Penultimate Post

Austin and I just got back from a delicious Turkish feast and I can feel the food coma hitting my fingers. Must. Type. Fast.

Actually, before I start into the day's events, a note on the Turkish presence in Berlin. In the 1950's unemployment skyrocketed in Turkey while Europe saw a major labor shortage. The construction of the Berlin Wall in 1961 further exacerbated the shortage in West Germany, prompting the West Germans to formally recruit Turks. Initially the Turks were to serve as temporary guest workers, staying in Germany for no more than two years, but desperate German employers quickly had the limit thrown out. Ever since, the Turks have comprised Germany's largest ethnic minority, currently numbering over 4,000,000. Needless to say it is not hard to find Pide in Berlin.

We began today with a stroll to Checkpoint Charlie, one of the few crossing points of the Berlin Wall during the Cold War. The area's history was interesting to think about in the abstract, and read about on the informational billboards across the street, but the checkpoint itself was disappointing. The scene: McDonalds to the right. Starbucks to the left. Tourists shucking out Euros left and right to get their pictures taken with actors dressed in military uniforms standing in front of a replica guard house. I'm glad that the wall was destructed and all, but since 1989 Checkpoint Charlie has sadly morphed into Checkpoint Cheesy.

Checkpoint Sign

Checkpoint Charlie

Our second destination, the Reichstag, was just as clogged with tourists but much more interesting to look at. Originally constructed in 1894 to house the parliament of the German Empire, the Reichstag has been set fire to, bombed, reconstructed, and shrouded like a carcas, before Norman Foster finally renovated the building in 1999, affixing the roof with a glass dome.

Dear Norman Foster, excuse me, Dear SIR Norman Foster: I love you. Lets marry.

The result is truly delicious - a perfect blend of imposing neo-classical heft and weightless, translucency. In perhaps the saddest turn of events of the trip, impossibly long lines prevented us from traveling up into the dome, but this is what it would have been like.

Building Across from the Reichstag. The area is a veritable feast of modern architecture.

Now I would like to dedicate this last bit about our trip to the Gemäldegalerie (say that 5 times fast) to the one and only Alexander Nemerov, Art History Professor Extroirdinaire. A self-proclaimed "delicate flower", Nemerov's cannot stomach people breezing through museums. In his world, patrons would entire museums youthful and clean-shaven and exit grayed with bushy beards. He rues the folks who show up to see the Mona Lisa, snap a picture, and split. Accordingly, I dedicate this shot to him.

Jan Vermeer in the Haus!

Though Nemerov-baiting is one of my favorite sports, I promise I didn't just run through the Gemäldegalerie's hallowed halls checking paintings of interest of a list. In fact, we spent the better part of our day winding through the museums 40 some-odd galleries. I found it especially interesting to see the more detailed paintings we'd learned about in class like Bruegel's Dutch Proverbs. The moralistic canvas, which portrays a world gone topsy turvy, is dense with symbolic elements too detailed to glean from an internet rendering. My favorite new finds: a footed egg in the oven, a man airing his buttocks out the window, and a man trying to catch an eel with his bare hands.

I also enjoyed trying to guess the artists of paintings before looking at the placards. Sadly the rubrics I created to study for our 200 slide final - "Ah, its headless, must be Caravaggio!" and "Ah its got a rich color palate, must be Titian!" - didn't hold water in the real art world.

We have to catch an early flight (can't believe it's over!) and I'm absolutely zonked. My thoughts are becoming like the Jewish Museum (zig-zaggy and filled with voids). I'm going to end here and update tomorrow with final thoughts and extraneous pictures.

Gemäldegalerie's Ceiling

Like a magpie my feet are drawn to shiny things - a proclivity that resulted in an alarm to blare. Shouldn't they warn you of these things?