All day I’ve been resisting the urge to buy a weapon. Everyone else in York seems to be tooled up for the weekend. The ancient city in England’s northeast is celebrating its Viking heritage with a festival of fighting, and people are wandering the gory-storied streets nonchalantly wielding one lethal-looking spiky implement or another.
There is, apparently, more to Viking life than violence. During the week-long celebration there’s loads of feasting, beer swilling and browsing to be done, between banquets, pop-up bars and markets selling Scandinavian arts and crafts. There’s also music, history and poetry aplenty to enjoy at performances in various venues around town. But let’s be honest, most people seem to be here for the beards and battles – to the extent that I’m feeling somewhat underdressed with my bare chin and lack of killing apparatus.
So when you’re walking home from the pub, with a mind moisturised by mead and other inebriating elixirs of old England, and you discover a double-headed Viking battleaxe just hanging from a church fence… Well, you can’t simply ignore it can you?
“If I don’t take this axe,” I reason, “someone even drunker than me will grab it and test it out on another person’s head. I’m performing a public service. And I get to keep a double-headed Viking battleaxe.”
It’s a good argument, well made – if I do say so myself – and that’s why, in the wee hours of a Friday night, I’m walking through Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, across crooked cobblestones and past the higgledy-piggledy old buildings of the Shambles, carrying a wooden axe and talking to myself. It’s not a great look, but I’m pretty sure these twisted streets have witnessed much scarier sights.
Place names in York aren’t just quirky, they’re clues to the city’s history, which entails more violence and a bigger body count than a Game of Thrones box set. The Gate in Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, for example, comes from the Norse word gata, meaning street, and this was once the site of the city’s whipping post.
York has been a powerhouse of northern England for nearly two millennia. The Romans founded the city in 71 CE, in the strategically sensible spot where the River Foss joins the River Ouse, granting them a natural defensive barrier on several sides.
Times were tough and rough back then, though, and to further shield themselves from the lethal locals, the occupiers built walls around the city, which steadily grew in importance. Two Roman emperors died in York, and one – Constantine the Great, who founded Constantinople and invented Christmas – was hailed as emperor here.
By the fourth century, however, things weren’t looking so sweet for the swords and sandals brigade in Britain. Having struggled to keep the barbarians at bay, the Italians eventually scuttled home to Rome, where the very foundations of their once mighty empire were crumbling.
Amid the chaos and carnage that rushed into the vacuum they left behind, Anglo-Saxons moved in and a Middle Eastern cult called Christianity managed to take hold, with York as its epicentre. Churches began sprouting up across the city, one of them ultimately evolving into the mighty York Minster, which still towers over inhabitants of the modern city like a gorgeous Gothic guilt complex.
The church grew wealthy, which attracted a new breed of invader from across the North Sea. Vikings began arriving in 793 to plunder monasteries, pocket gold, steal men, women and children to sell as slaves, and generally create merry hell all over the British Isles.
Viking warriors were the Dark Ages’ most formidable fighting force, with fast ships, superior weapons and a ruthless approach to battle. Their arrival was like a tsunami of terror that hit the coast and washed right across the country.
Led by men with names like Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Ragnarsson, Sweyn Forkbeard and Eric Bloodaxe, these flaxen-haired hard nuts soon controlled most of England. York – or Jórvík as they called it – was their main base.
It didn’t always go the Viking’s way. In 954, Eric Bloodaxe was driven from York and killed, and the city was reclaimed by the Anglo-Saxons. The Vikings, however, soon bounced back, setting the scene for an almighty dust-up that took place exactly 1000 years ago. It forms the theme for this year’s festival. The Battle of Assandun was fought between Danish King Canute – aka Cnut the Great – and England’s King Edmund Ironside in 1016.
As the weekend gets going, scenes in pubs across York’s city centre become surreal. Young women on hens’ nights, wearing skirts that barely pass their waists, mingle with rugged old Vikings sporting beards to their knees. In fact, between hipsters on bucks’ parties and men dressed as Vikings, I’m virtually the only beardless bloke in town, and I’m starting to feel slightly self-conscious.
