The organ resonated eerily through the cathedral’s expanse, and everyone stood for a hymn. Lip synching along wasn’t anything new to me, but after casually following the congregation’s lead in sitting, halfway down I realised, in horror, that they had gone to kneel. Iain and I straightened back to the level of the standing prayers, awkwardly watching for everyone’s next move.
And in Vienna…
We had ninety short days in Continental Europe. The period was dictated by my Schengen visa (which all South Africans require, unless, like Claire, they possess other, more useful passports) and meant skipping through Austria – with only one full day and two nights in Vienna and two days of hiking in the Alps, sleeping in a caravan near Innsbruck – on our way from Germany’s south to Italy’s north.
We feel qualified to write about neither, and would, besides, have only a dull list of sites to impart. But we feel it worth mentioning that, in the course of our pleasant day’s meander through Vienna, we stumbled on hundreds of two metre high, brightly painted fibreglass bears, filling an enigmatic circle in Karlsplatz. All were facing inwards, arms outstretched.
The United Buddy Bears were, like us, visiting Vienna. Each bear had been painted by an artist in one of the UN’s 192 member states and represented something of their origin: a rather dull wildlife and savannah motif covered South Africa’s bear, a pie eyed and lustful bear represented the Netherlands. Come to promote “tolerance and international understanding,” they were sold at auction in aid of UNICEF, the UN’s Children’s Fund. By November, €1 315 000 had been raised.
The unusual exhibit was more compelling than any museum I’ve entered: adults mingled slowly, smiling at the names of unknown countries, children touched the bears, giggling. Claire and I took photos of those that represented every country we, at that stage, thought we’d visit. You can click on the image above, or here, to see them. Only their stomachs are visible in the thumbnails, clicking through will display the entire bear.
Munich
Munich is the heart of golden Bavaria, where the beer flows in litre sized steins, Sunday lunch is sausage and sauerkraut, and men really do don the traditional high waisted, above the knee lederhosen.
Its old city charm gracefully survives amidst fast paced European living. Her tall pastel buildings stand with poise amongst a sprawl of shopping streets. Pedestrianised and linear, Kaufinger Strasse is easy to navigate, and still has enough shoe stores to keep any shopper satisfied. Its uber-efficient transport network and modest pollution levels has helped it rank in the world’s top ten most “liveable” cities. And in the midst of this modern metropolis looms the grand old Glockenspiel, as ever, clocking up the city’s years.
I had visited Munich briefly in 2000, and spent most of my time exercising a new found freedom in the most eccentric clothes shops I had ever seen. Unfortunately, the city’s celebrated beer tradition was largely wasted on me. At 18, I would have far preferred sipping Bacardi Breezers to the litres of bitter beer I was presented with.
But now, coming from booming Berlin, I felt a fondness for Munich’s relatively diminutive dimensions. Its history seemed simpler, easier to imagine, while wandering through its paved streets, past palaces, cathedrals and beer halls that managed to evade the destruction of world war. Continue reading Munich>>
Berlin
Rain crashed on the tin roof of a small caravan dispensing draught beer. Claire and I huddled beneath it, sipping Becks from refundable plastic cups. Dance music thumped from neat piles of speakers lining both sides of Strasse des 17 Juni, played by DJs now frantically trying to cover their equipment. A ray of sunshine escaped from a crack in the black clouds, reflecting gold streaks off the tarmac. The trickle of people gyrating between the intermingling sounds pulled out umbrellas and danced through the downpour.
Less than a week after the World Cup, 1.2 million people thronged their way through the same street, following trucks bearing excessively large, water cooled sound systems, DJs and semi-clad dancers. They left two metric tons of debris in their wake, passed an estimated 750 000 litres of urine into the adjoining Tiergarten Park – damaging the roots of centuries old trees – and consumed an inestimable quantity of drugs, monitored by 50 “love guards” distributing earplugs, ice spray, glucose tablets and contraceptives. The Love Parade had returned to Berlin, after a two year hiatus. The festivities Claire and I watched were a small taste of this bad craziness.
We had arrived in Berlin earlier that afternoon, and made our way to A&O Zoo, our dismal hostel. After edging our way through a queue at reception, we were pointed towards bare mattresses atop aging bunk beds, reserved months in advance. We stowed our packs and went out walking. Continue reading Berlin>>
