As usual, you can also find a full quality version of this video on Blakepics. The music for this one is from the soundtrack of Die Riesen Kommen entitled "Decollage", the show from Royal De Luxe put on in Berlin to prompt this trip.

Reunited giants resting on their way home

Today was the finale of Die Riesen Kommen, which saw them both waking up from the Brandenburg Gate. Obviously they did what I wished I had and had a sunday lie-in, so didn’t wake up until 90 minutes after the alarm clock was supposed to go off. It did mean I got a spot right down the front for the first part of the show and to join in chants with hundreds of Germans of which I *hope* was something along the lines of “why are we waiting?”, rather than “The French are almost as lazy as the Brits”.

Once they did get moving, playing leapfrog with the rest of the crowds seemed to work very well. The Elephant and the Sultan had crowds of people following them through the London streets. In Berlin, with a lot more space and a lot more shortcuts, it was much easier to run ahead and meet the giants as they passed the next time.

All along the parade, giant symbols crashed in front of the giants, and a cannon, yes, a frickin’ mail cannon propelled letters the little girl had brought with her on her journey high into the sky to scatter onto the crowd below. Right now, that’s a much better service than we get with Royal Mail. We just need a giant cannon mounted on the front of the HMS Belfast, and we can launch all the undelivered mail across South Bank.

Children frantically darted in and out of the crowd running back to their parents with letters grasped tightly in their hands. I suspected I wasn’t going to see what was written on the letters. I had to get mean. Knock a few kids heads together, steal the mail from their pockets, or generally intercept and intimidate them before they got back to their parents.

I waited patiently instead, and now I have a sizeable stack of said mail. Except it’s all in German. I should have seen that coming.

Still, it kept everyone entertained in between following the giants around. Reunited as they were, the giants crossed the bridge towards the new Hauptbahnof station, and boarded a boat where they laid down for a nap together as they were transported out of Berlin with people clapping and cheering all the way along the river.

I caught only a small final glimpse of the giants before they left, as I was crossing the river to the East Berlin Wall Gallery, I saw their boat in the distance. They’d since been covered up, and were well on their journey home as they passed the bridge underneath me.

Well done Royal De Luxe, for an another excellent show, and Berlin for being such a fantastic host. Royal De Luxe and their giants have undoubtedly succeeded in bringing another city together under the banner of imagination. Something which may be especially poignant for Berlin, over the weekend of German unity.

Field of Stelae

At first I thought it was a crazy art exhibit which got horribly out of control. As though the artist kept laying down more pieces, and just kept going because nobody told him to stop. It reminded me of the Anthony Gormley exhibit I saw back when he had the exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, and filled a room with person sized blocks which you could walk between and around.

Just south of the Brandenburg gate is the Field of Stelae, an almost 20,000m² field of 2,711 concrete blocks each with a pathway in between to find your own way through the memorial. Thousands of concrete blocks might seem like something out of a 60s nightmare, but the effect is stunning.

Walking from one side to another is a feat the will very likely find you meeting suited businessmen carrying coffee, tourists (such as myself) hunting for a clear stretch to take photos, young children tumbling and giggling as they twist and turn around aimless unknown corners, teenagers racing down the 1 metre wide passageways oblivious to pushchair dangers lurking behind the block, parents shouting names of lost young children still tumbling and giggling, and the best location in the whole world for a game marco polo.

The whole piece was designed by Peter Eisenman and you might be quick to suggest meaning behind the concrete blocks, the pathways and the shadows cast. The information leaflet I picked up is quick to disperse those ideas, and claims the memorial is unique in that it uses no symbolism. One of the FAQs at the back: “Why are there 2,711 stelae” is answered quite frankly that it is the result of “measurements chosen by the architect for the location”. Well, duh. It goes on to say that it bears no relation to the number of victims, or hold any symbolic significance. It is, just because it is. This is one of the most refreshing displays of both remembrance, and art that I’ve ever seen, and I love it.

Inside the glass dome on top of the Bundestag

The Bundestag sits on the western edge of Berlin, and is now the official home of the German parliament (again).  Back when it was named the Reichstag, a fire in 1933 was one of the events Hitler used as pretext to sieze power.  Seems pretty suspicious to me.  “Guten tag Herr Hitler.  Wie geht’s?”  “Ja, sehr gutt, und du?”  “Oh mein gott, was ist das?  Das Reichstag ist “… what’s German for ‘on fire’?  “…geblazen.” (???)  And while they were all distracted putting it out, Hitler seized power, eh?

Fitting that it’s the same way he left the world then.

Actually, that whole paragraph was just so I could show off how good my German has got in just 3 days here.  Four years of studying it, and I still can’t hold a conversation beyond “Ja, sehr gutt.  Und du?”  Even shopping is useless  I can go into any bakery and ask, “Ich mochte ein butterbrot, bitte”.  Except I don’t want the damn sandwich.  I want the cake.  Ich mochte cake.