Predictably, this only gets worse during Saturday’s best beard contest, which draws a huge crowd of hirsute heroes and hairy hangers-on to the City Camp in Parliament Street. Shamed by my lack of face foliage, I soon decamp to the toughest Viking competition, the Brawl in the Guildhall, which is a little like American wrestling meets World’s Strongest Man with some axes thrown in for good measure.
Alongside a boisterous crowd, I watch as four wannabe warriors take on a series of brawn-based challenges, such as running around with logs on their shoulders, before squaring up for various bouts of fighting. Things get particularly interesting when one of the combatants – the local favourite – lets out a shriek of pain as his opponent accidentally axes him in the face. Real blood flows, but fortunately it’s only a flesh wound, and his beard remains unscathed. The crowd laps it up, and the homegrown hero is ultimately declared the winner.
In the sober light of day, I opt to leave my newly acquired weapon back at the hotel, but the city is in full Viking mode now, and there are wenches and warriors everywhere. Some look less berserker and more Bill Bailey – I suspect there’s quite a few IT specialists here – but plenty make a decent stab at coming across as the real deal.
There’s also a smattering of genuine Viking blood among the marauding hordes. Travellers are drawn to this unique and extraordinary spectacle from all over the planet, including Australia, but there’s a considerable contingent of Scandinavians. During the weekend I meet Danes, Swedes, Norwegians and an Icelander, all delighted their culture is being celebrated and commemorated so uproariously by the descendants of the very people whose arses they whipped a thousand years ago.
It’s about to kick off again. During the day, the rival forces, all dressed in full battle garb, amass around the ankles of York Minster. There’s much sabre rattling and rabble rousing as the two mock armies march through the centre of the city. The streets are lined with onlookers, some clutching swords, others cuddling beers. There’s a strange mix of tension, expectation and celebration in the air – like the atmosphere at a derby day football match. But this is just the dress rehearsal.
When the sun dips, the two armies face each other again – in a theatre of war in front of York’s historic Clifford’s Tower, built by William the Conqueror (himself a descendant of Vikings) a few years after the Battle of Assandun.
This time things are more serious. In the real bloody battle, Canute’s Vikings were victorious over Edmund’s Englishmen, but during these dramatic re-enactments things can go either way. Actual fatalities are discouraged, but the rules state that if you are walloped by a weapon you have to lay down dead – it’s like a medieval version of paintball.
Twice the clans clash, taking a victory apiece under a sky regularly ripped apart by fireworks, but in the final action the Danes come out on top and history repeats itself. England’s destiny is decided in favour of the invaders again. The slain return to life and everyone heads off to wet their beards with beer – friends again until next year.
As timeless as it is quirky, Amsterdam is the kind of place romantics put on their bucket list, and the type of destination travellers want to come back to. Ignore the rise of river cruise ships. Forget about the coffee shops. Instead, enjoy the curiosities in a city where you can ride a bike through a museum filled with billions of dollars of art on your way to dinner at a restaurant whose previous tenant operated red light windows. While Amsterdam’s tick-the-box attractions can easily fill your days, take advantage of the country’s excellent rail services to venture a little further to less-visited destinations like Utrecht, Rotterdam and The Hague to truly understand why the Dutch way of life is so desirable.
These are our tips for a five-day Amsterdam trip.
DAY ONE (AMSTERDAM)
Amsterdam is a city conquered by water. Get better acquainted with the waterways by hopping on a 75-minute canal-boat tour departing Amsterdam Centraal Station. Next, book in advance to visit Amsterdam’s most important and sombre attraction, Anne Frank House, where the young girl hid during the Nazi occupation of Holland.
