#i do want one of those tread wheelchairs they have at national parks though

[tiorx]

tbh i dislike that everyone imagines futuristic wheelchairs as having legs instead of wheels or treads like existing wheelchairs do today. for one, it just seems uncomfortable to sit on something with legs but also, like... i don't want a future where i have to recreate having legs. i want a future where i can use a normal wheelchair with no difficulties

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Berlin 2 September – 10 September 2017

I really like this place straight off. I walk from the coach terminal to the nearby Grinewald forest. The path takes me through a large area of communal housing, small cottages which look mostly self-sustained, with large gardens.

The forest relaxes me. I climb a hill with what looks like a street art exhibition at the top, with some  rundown cold war thing in the middle. I want to enter but I have no Euros, only Swekish Kronas. It is 8E for a ticket.

I later find out the place is called Tefulesburg. It is the remains of an NSA listening station from the cold war. The hill is artificial, having been built out of the debris from WW2. I decide I will go some other day.

I walk to a train station and buy a weekly ticket, as I will be here for this long. I go to the city centre and explore the museum area and canals. I book a cheap hostel nearby for the night, and a good vibes looking one in East Berlin for the rest of the week.

Not much to say for the first evening. I check into the hostel. Have some beer in the park. Socialise in the room with my roomates. More beer in the hostel bar, read my book and go to bed.

In the morning I explore the city centre a bit more. I see more museums from the outside, an old cathedral with some bullet marks in the stonework from the war and some other landmarks I take nothing more than a passing interest in.

I notice there are more exposed pipes in here. I find out from a German friend later that this is because the ground underneath the cities is very boggy, and is not stable enough to hold the pipes reliably in their place underground.

I catch a tram to the hostel. It is nice, with a large open garden, blooming with tall sunflowers and marigolds, and a common room and kitchen which has large doors that open into the garden. The owner checks me in and seems like a cool guy. I rest in my room. A man is passed out on the couch in there. He wakes up and introduces himself as Peter, and apologises as he has been partying for 24 hours straight, so cannot offer more in conversation. I tell him I understand and it is important to rest after such a party.

I leave the hostel. I’ve noticed there are lots of abandoned buildings in the city, and found a website called abandoned Berlin. I like taking photos at such locations, so I find one nearby, and abandoned children’s hospital, and head towards it. I walk past a brewery, with crates of recycled bottle standing tall outside. Eventually I come to the hospital, and it is

I spend hours there, carefully treading through the dilapidated building. I explore it thoroughly, trying to imagine what it was once like. There is much graffiti here, and evidence of squatters and parties in the wreckage. Arsons have tried to burn raze the place from the ceiling down. The basement sections have stale air and are pitch black. I explore them with my flashlight. There is next to no graffiti here, the street artists perhaps being too spooked by it. There is some writing on the walls though. “Welcome to hell.” “I died here.” “Help me, I am in hell.” “This way to the portal.” “You have reached the point of no return.” “Don’t look at the sky because that’s when the hell creeps in.”

All this with arrows to follow. I follow the trail through narrow pipe passageways and holes in brick walls, half indulging myself in the horror fantasy and half being amused imagining myself as the author of these messages – a youth with a can of spray paint. I bump into a group of three young explorers who are friendly, and a lone man, about my age exploring, who I am friendly towards. The sun is starting to set when I leave. I have a couple of hundred more photos on my phone and camera.

If you are interested in the hospital’s history, or even to compare some of my photos with those from a few years ago, I recommend the Abandoned Berlin page for it - http://www.abandonedberlin.com/2013/08/abandoned-childrens-hospital-zombies.html

I catch a tram back to the hostel and get a falafel and some beers. I befriend a man from Arizona in the kitchen who I share some musical tastes with. A fire is lit outdoors and it becomes a social hub. I sip beer and chat. It is a Monday evening so most of us retire at midnight.

The next day is aimless. I catch trams and just ride them around. I explore some parks. I explore the city centre once again, and find a good falafel joint. I have some beers to ease my headache. I do not want to socialise so I stay out until it’s dark, reading my book in random places. Then I go straight to bed when I get back, passing by the group around the fire, giving nothing but a head nod to those I know, too exhausted to talk.

The next day I go to the nearby Stasi prison. The Stasi being the East German Soviet police. It is a scary place. I hear about the psychological torture and cruel punishments for being a so called enemy of the state. It is depressing, like 1984 by George Orwell. It is also very bleak, grey walls, grey sky. Many prisoners were innocent, and often locked up if it was thought someone in the west would pay a ransom for their release. Essentially state kidnapping was a source of revenue. The cells were purposefully made too hot or cold to ensure discomfort. The light remained on all night. You could not lie on the bed during the day, you had to stand up. They would deprive you of sleep and make you go mad so that your just wanted it to stop and would confess to anything they wanted you to. They would interrogate you at night. It would all continue until you sign some bizarre confession of crimes being a spy and implicate your friends and family and then they would send you to other prisons or to labour camps. It helped me understand life in the DDR. Thank fuck that’s over.

