My friend Claudia says it is a Christmas tradition, so we went with them the day after with the three girls (and one baby). The girls were so good once they had their giant bag of popcorn, and the show was every bit the spectacle I was hoping for. Multi-music playing clowns, audience participation, mimes, and super serious dudes in silver suits performing to Van Halen’s “Jump.”
From the windows of trains passing through the outskirts of the city, you can see tiny little plots with tiny little houses surrounded by orderly fences. At first, I thought these places were some sort of super-organized German shanty-town. A.’s secretary informed us that these are little garden plots, sort of a backyard away from home for city folk. The image below shows a Schrebergarten area, with the S-Bahn on the left and the city bordering the other three sides.
People buy these plots and tend to them for years, visiting every weekend in the summer months, investing in new trees and plants, spending the night in the tiny one room houses, babysitting grandkids when they have retired. There is, of course, an organized list of rules that the owners follow, avoiding potential arguments over creeping tree branches, barbeque smoke, or the noise of construction. The miniscule plots are compactly pressed together, but are all totally unique, reflecting the vision developed by their keepers. Though unkempt gardens are generally frowned upon, there are edible vegetable plots and fruit trees, secret overgrown pathways, plaster gnomes, and lushly planted flowers. As an outsider, one can not go into the private gated spaces, but there are winding paths that take you around the perimeters, and the fences allow you to see most of what is within. I found an informative article about these gardens and their history in Germany here.
Greta’s kita was moved temporarily due to roof repair needed for their original building (rumors of asbestos, of course). The most convenient alternative space they could find is in a former east german housing complex. It’s the kind of thing that you frequently see in Berlin. But it’s the kind of thing that you see from the outside and ride on by. As we found, the first time we dropped Greta off and again and again when we used maps and printouts and pictures to explain to friends and babysitters scheduled to pick Greta up, once you enter the complex, it is really easy to become disoriented. It does not help things that there are at least four disconnected streets with the same name: Thomas-Mann-Str. Though the complex is contained by large city streets, within these boundaries it becomes its own little world apart.
At first I complained. My back hurt. It was two miles away. I can never find it. Even if I took the train, it was still a 15 minute walk to get into the complext to Greta’s kita. And, I admit, with my American sensibilities, I had a preconceived idea of what “housing project” meant. With time, however, especially now that it is summertime and we have our bikes, I have really come to appreciate the surroundings. This is a housing community. I get it. I like it. First off, like so many things in Berlin, it is just SO green.
Many of the pathways around the complex are free of cars. Riding around, into, and out of, we have come across multiple beer gardens, grammar schools and kitas with beautiful yards, and excellent playgrounds. Some of it is run down, but it all has this sort of quiet charm in the sunshine. In our newly found favorite playground in the complex, the stellar Einstein Park, we have frequently heard Russian omas. I don’t know if they have been here since, or if it is just my wishful nostalgic thinking.
In time, Greta will be back at the old kita, a mere three blocks away from our apartment. Of course, it will be easier to roll out of the house at 9:15 and still get her to school on time. Especially when the leaves go away and it gets cold and the buildings all look gray again. But, still, there is something I will miss.
The playgrounds are like jungles here and parents are often left without a clear view of their children as they climb off beneath the bushes or scamper into large wooden structures that twist and turn and emerge multiple levels above the ground. In the run-of-the-mill Berlin spielplatz, there is always sand, most likely a water source in the form of a pump, and also metal equipment that gets hot in the sun and things that can go very fast if you let them. Lots of space, lots of interesting shapes, lots of movement and manipulation and climbing.
Helmholtzplatz, Berlin.