Afterwards, head to the nearby Begijnhof for some quiet reflection away from the din of bicycle bells. Considered the city’s worst-kept secret, the garden and private chapel is accessible by an unmarked heavy wooden door just off the plaza known as the Spui. When darkness falls, check out the Paradiso, Amsterdam’s cathedral turned live music venue, favoured by performers for its acoustics and atmosphere.
After an obligatory tiptoe through the tourists at the Bloemenmarkt, the city’s floating flower market, head to Museumplein to get your culture on (and take that mandatory selfie next to the I amsterdam sign). Seeing Holland’s best art galleries in a day requires strategy: book in advance and hit the Van Gogh Museum when it opens, follow with a lap of the underrated Stedelijk modern art museum next door, before rounding out the day at the Rijksmuseum when crowds have dropped off.
At dusk, visit De Wallen, the city’s old Red Light District. It’s vastly overhyped, but bypass the overpriced bars and head down the cobbled Zeedijk, settling into one of the city’s old brown bars – so named for their wooden interiors – for a tipple of jenever (Dutch gin).
DAY THREE (AMSTERDAM)
Keep the party going with a visit to the Heineken Experience, showcasing Holland’s best-known beer export. Along with organised tours and sample beers, you can pick up what is for many the ultimate souvenir: a bottle of beer with your name on it. Not quite your cup of brew? Those looking to fill their suitcases should seek out Amsterdam’s 9 Straatjes or Nine Streets, a stylish concentration of the city’s best local designer stores, art galleries, upmarket cafes and vintage shops. From there, put your pedal power to good use to explore the leafy green surrounds of the picture-perfect Jordaan residential and arts neighbourhood, or if you’re not museum-ed out, head to Hermitage Amsterdam, which hosts satellite exhibitions on loan from the larger Russian collection in Saint Petersburg.
DAY FOUR (UTRECHT)
Jump on a train to Utrecht, a university town described by locals as Amsterdam without the tourists. Rent a bike from the tourist office and head out along the River Vecht, past eighteenth-century windmills, historic country castles and tiny villages for a taste of local life in the Dutch countryside.
In the afternoon, return your bike and climb up the 600-year-old, 112-metre Dom Tower, the city’s most famous landmark. After smashing the 400-odd steps to the top, reward yourself with a beer at Oudean, a medieval castle turned brewery on the canal in the historical centre. Finish the day at Olivier, a decommissioned church turned Belgian beer cafe.
DAY FIVE (ROTTERDAM)
The Netherlands’ most futuristic city is an hour away from Amsterdam, but a world away in modern design. Take in its jarringly post-modern architectural highlights, including Erasmus Bridge, the famous yellow cube houses and the enormous tunnel-like Market Hall. While adventurers can abseil down the landmark Euromast observation tower, those after a slower pace should seek out the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen. In the late afternoon, stretch out on a terrace for some premium people-watching opportunities along the Witte de Withstraat, one of the city’s most vibrant bar and arts hubs. Once you’ve sunk your pint of Amstel, browse the collection of museums and galleries, keeping an eye out for de Aanschouw, the world’s smallest art gallery, with works changing weekly.
There’s no sugar coating it – accommodation can get pricey in Amsterdam. Dorm beds at the Flying Pig start at AU$57, while Hans Brinker, which once dubbed itself the ‘worst hotel in the world’ has doubles for AU$129. Our pick? Stay in a houseboat B&B on the canals. Prices vary depending on the season, with cheaper, more spacious options located out of the main canal belt from AU$150 for two with bike rental.
TOTAL = AU$750 (or AU$375 per person)
FOOD AND DRINK
Holland’s best culinary treats are cheap and cheerful. During summer, pickled herring (affectingly known as Dutch sushi) can be sampled for a few euros, while bitterballen (deep-fried gravy meatballs) are a popular bar snack.
At 3am nothing beats a fried treat from a FEBO hole-in-the-wall coin machine, but for a filling, sit-down meal, try Caribbean-style Suriname food. Plan on budgeting around AU$100 per day.
