The rain continues to pour down, a neverending stream of bucket after bucket, we have become quite accustomed to the feeling of 'not being dry' which I used to refer to as 'being wet'. Still, it's Sunday, and we have only 30km to cover from Berlin Mitte out to the historic city of Potsdam. After we visited the Topography of Terror in Berlin I discovered that last week's Oranienberg was not quite the 'non-place' as previously described, but the site of a former concentration camp. I don't know why this should bother me, but somehow it gave me an uneasy feeling. I feel ignorant for not knowing, and for there being no warning, and yet did I expect the lovely tourist information assistant there to tell me as an aside?! Berlin and surrounds, to me, has an uneasy relationship with its history, not wanting to turn terror into tourism, and yet feeling the need to be seen to acknowledge and document thoroughly the events of the past. The leaflets for 'Concentration Camp Tours in English' in the Hostel foyer left me a little queasy positioned between the 'Alternative Pub Crawl!!!' and 'Segway Tours of Historic Berlin'. History commodified. I found Berlin fascinating, vibrant, full of life, and art, but I felt weighed down by it's history. It felt a heavy place upon me. I wonder how it affects the people who live here, in particaular the younger generation, who perhaps have no living relatives from the Second World War. We move on, the blows softened by time. I do not feel the burden of Englands shameful colonial past, as I have no relatives who were involved in it I suppose. It predates my immediate family and my connection to it is therefore null. I felt unable to take any photographs in Berlin, after being overwhelmed by imagery in the museums, my shots would have seemed meaningless. The countless tourists snapping away at the wall irritated me and I was quite glad to leave on that rainy day.
Potsdam, the site of the agreement of the Big Three, the division of Germany between the superpowers, I felt armed with my A Level History knowledge and the town was much much older than the difficulties of the twentieth century, my unease lessened and I settled into the cycle. We lost Hazel in a downpour at an intersection and awaited her under 'the massive archway through the tower' as I described on the telephone. Half an hour later and my mind begins to spiral into worry, visions of Hazel missing the tower and disappearing off into the Black Forest never to be seen again. Of course she arrives eventually, sodden, after having visited all corners of Potsdam. It is, unfortunately for us, a town of many massive archways and towers. After finding our perfect fusion cafe which serves coffee, cake and curry, we head off to the omnipresent Tourist Information Centre. We locate a hostel and roll on over the river to check in. Hazel and I head off to the nearby Fluxus Museum (disappointing curation and a lack of video) and Philippa indulges in her favourite activity, laundry. On returning to the hostel sans key, Hazel and I attempt to locate our dormitory. Unfortunately as Philippa is the organised one we have no idea of our room number. We try a number of doors to no success and settle into the corridor to await Colby collection. We try Colby Calling (ie shouting) but she appears not. There's a mere two hours to go on the washing machine (we are following her trail....) so she must turn up sooner or later. And then, a ghostly singing drifts down the corridor....Colby is close! In true detective style I press my ear to all the doors until I locate her, and bang on the door excitedly. Allowed in and we of course consume more food and then sleep.
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