779407986_555682985_7619755_6424153_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/226061_10150248779407986_555682985_7619755_6424153_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>On the second floor, we ran into more "What could this room have been for?" rooms. One one side of the floor we saw glass doors with "Saal V" painted on them (prize for anyone who can figure out what language that is and what it means?). We opened them up and found this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/185543_10150248783022986_555682985_7619836_2164381_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/185543_10150248783022986_555682985_7619836_2164381_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There was a wide pane of dark mirror-like glass leaning on one of the walls, so we had some fun with that, too:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/270008_10150248780737986_555682985_7619787_6729231_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/270008_10150248780737986_555682985_7619787_6729231_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/281409_10150248781252986_555682985_7619801_4818295_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/281409_10150248781252986_555682985_7619801_4818295_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284504_10150248782497986_555682985_7619828_4085685_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284504_10150248782497986_555682985_7619828_4085685_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Right down the hall, we found Saal III. The doors to this room were already open--when we looked down the hall from Saal V, we saw color, but we weren't sure what it was....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/216662_10150248780572986_555682985_7619782_6096317_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/216662_10150248780572986_555682985_7619782_6096317_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>...until we went in. This had to be one of the most unexpected, most out of place rooms we ran across. We all had our theories - did pediatric put on plays here? Did the kids eat here? Did they recite cool Communist credos here about victory and fitness and being comrades? Did they have classes, or lessons here? Or was this just like the kids' hospital playroom? And the murals - did the kids paint them? Did volunteers paint them? For being abandoned for 10 to 20 years, they still looked pretty good.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284438_10150248783337986_555682985_7619840_1009073_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284438_10150248783337986_555682985_7619840_1009073_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, we did play in their little playhouse net to the stage, and yes, it was awesome.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/199910_10150248783672986_555682985_7619844_2382381_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/199910_10150248783672986_555682985_7619844_2382381_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/270689_10100499005635608_10739539_57489389_7790370_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/270689_10100499005635608_10739539_57489389_7790370_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of the mural around the stage--apparently some Soviet was into Vox guitars. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/248446_10150248783247986_555682985_7619838_858327_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/248446_10150248783247986_555682985_7619838_858327_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>After playing around in the kids' room we explored the rest of the floor. We never found Saals I, II, or IV, and I'm pretty sure we saw the whole building. Maybe they're in some other building? Just as we were getting ready to leave Brian found this spiral metal staircase, and suddenly there was a whole 'nother floor to explore! We couldn't quite tell what parts had been third floor and what parts had been less-finished attic back in the day. We did, though, find some very unusual graffiti. If these same tags had been in English and dated after 1995, we would have passed them right by with little thought, except for maybe slight annoyance at vandalism of this historical site. Instead, they're in Russian, and dated decades ago. Funny how the passage of time changes them, in my eyes, at least, from run-of-the-mill graffiti to unusual artifacts, traces of people who lived here or worked here or moved through here.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/285463_10150248784852986_555682985_7619862_6521651_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/285463_10150248784852986_555682985_7619862_6521651_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>We left thinking we may come back again, to figure out how to get into that building with the chart and maybe check out the whole southwest of this place that we haven't even stepped foot on yet. But now, with two days of presentations in front of us before we pack up and leave, it looks like this was our last trip to Beelitz. So, last night we watched <i>The Pianist</i> so we could try to spot all the scenes that look like they were shot there. (Pro tip: The house where Adrian Brody hides at the end of the movie and meets the kind-hearted German officer who shelters him as the Nazis take over the building--totally Beelitz!!) Until next time, noble <i>heilstatten</i>.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-29679371577417720232011-07-24T13:43:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:58.200-07:00In search of German foodRecently my grandma Betty emailed me asking how the food was in Berlin, and I responded to her with rave reviews of gozleme and my favorite Turkish breads and pastries. She replied with great shock:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Gennie, Gennie, Gennie....</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">What has happened to the German food? Where is the Sauerbraten, Rouladen, Kartoffelklosse, Wiener Schnitzel and Sauerkraut with Knockwurst or Brats?? I don't know if I can take this!</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpr0QkJfEGX-bY1nDLsLD0qlghF_Leq02h-pSR_ENQTqN_PszvQ9T7ykADkfHSEqAwofIXHgdVpA46xlycZAEGc3GacEdQVJwEUrAkBCgTr0W7oFaT20xXJaoR_PZIYjJ-WieD45j46I/s1600/IMG_2004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpr0QkJfEGX-bY1nDLsLD0qlghF_Leq02h-pSR_ENQTqN_PszvQ9T7ykADkfHSEqAwofIXHgdVpA46xlycZAEGc3GacEdQVJwEUrAkBCgTr0W7oFaT20xXJaoR_PZIYjJ-WieD45j46I/s320/IMG_2004.JPG" width="240" /></a>Let me explain. For the past three weeks I've either been getting pre-cooked ravioli and frozen pizza from Kaiser and/or Aldi, grocery shopping at the Turkish market, eating sandwiches from the corner store or any of the U-Bahn/S-Bahn stands, or enjoying my favorite simit from that place in Kreuzberg. Also, went to a hamburger place once and got a veggie burger with weirdly sweet ketchup on it. There are also all sorts of Turkish restaurants, mainstream cafes, pan-Asian cuisine, even a few Burger Kings--but I've mostly been avoiding them in favor of cheaper options. Not so bad for a student on a budget. Regardless, it has become very clear to me that, in my last days in Germany, I better find some German food!<br />
<br />
So this morning I woke up bright and early, took a few moments to catch up on final Tour de France recaps (no spoilers here, though!), and set out to Flohmarkt Mauerpark (the "Wall Park" flea market) to get myself an education. This market happens only once a week, on Sundays, so it was now or never.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoj3acn-CKArE6MpX_1aB8pfKKgm0I8AKaHuIWfnwh5fkN5oKjbnRiidxDnolwtTe5tAiE0kheGHJtK0evgqK7qLxLZ-MEw34KR5x0NYTfTQ6VfIMicWGWsq-oPcjbtzctL3YPUe2WGA/s1600/IMG_1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoj3acn-CKArE6MpX_1aB8pfKKgm0I8AKaHuIWfnwh5fkN5oKjbnRiidxDnolwtTe5tAiE0kheGHJtK0evgqK7qLxLZ-MEw34KR5x0NYTfTQ6VfIMicWGWsq-oPcjbtzctL3YPUe2WGA/s200/IMG_1964.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>When I got to the market, I immediately spotted the reason for the park's name up on top of a hill. Some Wikipedia-ing tells me that this area used to have the Berlin Wall and its Death Strip running through it. and that when the wall fell in 1989, all but a 40-foot section of the wall was taken down and the former Death Strip designated as public green space. The picture below shows just a small, small stretch of the market--it must have been five or six city blocks long!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqdPE7E0t30qOcSDRIbePP8dDxdJsAGpRixoidyB0MwCDL2NdvusXiVPiktdSXdS2GgLej_PVPmXhpWkZeik_7PCPx_FoECdL73fdZd3Y_pD55xOLIH90Fxm7u1DRqdkL6a4SmA4GLd0/s1600/IMG_1967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqdPE7E0t30qOcSDRIbePP8dDxdJsAGpRixoidyB0MwCDL2NdvusXiVPiktdSXdS2GgLej_PVPmXhpWkZeik_7PCPx_FoECdL73fdZd3Y_pD55xOLIH90Fxm7u1DRqdkL6a4SmA4GLd0/s200/IMG_1967.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down from the wall memorial.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I went back down the hill and into the market to commence my search. At first, I was only seeing random (but very cool) garage sale-like stuff set out on tables: records, door knobs, watches, jewelry, boxes, journals, hand-made soaps. I couldn't even take it in all at once--if you can imagine it at a sweet German garage sale, it was probably there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p3TISCRyBiEjnkvuKcrlAUNHt1CC5rotEPuMzuAmiljvIeYQzdPpkvVaRvVU7QQ2qnUdYUYLbsa6ftDXPnHbnqCzA1DLuCdGY1fJE14PhJruWlSt4UoZbeflH0P1ZDrBJ660jM1E5Vk/s1600/IMG_1970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p3TISCRyBiEjnkvuKcrlAUNHt1CC5rotEPuMzuAmiljvIeYQzdPpkvVaRvVU7QQ2qnUdYUYLbsa6ftDXPnHbnqCzA1DLuCdGY1fJE14PhJruWlSt4UoZbeflH0P1ZDrBJ660jM1E5Vk/s200/IMG_1970.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasIaOu0tC1ZrNJaPcRRuArkhhn6WOiAuSmLW2_Xwr16gDnpfH3pXmIubYfc3fSJZlQuxNXyvtygzbqGUVIVf0jbpJ41pn3z5IpxLze994snQn_MKGfIL6YIExbV9YsYJMKaKZMsqmK6I/s1600/IMG_1973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasIaOu0tC1ZrNJaPcRRuArkhhn6WOiAuSmLW2_Xwr16gDnpfH3pXmIubYfc3fSJZlQuxNXyvtygzbqGUVIVf0jbpJ41pn3z5IpxLze994snQn_MKGfIL6YIExbV9YsYJMKaKZMsqmK6I/s200/IMG_1973.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Soon enough, though, I started seeing food vendors. See photos below for the culinary journey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YTFQ0wTdVO1oWtxdGwhV9pOgEQqOjlx4I35rUPjlIb5hKDW1i2w23dbfSSd2jpEScsOfQXhshhdvir_HuoLMLIWAJCTfbG9jgwEpWrQsPm1D2EDkbabawzY_eeGLgufu7WeMpSveAvk/s1600/IMG_1974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YTFQ0wTdVO1oWtxdGwhV9pOgEQqOjlx4I35rUPjlIb5hKDW1i2w23dbfSSd2jpEScsOfQXhshhdvir_HuoLMLIWAJCTfbG9jgwEpWrQsPm1D2EDkbabawzY_eeGLgufu7WeMpSveAvk/s200/IMG_1974.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something about sunny vegan burgers, all in English. Not very German. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs8xDq397LSUrKEnmf2V4E2Bp1nOO-f0_1umNf91wajTiyZATIWCgSrRV43pI74wUEYgYYNKsLbZBhHFVHLfMDbV821K4Ur0l0awpdzd7kTe1xGiaX39KIAgaEvdNiYjBG5GKjH4Mkr8Y/s1600/IMG_1976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs8xDq397LSUrKEnmf2V4E2Bp1nOO-f0_1umNf91wajTiyZATIWCgSrRV43pI74wUEYgYYNKsLbZBhHFVHLfMDbV821K4Ur0l0awpdzd7kTe1xGiaX39KIAgaEvdNiYjBG5GKjH4Mkr8Y/s200/IMG_1976.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot dogs...not very German. Getting closer though?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvKyxTWpqMvaQ5Mp_iVAkrH5ZQh1isFvKYPrNuYuZk6BH2QoItJhFCyDi4wuGdg8mLCN7jLhqwY30It8ajLU9d1yLOis7g74IByCfVgpAq3i_m2SthjYTQm6dtrMo_haG1pJiqPLZXXk/s1600/IMG_1977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvKyxTWpqMvaQ5Mp_iVAkrH5ZQh1isFvKYPrNuYuZk6BH2QoItJhFCyDi4wuGdg8mLCN7jLhqwY30It8ajLU9d1yLOis7g74IByCfVgpAq3i_m2SthjYTQm6dtrMo_haG1pJiqPLZXXk/s200/IMG_1977.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl was my favorite. Her little sign says "Carrot cupcakes made by a redhead." I'm not sure if she's German or what, but carrot cupcakes definitely are <i>not</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfvSCMm7M9HG3_Hi_aqC2JawkGwAkV9RnMF6OgvR87PgeCnepy41U-Sk18AezBypx4NZ16CEGwm6NvHXCa8hN369TACGbDjjCb9S1dUCj_gkD7A2Tw5FLfEE5dEmBO7sVZmlTBqhbsO0/s1600/IMG_1978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfvSCMm7M9HG3_Hi_aqC2JawkGwAkV9RnMF6OgvR87PgeCnepy41U-Sk18AezBypx4NZ16CEGwm6NvHXCa8hN369TACGbDjjCb9S1dUCj_gkD7A2Tw5FLfEE5dEmBO7sVZmlTBqhbsO0/s200/IMG_1978.