TOTAL = AU$500
TRANSPORT
Return flights from Sydney to Amsterdam with Qatar Airways – from AU$1650
Return train to the airport – AU$20
Train ticket Amsterdam to Utrecht return – AU$24
Train ticket Amsterdam to Rotterdam return – AU$52
Bike hire for five days – AU$74
TOTAL = AU$1820
TOURS AND ACTIVITIES
Anne Frank House – AU$13
Canal Boat Tour – AU$23
Van Gogh Museum – AU$25
Rijksmuseum – AU$26
Stedelijk – AU$26
Dom Tower – AU$13
Heineken Experience – AU$24
The Hermitage – AU$26
Euromast abseiling or ziplining – AU$81
Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen – AU$22
TOTAL = AU$279
GRAND TOTAL = AU$2974
WHEN TO GO
Spring, which coincides with tulip time, and summer is peak season for the city, however with most attractions located indoors, Amsterdam is the perfect year-round destination.
TOP TIP
Visiting during summer? Rock your socks at Friday Night Skate. Rollerblading might have fallen out of fashion elsewhere, but lives on in Amsterdam. Each Friday evening during summer the streets are shut down and thousands show up to skate behind DJs in trucks blasting tunes along a kilometre-long route. It’s so popular, there’s also a Wednesday Night Skate in Rotterdam.
Quite possibly the most extreme adventure since Shackleton’s polar expeditions, the Ice Run sees motorbike riders careening across a frozen landscape in the depths of Russia’s winter.
Form your own team of two and hop aboard a Ural motorcycle to traverse the world’s largest, deepest and oldest lake – a body of water so vast that it’s often mistaken for a sea – in temperatures that can reach –27°C.
Three days of training preps bikers for the Siberian slog-athon; sharp gusts of 20 different winds can abruptly materialise, threatening to freeze your face; snow is pockmarked with patches of polished ice, creating a veritable skating rink; and the barren landscape, almost entirely devoid of landmarks, means riders have almost no sense of perspective.
Come the big ride, the frosty beauty of Lake Baikal will take your breath away – if the freezing temperatures haven’t already – while the camaraderie will warm your heart, even if every other part of your body is frozen.
Experience the history, culture and heritage of six northeastern European countries on a 21-day tour that begins at the Kremlin and ends at the Brandenburg Gate.
First up, get acquainted with Moscow. Over the course of a couple of days you’ll get to tour the Kremlin, Red Square, the Lenin Mausoleum, St Basil’s Cathedral and tonnes more, as well as travel on the famous Moscow Metro, admiring the historical stations as you take the ring line.
Jump on a high-speed train for the next stop, St Petersburg. This cultural capital was where Lenin and the Bolsheviks overthrew the Tsars in 1917 and is chock-full of history. A visit to Palace Square, the Winter Palace, Nevsky Prospect and Peter and Paul Fortress will have your inner historian doing mental high-fives.
It’s onwards and upwards as the tour hightails it through Estonia where a visit to the vodka museum in Lahemaa should help with the night’s rest. After waking, you’ll be delighted to know the next stop is for a craft brewery tour at Latvia’s Valmiermuiza Beer Brewery in Riga. As Arnold Schwarzenegger famously said, “Milk is for babies. When you grow up you have to drink beer.”
After a full day exploring Riga – highlights include the National Opera House, Old Town, St Peter’s Church and the Occupation Museum – the tour heads to Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania. There you’ll check out the Old Town, which is home to Vilnius Cathedral, the Palace of Grand Dukes and much more.
Moving along at a cracking pace, it’s on to Poland. If you’ve got an interest in World War II history, you’ll be enthralled by a visit to the famous Wolf’s Lair in Gierloz, Hitler’s first Eastern Front military headquarters.
In Warsaw, pose for a photo at the Mermaid Statue and visit the Palace on the Isle, a former summer residence for royalty. The tour then heads to Krakow. You’ve got choices here. The morning encompasses the Old Town with its Main Market Square. In the afternoon either continue with the World War II history and take in what was the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp or instead visit Wawel Castle.
