unterwegs

This is a collage by Kurt Schwitters from 1945 in the Kurt und Ernst Schwitters Stiftung at the Sprengel Museum Hannover. While the piece is untitled, it goes by the one bit of text to appear within its borders: TO SEA. Could there be any more perfect phrase in the English language? Such economy, and yet it says it all: about striking out into the unknown, about feeling adrift and lost, about yearning to be elsewhere and the hope contained in the sentiment. I was in Rotterdam this weekend to see the large Schwitters exhibition that traveled from the Sprengel to the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, and I can definitively say it ranks among one of my favorite cities. Apparently, I am a junkie for harbor cities, and this one is a whopper. When I think about how exquisite Hamburg is, particularly now as every tree is in full bloom and canals kissed by weeping willows reflect nothing but blue skies, I seriously want to weep at the thought of tearing myself away. While I haven't become quite so attached to Rotterdam that my departure was cause for gloom, it surely wasn't easy to board a train when we were just starting to get to know one another.

I took a boat ride through the port, Europe's largest and probably the busiest in the world, save for Shanghai. The floating cities that, say, bring oranges from Brazil to rainy northern Europe have unhindered access to the sea straight into the loading zones - no locks, no way stations, nothing to obstruct these buoyant messengers of commerce. Miles upon miles of islands populated by nothing but garish-colored container bins, neatly stacked and switched in and out by computers and robots and the occasional human being made for an eerie sight on my left. And on my right, the most brazen and playful architecture I have seen in a long while. Perhaps I have seen buildings as inventive more recently, but if they aren't integrated in a way sensitive to street-level use, city rambles, and the overall skyline, chances are they left me with feelings that ran the gamut from apathy to rage - if they made an impression at all. Not so Rotterdam. Here, a large number of architects, planners, engineers (and, I gather, politicians) have managed to say "to sea!" with all of what we have always thought a building should be without saying "fuck you!" to the people who have to live with it.

What a contrast to Berlin, which is where I was for the two days before my brief Holland sojourn. Berlin couldn't be farther from the sea, it feels. Upon my departure, I realized that the very thing I like most about the city is, paradoxically, why I can't bear to be there for any true length of time. What makes Berlin so special is its Hofkultur - a culture of courtyards. Duck into a doorway and you could find a warren of fantastic shops and cafes and theaters... and shade! You can lose yourself for hours in the Höfe and never step out onto the street. It's like being in someone else's backyard, except it also belongs to you. I always feel a rush of trespassing there, a thrill of discovering a best kept secret, and guaranteed, I will find respite.

For there to be Höfe, however, there have to be fortress-like exteriors - huge row buildings that make a city block interminable and remind me every time I'm there that it takes hours to get around the city without a bike. Outside the Höfe, Berlin is a wretched place to walk around: no trees, an endless litany of fast-food joints, traffic, dust and dog shit, and only the occasional soul to brush by (but the streets are so wide, there's hardly the chance of that happening). The city takes on correct proportions inside and in I run, seeking shelter and amazed at how frazzled I can become for no tangible reason - except that on the outside, I've never felt more like a woman overboard.

I finally went inside the big synagogue on Oranienburgerstrasse, which was surprisingly emotional. The restoration retained the impression of its ruination in an exceedingly poignant and subtle way. Did you know that it was basically a war ruin, with weeds growing inside where the (now reconstructed) cupola once stood, as late as 1988? Every time I think I've got my mind wrapped around Berlin, I find myself searching for the aspirin. I didn't have the stamina to go to the Holocaust memorial this time around (which, I read in the tabloids, is currently the favorite urinal of the drunken Berliner set). And I am kicking myself that I didn't bring my camera, as surely my conflicted attitudes toward the city might be better understood with pictorial accompaniment.

But I'll be back on Wednesday to see the Art & Propaganda exhibition at the Deutsches Historisches Museum with E. (This visit, she and I shared a couple of hours of enthusiastic mutual appreciation for both the Staatsbibliothek and the Palast der Republik - one might be tempted to call it an architectural love-fest.) And in the meantime, I've booked hostel rooms for two weekends on Sylt and Rügen respectively. I leave Hamburg at the end of May, and I have to see the Nordsee and the Baltic Coast before I head down south. TO SEA!