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doner kebab! Aside from the scholarly debate about "just how Turkish, or perhaps how German, is the donar kebab" (which, as a side effect of my research project, I know far too much about for my health) I'm gonna go with "not German" for this one. At least, not the kind of German Grandma Betty is talking about!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nxEcXY4RuBMVubjxmElWtwL0NU72kd-EhdP6U7ISv3IHddfZswwHAqLHBKU473MLuDTg2pXe6KYXh8nfv7kjeewF7lSEBd05CQJga0FnirG7xB6zeochrClcFK3UnC44V2cmZhvEuEQ/s1600/IMG_1987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nxEcXY4RuBMVubjxmElWtwL0NU72kd-EhdP6U7ISv3IHddfZswwHAqLHBKU473MLuDTg2pXe6KYXh8nfv7kjeewF7lSEBd05CQJga0FnirG7xB6zeochrClcFK3UnC44V2cmZhvEuEQ/s200/IMG_1987.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking more promising. But, let's face it - currywurst isn't all that German, either. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyfu0bql-pFevvg-Qt6RXsm_bMTRsFeEOvDO-_MmGpBxD0zn4mnCXWaSqF_5OnZ4abOi4pyFJgjzmqUifxodF_DcNQC59kWQ8uuRcrLbrXHMYOvBpOfo2gO9xVvyWKS3gZC7SRGWfauI/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyfu0bql-pFevvg-Qt6RXsm_bMTRsFeEOvDO-_MmGpBxD0zn4mnCXWaSqF_5OnZ4abOi4pyFJgjzmqUifxodF_DcNQC59kWQ8uuRcrLbrXHMYOvBpOfo2gO9xVvyWKS3gZC7SRGWfauI/s200/IMG_1989.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More currywurst - nope. This place also served rostbratwurst and knacker, which seem pretty German...but, I'm vegetarian. So close, but so far. The search continues.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1gB1tKimCCpH5NciiV04GtAHjxBaldvTk3zNXR4VELMVi3YfU-MtT4AJ3gTD7-2puxMmvMssmEQiH2t2cV0n7M1HygTTXsYEoz4GZYo5MQgaBmFJYCqGGloaQmseF48YT3lK7zvojeo/s1600/IMG_1992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1gB1tKimCCpH5NciiV04GtAHjxBaldvTk3zNXR4VELMVi3YfU-MtT4AJ3gTD7-2puxMmvMssmEQiH2t2cV0n7M1HygTTXsYEoz4GZYo5MQgaBmFJYCqGGloaQmseF48YT3lK7zvojeo/s200/IMG_1992.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strudel! That's German, and vegetarian! But it was stupid expensive. I was GERMAN German, not tourist-trap German.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-LGAqa4-86vEE8IdvmNfFmBRbcB-CS0aJnQRnJuLftAFY99-f5NWVTjiA_f46Z1WOMda5x16nLkl4fQa_pta3590CeSIDCVhBvUiJjgwmTv0-AVnEaJpPa_2Aa9ax6aRXkbeoXeO8kH8/s1600/IMG_1996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-LGAqa4-86vEE8IdvmNfFmBRbcB-CS0aJnQRnJuLftAFY99-f5NWVTjiA_f46Z1WOMda5x16nLkl4fQa_pta3590CeSIDCVhBvUiJjgwmTv0-AVnEaJpPa_2Aa9ax6aRXkbeoXeO8kH8/s200/IMG_1996.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one was my favorite so far. This guy makes jams and spreads (something that the Gaude clan specializes in as well!) with the craziest names. I saw Balsamic Strawberry, Salty Peanut Desaster (his spelling--it was actually quite good), and Coconut Vanilla, for example, along with Chocolate and Chai Tee. There were some slightly more regular berry mixes in there, as well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzzFMSDUaZrFySVZVkF0zHCVMN5pbJw5qjy0WBLdueJI3nihYxXORweY2z8CowWYcp5VCQ4HWVWSXSfMmYZgLmcOq-h-GF1Ie_vQXRmlxsxX2oyNwWlnPc-VZyAbo-0gv-wi6Y2g7-1U/s1600/IMG_1997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzzFMSDUaZrFySVZVkF0zHCVMN5pbJw5qjy0WBLdueJI3nihYxXORweY2z8CowWYcp5VCQ4HWVWSXSfMmYZgLmcOq-h-GF1Ie_vQXRmlxsxX2oyNwWlnPc-VZyAbo-0gv-wi6Y2g7-1U/s200/IMG_1997.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But, speaking of the Gaude folk, why would I ever buy jam when I have world-class, state champion jammers and preservers in my corner? Next.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhi8NEbaIuDCBkp2ZrjqYswyw_Ri-Zi2tmkkBSFxndGVhth1kUAJrCMyZxm16V1xxuVUQfqNHMJXc2rqeAUq-YWAS1ZAJDDPXU2CQtwaW3mshK5QKBWuq7HNq16Tqqc0T53sMy11yABg8/s1600/IMG_1993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhi8NEbaIuDCBkp2ZrjqYswyw_Ri-Zi2tmkkBSFxndGVhth1kUAJrCMyZxm16V1xxuVUQfqNHMJXc2rqeAUq-YWAS1ZAJDDPXU2CQtwaW3mshK5QKBWuq7HNq16Tqqc0T53sMy11yABg8/s200/IMG_1993.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza. Delicious, but not German (even though I'm starting to associate Berlin with those 66-cent A&P frozen pizzas from Kaiser).</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIwkP1Jqjr5VrEtpVwPkRf94M5BazJ4wfFe2pMtDGPsL_OUVLiregn-lwVqT_AXVswxj5793MHhGEsnWBxACS8NloXbVFXqdk9bXcZrBhb9T3aywaEq1aw9ofFDImzEj6oibZZdTvVzc/s1600/IMG_1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIwkP1Jqjr5VrEtpVwPkRf94M5BazJ4wfFe2pMtDGPsL_OUVLiregn-lwVqT_AXVswxj5793MHhGEsnWBxACS8NloXbVFXqdk9bXcZrBhb9T3aywaEq1aw9ofFDImzEj6oibZZdTvVzc/s200/IMG_1995.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A ha! Wurst, culture, tradition. This place is clearly German. I checked out the menu but, again, it's all meat. No hearty vegetarian potato dishes or anything!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I also saw a waffle guy and some gummy candy along the way, in addition to lots of fruit/juice/coffee bars. Again, not German. Actually, not really <i>anything</i>--what proud people steps forward to claim gummy candy??<br />
<br />
Then, just as I was leaving the market despairing that I may have to tell Grandma Betty that I couldn't find German food in Germany, I found it. German food. Totally German. SO German. And, 100% vegetarian. It fit the bill perfectly: traditional, handmade, sold by a German-speaking person (as opposed to the English-speaking vendors that seemed to make up about 30% of the stalls), bought by lots of other German-speaking people and not just "Do you speak English" tourists like myself. (Well, it may or may not technically be a product of Sardinia, Italy--but, that's as German as I could get. What does this tell us about the transnational nature of the urban economy of Berlin? Discuss.) And, as if that's not enough, it's also travel friendly and very share-able. But, no picture of this treasure yet--it's a surprise!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScWkRmqlGaZoFtTtMvYEI-oKfLIBTIxgSMIhrQ7G5NU4GGBPtnQrDASJrjGR_sEEedFKEC_tc-r1_Aj0VBphusA4H8FQbNZ6SINIsCrnTsLWwcjtmNEeZbQgt2wEpEi0R84w-upSitPY/s1600/IMG_1986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScWkRmqlGaZoFtTtMvYEI-oKfLIBTIxgSMIhrQ7G5NU4GGBPtnQrDASJrjGR_sEEedFKEC_tc-r1_Aj0VBphusA4H8FQbNZ6SINIsCrnTsLWwcjtmNEeZbQgt2wEpEi0R84w-upSitPY/s320/IMG_1986.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-6783005798605124852011-07-23T13:55:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:56.379-07:00Short article about the Bendlerblock ceremonyElizabeth found <u><a href="http://www.germany.info/Vertretung/usa/en/__pr/P__Wash/2011/07/20__July20__BG.html">this brief article</a> </u>about the ceremony at the Bendlerblock, and about related traditional military activity at the Reichstag. Be sure to check out the pictures and the captions!Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-65271818386410591082011-07-22T13:17:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:54.737-07:00Adventure of the day"What many of us want on the road in adventure. And what is adventure but a moment, or a series of moments, that you never could have predicted before you left home?"<br />
- Ira Glass on <i>This American Life</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Things I could have predicted before I left home today (thanks to the blogs of the explorers who went before us):<br />
- all the fancy buildings and rooms I had already seen pictures of<br />
- artifacts of <i>Inglourious Basterds</i> filming there just a few years ago<br />
- a frighteningly authentic mosaic featuring an eagle surrounded by swastikas<br />
- wind and rain<br />
- a very random, <i>larger than</i> <i>life-size</i> plaster statue of a rhino<br />
<br />
Things I could NOT have predicted before I left home today:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/228900_10150248074562986_555682985_7613206_3762370_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/228900_10150248074562986_555682985_7613206_3762370_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> - letters<br />
- photos <br />
- job recommendations<br />
- military ID forms<br />
- inventories<br />
- a passport<br />
- newspapers <br />
- maps of the world <br />
<br />
...all in Russian. All from between 1971 and 1992. All sitting there, left in and around a desk in a room on the top floor of an otherwise not-extraordinary-looking building, for 20 years.<br />
<br />
<br />
AWESOME.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-869789197518488742011-07-20T11:13:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:51.611-07:00"For the state, to remember."Juliya, Brian, Elizabeth and I set out at 9AM this morning, hoping to get to Berlin's 1936 Olympisches Dorf, or Olympic Village. After some brief Google Maps-ing, we decided to head to the Olympic Stadium (via the subway stop and street of the same name). The place was clearly renovated and open to ticket-buying tourists, which is no fun, but we figured that if we could get in we could have a look around and maybe find this fabled village. We asked the men at the entrance, and found out that the Olympic Village was actually outside the stadium complex a little ways down Heerstrasse...somewhere. Not exactly sure where. We left with directions to Heerstrasse (but not to the village itself...whoops) and headed in the direction the men had told us to go. After about 15 minutes of walking and not seeing anything one would associate with the Olympics or villages, we asked a parked taxi driver for directions.<br />
<br />
"Olympic Village?! That's not even in Berlin!"<br />
<br />
Oh.<br />
<br />
He told us it was about 15 km down the road we were on, near where the road ends and B5 (which we later figured out is a highway) begins. With some more Google Maps-ing this evening we figured out that there is a train station right next to the village, and that trains run there straight from Alexanderplatz. So, while this adventure will have to wait until another, better-informed day, it will definitely happen soon...<br />
<br />
Unfazed by our failure to find the Olympic Village, we hopped on the S-Bahn and headed to Potsdamer Platz to hit our next destination, the Bendlerblock. This is where General Friedrich Olbricht developed a plan for the assassination of Adolf Hitler and coup d'etat of the National Socialist regime in 1943, which Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (see: Tom Cruise in <i>Valkyrie</i>) executed on July 20, 1944 - 67 years ago today. The plan was for Col. von Stauffenberg to get a briefcase bomb into a meeting room with Hitler at "the Wolf's Lair" in Prussia, set it off, and get back to Berlin to carry out the rest of the coup. The bomb went off as planned, but Hitler survived, and was on the radio later that evening confirming it. Olbricht, von Stauffenberg, and other members of the uprising were executed by firing squad on the the same night in what is now the commemorative courtyard of the Bendler Block.<br />
<br />
