If you put your head down to try extract a single vision, idea or even string of words summing up the entirety of Germany, it’s barely possible. For those who haven’t visited this European dynasty, all the usual stereotypes pop into the head like corn: ‘sauerkraut’, ‘the Aryan’, ‘Volkswagen’ and possibly a mug of ‘Kolsch’. But Germany is none of these stereotypes.

Before delving into details though, I think the itinerary of this week-long extravaganza should be contextualised within the culture and atmosphere of the country, which has certainly morphed beyond the Germany we tend to confine to the box labeled ‘historical plight’.

‘Culture’ is sometimes defined as ‘the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively’, and Germany is the embodiment of such intellectual prowess. The noun ‘precision’ (as you may have noticed) is often preceded by ‘German’; and this for a reason. Today, Germany and all its creative (and other) ‘manifestations’ are ‘precisely’ committed to whatever form of art, ideology or pursuit  they deem necessary for international advancement, whether this be nation building post WWII, Mercedes, organic farming or simply the creative marketing of sauerkraut. Thus the Audi slogan ‘Vorsprung durch technik’ (Advancement through technology) should also read ‘advancement through creativity’ for creativity, I believe, lies in everything a man puts his hand to.

Now as to the reason we were in Germany, it was to attend the annual GTM (which this year, was held in Cologne and Bonn). The organisers though also planned to introduce us to Germany as a whole, and so we were asked to book a ‘pre-convention tour’ of choice. I thought about what I (and hopefully you the reader would enjoy most) and so opted for Creative Germany, a tour which would focus on exposing us to the selectively chosen delights of Munich, Berlin and Frankfurt (with an average of 24hours in each city). From there, it was to the conference in Cologne and Bonn. So contrary to the usual structure of my articles, I decided only to write about that which completely captivated my interest, and here it is…

The English Gardens

Half-way through our tour of Munich we were whisked straight past the English Gardens, where the guide simply pointed: ‘and that’s the garden, one of the most famous in the world’. A few journalists grumbled, saying that we definitely should have been given a tour around this ‘very special’ garden. Partly, I suspect that they may have wanted to witness (nay document) the naked-bathing area, for which this garden has gained both criticism and favour with the locals throughout the decades.

The garden was created in 1789 by Sir Benjamin Thompson, and later improved upon by his successors, some of whom were counts and royals.  The garden, even bigger than New York’s Central Park, is termed the ‘English Garden’ because of its reference to the style of gardening (the term itself only ever used outside the English speaking world). 

During summer months, visitors (pronounced wisitors) can enjoy anything from frisbee and horse riding, to surfing on the Eisbach river. As for the ‘naked sunbathing’, this is rumoured to take place around the horse track, near the University. It must be mentioned that in Germany, there’s a sub-culture for almost every form of expression, and nakedness is no exception. This bathing then is referred to as FKK (Frei Körper Kulture). The direct translation: Free Body Culture.

With regards to the ‘sub-cultures’, let’s take a little skip to secret organisations; and the Guglmen specifically. Members of this group believe that their beloved kind of Bavaria (King Ludwig II) was murdered whilst taking an innocent stroll with his doctor along the Starnberg Lake, and this year marks the 125th anniversary of the death of this, Germany’s ‘fairytale king’, loved for being a dreamer. So whilst his grandfather (King Ludwig I) was responsible for the rebuilding of Munich, the eccentric Ludwig II nearly brought the kingdom to ruin. Happily, he would ‘busy’ himself with the construction of palaces and castles, the most famous of which is Neuschwanstein (later used as Disney’s inspiration in the story of Sleeping Beauty). 

Another of his famous creations though is the Winter Garden (Residence Palace) in Munich, which we skirted past. I’ve seen few things this elaborate or large. It was beautiful.

Finally where the Guglmen are concerned, they still climb the stairs ‘near the Starnberg lake in Berg’, near Munich, in celebration and honour of Germany’s loved (sometimes crazy) Swan king.

Ingo Maurer

His showroom is tucked away at the end of an ally in Munich (Kaiserstrasse 47), where his daughter stood to welcome us at the door. We stepped inside, instantly bathed in light; and that’s because Maurer (and his 70 employees) all work with light fragmentation, deflection, absorption, diffusion…any substance and metal which responds to a glow.

One of these exhibits is called Porca Miseria (an Italian cuss-word for “What bad luck”). This prototype comprises of a single bulb, surrounded by hundreds of pieces of broken porcelain, hence the name. Obviously these plates were broken with meticulous precision; however the concept remains an accidental one: where the plate falls, breaks and you cuss (in Italian). This accident is on the market for 50 000 Euros (the equivalent of R500 000), with an average on ten made and sold on an annual basis.

The ways in which Maurer assembles light though is worth the price he asks, and it should be said though that though there are prototypes, most pieces are created for the room within which they will be displayed, custom-made according to specs and pictures the buyers send to him before-hand.

