More things taken by Germans

In Berlin I visited the Pergamon Museum. The primary attraction of the museum are a pile of statues taken from the Temple of Zeus (and the stairs, pillars and altar) from Pergamon in Asia Minor. I never gave much consideration as to whether I would see the place from whence they came.

The view from Pergamon

The same day we went to Troy we took the long, winding road up to Pergamon, high above the countryside. Pergamon was built as a center of religion and culture, rather than commerce. It's position made it difficult to get to, but it had rich patrons and attracted the elite of Asia Minor.

The view of no river

Like the other ancient cities we visited, Pergamon suffered a number of earthquakes. These, combined with the silting of the Caicus and the growth of Ephesus, led to its demise.

Pergamon was the first place I have seen a proper Acropolis. Though the altar was taken by the Germans, the layout of the Acropolis is still clear today. I was interested in the way the marble structures were built; the foundations of the building were of heavy stone, with a marble facade, and not of solid marble slabs.

Once I saw this, it seemed obvious. Who would build foundations out of marble?

Acropolis: Note the change in colour of the stones

But the decorative sections, the pillars and carvings, were all done in marble.

It took us, in our bus, a long time to wind back and forth across the mountain to reach the city; I can only imagine what a hassle it would have been in ancient times. Nevertheless, the view from the top was stunning. If the day had been less hazy, we might have seen to the sea.

Pillars and the marble facade

It was an eight hour day, with a lot of time spent in the sun and the heat, and we were all exhausted when we reached Kuşadası. The most impressive ancient city, Ephesus, had to wait for the morning.

Travel days; overnight in Berlin

It was eight hours by train from Copenhagen to Berlin. I was lucky to be seated in a cabin with a family from Melbourne, and passed most of the trip talking with them.

We saw a number of engineering marvels (wind farm in the ocean, intercontinental bridges) but the best of these was a ferry which took our train from Denmark to Germany. Quite astounding.

I took no photos of anything. I was in Berlin only long enough to walk around for some air and get irresponsibly drunk with Germans.

Frankfurt: it's where Charlemagne crossed the river

Our first day in Frankfurt was spent in the hostel.  The Liar had contracted some kind of death-cough in Munich, and the traditional Bavarian remedy of 5-10L of beer hadn't cured him.  For my part, I had determined that I would not face another German city until I had stopped shaking.

I didn't like Frankfurt at first; it reminded me of Sydney, or the way I think of Sydney, soulless and fake; a temple to money, a world city built for the sake of having a world city.

On the second day, I went out on a walking tour of the city.  I'm glad I did.

There was a performing and installation art festival on while we were in town.  The first stop on our tour was to view a piece a Swedish artist was putting together.  Dressed in a uniform resembling a 1970's stewardess, she would ask people in the street if she could have the clothes they were wearing.  She would then take down details about them as a small story, and stitch these to the clothes.  The clothes were all sewn together into the web you can see here.

Towering over the old part of the city is the Dom.  There are over 300 stairs going up to the top.  I was told I couldn't go up, because I am too tall and too wide.  I chose to take it as a complement.

Outside the Dom is the architectural garden.  After World War II, the remains of a Roman bathhouse were found and exposed.

Inside we were pointed to this freeze.  This is the original, put in during the Renaissance.  It used to stand outside, where a replica now adorns the original plinth.

There's a common misconception that nothing in Frankfurt (and many other German towns) could be built taller than the Dom or Cathedral.  This is not strictly true; the Dom's tower was build on exact directional lines, drawn into the floor.  These were then carried the whole way up the tower, so it can be used to measure the points of the compass.  Any architect working in the city could then use the Dom to calculate the direction their building was facing.  If they built taller than the tower, they lost this advantage.

The floor of the Dom was lowered during restoration, and it was discovered that the gout lines no longer met their comfortable heights.  So they were painted over, and fake ones painted on with more pleasing spacing.

The Dom's organ is quite famous (snigger).

The fresco behind the choir stalls is original, dating from the 13th century.  In the 17th, it was decided the Dom should be more baroque, and the whole thing was painted white.  When the building was bombed in World War II, these layers of paint protected the original fresco, which was then uncovered.  There are currently plans to restore it further.

This squat man is Frankenstein.  Though he has nothing to do with the book, he did live in the castle thought to be the eponym for Shelly's novel.  He was pursued by the French and took refuge in Frankfurt, and is buried in the Dom.

This van Dyck painting was originally commissioned by a Cardinal, who didn't like it.  Van Dyck then gifted it to an abbey, who immediately sold it.  Eventually it wound up in the Dom.

There are a number of family crests adorning the walls of the Dom.

This one was my favourite.

Out back, we can see the replica freeze on the original plinth.

On the other side is a small memorial to the first Jewish cemetery in Frankfurt.  The city's medieval record is not great when it comes to Jewish relations.

Frankfurt sits on the Main river.  It boasts a number of pedestrian bridges, most going from the city center to the museum district.

Inside a smaller church in Frankfurt we were shown this hanging... thing, I can't remember what they're called.  The point is, that is built entirely of stone.  Nobody today knows how it's done, and architects from all over the world come to see it.

Charlemagne!  Supposedly, he is the name-sake of Frankfurt.  He wanted to cross the Main to fight a guy.  Eventually he found a ford, where the city is now built.  The German word for ford is furt; French-ford becomes Frankfurt.  There is another Frankfurt in Germany, so I'm not sure how true this story is.

Behind him is the last original half-timber house in Frankfurt's center.  There are still some suburbs which boast a number of these south-German classics, but all the others in the city center were destroyed in the war.