When we got to the building around 11:15AM, we saw fancy black cars parked outside, people in very nice looking suits diverting traffic, and a small crowd of onlookers crowded outside the entrance with police milling around. We got to the front of the little group of people and spotted this scene inside:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeX5Qs93O-vp7xdPdzrUayunxaSjfUPo2rm8NOZzczbWG4p0wc-KAXX1AL2Em1GtNZzIhVF7WaQ3if53T8ssxyicyFRzTgHEkwdm_9W0ICtQ21J9rOxdTStRyBp49VV4V3AY4P4Es6BNk/s1600/IMG_1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeX5Qs93O-vp7xdPdzrUayunxaSjfUPo2rm8NOZzczbWG4p0wc-KAXX1AL2Em1GtNZzIhVF7WaQ3if53T8ssxyicyFRzTgHEkwdm_9W0ICtQ21J9rOxdTStRyBp49VV4V3AY4P4Es6BNk/s320/IMG_1894.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I went to one of the police officers and asked what was going on. He started to explain that "it's July 20th, which is..." and seemed very pleased when we finished his sentence with "...yeah, the anniversary of the assassination attempt!" He told us that this was a military ceremony "for the state, to remember." WHOA. Memory. These course themes are coming up all over the place. He said the ceremony would be over in 5 or 10 minutes, and that they'd be letting us regular folks into the courtyard - the Memorial to the German Resistance - in about 15 minutes. While we were waiting we heard a trumpet (German equivalent of taps?), listened to a military band and people singing a very patriotic-sounding song, and just barely saw a flag procession through the courtyard.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwSyOeCy5_D0bXCGrr1kFRx4dx86hkr1I7tqYQhomPI3Mq6kdYPg3WRjNzojoOo90M4soqk9De2MWAyVyvJwifwSQwrkgF5CGgFimd-i0bZGHTG7Fo-aP6ROohDxUj45MVCaHBmAezRs/s1600/IMG_1909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwSyOeCy5_D0bXCGrr1kFRx4dx86hkr1I7tqYQhomPI3Mq6kdYPg3WRjNzojoOo90M4soqk9De2MWAyVyvJwifwSQwrkgF5CGgFimd-i0bZGHTG7Fo-aP6ROohDxUj45MVCaHBmAezRs/s320/IMG_1909.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Then the ceremony was over, and people started coming out. (I didn't take any pictures, but Brian and Juliya both did, so I'll put those up if/when they get online.) A lot of people in formal military wear, young and old, and a lot of people dressed up. We're guessing politicians, living members of the resistance (if that's even possible?!), family members of members of the resistance, other important people on the Berlin political/historical scene. We saw some clearly religious figures walking out, as well: a few reverends, a monk (shaved head and black robes?), and two men with large cross necklaces, black robes, and cylindrical black hats. With all the Secret Service-looking guys around (black suits and clear plastic ear pieces and everything!) around we thought that maybe, just <i>maybe</i>, Angela Merkel would be in there--but, if she was, she did not use the main entrance/exit. She left a very nice wreath, though.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqHBb8mHMNIkQ2H-fwsdJhbZ6cVO-q_dSiSY-urFz7jB-QVPPPYPX6cuXE11Ay32B2EQauVfA7xOlteAd9Ch4hqggvejGZ9pVqe7zQEUNHRQp9UlLXrA1wEntl04-hdawnHsLx7tFBrk/s1600/IMG_1895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqHBb8mHMNIkQ2H-fwsdJhbZ6cVO-q_dSiSY-urFz7jB-QVPPPYPX6cuXE11Ay32B2EQauVfA7xOlteAd9Ch4hqggvejGZ9pVqe7zQEUNHRQp9UlLXrA1wEntl04-hdawnHsLx7tFBrk/s320/IMG_1895.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Once the the ceremony mostly cleared out, they let everyone waiting outside go in. How lucky that my dad reminded me that July 20th is the anniversary of the assassination attempt and executions, and that we got there right when we did. Otherwise, we would have just been at this courtyard. With a statue and a plaque. And a tree. While it's appropriately somber and reflective, I feel so fortunate to have seen some of the ceremony and what the site looked like immediately after. Call it "active remembering"--and we witnessed it!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2GX_8oJGmh_wR6dCo34Pzq5PKfBdklx2iQ4JnhGXV_aEWfuvb3tHq-miqRWj4xaKZxatDjN0Dj0cUpjKcN9XqFQez5RDTX2n9iDAX8yg-GPtnrN_iVwxInuFDgfYGAQtUIxH7_-plm4/s1600/IMG_1919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2GX_8oJGmh_wR6dCo34Pzq5PKfBdklx2iQ4JnhGXV_aEWfuvb3tHq-miqRWj4xaKZxatDjN0Dj0cUpjKcN9XqFQez5RDTX2n9iDAX8yg-GPtnrN_iVwxInuFDgfYGAQtUIxH7_-plm4/s320/IMG_1919.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun fact: The street the Bendlerblock is on was renamed Stauffenbergstrasse.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBl9atHtoc5Bw4zRjJqqFvoIt5xJHATPmWC7yAEx0ruKlUFU-u6JzDh0ovZepQOn_2V1_BXFoKrPkzOj38jan2pcJLJAcNhotl0w7DtNQFDu3TaIlkClbSKlFkaLy-G9Le1m-n7jRH3c/s1600/IMG_1918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBl9atHtoc5Bw4zRjJqqFvoIt5xJHATPmWC7yAEx0ruKlUFU-u6JzDh0ovZepQOn_2V1_BXFoKrPkzOj38jan2pcJLJAcNhotl0w7DtNQFDu3TaIlkClbSKlFkaLy-G9Le1m-n7jRH3c/s320/IMG_1918.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiYUO1PwssLunDpkyl_2Be6-MVQlFVS3fOWp4EYYDRGb032vWhi5aBzQHDT0nFAXpiefOIHWC_K4h159_k2rBD2-P-cep9gQqKW2vVOYdxR4EkkCZi6mvToT8papy7VoB3TUnizxfU9M/s1600/IMG_1900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiYUO1PwssLunDpkyl_2Be6-MVQlFVS3fOWp4EYYDRGb032vWhi5aBzQHDT0nFAXpiefOIHWC_K4h159_k2rBD2-P-cep9gQqKW2vVOYdxR4EkkCZi6mvToT8papy7VoB3TUnizxfU9M/s320/IMG_1900.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry it's blurry! Rough translation with the aid of, um, Google Translate: "Here in the former Army High Command Germans organized an attempt on July 20th, 1944 to overthrow the Nazi regime. They sacrificed their lives. The Federal Republic of Germany and the German city-state ("land") of Berlin dedicate this memorial of remembrance, 1980."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyZcQSo2teGvPKFkmt2Y00GUjONHwCAWEhxvST-e1HEfs0boRoa_4fHLKk4PUyjGMdfgExey-YwmQZhJmSf81AGZvLY98sCKE4sV4sxkm6E2cWUKS-BKXFWPx45EdN_lY51xwczgV0X0/s1600/IMG_1901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyZcQSo2teGvPKFkmt2Y00GUjONHwCAWEhxvST-e1HEfs0boRoa_4fHLKk4PUyjGMdfgExey-YwmQZhJmSf81AGZvLY98sCKE4sV4sxkm6E2cWUKS-BKXFWPx45EdN_lY51xwczgV0X0/s320/IMG_1901.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The courtyard on July 20th, 2011.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX3mwakj-4ajjNAiC0nGgmPF3971KgSGxY4DddAWrZIlopJK3vfq8B40f-Gb0yTerQ_Yin_tz0Q_wDEg53R4B1AxCG6X4PqevMzYx-D1PlA4lF3k76BTvqTUsecDlk_n6IrWrxw9a_uQ/s1600/x2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX3mwakj-4ajjNAiC0nGgmPF3971KgSGxY4DddAWrZIlopJK3vfq8B40f-Gb0yTerQ_Yin_tz0Q_wDEg53R4B1AxCG6X4PqevMzYx-D1PlA4lF3k76BTvqTUsecDlk_n6IrWrxw9a_uQ/s320/x2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SS and Wehrmacht in the same courtyard on July 21, 1944.</td></tr>
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Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-25675448215835074562011-07-16T14:23:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:49.891-07:00Gunshots and helicopters in Mitte?Don't worry, we found out they were firecrackers, not gunshots. But they sounded pretty scary nonetheless. Must have been some big firecrackers.<br />
<br />
For the past hour we've heard sirens, lots of people, lots of explosions, and a circling (probably news) helicopter. Our English neighbors one building over went out to explore, but Juliya and I stayed right where we were, and Juliya asked Reddit if anyone knew what was going on. Google Translate the following articles about it (or read it in German, if that's your thing):<br />
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http://www.tagesspiegel.de/berlin/gut-gelaunter-protest-gegen-die-mediaspree/4401562.html<br />
<br />
http://www.moz.de/nachrichten/berlin/artikel-ansicht/dg/0/1/347983/ <br />
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See also:<br />
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http://rachefuercarlo.blogsport.de/Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-30617464896038613792011-07-16T07:23:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:48.145-07:00KulturparkThis week (our second in Berlin and our third abroad) flew by. After a visit to the Turkiyemspor Soccer Club, a tour of the Sehitlik Mosque with our slightly uncomfortable "Islam 101" tour guide, and a few lectures at Humboldt throughout the week, I spent my free Friday guerilla interviewing at the Turkish market with Jen and exploring a "kind of abandoned" GDR theme park with Juliya, Katy, and Brian. Now I'm spending Saturday afternoon resting that hamstring, eating some 66-cent frozen pizza, and watching Stage 14 of the Tour de France. Discuss.<br />
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Before I get into all the cool abandoned things, and not-as-cool security guards, we found at Spreepark, let's talk about how this relates to the themes of the course. No, seriously. Our studies are, after all, the main reason we're here, and, surprisingly, urban exploring seems to be fitting in quite nicely. Forgetting, memory, urban environments, borders, guards, contentious histories--abandoned places in Berlin have it all!<br />
<br />
Take Beelitz. Why hasn't anyone capitalized on all the stagnant capital in that massive compound? You can't get anywhere from the Beelitz train station, north or south, without going through the massive sanatorium compound. Renovate it, charge top dollar for tours of it, raze the whole thing and build condos. The same question goes for Spreepark. When we visited it yesterday a small boulevard of the park was actually up and running, with lights, music, bumper cars, and overpriced concessions to boot. A good 90% of the park, however, remained thoroughly roped off and abandoned, including the iconic ferris wheel we spotted from the Tegel Airport in our first minutes in Berlin.<br />
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So my big question is, how can so many people forget so much space? The uniting theme between the two sites we've explored, and among most of the sites we've heard of, is their association with Nazi or Soviet history (or both). To get more specific, both Beelitz and Spreepark seem to stand as examples of failed experiments in carrying Soviet environments over into (re)unified Germany. The Soviets walked away from Beelitz five or six years after the wall fell. Spreepark was Kulturpark, the GDR's most popular amusement park, from 1969 to 1989, at which point the name became Spree, the park got all Westernized, and visitor numbers steadily declined until it finally closed in 2000. (Incidentally, the new owner also got caught using the park to smuggle Peruvian cocaine and launder the related cash. Whoops.) Both places seemed to have overstayed their welcome, and at this point it may be easier for Berliners to simply forget their drawn-out pasts than to foray into the historical complications that privatizing either would certainly entail. Instead they (or at least, images of them operating at their peak) have exited popular memory. In a city trying to move on, they just don't fit anymore.<br />
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Now, on that note, check out those dinosaurs! (All of these photos are from Juliya, who valiantly recovered them from her memory card after the grumpy security guard we met on our way out made her delete them all.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCVw2dWdlnLjtc9SYWw3Zah4K00M7MZcw11G9m8Vxrle0_w9dtFwGS-rOYywVohyCuQS_f6hTIr_n0DCIecvAlw5zd14De5XjiYH-LfAZCIU6eVP4ZL9dWtgp1iYuPgdWvPZN80v3v6E/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCVw2dWdlnLjtc9SYWw3Zah4K00M7MZcw11G9m8Vxrle0_w9dtFwGS-rOYywVohyCuQS_f6hTIr_n0DCIecvAlw5zd14De5XjiYH-LfAZCIU6eVP4ZL9dWtgp1iYuPgdWvPZN80v3v6E/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paritally functioning teacup ride. That yellow hippo thing looks <b><a href="http://www.alalimsatalim.com/fotos/1_181712turkcell.jpg">familiar</a></b>.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicupKPXrj2slASvJ2hfsmenrXjIesCEwyyUcwpvRg3k-ysEy8Fefpv845b7uyvXDgRcASLlSQxmAeR8_F7zgo6PkY7iQI4w6j3hMYmhWDcofMYYQMc-4QC1d_e70vVhqh8O1tAOmZOq0/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicupKPXrj2slASvJ2hfsmenrXjIesCEwyyUcwpvRg3k-ysEy8Fefpv845b7uyvXDgRcASLlSQxmAeR8_F7zgo6PkY7iQI4w6j3hMYmhWDcofMYYQMc-4QC1d_e70vVhqh8O1tAOmZOq0/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i-4QksIWpGsuDey0Ie-ExbD0VF_4qGpoctfzSzn_1OPVef5dHQAryWCPUTinU78bxyq5AGu_14id28uyOyCLi_BwjXL0pHi8lpHEbFnTzk1dBk_oygrN9-cfG_TjAFbVAykZ8SumH7A/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i-4QksIWpGsuDey0Ie-ExbD0VF_4qGpoctfzSzn_1OPVef5dHQAryWCPUTinU78bxyq5AGu_14id28uyOyCLi_BwjXL0pHi8lpHEbFnTzk1dBk_oygrN9-cfG_TjAFbVAykZ8SumH7A/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juliya conquering the dinosaur.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKPqdUqNdJW2mXgUC3NaLx7-I7rQ-miZAXH7iApNN3X4BRhXZmrwsQ8YkGeeHy295FfKtIuObK1ecnTrvRBDsvfg7cq1U2ur4fkTTodHS6dqe7C4Ed2owQUNjn28a4yZSOZUIxaoAiz8/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKPqdUqNdJW2mXgUC3NaLx7-I7rQ-miZAXH7iApNN3X4BRhXZmrwsQ8YkGeeHy295FfKtIuObK1ecnTrvRBDsvfg7cq1U2ur4fkTTodHS6dqe7C4Ed2owQUNjn28a4yZSOZUIxaoAiz8/s320/6.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-39303659746445919102011-07-12T09:46:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:46.242-07:00If IKEA made vlogsI was all ready to give you a super cool sped-up video of walking through the Turkish market in Kreuzberg, but my camera, iMovie, and iPhoto are either non-existent or non-cooperative right now. I am beginning to think my laptop is allergic to video-editing software, but have yet to confirm my suspicions.<br />
