My Vacation: Berlin
Part four in a series on my journey through Europe to retrace my Great-Grandmother’s 1914 travel diary on the centennial of its writing
I boarded a bus for Berlin at 10:40am, or, at least, I made an attempt to board one. When I reached the front of the line and confidently handed the bus driver my ticket he stared at it a bit, then frowned as he pointed at the date on it.
“Nein, morgen.”
I looked where he was pointing, but didn’t need to read the ticket’s date to know that I’d made a mistake. I don’t know much German, despite 16 hours of coursework in it at UT, but “morgen” is an easy word. It translates to “tomorrow,” which meant I’d accidentally bought a ticket for the wrong day. I didn’t know enough German to attempt to negotiate so I just stepped out of line and started considering alternative options.
Fortunately a sympathetic Brit behind me decided to help and began negotiating with the driver on my behalf. In a half minute flat he’d convinced the driver to let me board for a slightly higher fare (I’d bought mine at a discount rate), and I was on my way. I never caught the Brit’s name, but on the off chance he ever reads this, I hope he knows how much I appreciate his help.
You’ve probably already heard about the excellent German rail system, and maybe even experienced it yourself, but I doubt you knew about their phenomenal bus system. When I bought my ticket I just did it because it was 15 euros cheaper than the rail route. I assumed that if the ride was anything like my experiences taking the greyhound between Austin and Dallas I could expect 3 hours of back pain if it was a good ride, and if it was a bad one there would also be a crack addict hogging the bathroom.
Of course my expectation was proven entirely wrong. I knew something was different the moment I boarded, as I smelled that new car smell you get from fresh leather seats. And sure enough, as I walked to the back I noticed that the seats all had the Mercedes logo on them. I forgot to take a photo, but for your reference I’ve included a picture of the same model from Mercedes’ website.
Another great perk, their buses have free internet, and it’s not the slow internet you get from Gogo on American Airlines either. Short of streaming Game of Thrones it seemed capable of just about anything I asked of it. I even managed to get some web design work done, which has been nearly impossible on this trip with the wifi I find at Starbucks.
Quick tangent on Game of Thrones and HBO in general: there’s no HBOGO in Europe unless you can spoof an American IP address. So lately I’ve been feeling a bit like the crack addict from my bad greyhound ride. Recently I met a student from the University of Münster who gave me a copy of last week’s episode, but I’m itching to find out what happened last night. I’d torrent it, but apparently the German government is incredibly strict when it comes to punishing torrent users.
About halfway through the drive an older German woman — I think she was in her 70s — named Helga Wegenroth leaned over and asked about Daisy’s diary. At the time I was transcribing the Nuremberg portion of her trip, and I guess she noticed the old handwriting on my laptop. I explained what I was doing, why I’m here in Europe, and when I was done she sat silent for a moment before responding.
“You’re very lucky to have such a thing. It makes me want to cry.”
Until then it hadn’t occurred to me that the work I’m doing here could inspire that sort of emotion. My Mom has said similar things before, but it’s her grandmother that I’m writing about and they were very close. I ended up speaking with Helga for the rest of the ride, and when I found out that she was going to a museum I wanted to visit that afternoon I asked if I could join her.
Most of what Daisy describes about Berlin I had a hard time finding in my research. She describes staying at “the Alexandra Hotel” and visiting “the Museum,” but I couldn’t find an Alexandra Hotel in Berlin that existed in 1914, and Berlin has more than just one famous museum. Berlin’s largest collection of art museums is Museumsinsel (Museum Island) which is where Helga was going, so I figured I’d start my search there. Below, I’ve included the first two pages of Daisy’s entry on Berlin.
July 8
Left Hamburg at 8:30 reached Berlin near noon. Another ride through the Germany country. We noticed the Holstein cattle, the storks, the deer, the farm work done almost entirely without machinery and the German tiled houses again. We passed through Spandau — the city where over $20,000,000 dollars is kept by the government to be used in case of immergency# [possible misspelling of emergency].As Berlin came into view the domes# and Vitory# etc. were pointed out to us. We went to the Alexendra Hotel for dinner. Dr. Kelso took us to the Museum. This was where we found Murillo’s St. Anthony of Padua. What a joy this was. The picture was more than anyone could hope for. Here too we saw Rembrandt’s portrait of self. The one Miss Sprague# had brought for me.