Then just before we left, I found an invite lying on a glass table. It was to an opening party in New York, where Maurer’s works would be exhibited for a period of three days. The address: 89 Grand Street, New York. This man (now aged 79) and his designs are apparently an international craze.

Berlin and the Tacheles

This is a multi-story house in Oranienburger Straße (street) in the district of Mitte (we’re still in East Berlin here). Graffiti, broken windows and from the top floors, deep hip hop beats come filtering through the dust particles. In the artistic echelons, artists create collages of pop art, photography and colourful imagery. One of the prints I bought quotes the early rock band Pink Floyd on a graffiti wall: ‘Mother should I trust the government’? It’s the feel I got from many in the creative community here, a general questioning of leadership and the adamant pursuit of singularity of thought. Then again, this is the case of creative’s world-wide. Still, I identified strongly.

Originally, the Tacheles had been built as a department store in this (the old Jewish) quarter of Scheunenviertel. About 25 years later, Nazis moved in to occupy the building, transforming it into a prison. Later, it survived the Wall and shortly after its fall, artists moved in, staking the territory out as a house of resistance and creativity. They called it Tacheles (Yiddish for ‘straight talking’).  

A few weeks before our visit, the owner of the building had apparently scheduled an eviction, which never took place. Eighty artists refused to leave, whilst others were peacefully paid-off and left the building without a struggle. I took a photo outside entrance, and over the name Tacheles a piece of paper had been stuck. All it said was ‘bleibt’ (is staying). Therefore whilst the near future of the building appeared uncertain, it’s probably safe to predict that the Tacheles will forever be dedicated to its ‘right-minded’ (militant) occupants.

Outside the Tacheles a little later, what looked like a witch walked past in even stride. My jaw dropped. I made eye contact with someone else who had noticed her too, and looked amused. These people were crazy, and I loved it. Here and to quote the book Creative Germany, ‘the street is a gallery’.

Cyprien Gaillard

Today, there are 20 000 visual artists living in Berlin, 6000 of whom are said to exhibit in galleries. One of the most interesting galleries we visited then is called the KW Institute for Contemporary Art, where Cyprien Gaillard’s sculpture occupied the entirety of the room in a piece called: The Recovery of Discovery.

Gaillard was working with the concept or idea of cultural monuments being ‘removed and displaced all over the world’, much like Pergamon’s alter was (from Asia Minor to a museum in Berlin). Similarly, ruins from the temples in Ephesus can now be located in London, Vienna, Istanbul and Efes itself (which is the Latin word for Ephesus). 

And so like the Alter, Gaillard decided to ‘displace’ 72 000 bottles of a beer called Efes from their Turkish roots of origin, to this dark room in Berlin. The cardboard boxes reach up to the ceiling, structured to form a pyramid. Then, rowdy youths (as predicted by Gaillard) complete the art in motion by climbing the sculpture, thereby ‘initiating its destruction’.

“The barbaric removal of single architectural elements that have been transported from their original location to Berlin embodies both the concept of displacement and tourist colonialism’. According to this description, we were but colonisers; standing there in a twilight of gloom, beer in hand.

Was the aim to get the tourist-coloniser drunk? ‘The physical hangover is also an architectural one, from which one has to recover’, and as the consumption increases, so does the disregard for the origin of the beverage in hand. To an extent therefore, this piece of architecture claims a cultural revenge on behalf of all displaced relics of ancient history, not the least among them, Pergamon’s alter. We were living history.

Frankfurt

From Berlin, it was then a hop on to the Intercity Express (ICE) to Frankfurt. Past fields of yellow rapeseed (apparently used to make Canola oil), we then arrived just over four hours later.

Arriving in Frankfurt, ‘you’ (used generically here) contemplate your itinerary. Firstly, it’s recommended that you do a city tour, most of which begin at 10am. Then, lunch in the Gourmet Lane of the city (officially known as Grose Bockenheimer Strasse). In the afternoon, be sure to visit a museum, Liebieg Haus for example, where you can enjoy a steaming cup of coffee. In the late afternoon there is the lush and botanical Palmengarten and finally, dinner at the Depot 1899 Sachsenhausen, which is where we dined that night. 

Here at Sachsenhausen, we drank a wine typical to the city called Apfelwein, which was consumed with a tender portion of beef and a side-taste of Gruene Sosse (directly translated as Green Sauce). Apparently, the sauce is famous for having been a favourite of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, today considered to be the father of the German language.

The thing about Frankfurt though (and the irony of our short stay) is the fact that you need time to explore. A synopsis uttered by our guide ensconced the idea perfectly: ‘Frankfurt is like a Swiss knife’, he said. ‘It’s difficult at first to notice all its uses and hidden treasures, but with time and some effort; these become apparent’.

‘Eau de Cologne’

‘I have discovered a scent that reminds me of a spring morning in Italy, of mountain narcissus, orange blossom just after rain’, wrote Giovanni Maria Farina to his brother (who at the time was serving in the military away from home). 