<br />
So, in the absence of a video, please listen to this song: <br />
<br />
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcawnRIyeok<br />
<br />
while slowly looking through the pictures below, and pretend it's a sweet slideshow on Youtube. Imagine the captions as cool super-imposed text, and imagine the in between pictures and at the bottom as on its own slides according to the line breaks. Enjoy.<br />
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<br />
In our first week in Berlin we quickly discovered the city's different uses of space, from metropolitan centers to urban green spaces to places of public art.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270539_10150233195551748_677256747_7372045_7778184_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270539_10150233195551748_677256747_7372045_7778184_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new Galata Tower.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268663_10150233196131748_677256747_7372052_3615567_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268663_10150233196131748_677256747_7372052_3615567_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Urban farm in Mitte. Can you guess which "former" Berlin we're in, East or West?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268282_10150233197521748_677256747_7372066_4769113_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268282_10150233197521748_677256747_7372066_4769113_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Went to the river...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268009_10150233198011748_677256747_7372071_1422751_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268009_10150233198011748_677256747_7372071_1422751_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and found another reminder of home! This was built by the same artist who made the hammering man outside of SAM.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">At times Berlin had us convinced that it had never been divided. In our own neighborhood, we walked across what was previously the Berlin Wall "dead zone" without even knowing it until Tobi and Manuela pointed it out a few days into our time here. At other times, though, symbols of the city's torn and confusing past were startlingly clear.</div><br />
<img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269051_10150233199216748_677256747_7372084_6339576_n.jpg" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the Soviet War Memorial with Tobi.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/260512_10150233199576748_677256747_7372089_2390183_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/260512_10150233199576748_677256747_7372089_2390183_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In addition to being a war memorial, it's also a mass grave: 2,500 anonymous Soviet soldiers are buried at this site.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/263932_10100491568589508_10739539_57365994_2004089_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/263932_10100491568589508_10739539_57365994_2004089_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264187_10100491566538618_10739539_57365930_6492919_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264187_10100491566538618_10739539_57365930_6492919_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old Berlin Wall guard tower, at the entrance to the same park that holds the Soviet War Memorial.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264200_10100491569043598_10739539_57366009_4148895_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264200_10100491569043598_10739539_57366009_4148895_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This was basically the Soviets saving the Nazis from the Nazis...history makes everything complicated," Tobi said.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Symbols of the city's future was equally clear at the Reichstag, where art displays and architecture paid homage to Germany's past while also highlighting its place as a key player in the political project that is the European Union.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/271025_10100491569402878_10739539_57366020_5102245_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264922_10100491572381908_10739539_57366106_4448747_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264922_10100491572381908_10739539_57366106_4448747_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270468_10150233201391748_677256747_7372111_4889891_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270468_10150233201391748_677256747_7372111_4889891_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each boat represents a different part of the world, and together this represents their relations to each other. Throughout the year the boats are lowered, moved around, and sometimes even crash into the ground.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264045_10150233202841748_677256747_7372123_4748095_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264045_10150233202841748_677256747_7372123_4748095_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new view of Berlin...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268045_2112283654131_1456853342_2287816_4816536_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268045_2112283654131_1456853342_2287816_4816536_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...from above.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">More than sightseeing and touring, however, a typical day in the life of a UW Honors kid in Berlin sheds light on the city's past, how it does or does not remain on display, and how we negotiate and make sense of its symbols with our own Gramscian "inventories of traces" from home.</div><br />
<img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/267986_10100491580131378_10739539_57366286_1166548_n.jpg" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On any given day we'll go through Alexanderplatz...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263521_10100491580535568_10739539_57366293_1448636_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263521_10100491580535568_10739539_57366293_1448636_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/262032_10100491577701248_10739539_57366243_4381011_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/262032_10100491577701248_10739539_57366243_4381011_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...to Humboldt...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/281532_10100491577885878_10739539_57366246_2260328_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269512_10100491578075498_10739539_57366250_3942159_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269512_10100491578075498_10739539_57366250_3942159_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvZXzWZwS5PoiVRZiEddxMMoeEzOz4IUjPkrXwtcc23pyPiHeCHex9xW7v33Q27WgT_-9RM1q3THl0TdV819reQ0mxhYQpHi9RUuyGaagkoCaglL94ctVyMjFFEiXueP3TWv1SvzD_KI/s1600/IMG_1884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvZXzWZwS5PoiVRZiEddxMMoeEzOz4IUjPkrXwtcc23pyPiHeCHex9xW7v33Q27WgT_-9RM1q3THl0TdV819reQ0mxhYQpHi9RUuyGaagkoCaglL94ctVyMjFFEiXueP3TWv1SvzD_KI/s320/IMG_1884.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and eventually back to our neighborhood of Mitte and Kreuzberg--which is almost like going back, even further, to Istanbul. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The new symbols and landmarks we associate with coming, going, home, and place mix among images of Seattle, Istanbul, and Berlin, until each new image seems to find a root in another that came before it.<br />
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Galata Tower is the Space Needle, or the TV tower at Alexanderplatz.<br />
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Kreuzberg is the I-90 bridge.<br />
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The stained glass at Humboldt is Red Square.<br />
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The apartments in Mitte are the World House Hostel. Oranienstrasse is the "walking street."<br />
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Some images, however, stand alone. The Soviet War Memorial, the Hagia Sophia, the Berlin Wall are all singularly <i>there</i>. <br />
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And us? We are here.<br />
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And there you go--rapid overview of Week 1 in Berlin. Cheers!Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-38859730029262925302011-07-10T08:44:00.001-07:002021-10-12T11:29:44.354-07:00eelitz-Bay eilstatten-Hay(Warning: This blog post is quite long. I will never post anything approaching this length ever again. But, we had an epic day. It deserves equally ridiculous documentation.)<br />
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My roommate (and gifted photographer) Cathy is really into urban exploring. That means going to abandoned places you're generally not supposed to go to, taking in forgotten architectural and historical wonders, and leaving them as you found them. This generally involves trespassing, which is bad--but hey, we don't read German, so we weren't sure <i>exactly</i> what those signs at the gate said, anyway.<br />
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Now, let's start at the beginning. After Cathy stopped and grabbed a <b>sandwich</b> at a nearby bakery, we found out very quickly that we don't actually know how to read the German subway map, so it took us a few tries to find the train station. When we did get there, we found out that we also have no idea how to buy a train ticket. Luckily, an <b>exceedingly friendly old German man with comprehensive knowledge of the subway system</b> was hanging out by the ticket machine, seemingly for the sole purpose of helping people buy their tickets. He helped us buy tickets, determine the correct platform, and find the correct platform, and then gave us a map and a time schedule with our destination, departure time, and arrival time underlined. I was bowled over by his apparent pride in his city and his willingness to help weird incompetent American girls asking how to get to a creepy old hospital in the middle of nowhere. There's no way we would have figured it out without this guy.<br />
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So, we settled down to wait the thirty minutes or so for the next train.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKctGPbaqppjMtBSTTCU4USY6wzJE8pz47KuPpmcyA5Bc0lUP8GjGE4XwD9WdE53IoO6sWbpsO4WnkXx9gl456U2bONm_e6nRcOdwZEv1iwf3zpNitSLQZfdgeSBdGnlHZxFpjmYhog9I/s1600/shoes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKctGPbaqppjMtBSTTCU4USY6wzJE8pz47KuPpmcyA5Bc0lUP8GjGE4XwD9WdE53IoO6sWbpsO4WnkXx9gl456U2bONm_e6nRcOdwZEv1iwf3zpNitSLQZfdgeSBdGnlHZxFpjmYhog9I/s320/shoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
When we got off at our stop about 45 minutes later, we were greeted by an abandoned, boarded up train station (behind which there was a large abandoned house), a pine forest, and a large road. From some limited Google Maps research the night before, we figured we should head south on this road to hit the complex. It didn't take long--in less than a quarter mile we were seeing large, factory-like buildings like this<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmUGlCCZG9pNakkaAG8eEW6ckvcMu3I1PBDn1IVYstmR23hbZnfjIunF2-xPO04E383kO6w3uORNw_ZP79HdmsVBp4AyBpxqFN8UpXFmoDLK_zgk7b0QtOXLING3ryfNou1mv-9TJayM/s1600/factory.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmUGlCCZG9pNakkaAG8eEW6ckvcMu3I1PBDn1IVYstmR23hbZnfjIunF2-xPO04E383kO6w3uORNw_ZP79HdmsVBp4AyBpxqFN8UpXFmoDLK_zgk7b0QtOXLING3ryfNou1mv-9TJayM/s320/factory.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
and overgrown old houses like this<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JoYcRnJbkwfIAYq94senILICsnakoS8k69k6gAHnSURY6bStnNNFF2DNMiPJlzhlRhB2Zg4-2W2XFRQqt34fY08PayLHzu5fIFwvdZzUPiJBQcfoK-DWAQitwsMvNTmwlHuDZy7UjbA/s1600/house.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JoYcRnJbkwfIAYq94senILICsnakoS8k69k6gAHnSURY6bStnNNFF2DNMiPJlzhlRhB2Zg4-2W2XFRQqt34fY08PayLHzu5fIFwvdZzUPiJBQcfoK-DWAQitwsMvNTmwlHuDZy7UjbA/s320/house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
