Grand architecture and majestic monuments against a backdrop of clear blue sky—this is usually how famous cities are depicted in photos and travel magazines. Germany’s Berlin, of course, is no different. Yet, when it was my turn to tour the city last May, the sky was covered in thick, grey clouds, with occasional flashes of lightning tearing up the horizon. The cobblestone pavements were soaked with rain and the linden trees of the famed Unter den Linden Boulevard swayed to chilly gusts of wind. Yes, I toured Berlin in horrible weather conditions, and I loved every minute of it.
The Reichstag, looking even more austere against the gloomy grey sky. (Photo by Keilah Garcia)
The Brandenburg Gate (or Brandenburger Tor). The photo barely does it justice. (Photo by Keilah Garcia)
We hopped on train after train to get to the heart of the city, the heavily-graffitied subways providing welcome warmth to our shivering bodies. Hunger visited us earlier than usual; I can still smell the aroma of freshly-baked pastries, both sweet and savory, emanating from the mini-bakeshop at the station. Mounting excitement at the prospect of new sights to come was mixed with a feeling of dread as we approached the subway exit; the bitter cold outside the station seeped all too easily through our thick winter clothing straight through to our skin.
Soon, an imposing sight greeted us: the Reichstag, the halls of which house the German Parliament. The words DEM DEUTSCHEN VOLKE, meaning “For the German people,” were engraved in austere block letters above the pillared entrance. We trudged on, the spicy scent of currywurst drifting past us as we approached the Brandenburg Gate. The monument looked just as glorious amidst the drizzle of rain; perhaps it was that sense of wonder one gets upon beholding a place of historical significance. Despite the weather, Coca-Cola endorsers handed out ice-cold samples of the drink to thirsty tourists for free.
After braving the cold and the rain to visit a couple more sites, we sought refuge at a German beerhouse called Brauhaus Mitte and capped the day off with a relaxing cup of warm tea and, yes, a tall, icy mug of German beer. Not being a fan of alcoholic drinks—beer least of them all—I went for the somewhat tamer version of it: beer mixed with Sprite. To my relief, I found that the refreshingly sweet taste of Sprite overpowered the bitter aftertaste of fermented malt. I was in Germany, after all; I would have made a poor traveler if I passed up the chance to try even a watered-down version of the drink the country is most famous for.
What was once a symbol of discord and death is now a canvas of the people's sense of hope. (Photo by Eenna delos Reyes)
The weather had mercy on us the next day—the skies cleared, the harsh wind toned down to a gentle breeze, and the sun’s rays now shone brightly through the linden trees. This cheery sort of weather was a sharp contrast to the itinerary for the day: a visit to the Berlin Wall and a holocaust exhibit called the Topography of Terror. I marveled at the freedom and unity manifested in the Wall’s multihued graffiti, and at the now crumbling remains of a once mighty empire that was built on tragedy and horror. A keen sense of triumph surged through my veins at the sight of such noble devastation—a notion I never thought could exist before now. The hard, coarse edges of the dust-covered remnants somehow felt good against my skin.
The day ended with a well-deserved dinner at Brauhaus Mitte. Our host ordered a number of traditional German dishes for us, which included Berlin-style hash browns, roasted liver loaf, and a sausage platter with sauerkraut. I am not very fond of meat, but I thoroughly enjoyed trying the dishes. The sauerkraut, with its characteristic tartness, tasted surprisingly pleasant. This time, however, I passed on the beer.
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