I buy some groceries on the way back. Back at the hostel I switch rooms from the nine bed dorm to a tent in the back garden, where chickens roam free. There are two beds in here, I have it for two nights, and I have it alone. Other people have their own tents pitched out here too. There is an apple tree where I pick a fresh apple for later. Then it buckets down with rain and I rest and relax in the tent for the afternoon. At night I cook some roast cauliflower and potato for dinner. Then I sip beers on the couches in the common room. Other people join me, some come and go. Australian, Glasweigian, English, German, Danish, Irish, Canadian, Israeli, Brazilian, Argentinian – the usual assortment of nationalities. All good people, as this place seems to attract.

The next day I sleep in late. Then I catch random trams and trains again. I walk through a long pedestrianised street lined with shops. I end up at the Oberbaum Bridge, where the East side Gallery starts – a long stretch of the preserved Berlin wall with street art and history painted on it. I walk along it. I follow it slowly sipping beer until it ends. Then I follow the Spree river back to the town centre and jump on a tram back.

I cook some potato and cauliflower curry for dinner, and am thinking to have a quiet night in the tent, but Peter invites me to a night on the town with him. As a gay man he wants to go to some gay  bars I like to think of myself as open minded, so I’m fine with going along to witness this new experience. Why not? I think, when in Berlin. The nightlife here is famous, and I’d been meaning to check it out.

I knew I would have to get very drunk in an effort to get into the spirit of things. I had some sad news at the start of the evening, which my mind tends to turn back to. I had been trying to contact a friend, Marija, in Serbia at the start of my trip. I had never met them before, they were someone I befriended through the internet some way or another, and we used to have a pen pal type relationship, but through instant messenger. She had a genetic disease, some form of muscular dystrophy and I had thought it would be nice to visit her and bring her a gift. At the start of the night I got a reply:

Hey Mark,

this is Marijas sister, I turned on her phone today after a while

She passed away in January on Christmas

Got very sick in a short time and doctors couldn’t do much, we didn’t see it coming that fast

It put me in a reflective mood. I could not help but feel sorrow for her. Yes it would pass and I would feel thankful that I am a healthy, educated Australian.

But I had to grieve for her first. She spent most of her life in a wheelchair in pain, and in a country with not the greatest medical facilities. She was intelligent, but could not go to university, as Serbian infrastructure does not readily accommodate disabled access as Australian cities do. She suffered then she died.

So there I was, gloomy and withdrawn, drinking with Peter, bubbly and gay.

We go to Kreuzberg, an area with many bars and nightclubs. We go to a supermarket and drink prosecco and energy drinks purchased from a convenience store outside a bar with coloured lights. We go to a quiet bar and have another energy drink. We go to an energetic gay bar which I am entertained and uplifted by. We go to a convenience store and buy some peppermint schnapps which I throw back greedily. I am finding it hard to get out of my shell.

Peter is a regular at these places, and sometimes knows some people. I do my best to be open and friendly, and perhaps I also feel a degree uncomfortable.

I hardly remember the last bar, Roses, with it’s red lighting, leather seats and fur on the walls. But I become very sleepy and at some point I left the bar of my own accord and caught a train home.

In the morning I could not find my wallet. Oh well. It’s either pickpocketed, dropped on the train home, or back at the bar. Bank card, UK ID, Aussie driver’s licence. Nothing I can’t replace. Nothing in comparison to the news about Marija. I cancel one tomorrow night’s booking at the hostel, and switch to the 12 bed dorm I had had booked. I catch a tram to town. I go to the lost property office but it is closed. I message Laura asking her if she can buy me some phone credit, as I cannot recharge without a UK bank card. I want to call the bar we were last at to see if they have the wallet.

I exchange my Czech and Swedish cash (which had been in my backpack) for Euros so I have money to pay for the next night at the hostel. I walk back to the hostel since I have lost my tram ticket. I explore a large park for some time, and am lucky enough to see a native red squirrel. Apparently these are becoming rare, as a large North American grey squirrel has pushed them out.

It is dark when I return to the hostel. I rest for a while. Then I make some food and sit brooding in the corner of the common room.

It is Friday night so things are a bit more lively. Peter appears. I ask him how the rest of his night was. He said a Finnish lady kept buying him drinks, as she had been promoted. Then he went home with a guy and was just getting back. He says he was confused by my disappearance, I explained I had been very drunk and I just leave when that happens. He wondered if something was wrong, as I had seemed to keep my distance from him. I explained my aloofness was due to grief. He said he did not think I got a kiss last night. I agreed. He said, well perhaps tonight!

I tell him about my wallet and he says we should go back, he was going to do it all over again tonight. Laura has not had time to recharge my phone yet, which is fair enough. So although it’s the last thing I want to do, I have no choice but to come along. However we are to have some friends join us this time. I quickly become friends with Georgie the west coast badass style American, and ratify my friendships with Peter, Jessie who I had talked with a few time over the last week and Anna, a Canadian who works at the hostel.