right up against the main road, connected by old paved roads and walkways. They were all abandoned, and mostly boarded up. Those that weren't boarded up (or, weren't very <i>well</i> boarded up) were pretty trashed inside. As we kept walking we saw more mansions, shacks, pumphouses, and factory buildings seemingly at every turn. It felt like a ghost town.<br />
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By now you might be wondering, what exactly is this ghost town? The history behind this<b> abandoned Soviet hospital and training complex </b>is staggering. The site was first developed in 1898 as a tuberculosis sanatorium. During the First World War it served as a military hospital for the Imperial Germany Army, treating the earliest causalities of new technologies like machines guns and mustard gas. A young Adolf Hitler recuperated there in the fall of 1916 after being blinded by a British gas attack and wounded in the leg at the Battle of Somme. (This earned him the Iron Cross, and he later wrote about his stay at the sanatorium in <i>Mein Kampf</i>.) The site was again used as a military hospital, this time for wounded Nazis, during World War II. By this time, the complex had grown to include over sixty buildings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.forbidden-places.net/explos/70/2l.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="http://www.forbidden-places.net/explos/70/2l.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see the train tracks running horizontally through the middle of this map. Cathy and I only got to ten or twelve buildings in the lower right color-coded-red section.</td></tr>
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In 1945 the complex was occupied by Soviet forces, and remained a Soviet military hospital until 1995, well after the reunification. The hospital under Soviet control treated several Communist party members, included disgraced head of the GDR Erich Honecker, who went to eelitz-Bay eilstatten-Hay in December 1990 after having been forced to resign.<br />
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In the years since the Soviets peaced it in 1995, several attempts to privatize the site have failed. Today, some sections remain in operation (like a small neurological research and rehabilitation center, as well as a center for research and care for victims of Parkinsons disease). A majority of the complex, however, has been abandoned and unsecured since at least 2000.<br />
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Things got really exciting when Cathy and I reached a grassy square enclosed by ornate (and very thoroughly boarded up) buildings on three sides, with this statue in the center: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOz62k_NyIrxRjWvaloPsWc4rwLKbLM9rTyN7HojBDKbRglqFxt6sXyvAIUM3zGRmjD8swrjLbgb5VEpgVmRsTW44sHhZWjV2EtDdvWGVK9CDLOmoczBGQoKnsHDbpER6TvbNPUMdhnM/s1600/statue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOz62k_NyIrxRjWvaloPsWc4rwLKbLM9rTyN7HojBDKbRglqFxt6sXyvAIUM3zGRmjD8swrjLbgb5VEpgVmRsTW44sHhZWjV2EtDdvWGVK9CDLOmoczBGQoKnsHDbpER6TvbNPUMdhnM/s320/statue.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JLGR7EZplzHkYSgr_russSabiHXbG7eHMMKwaOmH5s8Yr5emhAkfDSgZZu34_tN6KfEQSy6bVe4UOqpfjKUZ1BFUfLp6GodhUFxROJ5gB9fVSQw-tsk95jMEtUR0iN44Bf9j2Kx29tE/s1600/heroes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JLGR7EZplzHkYSgr_russSabiHXbG7eHMMKwaOmH5s8Yr5emhAkfDSgZZu34_tN6KfEQSy6bVe4UOqpfjKUZ1BFUfLp6GodhUFxROJ5gB9fVSQw-tsk95jMEtUR0iN44Bf9j2Kx29tE/s320/heroes.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"To the heroes of the Soviet Union." Yeah, Cathy reads Russian. Awesome.</td></tr>
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Right about now we saw some <b>hipsters</b> walking down the road toward one of the buildings (We later figured out this is the building marked with a red #3 on the map--the biggest building there!!) looking like they knew where they were going, so we followed. We watched as Tall Skinny Male Hipster hopped onto a ledge, pulled at some nails (they were just bent over, rather than nailed into, the boarding), and took the boarding off of a 2'x2' window. Success! We joined the hipsters and climbed through the ridiculously tiny window. This is what we saw inside:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLP0VjXvDAwRhIjeNNDZv3kxzFuwy4T10gRMvhA-pc7w8VvNni1c-Fkz4lTJ67Rr8UjGBpy4QHm0WSGRY5DausX4wkFoeZM8Uy88jG3SnbgKspDL9INZ8ddsNBnBzgpDBmLbLFL-YddA/s1600/hall1.jpg"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLP0VjXvDAwRhIjeNNDZv3kxzFuwy4T10gRMvhA-pc7w8VvNni1c-Fkz4lTJ67Rr8UjGBpy4QHm0WSGRY5DausX4wkFoeZM8Uy88jG3SnbgKspDL9INZ8ddsNBnBzgpDBmLbLFL-YddA/s320/hall1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNcW1P4FMtHlxaPfFZeKFUESdzDlhtvQ143p5J1WHTMQr2na9rA9OhknBW5nRXTDeArTQPgLO_DJdjjB6yc05q1_DMVMu9Os1_rjmbwr-eIQNe3f9CcBCkJlmoTNRHeKGxuEyLxudABM/s1600/hall2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNcW1P4FMtHlxaPfFZeKFUESdzDlhtvQ143p5J1WHTMQr2na9rA9OhknBW5nRXTDeArTQPgLO_DJdjjB6yc05q1_DMVMu9Os1_rjmbwr-eIQNe3f9CcBCkJlmoTNRHeKGxuEyLxudABM/s320/hall2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The flower-shaped window looks out onto the square with the Soviet memorial statue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDMN1LhnSHHDrfX7UHTMTc2cfHXVZ9SQIoVL1e7-NBQs9ADW-gR8n1q4Mxk9pXClRY-zTXB4dlkzbahlPo2k9bpzOOKhsI6jVwvTqEZ6fqAAzly57IX05NHolFKv4MCSvam3rU-P5BzU/s1600/hall3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDMN1LhnSHHDrfX7UHTMTc2cfHXVZ9SQIoVL1e7-NBQs9ADW-gR8n1q4Mxk9pXClRY-zTXB4dlkzbahlPo2k9bpzOOKhsI6jVwvTqEZ6fqAAzly57IX05NHolFKv4MCSvam3rU-P5BzU/s320/hall3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the stage looking toward the rest of the building. The door on the right leads to the more hospital-y parts. Note: The Soviets probably did <i>not</i> paint that giant lizard. That said, the lizard was one of probably three or four significant pieces of graffiti we found. Wow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our best guess was that this was some kind of exercise hall or gymnasium. On our way in we also found a script, a set plan, and a call sheet for the movie <i><b>Street Dance 2 3D</b></i> from early June, 2011--just a month ago! Apparently the producers of the movie were shooting a steamy Paris dance club scene in this hall. When this greatly anticipated cinematic masterpiece comes out, it will join the likes of <i>The Pianist</i> as a film that shot at Bee-lits Hile-stat-in. Cathy and I will surely be first in line to see it.<br />
<br />
The original Soviet artwork was all around the walls--paintings and murals of runners, weight-lifters, riflemen, basketball players, gymnasts, a few Olympic torches. We even found a cyclist!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEIWaJ850Rs-3qYpUTvQqjAvF2AzfqhKxjTszBH8r2DpWKVqphmElGaaIOylQet2Dt11xgbxCYqgXgikfItdLb4GhiwqymCYg62iwmvMdCkc4tiTMwm5IigOc6vAzz564G8vHyNyGRC4/s1600/hall4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEIWaJ850Rs-3qYpUTvQqjAvF2AzfqhKxjTszBH8r2DpWKVqphmElGaaIOylQet2Dt11xgbxCYqgXgikfItdLb4GhiwqymCYg62iwmvMdCkc4tiTMwm5IigOc6vAzz564G8vHyNyGRC4/s320/hall4.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can buy CCCP jerseys like the ones they wore in the 1980 Olympics on eBay. So ironic.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4C5KdNdmHY8vlzaWFhRB2i489g61lc_nz4FxpAb8hZht1jD43w1rp58BA_U60MDWvuPhS0KH_6Oe5HVqPk7N2jraev5MHdVamc2JzgLM6pwnPVaCkcO9Jii7sHq0fdCyAfIlwPCIATY/s1600/hall5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4C5KdNdmHY8vlzaWFhRB2i489g61lc_nz4FxpAb8hZht1jD43w1rp58BA_U60MDWvuPhS0KH_6Oe5HVqPk7N2jraev5MHdVamc2JzgLM6pwnPVaCkcO9Jii7sHq0fdCyAfIlwPCIATY/s320/hall5.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathy translated this as "master candidates of sport."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After frolicking around in this room (because, obviously, it was made for frolicking), we continued into the rest of the building. We were stopped by this silly door with this silly lock and this silly missing windowpane. The Tall Skinny Hipsters made it through no problem, and I managed to squeeze through as well, but Cathy is so tall (5'10''!) that she couldn't make it through. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ia2I6neGSKy1sv41RDmJFgphNYtZ6I9WA5G0nXgtYaCJgnq-B2AXxr8jVBsAK2naKeXhVf5S1PqT1xhlNo8bMlAsJ_6QTyuuL4kbJTmbfx86rRFqAmS4NhIxfyrQYLIj0fLOqpneOqE/s1600/squeeze.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ia2I6neGSKy1sv41RDmJFgphNYtZ6I9WA5G0nXgtYaCJgnq-B2AXxr8jVBsAK2naKeXhVf5S1PqT1xhlNo8bMlAsJ_6QTyuuL4kbJTmbfx86rRFqAmS4NhIxfyrQYLIj0fLOqpneOqE/s320/squeeze.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awkward.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
No way were we going to separate, and no way were we going to turn back! We'd only seen about 1% of this ginormous building, and the creepy hospital rooms, grand staircase, and other treasures were just beyond this door. Besides, Cathy's the one with the camera skills, so it was more important to get her in to see all the good stuff. We left the building and started walking around it to try to find another way in. While we were walking we met a <b>English-, French-, German-, and Russian-speaking film crew from Berlin</b> who were scouting locations for their next movie and looking for a way in, as well. Now we felt really badass, because we got to be all like, "Oh yeah, we know the way in. We can show you. Yeah, it's pretty hard to find, no big deal." We couldn't find any other open/poorly boarded up windows, so we went back to the entrance into the gymnasium hall with the filmmakers. Once again, we ended up at the dead-end door. This time we had big strong filmmaker men with us (as opposed to Tall Skinny Hipsters), and they tried to lift the door off its hinges. Then I found a crowbar (or something) and started removing nails with it, and then they borrowed the crowbar to try to bend an open chain link on the lock chain...but all to no avail.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263514_10150237208312986_555682985_7508088_7039263_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263514_10150237208312986_555682985_7508088_7039263_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I may or may not have been serious when I proposed we just kick the door loose and pry it open at the hinges with my super awesome rusted crow bar-like thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268054_10150237208362986_555682985_7508089_3465689_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268054_10150237208362986_555682985_7508089_3465689_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In retrospect, the chain-busting route was probably a bit more reasonable. And much more respectful. I guess I was just in that Soviet gymnasium mindset of WINNING THINGS!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This thing was solid. Luckily, just as we were about to give up and leave, we saw a new group of hipsters on the other side of the door. One of the filmmakers asked them in German how they got there. They told us about a slightly hidden staircase back by the gymnasium that would take us up to the second floor and, from there, give us access to the rest of the building. We found the staircase easily (how did we miss it??) and went to town. We spent the next hour or two exploring the four floors of this gorgeous building with our jolly filmmaker friends (one of whom had impeccable English and a great sense of humor), and still only managed to get to about a third of it. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263474_10150237212982986_555682985_7508157_3860516_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263474_10150237212982986_555682985_7508157_3860516_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Secret staircase!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269744_10150237208477986_555682985_7508090_1569598_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269744_10150237208477986_555682985_7508090_1569598_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First dose of unobstructed sunlight.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/261924_10150237211322986_555682985_7508137_2481792_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/261924_10150237211322986_555682985_7508137_2481792_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An upstairs hallway. All of the rooms off the hallways that we went into were empty--whatever furniture was once there was taken long ago.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263449_10150237209432986_555682985_7508106_3431157_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263449_10150237209432986_555682985_7508106_3431157_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/262284_10150237208657986_555682985_7508093_209930_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/262284_10150237208657986_555682985_7508093_209930_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, a lot of staircases and hallways--but they, along with the open windows on the upper floors (only the ground floor windows were boarded up), were so much of what was so beautiful about this place.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/262244_10150237206532986_555682985_7508039_6016657_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/262244_10150237206532986_555682985_7508039_6016657_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The infamous blue staircase, about which many an urban explorer blogger blogged before us! There was just about no tagging anywhere, though. Just five layers of peeling paint.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/270524_10150237210372986_555682985_7508126_6141349_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270349_10150237209167986_555682985_7508101_570239_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270349_10150237209167986_555682985_7508101_570239_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the top of the staircase.</td></tr>