On top of the Rathaus are two statues of cats.  Supposedly the city once found itself broke, and asked the treasurer what had happened to all the money.  With typical dry German wit he replied; "I guess the mice ate it."

Next to the Jewish Museum in Frankfurt is another cemetery.  Along the walls are individual memorials for anybody who was born, lived in or deported from Frankfurt to the Nazi concentration camps.  There are 20,000 plaques on the wall.  It was a humbling sight.

Outside the museum the path is marked with the old ghetto houses.  I got the tour guide to take this photo of me demonstrating how wide the individual apartments were.  Families of four to eight would live in one of these.

The city's old watch-house was turned into a cafe a long time ago.  When the metro system was being put in, the watch-house was a prime spot for a terminal, as it sits at one end of Frankfurt's central mall.  The building was demolished, but with typical German care it was demolished brick by brick and when the terminal was complete it was replaced, better than before.  It's still a cafe.  An over-priced one.

Frankfurt's shopping district is dominated by a building with a sucking chest-wound.  This is a tunnel made of glass panels which goes from the building's ceiling and out the side.  There's a photo of it from the inside further down.

As with many of the cities we visited in Germany, Frankfurt is a dichotomy of styles; there are noticeable differences between pre- and post-war architecture.  This is best seen right in the heart of the city, where medieval watch towers and skyscrapers built in 2009 stand almost shoulder to shoulder.

The old opera house was built using money donated by the people of Frankfurt.  It's no longer an opera house, but it's still one of the most beautiful buildings in the city.  The story goes that upon its completion the Kaiser came to see it, and stated that he could never have built anything so beautiful as the German people would question the expense.

Goethe is something of a hero in Frankfurt, hence the enormous statue dominating a massive empty square (Goetheplatz) in the middle of the city.

He was born in a house which has been restored to its original condition.  This was one of the first buildings restored post-war, even though Germany wasn't exactly a tourism hot-spot at the time.  The people of Frankfurt love him so much, they didn't even consider his house an attraction; it was a necessary part of the city.  There's now a Goethe museum just next door.

This is the sucking chest-wound seen from the inside, looking up.  I'm told it leaks like a sieve when it rains.

That was that.  The next day was our last in Germany, dominated by packing and airports.  Then we flew to New York.

Human detritus

After two nights at the Oktoberfest halls, the campsite resembled a battlezone.  The Liar's favourite memory was finding a man who had passed out star-fished on top of his tent, completely flattening it.  There were, he tells me, people standing around taking photos.

We gathered our stuff and made for the Hauptbahnhof.  After the most cursory of goodbyes, we left the Scoundrel and the Smile to go their own way.  None of us were in the right state of mind or body for an emotional farewell.  I'd like to say to both of them now; thanks for the great weekend, it wouldn't have been the same without you.  Or it might, I can't remember all of it.

Our platform was full of other Australians trying to get the hell out of Munich.

The train would take us to Frankfurt, our last stop on the German leg of the world domination tour.

Munchen without Oktoberfest

Munich had other attractions than Oktoberfest.  After our first night the Scoundrel and I were joined by honorary club member the Smile for a very hungover exploration of the city.  I just finished writing this post and Blogger helpfully told me they had lost it, and I would need to start again.  I cannot be bothered.  I'm going to put in the names of the statues without witty commentary, and you can make up your own mind about Munich.

Orlande de Lassus.  With a shrine to Michael Jackson on his plinth.  Dunno why.

Maximillian, Prince of Hornes.

Christoph Willibald Gluck.

Lorenz von Westenrieder.

We saw a parade.

And bridges.

The Bavaria statue.

I might come back to this post and edit in some wit.

"Well, they don't call it Oksoberfest."

I'm working on a more literary version of our events; for now, here are some cold hard facts about Oktoberfest.

We arrived left our campsite so early in the morning it was technically late at night.  The site was a walk, train ride and another walk from the halls.  During the day there would be shuttles running, but not early enough. We arrived at the fairgrounds just as the sun rose.

We had picked out the Augustina tent, as we had tried their beer the night before and it was good.  With all the other overly keen, we stood outside a door and waited for two hours until it opened at 9.  At that stage a small German man emerged and began marshalling us in, shouting directions.  He had a whistle to blow when he was not obeyed.

Once inside we had to wait until 12 for the first beers to be poured.  This was accompanied by great ceremony; a parade around the hall, the striking up of the band, the tapping of the first keg.  We had been strategically befriending (read; tipping) our waitress throughout the morning.  We were the first table served in the hall.  It was an incomparable feeling.

You would be amazed how quickly you adapt to 1L glasses.  I have sent some home, so feel free to come over and try it some time.

While not as bad as the Lowenbrau or Hofbrauhaus tents, there were still plenty of Australians.  We were particularly taken with Tony, sitting at the table next to ours, who had come to Oktoberfest in his VB tshirt.

Our waitress, Jenni, was a goddamn warrior.  Carrying up to eleven 1L steins in a haul, she worked tirelessly throughout the day, pausing only to smoke with the Liar out the side of the hall, or join us for a sneaky schnapps.

The whole festival was packed to the brim with amazing people.  The atmosphere was astounding; in Australia, the aggression at an event like this would have been through the roof.  Throughout the entire weekend, we didn't see one fight, one blue.  Everyone was friends, everyone was looking to have a good time. People were even willing to put up with the Scoundrel's nonsense.

Both our days in the halls were amazing fun.  Being in Munich for the 200th Oktoberfest was special, but now that I've done it I cannot wait to go back and do it again.

I've never spent as much time dancing on benches in my life.