So anyway, that’s kind of how Hitler came to power.  It was properly restored from 1990-1999 or so which also saw a new dome erected on top which houses a central funnel of mirrors and two separate spiral walkways towards the top of the dome.  It is without a doubt, really, really cool, and well worth the hours wait in the rain I queued to get in.  Can someone check for me – I can’t be bothered to research for my own blog, but – was he involved in the Mayors building on South Bank, too?  Probably not, but the design reminds me of that anyway.

The Little Giant on Day 2

Cut to this morning, and I’m in the search of giants.  Walking along Unter Den Linden (which roughly translates as “Tourists will buy anything”) is a lot like walking along tourist districts anywhere else in the world.  Huge imposing buildings filled with art and stolen treasures from all over the planet, and statues to fallen heroes scattered around wherever possible.  Alongside tourist (“I Love Berlin”) shops, and Starbucks are the expensive showrooms of Ferrari, and other “small c*ck” car manufacturers I can’t remember.  Some even have exclusive bars inside with bouncers on the door.  Walking boldly in, I was quite obviously turned away.

At either end of Unter Den Linden are the first sites for Die Riesen Kommen.  They’re really just teasers for the events that will follow tomorrow, and through the rest of the weekend much like the wooden spaceship that landed in London.  I finally found Schlossplatz to be the giant building site, opposite the giant cathedral I’d been using to shelter from the rain.  Schlossplatz, it appeared – was mostly a giant building site which would soon be home to the brand new Schlossplatz U-Bahn station.  Walking around it a couple of times I thought that maybe those crazy Royal De Luxe guys had caused this themselves.  Digging a giant cavern in the middle of Berlin seemed like just their sort of thing, but I was questioning whether they would have found city approval.

Then I heard screams of excitement off in the distance where I’d seen a small tent being built earlier – so rushed that way to find … another fenced off hole in the ground.  Taking their cue from the shows in Iceland, Royal De Luxe had engineered a geyser in the middle of Berlin spraying water 50-60 ft into the air every 5-10 minutes.  “Come stand over here for pictures” a helpful German student advised me.  “Hah”, I laughed, knowing it was right where the water had fallen minutes before.  “How about you stand here, I’ll just wait right here”.  As the water erupted high into the sky, I let loose on the camera, continuing to stay my ground as said water came crashing right down on top of me”.  Apparently the German student, found it particularly amusing.  “Never seen it go that way before”, he chuckled.  “Fuck off and die”, I thought.

The D90 rose to the challenge however, and after having a (cold) geyser thrown over it, I’m now sure it can perform well in almost all wet weather conditions.  The same can’t be said for my coat.

Gorilla outside the gallery shop

I’m in love with Berlin already. There’s graffiti all over the place, art galleries of the bizarre and obscure, fantastic displays of architecture, restaurants to cater for anyones taste the world over, and enough to keep you busy for a very long time.

Just as the tube map looks remarkably similar, Berlin looks and feels like it could be London’s long lost brother. Hopefully I feel this way after 5 days here. I found one free art gallery hidden away down a side street off of Friedrich Strasse which left me wanting to buy everything. I’ll most likely compromise and buy a postcard instead. Iron exhibits both huge and small fill the central courtyard and various huts off to the side as bunch of those artists responsible sat around making more.

It felt like I’d walked into some sort of rennaisance fraternity in gotham city – they had their own bar, which nobody seemed to be interested in using, a group huddled around an open fire, and a small burger van tucked away in the corner.  If the rest of Berlin stays like this (and first impressions indicate it will), I might not even mind staying in a city for longer than days.

The rest of the photos, including the ones in the video above are on Blakepics, where you can also find a full quality version of this video. The music for this one is an acoustic version of “My Heroine” by Silverstein.

Ah.

The whole world could end over night, Norway could be the only place left on the planet.  I probably wouldn’t find out until I went to board my flight.  I’m not saying that Michael Jackson’s death is such a comparison, but it’s interesting what news does filter its way through after you’ve spent just 2 days hiking and travelling up and down fjords.  This is the only news that has.  Does Iran still exist?  Has the London economy recovered while I’ve been away?  Is Gordon Brown still prime minister?

It’s nice being shut off from the world for a little while.  I’m sure if anything really big’s happened, I’ll hear about it on Twitter when I get back.

Then there’s the ones with endless character-less corridors filled with clean, comfortable and spacious rooms that are behind various different stages of Vegas-like key card check points.

In this case, wanting a more relaxing trip, maybe even with less travelling than Vietnam – this just about suits me.  But I wouldn’t have wanted it anywhere else   Norway, like most of the Scandinavian countries is one of the few places in the world that I as a Londoner can walk around thinking, “damn that’s expensive.”  Actually, with the current strength of the pound there are probably a lot more right now, but Norway is at least consistent.  It’s made me think that I should be freelancing a lot more web sites out here, as well as caused me to struggle to find a 500ml bottle of water for under 2.50.

But it’s not like it wasn’t expected.

So for a mere 6.50, I found myself a 24-hour tram pass which should get me through my first and final full day of Oslo, providing I wake up early enough to get to the train station tomorrow.

