After my first full day in Berlin, all I could think was that this was a proper city. My second day, I could articulate it a little better: unlike Prague, unlike Vienna, my experience of Berlin was one where the city's past didn't overshadow its present. Which is saying something, because it's not like Berlin is lacking for history. And I spent one day with the history, with the monuments and memorials; I spent my second day riding the subway (u-bahn) and walking Berlin's neighborhoods until my feet were sore. It was not enough time, really, but I am increasingly convinced that there's an entire trip composed of the things I didn't do on this one, and--well, that's another trip.

'The Lives of the Others' (Das Leben der Anderen) is a very good movie, made remarkable by Ulrich Mühe's lead performance as a Stasi officer in East Berlin. I saw it for the first time in 2006, when it came out, with my college German class. I've seen it at least twice more since then. Although I'm aware of German history in the way a lot of people are--it does, after all, interface with world history rather significantly--that movie was my inroad to the history of living in Berlin. It's also a reminder that Berlin's history is not always something that Germany wants to celebrate. Which is not to say it's hidden in the city as it exists today. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe is right behind the Brandenburg Gate; a memorial for the Nazi book burnings sits where it happened, in the central Bebelplatz. You can look down through a piece of glass into a sealed room lined with empty bookcases.
But consider New York City, or any of the world's major cities--New York has history, surely, but that's not why people go there. They go there for culture, vitality, for what the city is now. Berlin feels like that. The memorials to the past are there, but the city isn't so enamored with its past that the present is overshadowed. A good illustration might be the East Side Gallery: a swath of the Berlin wall, with commissioned murals lining its east side. History, painted over with something new and present. I started there before I explored the neighborhood of Kreuzberg, where I walked where the wall once stood, along canals and through parks, past neighborhood döner shops, graffiti plastered train stations, kiosks selling newspapers, bicyclists whizzing past in their red-painted lanes. And people--so many people. In my last post I mentioned that Berlin is one of the most visited cities in Europe, but most of the time you could hardly tell, because the tourists disappeared into the millions of people who actually live there.

So that was Berlin, then: a proper city, sprawling and vital. A bit gritty. Complicated public transit system. International. 'Arm, aber sexy' (Poor, but sexy) its mayor said in 2004. 'Ich bin ein Berliner,' JFK said in 1963. According to my German instructor, he was trying to say he was a citizen of Berlin, but he actually said he was a jelly donut. According to Wikipedia, that's not true, so I'll have to throw that piece of trivia out. And I thought it made such a good conclusion, too.

I walked to campus today, which I usually don't do, and brought my camera, which I also usually don't do. But when I left the house there was a quiet, unbroken layer of snow on the ground and fat flakes coming down, and it seemed worth the extra time. The bike ride to campus is about twenty minutes; the walk is about forty. When I walk I sometimes take a more direct route, on main roads instead of down side streets and back alleys, but today I took the long way. A little over a week ago, before I went to Manitoba, I streamed Guy Maddin's film 'My Winnipeg' on Netflix. It's a documentary, of sorts, but he also tells several stories I suspect are false. One of those is about how, in order to avoid competition, one of the two taxi companies in town was relegated only to back alleys. This is probably false: but the image stuck with me. The movie, which also claims that everyone in Winnipeg sleep walks constantly, is kind of, maybe, about the strange weight of winter here on the prairies. But Saskatoon (not Winnipeg) is purportedly the sunniest city in Canada, and because of Saskatchewan's intense commitment to being flat, when the sky here is grey the whole world is grey, and when the sun is out the sun is everywhere. Today was a grey day, as it happens, but by sunset the clouds had moved on and the sky was completely clear.

Today I wanted to go kayaking, but the sky kept threatening rain (and it did, occasionally, rain) so my desires went unfulfilled (but tomorrow! tomorrow will be glorious). So I road my bike less than a mile to investigate a mysterious park-like location (it turned out to be a rode for Yellowthunder, a chief of the Ho-Chunk Tribe who lived from 1774-1874), loafed around with a book, and watched "180° South" on Netflix. I enjoyed the movie more than I expected to, so I recommend it to you--not as something great, but as a pretty good movie that combines an environmental message with a watchable adventure story. I agree with the message, and I think it's presented in a more evenhanded, approachable manner than "An Inconvenient Truth." Added bonus: see "180° South" in conjunction with "The Motorcycle Diaries," and you practically took a trip to Chile right there. It also has a pleasant (pleasant is really the only word to describe it) soundtrack with an unexpected cover of a Greg Brown song by Jack Johnson.

Also, my blog layout woes have been fixed, and I made myself a new background and header to boot. I'm not sure how I feel about the background, so that may disappear shortly, but the header is staying for sure.

Just watched 'Encounters at the End of the World.' Not sure what to say about it, except that you should watch it if you get the chance: it's strange and peaceful and elegiac, which is probably what I imagine the end of the world would be. Or maybe I just think that, after seeing the movie.