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All was going well, until we went to the first floor and into a large hall adjacent to the bottom of the staircase, in the first photo below. A typical horror movie scenario began to unfold. First, some of the crew, feeling ill, went back to their car. Then, our remaining jolly English-speaking film-making friend remarked that his cell phone had no service. Then, Cathy and I found the very strange tiled room below. This bath/shower room was pristine. Shining, even. Everything around it was wrecked and dirty and trashed--compare it to the photo (of the hall that we found it in) above it. WTF?? <i>Then</i>, jolly filmmaker said that he was going to go join their friends after all, since he was unable to receive any calls and they might be trying to get to him--"ciao!" Just like that. Bam bam bam.<br />
<br />
As soon as he left it got very quiet, and very cavernous. This guy had been so light, kind, cheerful, and knowledgeable, and, without him, the building--especially the darker first floor--suddenly felt very uncomfortable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269514_10150237210517986_555682985_7508128_2838275_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/269514_10150237210517986_555682985_7508128_2838275_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A slight change of scenery from the top floors.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268099_10150237210677986_555682985_7508130_1717877_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268099_10150237210677986_555682985_7508130_1717877_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Uhhh...Cathy...come check this out. It's, uh, really clean."</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/267874_10150237210757986_555682985_7508131_1644196_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/267874_10150237210757986_555682985_7508131_1644196_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We saw this room right across the hall from the tiled room and picked up our pace...but not, of course, before shooting a couple frames!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And we were off. We hung out in the Soviet gymnasium and played around and took some more pictures, and then checked the perimeter of the other two large buildings in the square to see if we could find any way inside those. We didn't find anything, but we DID see this cool sign in one of the windows:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270234_10150237214972986_555682985_7508187_5669359_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270234_10150237214972986_555682985_7508187_5669359_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathy translated this for us: it's a chart of poisonous substances that "the enemy" may use, accompanied by their treatments. Neat-o!</td></tr>
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Now it was getting close to 7PM, and we were both pretty hungry, so we headed back to the road and the train station. Is the adventure over now, you may ask? Of course not! We still have like four items to fit into this ridiculous story line. On our way back we passed a house that this couple has renovated and now lives in, mere yards away from a dozen creepy abandoned houses and buildings. They were sitting out in front in white lawn chairs, drinking juice out of a nice pitcher and reading the paper. Weird. They also had a very <b>friendly kitty cat</b>, who we stopped to play with.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268674_10150237215177986_555682985_7508189_5361200_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/268674_10150237215177986_555682985_7508189_5361200_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at the little faaaace.</td></tr>
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On the train we entertained ourselves by reading the <i>Street Dance 2 3D</i> script. We also saw a <b>rainbow</b>.<br />
<br />
Back in Berlin at Alexanderplatz, we were standing there, minding our own business waiting for the U8, when these <b>men wearing shorts</b>, singing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," and carrying a very large <b>kiwi tree</b> branch showed up on the platform. Cathy's project includes taking portraits on Berliners, so she asked if we could take their picture. The darker-haired one gave us his email address so we could send him the pictures later.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270719_10150237215642986_555682985_7508196_2976481_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270719_10150237215642986_555682985_7508196_2976481_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hahaha.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268859_10150237215887986_555682985_7508200_8135120_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/268859_10150237215887986_555682985_7508200_8135120_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HAHAHAHA.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They got on the same car that we did, and they got a lot of funny looks from everyone else on the already very crowded car. They spoke excellent English, and talked to us for a while. Before we got off the train the lighter-haired one handed us these little green cardboard packets with Japanese all over them and instructed us to not open them until we got back to Seattle, and to send them an email when we did.<br />
<br />
Naturally, I opened mine the second we got off the train. It was a <b>Popet</b>. (See <u>http://www.eurobiz.jp/content/2010/april/columns/green-biz</u> and prepare to get your mind blown.) Huh.<br />
<br />
Now, my astute and devoted reader, the adventure must be over. We've covered all 10 terms, you say! This blog post has gone on forever! I am beginning to question reality! I know, I know. Give me just this one last thing. We looked up the darker-haired guy's email address this morning, and, lo and behold, he is an INTERNATIONAL MALE MODEL. He is what Tyra Banks might call "fierce." With some light Internet stalking we found out he recently got back from a shoot in Sidney. And he's in all these high fashion magazines. And he gave me a Japanese recycling bag shaped like a teddy bear. Awesome.<br />
<br />
So, that's the story. That's what I did with my Saturday. Thank you, people and places of the greater Berlin area, for quite a day.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-17318341126079333992011-07-09T15:18:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:41.455-07:00One of these things is not like the other1. exceedingly friendly old German man with comprehensive knowledge of Berlin's public transportation system<br />
2. rainbow<br />
3. friendly kitty cat<br />
4. hipsters <br />
5. English-, French-, German-, and Russian-speaking film crew from Berlin<br />
6. sandwich<br />
7. abandoned Soviet hospital and training complex<br />
8. kiwi tree<br />
9. Popet (i.e., a trash bag shaped like a teddy bear that's all the rage in Japan)<br />
10. Street Dance 2 3D <br />
<br />
Puzzled? So was I. Stay tuned for the full story that connects all of these ridiculous things into one single eight-hour-long German adventure!Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-37745182566730579382011-07-07T15:27:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:38.750-07:00Out of placeI've never had a travel experience in which I have felt completely without a language. In Thonon, I spoke a good amount of French and had a host family to act as the buffer between me and the outside world. In Tijuana, I knew enough Spanish to get by and was able to speak with actions. In Beijing and Zheng Zhou, I was with a group of musicians, and people seemed to like our music enough that they didn't seem to care what language it was in. And in Belfast...well, they speak English.<br />
<br />
In Istanbul and Berlin, though, not only do I not speak the language, I neither have connections (like a host family) nor make contributions (like building a house or sharing music) with which to create meaningful interactions. The language difference was more pronounced for me in Istanbul, where I stood out as an American and was almost always addressed in English. Even in Berlin, where I blend in a little more and people generally assume I speak German, I feel very out of place. My presence doesn't feel very constructive to the places in which I find myself, so I have trouble seeing how I am an acting <i>part</i> of these places. <br />
<br />
A night or two ago, at the cafe near our apartments, this out-of-place-ness was more pronounced ever--but also more fun than ever. I went to the cafe all ready for some quality homework-doing, Husky-Cycling-website-writing, gmail-chatting-with-my-bff-Kamila time, but when I got there the quiet little cafe that I had gone to on Sunday night with my roommates was now THE SCENE. By the time I got my drink there wasn't a single free table, and the crowd around the bar was out the door. It wasn't crazy or rowdy or anything--just totally hoppin'. I was the only one there alone, and definitely the only one doing <i>homework</i>. I must have looked very out of place with a laptop and photo-copied reading pages on the table instead of beers and margaritas and fancy appetizers. Imagine a college kid being all studious on a Mac in the middle of, I dunno...a super trendy bar in Capitol Hill. I'm imagining The Saint, but take your pick. Now, make me the studious college kid, and put the bar in Berlin. Yup.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I came for my free wifi, and nothing keeps Gennie Gebhart from some good free wifi. So I stayed for an hour or two. Some German ladies sat at the other half of my table, someone asked if I was using the chair across from me (nein), and, as things got crazier, a waitress came over and asked me if I could move my/the German ladies' table over so they could fit in another one next to us--all in German! Whoa. As awkward as I felt, all of these little micro-encounters were actually kind of fun. I felt like I saw more of the neighborhood than I would have if I had been walking around or on a tour. And, now I know--Wednesday night is THE night, and this cafe THE place to be on Wednesday nights, in Mitte.<br />
<br />