We follow the same route as the night before, and it feels a little like deja vu. We return to the spot with coloured lights, however this time I split a bottle of rum and some grapefruit juice with Georgie. This makes me quite drunk, and the next thing I know is we are back at Roses. They have my wallet at the bar. I become ecstatic and buy a round of drinks for my friends, tipping the bartender generously. Anna and I magnetise toward each other and spend much time dancing and talking together. Peter was right, I would get a kiss tonight.

As a group we were in the bar chatting to other people, then on the street at a night store drinking Club Mate, an energy drink, and then back in Roses. Around 5am in the morning the bar closes. It has been a crazy fun night, with too much happening to describe.

Anna and I catch a cab back as she is worried about getting back for work in the morning. She cannot find the keys to her room however so I keep her company in the common room until the sun rises and then I crawl to my bed.

Tonas, the owner of the hostel awakes me. It is past checkout time and he needs to collect my bed linen, unless I want to rebook the night I cancelled. I choose to rebook and sleep a bit more. I get up and have a shower. I’m meant to meet Maxine (my German friend from Ghent and Luxembourg) today in Potsdam and then hangout with Anna tonight.

I get the train to Potsdam. Maxine is as exhausted as I am – however her fatigue comes from work and study. She gives me a brief and informative tour of the place. We meet outside a large church, and are allowed to climb to the top for free as she knows the staff. It is an impressive view, and she points and describes landmarks to me. It was a DDR town, so she explains how they widened the main streets for military parades. The hollywood of Germany is here, and we discuss the few German films I have seen. We can hear loud men on loud speakers, and see many police cars at a square in the distance. Maxine explains that the German election is in three weeks. A populist party has emerged and is tipped to get the third most votes. There is a rally today for the populist party, and an anti-populist counter-rally. Thus the loud speakers and police cars.

As we descend the narrow staircase, we pause in the main room where a choir rehearses for the night’s performance. They will perform pop songs that evening. I have never heard anything quite like it in the tall, acoustic hall. A mini orchestra backs them up, and it is at first a relaxing, ambient sound, but unexpectedly it turns into an uplifting chorus. Maxine says she was thinking of going tonight, and later I am to find out she had hoped I would visit in the evening rather than the afternoon.

She takes me to her work, a liquorice store, and she chats with her friends in German who are working. They give me some liquorice, and although I do not like liquorice, this piece ain’t so bad. Sabine was a midwife, but grew tired of it, so now she studies art and culture and works at the liquorice store, which she prefers. We go for coffee and a cupcake and the conversation flows easily. We speak of her travels. She spend many months in Israel. As we leave the woman at the counter who has a heart-warming smile inquires if we are Jewish, as we spoke of Israel and the Sabbath.

Next we walk to Sansoucci, the palace of Fredrick the Great. It is spoken of as a rival to Versailles, albeit it is smaller. It is very pretty, and I absorb myself in the moment rather than pausing for photos. At Fredrick’s grave there are potatoes placed on top of it. Sabine explains this is because he introduced the potato to Prussia, during a great famine. The people were slow to adopt it, and were eating the leaves as they did not understand what to eat. But the way Fredrick made people want to learn how to grow it, was by planting a great field of them, and having it guarded. Once the people saw it was guarded, they decided it was valuable and started growing it themselves.

After this I am too tired to do much more but return to the hostel. So we catch a bus to the train station and say our farewells as the train arrives. I hope to see her in the UK, or in Europe again one day.

I have some beers on the tram ride home in a hair of the dog approach to my own well being. Johnny, a quiet guy from Bristol who is in my room at the hostel is on the tram. He came here for an engineering job interview. I compare cities in the UK to live in, and he confirms Bristol is a creative place, but not the cheapest. Best head north if I want the cheaper rent.

Anna is working at reception when I get back. She tells me Tonas said she had been too drunk for the morning shift, so he let her off it and in return she’s doing the night shift. We agree to have some beers in the common room later.

I rest in bed for some time and get up later for a shower and some food. It is eerily quiet in the hostel for a Saturday night. I later find it is because many guests went to Lollapalooza, a music festival nearby. I head out with my book for a falafel and some more beer. I desperately need some sleep but have had so much caffeine that day it won’t come.

I return at 10pm. Michael has let Anna shut reception two hours early since it is so quiet. She got her keys back, Jessie had them for a reason neither of them recall. The hostel sells a Potsdam beer Sabine had recommended me, and we split many of these. We share conversation with others who come and go on the couches – some drinking, some smoking spliffs. Eventually we go to bed.

The next day I loaf around the hostel until midday. Then I say farewell to Anna, agreeing to meet up with her sometime in October, and I bid adieu to any other friends basking in the garden’s sun.

It was great place to stay, Sandino World Improvement Network hostel.

But I had to leave. Prague is calling me, there is work I want to do.