Weinbergspark, Berlin
Then on top of that, there are the junk lot adventure playgrounds, originally conceived in England after WWII, when children and their imaginations frequented the vacant blocks filled with bomb-blased bits of things. This idea of open space where older children (6-12) can work on designs of their own creation, building forts with scraps of metal and wood, planting seeds and tending to the results, caught on in Germany, where there are currently over 400 such parks. Glimpses of one near us:
A recent New Yorker article about the current playground climate in NYC describes trendy, established, “playful” architects (Gehry? Really?) designing multi-million dollar playgrounds. It portrays the anxiety and litigation of the American culture that led to the demise of most adventure playgrounds built in the 1970′s (two remain, both in California) and today demands some of the German-made playground equipment to be removed. In my experience here, kids touch the hot slide, and think, ‘Well, I won’t do THAT today.’ Or they do, and they burn their bottom a little bit. Sometimes a little one gets stuck swinging too high. Sometimes it is the overzealous dad who jumps too hard and inadvertently launches a child. Sometimes kids (like Greta) break their arm just navigating a window in the cramped play kitchen area. Anyway, kids get hurt, but they will do that anywhere. And these German playgrounds, they work. They are used. They are always jam packed with kids of all ages, sometimes naked, always dirty. Playing, fighting, organizing, trying, building. Their adults quietly talking or reading or (gasp) drinking a beer on a hot afternoon. So thinking about these blue styrofoam design playground designs for the future of NY, I muse, “Hmmm. But can you do this?”:
For Sundays during advent ONLY, the mall near my house is open for business. I forgot about this special time of year, and ran in last Sunday night just cause I could. During the other 11 months, part of Saturday is reserved for trips out for diapers and milk and enough food to get us through until Monday. Of course this is nice, leaving Sundays for museums, parks, family. But oh, when something is forgotten. Anyway, this made me think of the other things that are different that depending on my state of mind, make me laugh or drive me bananas. This, for instance, is not an unusual occurrence. Just regular eggs from the regular grocery store.
I am referring to the feather just nestled right into the carton there. And on top of that, if you look a little closer you will see that there are only 10 eggs in the carton! For real! Embarrassingly, this took us almost a year to realize.
Unlike all other places I have lived that have waterfronts that are difficult for people to enjoy (Buffalo grain elevators, New York high ways, San Francisco shipping ports), Berlin has got it covered (though people here are fearful this may come to an end). There are seemingly endless sprawling clubs and bars and restaurants along the water.
They are sort of like amusement parks, with outdoor pool tables in one section, a boat house that doubles as a dance hall in another, a grill, a beach, a deck, movie screens, etc. To get from one section to another, you have to navigate a jungle maze of green trees and overgrown paths. With chandeliers hanging in the trees.
Club de Visionäre
Rosi’s
Bar 25
Kiki Blofeld
Club Rechenzentrum
Then even where there is no water, there are beach bars. There is one in the Mauerpark flea market near our apartment. This one is not only not near water, but in the former dead zone of the Berlin wall.
There is another one on the top floor of the parking garage in the mall near our house. The view is great and they play good music and the kids can play in the sand while we sit back and have a beer as the sun sets. Again, on the top floor of the mall.
Though I would usually rather have a bag of potato chips than something sweet, I recently found this excellent dark chocolate bar in our cheap grocery store for only .99 Euro cents.
A. recently suggested that I check out the translation. [Schwarze] [Herren]. HA! WHat?! And then just to really be clear about things, check out the extra line in French at the bottom. See here for another look at this fine candy bar’s strange name; the writer actually uses a German relative to get to the bottom of things. Sort of.
We first noticed it a while back when it started to snow in December. That first snowy morning, the mountain-bike-tire strollers were gone from the sidewalks and in their place were wooden sleds dragged by parents. This was very obviously serious transportation, not a joy ride. Some of the sleds had a back to lean against, some had fabric for the base, but other than that they were identical. Sturdy wooden sleds with metal runners on the bottom.
After a few months of watching (and trying to maneuver our non-mountain-bike-tire stroller through snow and sludge) we were going to purchase one of our very own when A.’s mathematics department secretary gave us hers, saying her kids were now too old. So easy to drag the kids around! It just slips right over the snow.
Last weekend we took it sledding in Viktoria park in Kreuzberg (another tip from the maths secretary). Here they were again; everyone used these same sleds. There were no hi-tech plastic monsters, just these unadorned simple sturdy wooden rides: safe, easy to carry, and fast. More sledding pictures here.
Boys wear tights here. Yes they do. Every day. There is an entire section of tights for boys in every children’s clothing store, both new and used. When I take Greta to her kita in the morning I see all the little boys in her group come into the room, take of their boots, their hats, their mittens, their coats, and their pants. They spend the rest of the day in their shirt (often a soccer jersey, sometimes a western plaid with snaps) and their tights. It totally makes sense. I mean, it is cold here in Berlin. It is warm and comfy inside the kita. Why not? By the time I pick Greta up, Nils, Paavo, Joe, and the like, are all just lounging around on the rug in their manly dark blue, brown, grey, tights. Some days, one of them may sport a pair with stripes, or a small car or truck pattern around the ankle. I don’t have any pictures yet. I wish I did. I will try to take some on the sly when picking Greta up some day.