Just as you are about to inhale, it’s time for Berlin. This exciting city combines glamour and grit, and you’ll want to see it all. Not possible, but we will take a sightseeing tour and hit the highlights like Potsdamer Platz, the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag, before hitting Potsdam for the afternoon. OK, you can exhale now.
Ever wanted to pedal across foreign lands, but have been turned off by the Lycra, competitive companions and possible road rage? This 10-day cycling tour exploring Sardinia avoids all that. Instead, you’ll encounter white beaches, vineyards and olive groves, charming villages and plenty of Mediterranean cuisine.
Ease into your tour in Costa Smeralda en route to Porto Cervo, where you’ll visit San Pantaleo, a tiny outpost set between the mountains and sea and declared one of Italy’s 19 most beautiful villages by the British Daily Telegraph. Known for its popular Thursday morning market, San Pantaleo is the perfect place to get to know its hundre or so residents. Grab yourself a gelati or visit one of its galleries, boutiques, bars or restaurants
On average, you’ll cycle up to 60 kilometres a day, but rather than being hindered by traffic lights and carbon dioxide you’ll inhale the fresh coastal air as you cross Passo Della Moneta, a bridge that connects the island of La Maddalena with Caprera. Gain some local insight at and the background of the Italian revolutionary general Giuseppe Garibaldi, considered to be one of Italy’s ‘fathers of the fatherland’, at the Garibaldi White House.
In West Sardinia, you’ll explore the coves of this unspoiled corner on foot giving your glutes a rest with a cycle-free day. Transfer across the island to Nuoro and Orgosolo. This picturesque enclave offers a fascinating glimpse into the region’s social unrest in the 1960s thanks to the history and people portrayed in its famous murals. Sit with the shepherds and enjoy a traditional open-air lunch of fiore sardo (pecorino made from raw ewe’s milk and matured for at least three months) from a local delicatessen.
Enjoy the warm sea breeze while exploring the Sinis peninsula, Mari Ermi’s white quartz beaches and the ruins of Tharros, a city founded by the Phoenicians around 800 BCE and where the city of Oristano originated.
Take the bus to Pula and the city of Arborea, where two-storey Art Nouveau and Neo-Gothic houses are surrounded by greenery. There’s also a chance to enjoy the lively city of Terralba, known for its gavina watermelons and communal winery.
Cycle along the pristine coastline, taking some time out for a swim in the warm Mediterranean sea and later head past tree-lined avenues that lead to the archaeological park of Nora. Experience a mix of history and religion at Nebida and on the island of Sant’Antioco, with its museum and unique handicrafts.
The idea of getting up close to a carnivorous predator – especially one of the world’s most powerful – might give even the bravest person the willies. Think you’re daring enough to plunge into the Arctic Circle’s freezing seas and come face to face with one?
Find out on this adventure with orcas in the coastal fjords of Norway. Slap on a snorkel and let waves of awe wash over you as you glide alongside these giants of the sea. It’s also likely you’ll spot humpbacks, sei and fin whales, as well as otters, seals and sea eagles as you cruise the nippy waters.
Back on land you’ll get cosy with hot soup and learn about orcas’ fascinating biology. And, if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of the northern lights while reminiscing about the day’s encounters.
Want to experience what its like to live a nomadic life without having to give up your record collection, coffee addiction, money, phone and favourite pair of sneakers? This trip to Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug will give you an insight into how the nomadic Nenet people of northern Russia live and for eight days you’ll eat, sleep, live and herd reindeer like a local. And you’ll be able to keep all your possessions.
This otherworldly journey begins in Salekhard, where you’ll travel to the Ural Federal District to meet with the reindeer herders of the Langot-Yugan River. On your first night as a nomad you’ll lay down your weary head in a chum, a temporary reindeer-hide tent.