I kept on truckin' with my mundane, more-appropriate-for-a-quiet-Starbucks-in-the-afternoon-than-for-a-cafe-in-Berlin-that-serves-liquor tasks, until a guy with dreads down to his butt came over and gestured to my tea and my menu and asked me something in German. I just shrugged--maybe he wanted to know what kind of tea I'd gotten? Regardless, I took this to be a good sign that the hipster barometer was getting low. (Get it? Get it???!? It's like there was a hipster storm coming!!) So, I packed up my Seattleite cafe gear (if only I'd had a North Face and a Nalgene) and headed back to the apartments--which is where I am now. Now that I think about it, if you turn around a few times and squint real hard and don't read the labels on anything in the kitchen, our apartment could totally be somewhere on 45th and Roosevelt...Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-13053876203054557922011-07-05T04:32:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:36.422-07:00Thank you, Eurosport......for the live Tour de France coverage!! Before you know it I'll be talking cycling tactics in German. For now, I've only gotten as far as saying the names of riders and French cities in a very convincing (if I do say so myself) German accent.Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-58702039861946198552011-07-03T14:44:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:34.418-07:00Visual, writing assignment #1See the assignment instructions here:<br />
http://uwhonorsinberlin2011.blogspot.com/2011/06/visual-assignment-plus-writing.html<br />
<br />
Images: <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjNhA_-RGXhMD8shDeoSB0_PMnczEua7qEbud6TLehLh1EHVApBoEIL3Alr1gSbWCO55aj_gf1ps-anJF8l-PzTVVZ5rBWczjMUPLmDlrrhKqr-Omzga3tIinFYidO8cZ4sXCtCUoh5s/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 1 - Armani ad in Ataturk airport. This is a case of <i>how</i> I see determining <i>what</i> I see: what I perceived as a dissonance between the model's headscarf and the international consumption and wealth Armani represents crystallized the model as the "other," and made this image seem strange and contradictory to me. Tourist alert when I whipped out my camera and took a few pictures of this - who else would take pictures of a regular ad?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUeyVBxhgo2rue7ntg7GF0Gr9I9tLwFT16iV_3jFfKROPcshSv4XKpgJ_Wx0R_6E8I_sRvCnsHxGM2X7JINtSkaLpxw25p9tbdWl8KLfvtE2Uzl9vuWRsykD_AkZpSofFZFCj_dxtrcE/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUeyVBxhgo2rue7ntg7GF0Gr9I9tLwFT16iV_3jFfKROPcshSv4XKpgJ_Wx0R_6E8I_sRvCnsHxGM2X7JINtSkaLpxw25p9tbdWl8KLfvtE2Uzl9vuWRsykD_AkZpSofFZFCj_dxtrcE/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 2 - We saw kids playing in these streets safely, "treating the urban as if it is rural," Orhan said. The space is built as and for a city, yet we saw the people who live there treating and moving within it as a rural space.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmxBg9kwDryia5q1d0PrBa8kQiNU_yUnRwfBcl_Xv-oxsp04ckxMYsUGyplpAGAhnb8Obwq7-RIjOmALGburcdww6l5HPoSy8FXlaLMTjgep-8B7mClge8mmeYWIHPiUUDgEb4l6-w3g/s1600/photo+3+elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmxBg9kwDryia5q1d0PrBa8kQiNU_yUnRwfBcl_Xv-oxsp04ckxMYsUGyplpAGAhnb8Obwq7-RIjOmALGburcdww6l5HPoSy8FXlaLMTjgep-8B7mClge8mmeYWIHPiUUDgEb4l6-w3g/s320/photo+3+elizabeth.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 3 - When I look at this I see a camera-produced image, not what the site actually looked like on the ground. This does not convey what I <i>felt</i> like on the ground, either. I don't know if any one image could express my relationship (or, frequently, lack thereof) with my religion--or with any religion, for that matter.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RWaMVTHCiqY7S-TJkkz5OakQlQq_B_INZ-kcVSNzv5wuXJxUvR6noYSqS7vfac3hCN71tb2ploYJWixjRH7z27mrXMtw5DrkTS3mMtH6QtWutgqWndjD4nC6b9T1HppGIvHLzQNoceU/s1600/photo+4a+elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RWaMVTHCiqY7S-TJkkz5OakQlQq_B_INZ-kcVSNzv5wuXJxUvR6noYSqS7vfac3hCN71tb2ploYJWixjRH7z27mrXMtw5DrkTS3mMtH6QtWutgqWndjD4nC6b9T1HppGIvHLzQNoceU/s320/photo+4a+elizabeth.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 4 - Kripoe's "yellow fist" street art undoes the west/non-west binary. (In other words, he really gets around.) <br />
http://allcitystreetart.com/2011/04/26/raised-fist-turkish-street-art-from-kripoe-invader-and-more/<br />
http://www.tripleman.com/index.php?showimage=785<br />
http://www.tripleman.com/index.php?showimage=786</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlOR4jRHhZ3y9RXRl-43DNj9VEbsmZQE3Ra88-L0bbMFoTCeG4kzdN67dJBA7sUaH9GNENkFKfA4qZnHdfIIhiLiHNmefAKAZr-UXfDvR6dyjNMLdvVyq7XBoua1ub0QY9qKl1hiu9cQ/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlOR4jRHhZ3y9RXRl-43DNj9VEbsmZQE3Ra88-L0bbMFoTCeG4kzdN67dJBA7sUaH9GNENkFKfA4qZnHdfIIhiLiHNmefAKAZr-UXfDvR6dyjNMLdvVyq7XBoua1ub0QY9qKl1hiu9cQ/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 5 - Food, gifts, consumption - all deeply personal themes. Photography is appropriate for a memory like this one, which I associate not primarily with smell, sound, or even taste, but with the moment in which I started my day by <i>seeing</i> these colors and textures. Now that we've left Istanbul, though, this photo is, in Ozyurek's words, "a mere replacement for something lost."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZ0idGKbDdaFhQXIRZwSDykUgbv9nQHO_rbn-0h86WnMWGKwBCWu2pQJYwWRSDu7IMuGCu5ZVAuD_14UlkCly0Aa9Wr95K_CkVl-EGP5Nab35d0nu-j6heQ8c2ws8SuG73Roqu5FgunI/s320/photo+7.JPG" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 6.1 - Istanbul is not the "old city," understood via architecture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jW9yYLHc93msngiEX1aJvC1B3mg1UYQ5gGNtNRKsBy6K1xv89EDlf8u-zOUlFIJ8vOP2WfXJxEXFrvHYDlYzpfHjXy_NCRXY7jRwKUb15AwRwqK2HlCLBmZD9QaBmyqqmQYuxWnoqow/s1600/photo+7+elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jW9yYLHc93msngiEX1aJvC1B3mg1UYQ5gGNtNRKsBy6K1xv89EDlf8u-zOUlFIJ8vOP2WfXJxEXFrvHYDlYzpfHjXy_NCRXY7jRwKUb15AwRwqK2HlCLBmZD9QaBmyqqmQYuxWnoqow/s320/photo+7+elizabeth.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 6.2 - Istanbul is not the "old city," understood via bodies. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8XdC-XOJ4hzFzM5W-iKNjnm-04Np3cX7wET535laS9ImakqEgppotVE5O5v5jZueKQYavy-BLqgIsjt7vgIPHHSleo1X8KL1CcLuyyUyh-rVbBd_Rlnz36bx5pkPrKjEEO965f8T6zg/s1600/photo+6+courtesy+of+elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8XdC-XOJ4hzFzM5W-iKNjnm-04Np3cX7wET535laS9ImakqEgppotVE5O5v5jZueKQYavy-BLqgIsjt7vgIPHHSleo1X8KL1CcLuyyUyh-rVbBd_Rlnz36bx5pkPrKjEEO965f8T6zg/s320/photo+6+courtesy+of+elizabeth.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo 7 - Evidence of political and social turmoil in Turkey's neighboring countries, found in unexpected places.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Related blog posting, 7/2/11:</span></span><br />
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</style> </div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the introduction to <i>The Politics of Public Memory in Turkey</i>, Esra Ozyurek remarks, “the foundation of a nation-state is commonly a traumatic experience because it brings a <i>rupture</i> with the past" (11, emphasis mine). We heard about the traumatic episodes characteristic of the rupture that was the founding of the Turkish Republic—massacre of Armenians, deportation of Orthodox Christians, the wealth tax, the ban on fezzes, overhauls of traditional alphabet and calendar systems—in Jen's lecture and tour. Later in the week, Orhan instructed the group to throw away the misconception that any part of Istanbul is the "old city." He articulated the effects of these experiences of rupture in terms of the built environment, and prepared us to <i>see</i> this rupture as we moved independently around the city. Walking around Istanbul, difference in the built environment—“ancient” mosques and monuments right next door to gentrified apartment complexes, like those in the view from the Istanbul Modern parking lot in Photo 6.1—is apparent at every turn. This image in particular brought to my mind what Ozyurek calls a "site of forgetting," which retains for the observer "a residual sense of rupture...to prove that the break actually took place" (6). In the aftermath of rupture, the gentrification that Orhan showed us hides violence, dictating what a citizen sees and ultimately remembers. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">After Orhan's lecture, I started to see how the difference between "old" and "new" in the built environment translates onto people. Capitalism is at the center of my train of thought here: nostalgia for "old" times and practices in the face of gentrification "runs the country of which it is part...[and] is quite successful in turning commonly shared objects, concepts, and spaces into commodities" (Ozyurek 10). The glorifying of "Ottoman" foods, styles, and artifacts presents a flip-side to the traumatic experiences of the founding of the nation-state that Jen presented. Ottoman practices were previously abolished in the name of an imagined "Turkishness," but now the powerful longing of nostalgia (Tugal 161) has made those same practices opportunities not just for the construction of identity but also for capitalistic gain. With these ideas in mind, Photo 6.2, of Taksim Square during rush hour, is a meditation on the "engines of capitalism" (Ozyurek 10) in which the people of Istanbul and their nostalgia are simultaneously caught. The image of the woman in the foreground, with her back turned to the camera and her head covered, overlaps with other images and texts I encountered in Istanbul: first, the Armani ad in Photo 1, and second, Ozyurek's description of state-sponsored posters at the turn of the twentieth century that compared veiling practices with new, modern city states in an effort to "remind citizens of what they should leave behind and forget about desiring" while simultaneously "preventing the old ways from totally disappearing" (6). So, this image leaves me asking: to what extent is this woman “old” or “new”? Do her stylish black leggings and trendy belt “cancel out” her headscarf and skin-covering outfit? Or, is the contrast between the two styles—in people and in the built environment—indicative of a unique negotiation of modern Turkishness?</span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally, Photo 7 requires a short back-story. Janelle, Elizabeth, and I met two Turkish guys, Omer (pictured) and Can, on the main street north of Galata on Wednesday night. We didn’t speak any Turkish and they didn’t speak much English, but it seemed more fun to hang out around (but, note, not really “with) attractive Turkish guys than with other Americans. We managed to ask them where they were from, and Omer responded that he was from Bosnia. I didn’t think anything of it. The next day, however, when Didem lectured on the ongoing political and social turmoil in Turkey’s neighboring regions, the surprising significance of getting drinks with Omer clicked. I have no way of knowing if he and his family migrated in the 1990s to escape the wars, or if they came at another time for another reason. Regardless, meeting a self-identified Bosnian in Istanbul prompted personal revelations on the place of migrations from the Balkans in shaping my social circles. One of my good friends at home came to the U.S. from Serbia in the early 1990s with her family, and I have never really admitted to myself that she was part of a larger movement of people. As my close friend, she is, to me, so much more vibrant and tangible than numbers in textbooks or even in Didem's lecture. I see her as somehow immune to the conditions of migration, because I perceive her instead as part of my normal, everyday life. The coincidence of meeting a new person in Istanbul one day and confronting the (possible) reality of that person's introduction into my life the next has forced me to interrogate the ways in which I protect myself from the realities of the friends and acquaintances that make up my social world and, indirectly, my own identity.</span></div></div></div>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-13715831425839408262011-07-01T11:50:00.000-07:002021-10-12T11:29:31.761-07:00The Sema<span style="font-family: Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,san-serif; font-size: small;">We made it! </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.willgoto.com/images/Size3/Turkey_Konya_The_Whirling_Dervishes_9066588e7a2f472d9617cd70bd5632cc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://www.willgoto.com/images/Size3/Turkey_Konya_The_Whirling_Dervishes_9066588e7a2f472d9617cd70bd5632cc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,san-serif; font-size: small;">We saw fireworks by the suspension bridge on the walk back to the hostel across the Galata Bridge, and then it started pouring rain when we got to the tower. How fitting. :)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,san-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Bring the pure wine of love and freedom.<br />
