Discovery of the City

Our son was working in the city and we went to visit him twice before we talked about spending some time there. The moment was propitious. We could arrange for our home to be looked after by one of his brothers, we were free. During our first visits we got to know a bit about the geography, and step by step how we could find a place where to live. The raging inflation had not yet started, although accommodation was already pricey.

We walked along the tree-lined streets, discovered the magic of cycling (relatively) safely everywhere in the city. We soon realised that the city was full of parks, small ones and large wooded areas where people played, met, made music, exercised. We discovered Museen Insel and its treasures, we visited the Dom.

After one year we found a large apartment on a long and busy avenue that crossed the city from West to East, in a quarter that had been, before the war, one of the larger workers locations. The front room was magnificent, with tall windows, with two other rooms and a lovely kitchen. We moved furniture, books and computers from our home, soon learning how to commute over the six hundred miles of distance. It was on the fith floor, without lift, which was bliss.

We explored the East, what had been the “other” city for so long. We still saw a bit of what it had been though the developers had already been at work for two decades. We visited the monumental mausoleums built by the invaders, and also the small local cemeteries where the defenders had been buried, the small flat grey stones marking the burials, always well kept, almost familiar.

We walked and cycled along the Spree, and the canals, followed the remnants of the Wall, looked at the city as it was already being transformed, constantly muting into something new. We knew, even then, that we were lucky to see it as it was then, for the changes would make it very different.

Echoes from the Past

We sat in the evening in the small cafés, sipping vodka and the wonderful beer, planning the following days, debating the extraordinary history of the city. We had both read the Iron Kingdom. We visited Charlottenburg and the ghosts of Frederik, then Sans Souci, Potsdam was a revelation on its own right, the palace, its garden, the bridge of spies.

In Charlottenburg we found echoes of versailles and the Sun King. We wen further, towards the Oder, to Rheinsberg and the young Fredrik, to Oranienburg on the steps of the Great Elector before he built Charlottenburg. We were aware of the ghosts around us, the victims, the terror that once was. 

We visited some jails in the East, we followed trails towards the great lake near the soon to disappear airport in Tegel. The narrow river was carrying water from the last Ice Age, we admired the bulls and the ancient trees. Everywhere was the presence of Prussia, its glory, its downfall. East of the Oder were German lands now lost. Everywhere were monuments erected by the fighters of the last war. 

One morning I asked my companion: “This may seem like an odd request, but should we not seriously consider staying here, for good.” There was silence, then her voice, still ringing in my ears: “Let’s see how things go for another year, then we can make a decision.” We would talk about selling our home, look for some property further north, but not too far from the city. We were both working, I wrote two novels during these years, many short stories. We watched Babylon, a feat of good acting and longing. That year we fell in love with the Philharmonie, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, many others. We spent time discussing world events in the brasseries on Potsdamer.

Hopes and Loss

We looked again at the best choice of corner of Brandenburg, we were so ignorant. 

When the blow came down we were spending a few days in the UK. The virus was already spreading although no measures had been taken yet. We were flying like many others at the time. The plague was no longer at the gate: it was everywhere.

We took the decision to go as the dark clouds were gathering. In a way going home was the best way to reassure each other we would fight back. I was heart broken but fiercely determined not to fall. We both were.

Picture: The Spree, ©2014 Honoré Dupuis

Also inspired by Fandango’s Story Starter #138