The following day you’ll enjoy sightseeing around the camp, become acquainted with the herders and their children and learn about their dwellings, transportation (sledges), pet deer (avks) and huskies. During your downtime you’ll learn how to make equipment, such as the tynzyan, which is used for catching deer. Witness the arrival of a herd of up to a thousand deer, sample local cuisine and learn how to cook traditional dishes. If you’re pining for your iPhone you need to take a good hard look at yourself!
Back in Salekhard, you’ll go on a sightseeing tour and visit Obdorskiy Ostrog, a historical and cultural complex built to mirror an ancient fortress. Enjoy free time at lunch breathing in the freshest air you’ve ever inhaled before transferring to Gornoknyazevsk by bus. There you’ll explore the natural and ethnographic complex. For many years, the dynasty of Taishin princes ruled Gornoknyazevsk and the museum presents an extensive collection of materials used in nomadic and settled life, including clothing, ornaments and tools for fishing. You can try on traditional clothes and even ride on sleigh pulled by reindeer.
Finish off your expedition by spending the night in Salekhard reflecting on your experience and how you plan to go at least semi-nomadic when you return home – instead of travelling with three suitcases from now on you’ll just pack an overnight bag.
If you think an igloo with a frozen lake for a floor is cool, picture one boasting more than just an icy interior.
This ice-brick structure by Rukan Salonki Chalets conceals a steamy sauna right on top of Lake Salonkijärvi in the heart of Finland.
Illuminated by the reflection of sunlight and ice and heated by a stove, which is only brought inside when guests are there to avoid melting the walls, the ice sauna is one of the most unusual ways you’ll ever get a sweat on.
Warmed to a soft but steamy 60°C, the ice sauna offers more benefits to a spa date than your average steam room. The heat is less aggressive but the humidity is high, causing your body to perspire as soon as you enter. It also promises relief to those with breathing issues and colds.
Up to 10 people can enter the igloo at once, and when it’s time to simmer down, custom dictates you plunge into a hole in the ice for a shrivelling winter swim.
A warning glance is shot our way. Three spray can heroes are marking their territory on a wall and they don’t want us to come any nearer. They don’t look quite as I expected. The blue skivvies and nerd glasses make them appear less cutting-edge artist and more like a couple of the Wiggles cameoing on Saved By The Bell.
According to Robin, our guide, this is a semi-legal painting wall. “Well, no-one knows if it’s legal or not,” he admits. There are some walls in Berlin that are deliberately set aside for street art, but far more get appropriated without permission. If you can walk a block in the German capital without seeing tags, throw-ups, stencils or murals, then you’ve probably got your eyes closed.
Robin is something of a street art and graffiti historian. He’s keen to point out that, although both have their roots in New York, they are two distinct movements. Street art has the viewing public in mind, but graffiti is insular – it’s about impressing other graffiti crews and getting your name seen by as many people as possible.
That doesn’t mean to say that techniques don’t evolve, however. Robin encourages us to look up – the graffiti crews often pride themselves on getting their tags in the ‘heaven spot’ just below a building’s roof. It gets the name because if the person dangling you down by the legs while you spray lets go, heaven is where you’ll end up.
He seems as impressed by some of the tags made with Super Soakers or fire extinguishers as he does with the more obviously appealing street art murals. Of the latter, there are many. Berlin is arguably the world capital of street art at the moment, partly due to lack of law enforcement.
“It’s a city of six million people, but it’s 60 million dollars in debt,” says Robin. “So they employ just 35 people to tackle graffiti, when there are an estimated 3,000 people out spraying every night.”
There’s also a legacy from the Stasi, the former East German secret police. Life under the microscope made East Berliners intensely distrustful of being spied upon. Therefore CCTV cameras on buildings are incredibly rare and it’s harder to catch the artists in the act.
Also important, is the city’s lack of power to prosecute for spraying onto a private building. The owner has to take things to court and that’s generally too much hassle. It’s simply easier to paint over the offending image or – increasingly popular – commission an artist to paint something really good on the walls instead.