The first stop was a Gordon-recommended trip to Frogner Park, which houses Vigelandsparken, a sculpture park featuring hundreds of statues by a man Gordon describes as someone who would most likely have “been put on a register if he was alive today.”  I’m not going to argue.  The statues are all part of a collection that culminate in a central obelisk featuring humanity as Vigeland saw it.  To paraphrase Rough Guides – a writhing mass of playing, fighting, teaching loving, eating and sleep humans all clambering over one another to reach the top.  Other statues around the park represent different parts of this view.  A particular favourite of mine depicting a man balancing four babies on his arms and feet, in a desperate struggle to protect or play.  I’m not entirely sure.  But certainly the man would be on a register, now.

Like many statues in Norway, and I think the same can be said for the style I saw in Iceland, the figures are very much bold, strong figures with chiseled (excuse the pun) jaws and wide thick torsos.  It reminds me a lot of the communistic displays of power I saw across Poland, and dotted throughout Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia.  But there’s something a lot more human, personable and connected about the ones I’ve seen in Norway.  I worked out how it could be best described today, and I’d really like it if the phrase “communists with jazz hands” caught on.

Onwards from the sculpture park, and I took a trip to the National Gallery to see one of the versions of Edvard Munch’s Scream paintings (the one that wasn’t stolen).  There’s a funny thing about seeing paintings in the flesh – not being a particularly well-scholared art-lover and instead a fully paid-up member of the digital information, more more more age – I can’t really explain it.  There is a certain reverence from seeing the brush strokes up close, and knowing that you are one of millions of people to have stood in the exact same spot staring at the exact same picture.  Every picture tells a different story, and every person sees a different side.

I am starting to get more of an idea of where I’m heading, now.  So tomorrow I’ll try and catch a train west to Myrdal, and take one of the world’s steepest train lines to Flam, then ferry to Gudvangen along the Naerofjord, before heading onwards to Bergen, and a smooth 7.5hr train ride back to Oslo later in the week.  Having said that… I have just read if I go North beyond Trondheim, there is a place called Hell (meaning “good fortune” in Norwegian, but I don’t want to spoil it).  It’s incredibly attractive to ditch all my plans and go there instead.  Not least because if anyone tells me to “Go to hell” in the future, I can assure them I’ve already been, and it was rubbish.  But it probably still wouldn’t earn me any friends.

Excluding the quick 10-15 minute power naps on the bus this morning, it’s now hour number 33 since sleep was my nearest and dearest friend.

After the tour pretty much wiped out any energy I might once have owned, we left the hostel en masse for the nearest alcohol we could find… Small twinges of bad ideas probably began around to be realised around that 30 minute argument between the police and the bar owners over whether they should close the bar, since it was well past last orders.

Or perhaps it all started before that, when Aaron convinced me that the 7am bus to Budva, Montenegro was a really good idea. Riches lie there. Milk, honey, that sort of thing. The alternative was a stop at Dubrovnik, which I was a little opposed to having already spent a couple of nights there back in 2004.

Although, the point it all started spiralling into the pit of really bad ideas, actually, if I’m completely honest with myself – was probably around the time we all decided that ending the evening by visiting Mostar’s only nightclub was a really good idea..

This is a weird travel-circuit – there are very few hostels, and there are very few directions in which interesting things lie. Split, Sarajevo, Mostar, Dubrovnik, Budva. The only choice most travellers in this area have is whether they’re going North or South. Both Montenegro and Albania only have 2 “real” hostels in the whole country, I’m assured. The others are clearly mere pretenders. Not hostels at all. 5* hotels masquerading as traveller meeting points, with golden bunk-beds stuffed with goose feathers from paradise, I would assume.

Most people I’ve spoken to about my holidays have asked me if I wouldn’t prefer travelling with other people instead of on my own. If you’ve never stayed in a hostel or you enjoy the opportunity to meet with large groups of complete strangers with very different backgrounds. Now’s the time to try.

What I’m trying to say is… It probably all went wrong, when I went clubbing.

I’m not much of a dancer. The best places to drink only really serve beer, they have warm fires, a pet cat, a quiet jukebox lightly humming any number of rock classics, they’re often found on the back of a mill. They most certainly don’t have bubble machines. See, there are two types of people in this world. People who love clubbing, and the people like me. Fortunately I wasn’t the only person like me in our group, as quickly became apparent after a few beers. “What the fuck are we doing here?” asked Welsh Alun. “You’re right, I hate clubbing”, I replied. Our separatist group quickly grew in numbers, as we all stubbornly stood near the bar enjoying ourselves clubbing only through the act of collectively hating it. Still not leaving, of course.

And so it turned out to be quite a memorable night. We got back to the hostel in the very early hours. Others helped me to stay awake so I could catch my bus at 6am, including a trip into Mostar so I could actually see the place “by day”. Before it becomes hour 34, and the hallucinations get stronger – I think I should probably go and find my golden bunk bed, and catch a little sleep.