Chapter 2 - A World Cup, Concentration Camps and Small Worlds
Small worlds collide during the World Cup in Berlin Germany and I explore the terrifying madness of a Nazi Concentration Camp at Sachsenhausen.
’Tis a small world after all
Berlin, Germany, Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The journey to the airport unfolded exactly as planned. By 5:15 a.m., I was in the check-in line at EasyJet. As it turned out, however, my departure from London was not as smooth.
The 6:30 a.m. departure dragged on until finally, at 9:00 a.m., we were heading through the murky skies over London. I wonder if the clouds signaled an end to the “water drought” and the start of the “sun drought.” Why such a delay? First, EasyJet had boarded too many people; then, there were lengthy negotiations for landing space in Berlin with a security-conscious, World Cup–wary German air traffic control. Yikes. I felt bad for my friends Jason and Michelle Kennedy, who were waiting for me at the airport.
Bless their hearts—they were still waiting for me when I arrived.
I do need to interject some information not related to the journey per se. The night before, I had received some incredibly bad news. Our friend Marc Dyke’s father had fallen through a roof he had been working on in St. John’s, Newfoundland, and was in a coma. I imparted this sad news to Jason as I stepped out of the airport.
I wanted to check my email for any further updates, and therefore our first stop in Berlin was Jason and Michelle’s apartment in the former East Berlin.
There are many things about Berlin that I wish I could take back to Edmonton:
Fantastic subway, train, and tram systems. Everything is on time, efficient, and frequent, with great coverage. Bless Edmonton Transit Services for adding one more station this past year after four years on one of the most useless light rail lines I have ever seen.
Great European bread. Need I say more?
The ability to drink beer anywhere. Yes—on the road, on the subway, even in front of a cop. Brilliant. So bloody civilized.
The cost of beer. Here is a place where beer is cheaper than water—I can see I am in for trouble.
With my email checked, we went for a picnic with bottles of beer, bread, and cheese. This is where Berlin became a very small place. I knew that Greg Zeschuk and his brother Brad were going to be in Berlin for the World Cup—they had tickets, the lucky bastards. Greg is the president of the company I work for, BioWare. Earlier, I had even called his number to no avail. We were about to sit down for some food when I got a tap on the shoulder. There they were! What a small world—that Greg had seen me while walking in a city of several million, a population swollen even larger by the World Cup!
My first day in Berlin included a lot of walking and supper at an Indian restaurant in the somewhat dodgy Kreuzberg district. The meal was good, but the aftermath left a lot to be desired.
Let me rewind a bit.
Before I left Edmonton, my friend Sue Thomson handed me a fantastic book: “How to Shit Around The World.” During my rather pleasant flight to London, I delved into the glorification of our personal evacuation systems and the ways in which they get irritated in a million and one ways during travel.
Lo and behold, as the Indian food entered my sleep-deprived—and undernourished, beer-filled—stomach (remember, I had now been on the go for over twenty hours), the nether gates of hell were opened. Standing on a platform waiting for the S-Bahn just past midnight, the devil was unleashed, and I left Jason and Michelle in a sprint for one of Berlin’s many clean streetside toilets. Having survived my first bout of traveler’s stomach, I headed to bed.
Germany breaks through Polish defence
Berlin, Germany, Wednesday, June 14, 2006
According to my friend Craig Welsh, the above headline appeared on a number of online sites.
You might wonder, “What?!? Did we suddenly rewind back to 1939?” No—this was the 2006 World Cup, Germany versus Poland. For me, it was a slow day of relaxing and visiting Schloss Charlottenburg. The evening was to be spent at a Biergarten, watching the impending battle between the neighbouring countries.
The Biergarten was huge and set between two buildings, as if it were placed in a burned or bombed-out structure. Outside, a giant screen showed the game to a couple hundred Berliners (not the jelly doughnuts). I attempted to show off my German abilities by ordering a “Kartoffel Salat mit Brötchen” in front of a rather cute girl with whom we had been chatting. Of course, I proceeded to dump the plate quite spectacularly in a shower of potatoes as it was handed to me.
The game was exciting, and made even more so by being surrounded by a few hundred German fans. Late and into injury time Germany scored, bringing the fans out of their seats with a jolt of electricity.
Concentrating on Sachsenhausen
Berlin, Germany, Thursday, June 15, 2006
Our plan for my final full day in Berlin was to visit the former Nazi concentration camp at Sachsenhausen, near the small town of Oranien. We paid for a tour, which we met up with at the Brandenburg Gate—currently overshadowed by a gigantic metallic football.
Ah, the World Cup.
Our Australian tour leader, Pen, marched us off—yeah, yeah, bad joke—to Sachsenhausen, which was fifty minutes away by train. Although I have studied German history, read about concentration and death camps in both German and English, and even talked to one Auschwitz survivor, Moishe Kantorowitz, standing at one of these sites in the baking sun was mind-numbing.
While the camp was truly terrifying, it was also hugely awe-inspiring regarding how people forced themselves to keep living despite the hardships imposed upon them. Sachsenhausen was a “model” camp. Its goal was to train SS officers, and as such, it was one of the most secure camps during the Nazi regime. The camp was designed in the shape of a triangle as a sign of control and to maximize efficiency. From the gate tower at the base of the triangle, a single gun could shoot down any aisle of the camp.
During the war, more than 50,000 souls were lost at this camp—and a further 12,000 when it was turned into a gulag by the Soviets between 1945 and 1950, or so. Efficiency, brutality, and control were the name of the game, and this was apparent from the design, signs, placement, and the stories. Although I could repeat so many tales of the brutality we learned about, the one story that makes me marvel at the indomitable human spirit was the one Pen told about four Jewish musicians interned at the camp.
The musicians desperately wanted to hold a concert. By whatever means possible, they managed to get hold of some instruments and performed a concert that brought the camp elders to tears. They were forced to practice in the pathology unit, where, by day, inmates’ bodies were dissected and perhaps experimented upon. Pen recounted that one survivor remembered this and said he cried upon hearing music for the first time in four years. I leave you, gentle reader, to question why humanity inflicts such inhumanity upon our brothers and sisters.
After being numbed and depressed for four or five hours, by late evening we were on a train back into the city. Pen offered us some insight into the culture of East German customer service and its single-minded, linear thinking—a story that left Jason, Michelle, and me laughing raucously.
Pen had gone to purchase queen-size bed fittings for her and her partner’s new bed. Apparently, queen-size beds are not common in Germany; most couples simply put two single beds together. Having been unable to locate the proper-sized fittings, she approached a sales lady using her relatively poor German:
“Do you have any queen-size bed fittings?”
“Large?”
“Yes, large.”
“Why? You are a small person. You don’t need them!” she retorted, and then left in a huff.
For the most part, my experience in Berlin was quite pleasant with respect to customer service—though everyone assures me that is not normally the case. The evening was spent in a lovely pizzeria, with plenty of cheap beer served quite pleasantly.