The year was 1708, and it’s been a little over 300 years since the scent was created and the letter written. At 23, Giovanni Maria had brewed a fragrance to remind him of his Italian heritage, and the memories he had left behind.

During this time (the Rococo period) many perfumers were working magic in similar fashion and yet; this younger brother of the Farina family would create a heritage for the family name for generations to come. He named it in honour of his new town. It would be known as: the Eau de Cologne.

On a bright Tuesday morning we visited the shop, red and siren-like on a quiet street corner. Then at the end of our perfumed history lesson, we were each given a bottle of the cologne.  The fragrance: ‘orange blossom just after rain’, I wore the scent with delight. 

Love padlocks in Cologne (an endearing concept).

Apparently this is an international trend, although I’ve never seen the locks in South Africa…a trend waiting to happen perhaps?

Lovepadlocks started appearing in Europe in the early 2000’s, the trend itself thought to have begun in China. The way it works is that lovers custom-make their locks, bolt them (preferably onto a bridge) and then throw the key into the river (or the nearest big body of water). Thus, the lovers are comforted in the promise that their love will last forever (considering how the only ‘way out’ of the union now lies safely at the bottom of a river-bed).  

And on the Hohenzollern Bridge in Cologne, there are thousands of these locks of love, and walking along the bridge took a good while, as we read and photographed the names and dates of those in relationships. It felt like a Shakespearean drama unfolding before us, as declarations of love had been (custom) made for all to see. Yes, I think ‘endearing’ sums it up.

Apparently, the Deutsche Bahn had at one stage attempted to have these locks removed, but were met with mass ‘public opposition’. The Bahn relented…and love won the day.

Bonn and Beethoven

From September to October every year, citizens of Bonn and musicians from beyond the seas celebrate music in memory of this creative genius, Beethoven, whose birthplace we had the privilege of gingerly stepping through. 

‘Gingerly’, because the floors tilt slightly, the floors creak beneath and you then realise that you’re treading lightly on history, the very spot where Beethoven sat shivering in the shadow of a domineering father, his mother coughing somewhere in the background, then dying just a little too young. But so did Beethoven, he was only 56 years of age when he passed and that’s because as a younger man, the drink of choice was so cheap and toxic that any version of it would have been immediately banned by the NHF, without reconsideration or doubt. This (ultimately lethal) drink was said to have had fine bits of lead in its composition, which led firstly to his deafness, then to his untimely death.

Beethoven was a prodigy, born into a beautiful city but cruel circumstances. In the house, there is a glass cabinet with a frumpy, yellow note inside. It is the official invitation for all to come and watch this ‘prodigy’ play the piano. The notice however alludes to the fact that Beethoven was six years-old at the time, when he was actually eight. It seems his dad was a sensationalist, with the marketing skills of a con-artist. And although there were days when young Beethoven was chained and teased to play by his dad, his love for music always remained.

To me, the heart of Bonn lay at Beethoven’s birthplace; surrounding which the town derives much popularity and prestige…and rightly so.

Finally: The Drachenburg castle

Built in the period of ’promoterism’,  this castle (considered one of the more modern along the banks Rhine), was constructed in 1882, and has been used for different purposes throughout the centuries. Originally though, it was the private residence of an excentric and humorous baron, whose story should be told. 

He was born Stephan Sarter, but was later elevated to the status of ‘Baron of Sarter’, thanks to the money he had made as a stock broker. Quickly, he built himself a castle, made friends and then invited these friends to join him in his luxury (the meaning of which shouldn’t be under-estimated).

The castle itself boasts numerous rooms, staircases, a ballroom, smoking room, library; everything someone with important friends could wish for in order to impress. And that he did. In one room (the entertainment room) there is what looks like an organ against the upper (rear) wall. To ‘play’ it, you need to climb a small staircase, leaving your listeners downstairs facing the opposite direction, out the windows and onto the sprawling landscape and Rhine below. Impressive, the only problem being that Baron Sarter could neither play music, nor did the organ work. So to combat this minor problem, the illustrious baron would tune the gramophone onto ‘classical organ’ and pretend to play (after-which his guests would clap, and then shake his hand at such an austere performance). I would have loved to have met him.

Outside there are rolling hills, seasoned with bleating sheep. The sun glows a European warm, and looking back, the castle reminds me of Jane Austen‘s Northanger Abbey.

I think seeing this though made my having to return home difficult. This doesnt usually happen because ordinarily, I come home with a spring and a skip in my step. Now, it seemed as if I had been exposed to too much decadence, luxury and beauty; and it cast a shadow of daily life rendering it colourless, partly devoid of exotix tastes and grandeur. But at least I have the memories, photos and Farina’s scent…to remind me of a spring morning in Europe and of orange blossoms, ‘just after the rain’.

Thank-you:

Lufthansa,
Deutsche Bahn