Berlin: Week 2

Often times in Berlin, I am too caught up in the Nazi and Soviet past to fully appreciate the rich royal history that came long before. On a day trip to Pfaueninsel (Peacock Island), we were immersed in purely Prussian history. After being established by Frederick William I and used by Johann Kunckel as a glass foundry, the island served as the pleasure ground for Prussian King Frederick William II starting in the late 18th century. He and his wife had a small castle built (shown in first image) on the island that was designed as an artificial ruin.

The idea of a king building his home to look like a ruin brings to mind the question of the aesthetic value of ruins. What is it about a destroyed building that makes it beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than one in good condition? In the city of Berlin it is much about the historical significance of a destroyed building, one that has been through so much, yet still stands and in many cases, can still be used. It seems to give the occupants a sense of freedom to use it for whatever purposes they may choose, something that cannot be done with most new buildings made and zoned for certain things. The fact that Frederick William II's castle was not an authentic ruin did make the building less significant than if an actual battle had been fought on that site, which gives scholars and tourists an insight into the need for authenticity.

The apartment buildings in our neighborhood in the outer reaches of the former East Berlin's Mitte district look like the typical monotonous blocks built by the GDR, providing only the essentials, doing so as cheaply as possible, and in a uniform fashion. Living in such a building gives me an clue as to what life was like during that time; it can be seen in the concrete, carpet covered floors, as well as the paper thin walls.

The public works of the communist government can easily be the butt of jokes, such as the building that appears to be made up largely with Styrofoam (seen in second image), and is now easily visible to all who pass by, as the bottom corner of it has been chipped away, exposing the inner make up of the wall.

The utter lack of luxuries for citizens of the GDR can also be personified by the Trabant, a standard issue car (seen in third image) that was a great sense of pride to those who were lucky enough to have owned one, often after a waiting period of about 10 years. Though the vehicles have now become nostalgic time pieces worth much more than other junky old cars, they still are a telling clue as to what East German life was like.

In today's very mixed Berlin, it is quite common to see polar opposites sharing the city space. This can be seen in two different buildings sharing the same block, or by two very different cars parked on the same street. In the final image, there is a picture of a convertible Audi, a staple of luxury and consumer culture, with the bare-bones GDR-era Trabbie parked in the distance. This scene is very comical, but also very characteristic of a diverse city with such abrupt changes in culture over recent years.