Evidently, there’s an accepted hierarchy in the street art world. The general unwritten rule is that you only go over something if you can do better. This, of course, is subjective, but the more impressive set pieces tend to last much longer.
Outside the Zebrano cafe in Friedrichshain, Robin points to a remnant of the Linda’s Ex campaign. One artist left pictures all over the city bearing messages of love for a mysterious ‘Linda’. They popped up in prominent positions, leading to a citywide debate about whether the spurned lover was a romantic or a psycho. It was later discovered that there never was a Linda – it was just one man’s social experiment.
Our mural-spotting continues by train. The U8 line crosses Kreuzberg, where many of the Berlin’s most impressive spraypaint masterpieces stand proud. Of these, an astronaut is the most famous. At night, the shadow from the flagpole of a nearby garage passes through the astronaut’s hand, making it look like he’s staking territorial rights on the moon.
The key thing about Berlin is that street art and alternative culture isn’t limited to hip fringes of the metropolis, and the city’s unique history plays a major part in this. When the East German authorities constructed the Berlin Wall in 1981, it was set back from the border. A ‘death strip’, guarded by soldiers with shoot-to-kill orders, created a buffer zone of rubble and abandoned or torn-down buildings.
This death strip went through the centre of the city, and when the wall came down in 1989, a lot of prime real estate was left unclaimed. Squatters and artists moved into the abandoned buildings, many of which were turned into studios and rather grimy galleries. Most have been moved on, unable to resist the tide of development for long, but there are still surprising pockets close to where the wall ran.
A fine example is C-Base, a bar hidden behind the trees on the riverbank opposite Jannowitzbrücke station. Inside, it is made up to look like a spaceship. The number of plug sockets and extension leads give away what it really is, however – a club for computer hackers. Non-members are welcome for a drink upstairs, but not into the mysterious underground lair.
At thoroughly spruced-up Hackesche Höfe, an alleyway behind the plush shopping centre contains an arthouse cinema, an independent gallery, the scruffiest of cocktail bars and virtually every form of street art available. An extraordinary picture of a man’s face by Australian artist James Cochran, AKA Jimmy C, has French impressionist leanings and seems to be created out of bubbles. Elsewhere, a frequently occurring paste-up character called Little Lucy looks mischievous. The paste-up cats she tortures can always be found nearby, hanging from a noose or otherwise abused.
Even weirder are the scrap metal monsters that bob around opposite the bar. These belong to the Monsterkabinett, one of alternative Berlin’s oddest experiences. Essentially it is a cellar full of mechanical beasts – some with bulging eyes, others with klaxons for noses – which dance to pounding techno music in increasingly claustrophobic rooms. It makes no sense at all, yet feels inherently brilliant.
It’s the starting point for a jaunt through the parts of Berlin that gentrification hasn’t had its wicked way with just yet. French filmmaker Isa leads us to a former train depot in Friedrichshain. It has become something of a focal hub for Berlin’s alternative cultures, with nightclubs, bars and galleries taking ovderelict buildings, and oddities such as circus tents popping up sporadically.
Some of the best street art is here too. Isa tells the tale of the mural on the side of the Cassiopeia club. “I kept coming back as it was being painted,” she says. “At first, I thought it was just going to be mountain scenery. Then the cowboy got added. Then, finally, the banana skins that the cowboy is slipping over. My idea of what it was kept transforming.”
She leads us through the locked-off yards to Urban Spree, a bar-gallery hybrid. The exhibitions are officially closed, but we get the nod from the barman to head up. It’s not often you get to mooch around a gallery with a beer in hand, taking everything in via lights from mobile phones, but it’s something the Uffizi and Louvre may want to think about.
Compared to the next stop, however, it feels like standard museum practice. We head out east, to the end of the S-Bahn line, and then to the end of a tramline. This is the Berlin that most Berliners don’t consider venturing into.