The Rembrandt room was beautiful. Dr. Kelso led us to the best pictures then let us have time for ourselves. Miss Leaf and I went back to “St. Anthony” and found Dr. Kelso there before the picture. This picture was wonderful and one wished to look on and on at it.
The faces of the angles [likely a misspelling of angels] were so appealing. Our room at the Alexandra was very lovely but very German. As every German room we had seen this was filled with furniture. Two single beds of very nice wood. These were German beds — an immense pillow, with a smaller hair pillow.
When Helga and I reached Museum Island I asked about some of the paintings Daisy mentioned and learned that her favorite — Murillo’s St. Anthony of Padua — is no longer held in Berlin. After doing some googling I found that it’s now in the Museum of Fine Arts in Seville, Spain, so I won’t be able to see it this time around. I’ve included a photo below of what it looks like so you can have an idea of what she saw.
There was still an exhibit that had works by Rembrandt, but unfortunately I couldn’t find it before it closed and I didn’t have time to return the next day.
Daisy goes on to describe her hotel in further detail and her time walking around the city. She also writes of a day trip to Sanssouci in Potsdam, the former summer palace of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia. I also visited Sanssouci, but I’m going to write about it in my next entry as there are more than enough pictures from that trip for it to stand alone. I’ve included the rest of Daisy’s entry on Berlin below. Please let me know if you notice anything that you think I’ve transcribed incorrectly.
Also, I’d like to formally thank Bodo for letting me stay with him for my one night in Berlin. He was an incredibly hospitable host who not only provided me with a full size bed but cooked dinner for me as well as breakfast in the morning. Here’s the rest of Daisy’s entry:
The sheets were buttoned on to the top covering. This covering was a comfort made of down.
A spread was over this, then on top a nice fat feather tick about four feet square which would stay on if one could lie still always but which loved to tumble off if one turned over. According to tradition, my covers come off and in the night. I was stiff and cold and thought of all Germany as I hunted for my covering. The German beds were soft and comfortable. One couldn’t help but sleep and if the night was not cold or if you would lie still the bed was the best ever.
Baths were 2 Marks. Germans seem to think baths aren’t necessary and are a great luxury. Their wash bowls were like small round tubs. To manage one was an accomplishment. With double windows and with double doors we felt secure and if the maid thought we were to use the room she would close the windows for us.
Germans are very afraid of fresh air. They might air our room but when they come in the windows are closed. To pass through the hall in the evening was to pass by a long row of shoes to be shined. This custom is very convenient for a tourist. But to see the German shoes is a curiosity. The long toes shaped beyond any part of the foot would worry me.
We found Unter den Linden very interesting in the evening. Every place refreshments were served outside. Young men and their ladies walked hand in hand. The autos had no thought of keeping from running over the people. People took care to keep out of the way. Soldiers were seen in small troops.
Berlin is a very busy, busy place, the gay time begins at twelve m. o’clock and lasts until four a.m. We left this for the ministers of our crowd to investigate and they did with reports of being “done” by their guide. The city is wide awake and noisy until near morning.
The places visited are described in my fact book. Also the lectures by Dr. Kelso. We found a garnet store and invested in garnets. We bought post card pictures of our places of interest. We appreciated all we had read of the Spree. Aside from Murillo’s St. Anthony, the thing I enjoyed most at Berlin was the visit to San Souci Pottsdam. With these I must put Die Walküre at the Theater des Westens Berlin Charlottenburg in Berlin. The music was splendid. Mary fills camera near Royal Opera House and draw an audience.
For those who are still reading, I’ve included some photos below that I took while walking to the Pergamon Museum on Museumsinsel with Helga.