But sir, a tornado is coming.<br />
More wine, we'll teach this storm<br />
A thing or two about whirling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,san-serif; font-size: x-small;"> - Jalal ad-Din Rumi (trans. Shahram Shiva)</span>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-35597464480655384592011-06-30T14:45:00.002-07:002021-10-12T11:29:15.595-07:00A few more images<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">of some of what we've seen and done in our very, very short time here (in no particular order). I take about zero pictures, so the following are thanks to the photo skillz of Juliya, Elizabeth, Janelle, and Laura. Or Google.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKrnlxDUDv9ssBE54wDjBqPKKe8uSrivxlUQPSxlK1Fjhki4yN1U5eNwJuAhFkQjLRR5sY8_hwk75TjWh1g1KptYVfen2XV42gp1fQZ0SezQG0vB3KhuqbEJJF41k8q378FSoSyNo5J4/s1600/blue+mosque.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKrnlxDUDv9ssBE54wDjBqPKKe8uSrivxlUQPSxlK1Fjhki4yN1U5eNwJuAhFkQjLRR5sY8_hwk75TjWh1g1KptYVfen2XV42gp1fQZ0SezQG0vB3KhuqbEJJF41k8q378FSoSyNo5J4/s320/blue+mosque.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unlike the Hagia Sophia (Museum) and the Palace, the Blue Mosque didn't charge admission. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.mwcradio.com/mimesis/2010-10/20/2010-10-20T155435Z_01_BTRE69J187400_RTROPTP_3_TECH-US-TURKCELL-BOARD_JPG_475x310_q85.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://media.mwcradio.com/mimesis/2010-10/20/2010-10-20T155435Z_01_BTRE69J187400_RTROPTP_3_TECH-US-TURKCELL-BOARD_JPG_475x310_q85.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turkcell is the largest cell phone carrier in Turkey. This is the Turkcell headquarters in Istanbul. The toddlers in the pictures all over the window are dressed up as the Turkcell slug/snail thing, which is yellow and wears a tuxedo:</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://senior.ceng.metu.edu.tr/2010/buta/images/turkcell_logo_blue1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://senior.ceng.metu.edu.tr/2010/buta/images/turkcell_logo_blue1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iiiiiiiiii dunno.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_MJctM82iWQMmZhQsadbUtTPmB8oD8RUrF2uTaJ2ANsH4A6ViyjzhrS6IW3_V7E_83uwPN_AZgnE7c311KdVlacM7cZ0qxo_tdZe18ujrl_zut5QzCUGmevvAwX0Psb0kQJ-2UMnepU/s320/balcony.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning, Istanbul - view from the exterior stairs at the hostel, four floors up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRVv9EtZ9UKRtpeBj7xtjb9uvh-OHY8s9c6RJtLRwTsh6cRFv9_FtmmIyPKHG1eMAJYKpKT-y-HkUK4EVxt6qgdGOxuCeHmlk9lkOCHWHzX_wMADwkZvAuX5EOR8TGG3tOtk5SOfj5bg/s1600/bread+things.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRVv9EtZ9UKRtpeBj7xtjb9uvh-OHY8s9c6RJtLRwTsh6cRFv9_FtmmIyPKHG1eMAJYKpKT-y-HkUK4EVxt6qgdGOxuCeHmlk9lkOCHWHzX_wMADwkZvAuX5EOR8TGG3tOtk5SOfj5bg/s320/bread+things.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicious bagel-ish sesame-covered bread, the price of which declines dramatically as you get farther away from the Galata Tower area. I may or may not be eating one right now...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUobg0TRQ5sOpfX-Ayz1eMLkKzXsaWAmQfEap8GVN9yMKXit5OonzBWA6YgwsbI2EJyOzxaOjRbxWPWc9vDhy43qDAERakIsfGxEhNo2ppsM1VEMTjrecT9ll-FUMpszqTHnt6E4C09V4/s1600/breakfast.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUobg0TRQ5sOpfX-Ayz1eMLkKzXsaWAmQfEap8GVN9yMKXit5OonzBWA6YgwsbI2EJyOzxaOjRbxWPWc9vDhy43qDAERakIsfGxEhNo2ppsM1VEMTjrecT9ll-FUMpszqTHnt6E4C09V4/s320/breakfast.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Free) hostel breakfast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKijifr-vL5Apgnh4aJg0AJ_qWymn1VLuFNaB2XGaSzfH-KjFMSMHkuQOSb51hfxjkp2hEEqKzz9zX6dbJy025z_PlkMB49PjC002QSlxIfW9Ip0u5yE1rlkDIjd2r-9tNaaWhGCdalw/s1600/tea.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKijifr-vL5Apgnh4aJg0AJ_qWymn1VLuFNaB2XGaSzfH-KjFMSMHkuQOSb51hfxjkp2hEEqKzz9zX6dbJy025z_PlkMB49PjC002QSlxIfW9Ip0u5yE1rlkDIjd2r-9tNaaWhGCdalw/s320/tea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turkish tea. Like cats and Turkcell, it is everywhere.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkO4qCI1Oj7EqTtUqw1o5RbWfoiCNIBDkZmaRQ57bw-ir-eQ6VaXIEMhZw1GM78fiPYWdm_nkd9-DoKWOC_CmerIFOzBH8eqII_1mkgEi_sbo1r1-TC3VJANmFgNdpeM_oY37yuQIRxk/s1600/church.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkO4qCI1Oj7EqTtUqw1o5RbWfoiCNIBDkZmaRQ57bw-ir-eQ6VaXIEMhZw1GM78fiPYWdm_nkd9-DoKWOC_CmerIFOzBH8eqII_1mkgEi_sbo1r1-TC3VJANmFgNdpeM_oY37yuQIRxk/s320/church.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catholic church off the main street north of the hostel.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShtE0EnK66lIy4XSPBRULhIsaCjQyrF6GbhBtI_oZ86ltFaJRvTdwZjigx5wiFPyz0ddtmHT_FYN85CSfQ2s3duXn6CE-D5RLA9LOzh41XXYeeivJuVxrmcbSs-vcFGMnCFb1O4PECZY/s1600/candles.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShtE0EnK66lIy4XSPBRULhIsaCjQyrF6GbhBtI_oZ86ltFaJRvTdwZjigx5wiFPyz0ddtmHT_FYN85CSfQ2s3duXn6CE-D5RLA9LOzh41XXYeeivJuVxrmcbSs-vcFGMnCFb1O4PECZY/s320/candles.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candles around the periphery of the church. Just looking at this picture it could be anywhere in the world--but, everything about it makes me think of Istanbul.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzSewLs8DR2lg3zgxaFJxjiNqYnqiOZK4hXUMzlb1elpBkqg6N1CEyaZ8FugOjeO4RwQnq1Se6YtPqEOBUthHKlzM6IDqvXoX7MPInJ2qYh2FJQ93Uc5cp1RLB9FkDi2K_keResysunY/s1600/flag.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzSewLs8DR2lg3zgxaFJxjiNqYnqiOZK4hXUMzlb1elpBkqg6N1CEyaZ8FugOjeO4RwQnq1Se6YtPqEOBUthHKlzM6IDqvXoX7MPInJ2qYh2FJQ93Uc5cp1RLB9FkDi2K_keResysunY/s320/flag.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right? RIGHT???</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8kcyYC0UrsO4rUiYGi1d3YkB228LnMXRlhoPVNtn_jSnMhRzAsHvgBi3XbwrxYLUYXlJ_-y73Q9dAEllURrcQTtMhV1s26EZf8CitiDnt_OfI2zGWPQtZJkvkU4_c_dBSVGzzNNLN5o/s1600/bosphorus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8kcyYC0UrsO4rUiYGi1d3YkB228LnMXRlhoPVNtn_jSnMhRzAsHvgBi3XbwrxYLUYXlJ_-y73Q9dAEllURrcQTtMhV1s26EZf8CitiDnt_OfI2zGWPQtZJkvkU4_c_dBSVGzzNNLN5o/s320/bosphorus.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Galatasaray University, right on the Bosphorus. We couldn't help it!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsHVEkKNsrf4dRBmPbgO_EAe_5pHAXfJuO9VhVBLhN6wGdYkz7Dh1g4tn0n4tunrsS7EF_CC4Y-6BcWoBf37ZhRFE1MuoEaXrAGkzF9MdpcT5TDAzBP9S_1RaJIgNbPGQIajtI0YxqCfk/s1600/ferry.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsHVEkKNsrf4dRBmPbgO_EAe_5pHAXfJuO9VhVBLhN6wGdYkz7Dh1g4tn0n4tunrsS7EF_CC4Y-6BcWoBf37ZhRFE1MuoEaXrAGkzF9MdpcT5TDAzBP9S_1RaJIgNbPGQIajtI0YxqCfk/s320/ferry.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple days before that we took the ferry across the Bosphorus for kicks. It was just like taking the ferry to Bainbridge...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtX5_DJjrpWq9LxrhIHenMGyMQtg8PLeIYDPwATWKykeBLqfV1gbNGdiEYzneKzej3gFMHKKk3YPxjowPLAugYvrD3lt__C33FAeuDXJsunjYgADI6nxboZRGE5SPP0qeSgLfZd9HkHk/s1600/other+side.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtX5_DJjrpWq9LxrhIHenMGyMQtg8PLeIYDPwATWKykeBLqfV1gbNGdiEYzneKzej3gFMHKKk3YPxjowPLAugYvrD3lt__C33FAeuDXJsunjYgADI6nxboZRGE5SPP0qeSgLfZd9HkHk/s320/other+side.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...except that it looked like this.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjecc73ZGm8vJ9s5yL3p_c6hhiPIcwVsWZDDQAUFzl08fR1sqSNaCPj7Eqw-2hwpsB4ltqQu2EQPHFdTsxiH7jVBCZCabHd2hoaOfPgTFDFXcnOQ7NWunA1QcSmXJHykt1pRRoklu1UlEQ/s1600/night.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjecc73ZGm8vJ9s5yL3p_c6hhiPIcwVsWZDDQAUFzl08fR1sqSNaCPj7Eqw-2hwpsB4ltqQu2EQPHFdTsxiH7jVBCZCabHd2hoaOfPgTFDFXcnOQ7NWunA1QcSmXJHykt1pRRoklu1UlEQ/s320/night.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First thing we saw as we drove up from the airport, and last thing I see from my bed in the hostel before I go to sleep - Galata Tower all lit up with white birds flying around it. Goodnight!</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650946316507813212.post-34017156012584898682011-06-29T09:45:00.002-07:002021-10-12T11:29:01.932-07:00TURKISH KITTENZZZIstanbul seems to have a serious stray cat problem. They are everywhere. On the street and the sidewalk, under cars, sitting on window ledges, under your table as an outdoor seafood restaurant, kicking it in the grocery story on the corner. EVERYWHERE.<br />
<br />
Thanks to online comics' thorough documentation of human behavioral phenomena when in the presence of kitty cats, I can visually demonstrate to you my reversion to a five-year-old mindset whenever a cat enters my field of vision...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/12/16/128739015157321305.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/12/16/128739015157321305.png" width="315" /></a></div><br />
...and further my increasing inanity as said cat's cute furry wonderful soft cuteness get closer and closer to me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/cat_proximity.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/cat_proximity.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
So, I've spent the last two days being kind of stoked by the constant presence of cats, especially because they make me think of Mineu the Cat (also sometimes referred to as The Most Amazing Cat in the World) and, of course, Bike House's warrior kittens Tomahawk, Ranger, and Coconut the Enterprise. But while Mineu the Cat is relatively straightfoward in her unrivaled beauty and inspiring grace (i.e. she eats, sleeps, and rolls over, never straying far from the safety and warmth of inside my parents' house), the Istanbul kitties tell some different stories. They are very beautiful, and very sad.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqaGGV8k9YH8bFdy2MiFGGuXsvs3HwDEWAO78mlE0I1ffoErWsc-2n78IzlmYErPg9O1n5u78MTNHFPKb8v0xl0gQ5qs_p8puVy7OO0Gkt7BYx5_gRfZRSxZRYknOea016QzKujkvZlc/s1600/funny+looking+kitty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqaGGV8k9YH8bFdy2MiFGGuXsvs3HwDEWAO78mlE0I1ffoErWsc-2n78IzlmYErPg9O1n5u78MTNHFPKb8v0xl0gQ5qs_p8puVy7OO0Gkt7BYx5_gRfZRSxZRYknOea016QzKujkvZlc/s320/funny+looking+kitty.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0KKiSFqlmExUa__P6uc2_nBWc-CCfQ_YRz1TjbSDlV2ziV24OIdqRPObHjICVN0RA1dID09xbUaNfzMIvl7vVeAJ3WxdmzjR_fSgK4drPOedIgyaN9FeMViTMzTK3k5UeEOISNXtkU4/s1600/restaurant+kitten.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0KKiSFqlmExUa__P6uc2_nBWc-CCfQ_YRz1TjbSDlV2ziV24OIdqRPObHjICVN0RA1dID09xbUaNfzMIvl7vVeAJ3WxdmzjR_fSgK4drPOedIgyaN9FeMViTMzTK3k5UeEOISNXtkU4/s320/restaurant+kitten.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhs_esBklXZ0Rw2BLXkjnbVnin00mvFSN1sXDfgqklZgA8euvuzVcA330aJTRYUeV5XZ4EhxuAmeEsjuwGyjvv1abuEGT7MSqFReS_eLsx8euIsejG69Gy4j7D69crl9-0f992jbo78mk/s1600/guitars+kitty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhs_esBklXZ0Rw2BLXkjnbVnin00mvFSN1sXDfgqklZgA8euvuzVcA330aJTRYUeV5XZ4EhxuAmeEsjuwGyjvv1abuEGT7MSqFReS_eLsx8euIsejG69Gy4j7D69crl9-0f992jbo78mk/s320/guitars+kitty.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcu1eZb7LuKxVGGCt-6EtMlE_sA7UVzNmbDXXMaBZklnjVyH6ApeGc__5EWW2g8JDanTSHkZGiJuLWrqi55EW_BndE9FZfXrPt6KAHbEn2yNgUJy2FRSfKeE-SSK6HJ9byg9cRdM6ZMoU/s1600/sad+kitty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcu1eZb7LuKxVGGCt-6EtMlE_sA7UVzNmbDXXMaBZklnjVyH6ApeGc__5EWW2g8JDanTSHkZGiJuLWrqi55EW_BndE9FZfXrPt6KAHbEn2yNgUJy2FRSfKeE-SSK6HJ9byg9cRdM6ZMoU/s320/sad+kitty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Genniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528233507706768127noreply@blogger.com0