Jane Xu
October 4, 2023
In the span of a month, I’ve acclimated to the cobblestone roads, the overcast skies, and pervasiveness of roundabouts and döner kiosks. On Wednesday, I awake to mildew. I pull apart the week with chopsticks, eating my way through the week: dumplings, peaches, curry, Haribos. I go to school to teach, come home for class, watch an episode of A Bite of China, and live a little deeper in Hamburg. In the blink of an eye, it is Friday evening in Berlin and I am sitting on this rickety bed, nestled in a dingy little apartment meant for school trips, marveling with Junyi at the size of German pillows which, by the way, are disproportionately large for the average human head.
(For why is it square and flat like an oversized Cheez-It? This photo does not realistically represent the natural shape.)
(Making dumplings and wontons.)
Let’s rewind…
September 29 – Berlin, a city that wears its history on its sleeve, welcomes us with open arms. As we pull up to the hauptbahnhof aboard the cactus-green Flix Train, the atmospheric difference immediately becomes a point of interest. In Hamburg, on the outskirts of small town Seevetal, mornings are shrouded in a frothy haze, and silhouettes of people’s warmth casted onto fogged-over bus shelters delineate the city’s quiet and sleepy beginnings. In contrast, Berlin is much more industrial, grand scale, and seems to never sleep. Its cultural tapestry is only complete with its people, whether it be the artists who flew in from all over the world to paint the East Wall, the student sat upon the Bode Museum stairs sketching Hermes, the newlyweds gassing their sports car parade down the plaza, the street buskers at Alexanderplatz, or the lady blasting EDM through an industrial loudspeaker on her balcony.
Upon reaching the East Side Gallery on the last leg of the trip (which we crammed into one day and 20000 steps), I wonder how it has been preserved so nicely and yearn to have witnessed its transformation into an open air gallery in real time. This ceaseless pulse of the city may be marked by periods of devastation and division (my armchair theory), and has instilled in its people a fierce determination to rebuild, innovate, create, yet at the same time to memorialize and revisit. The precipitates of WWII and the Cold War are still visible in the city’s architecture and memorials, serving as a constant reminder of the turbulent past. Processing the panels at the Topography of Terror Documentation center, situated on the grounds of former Gestapo and SS headquarters, or the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin-Mitte, visitors experience a sobering force that begs to confront the horrors of the past.
(Sign about the portico ruins of the former Anhalter Bahnhof and sculptural art of the Holocaust in Berlin)
September 26 – Paul, or Wensel, is our street art guide and resident artist. He takes us on a short, but rich with context, tour around Ölmühle and area, showing us the life of street art and graffiti in Hamburg (emerging from WWII as a punk-fuelled protest to the precariousness of the past). Standing amidst the aerosol residue in the air from spray paint cans, we learn about the common artist dilemma of doing commissions, the legality of art and wall ownership, and the gentrification of communities. Wensel is passionate about his art, and I can only imagine how he sees the city as transformed into a colourful and diverse multicanvas.
September 22 – We find ourselves in Bremen, a city cradled in the heart of Northern Germany, a place where history is interwoven with the modern vibrancy. We follow the music and people towards the Marktplatz where florists, butchers, and farmers alike make the square their home. Then on narrow, picturesque Böttcherstrasse (Street of the Brewers), red-brick facades displaying intricate mason work tower over our visages. Tourists fall for Schnoor, Bremen’s oldest quarter made of labyrinthic lanes and crooked houses, and I, too, am charmed by the medieval atmosphere. The buskers fiddling and strumming their guitars to a bard-core remix of Despacito make me feel like I’m dancing on the gilted edges of a fairy tale book.
(The marktplatz in Bremen.)
September 20 – The English classrooms are swathed in a warm hue, courtesy of the yellow curtains that seem to exist in every room, possible meant for simulating a friendly appeal. This week I learn that teachers often follow a group of students throughout multiple grades (up until grade 10), allowing them to see the fruits of their labour much more directly. I also discover, shockingly, that the Hamburg English curriculum changes topics every two years, which explains why teachers around here seem to never be able to plant both feet on the ground for a break. On the plus side, the education system is very well interconnected and when changes need to be made, they are done swiftly and effectively.
In the grade 12 art class, I busy myself with making quick drawings of the students at work, taking notes like I’m in field, but I guess the classroom is so comfortable that it doesn’t feel unnatural to do so. Students remain curious about everything — from why we chose Hamburg or if their drawings look right. They are not unfazed by the taxidermied hare that appears out of nowhere. The teacher explains that it was probably donated by the biology department and I nod; once again, the art classroom remains resourceful despite everything.
(The taxidermied hare. And students showing their artwork.)
The students in English 12 show tremendous effort when speaking, even when the topic is unfamiliar to them. I would suggest anyone to always take the time to brief students with vocab, sentence starters, and other preliminary materials to help support their confidence to learn. Given the demographic of the Harburg area (large migrant and refugee population), it becomes even more pertinent that you are patient, understanding, and open-minded to alternative knowledge systems.
(Hittfeld bahnhof artwork by students.)
Our mentor teacher quips that we are enriching the students just by being here, but truthfully, it feels that they are enriching us more. My journey through Germany has been seasoned with getting lost perpetually, quiet kindness (despite what most people think of Germany), bread, and I am truthfully still registering the fact that a month has passed. As I watch, everyday, hundreds of thousands of passengers arrive and depart, I am once again reminded of the transient nature of life here and everywhere.