By muted torchlight we traipse through bushes and over damaged wire fences. Manholes are left uncovered on the path and the block of flats is totally abandoned. It’s a chilling, Blair Witch-like experience as we crunch up the stairs through broken glass. Isa calls this ‘urban exploration’ and tells us not to shine any light on the street in case we’re seen.
It wouldn’t be a surprise to see syringes at the bottom of the lift shaft or a corpse slumped in the corner next to a broken window. But what we do see are traces of a new generation. The tags and rudimentary paintings aren’t as impressive as those seen in the train depot, but that’s why they’re here. “Kids use the building for practice,” says Isa. “They can make mistakes here, and no-one will see them.”
In the bleakest of settings, experiments are creating life. It’s the sort of energetic mutation that the city feeds off. This has long been the Berlin way; when favourite haunts are developed for mass consumption, those on the fringes will always find somewhere new to express themselves.
There she stood on the side of the highway, a shivering mass of tattered clothes alongside her huge, bright pink suitcase. In her shaking hands she clutched a small but neatly written cardboard sign, her ticket out of the winter chill and, if luck were smiling upon her, all the way to DIMITROVGRAD.
I was hurtling past Nis, Serbia, at 130 kilometres per hour in my Bulgarian Citroen, when the fluoro flash of pink caught my eye. I slammed on the brakes and pulled off the road about a hundred metres past her. A honk of the horn and she had turned to make that brilliant, mad dash, the sprint all hitchers dream about during those lonely roadside hours.
“It’s my policy to pick up hitchhikers,” I’d said to my road-trip companion, Iks, about half an hour earlier, in a tone that must have reeked of faux-hippie smugness. “It builds up karma.” I was also looking forward to the element of surprise a hitchhiker invariably adds to the journey.
After hitcher, suitcase and guitar had all been bundled into the car, we began pleasantries. She was a 40-something woman from Germany, of Turkish descent, called Gamze. At least that was her birth name. Her ‘God name’ was something completely different. Warning bells rang.
The next few exchanges yielded this information: she thought she’d left Germany on Saturday 17 December (today was Friday the 18th), she couldn’t remember where she’d been since then, and she had no money. Gamze could also, she told us, predict the future. She was selling possessions from her pink bag to make some cash on the road.
Then came the doozy: God had recently come to Gamze in a vision and told her to “go to Israel to save the children”. So, true to the divine command, she’d packed up all her stuff and hit the road.
This had very quickly turned into a scene from a comedy movie. Trying to keep a straight face and avoiding Gamze’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, I politely pointed out that an overland trip to Israel would require crossing Syria, which didn’t seem like a great idea. Gamze’s bulletproof response, delivered with a beguiling half-smile that suggested she might be taking the piss, was that God had given her this mission, therefore he would protect her. You can’t argue with that.
Iks and I found ourselves in an awkward position. Gamze was clearly delusional, possibly unstable. But we had already agreed to drive her past her destination to Sofia, and we could hardly leave a vulnerable woman in the middle of nowhere. So we continued.
Despite the elephant in the back seat, conversation with Gamze proved delightfully quirky. To paraphrase one of Terry Pratchett’s most excellent analogies, she had passed through insanity and into the calm waters on the other side. During the journey we discussed life, family, travel and music, with only the occasional mad interjection, at which even Gamze began to chuckle.
We were only half an hour from Sofia when things got dark. Gamze seemed to smell something in the air, which she took as an attempt by us to poison her. She became agitated and, despite our apologies, told us that we would have to “live with the consequences” of what we’d done. That sounded ominous.
I told Gamze that if it would make her more comfortable, we could leave her at the next town, but she curtly told us she’d still like to go to Sofia. We drove on in awkward silence. When we reached the city centre, she told us to pull over and, with barely a word of farewell, disappeared into the night.
The next day I met up with two Bulgarian friends at a cafe. As I regaled them with the tale of Gamze, one of them, Liya, became increasingly concerned, pointing out that the poor woman was probably schizophrenic and in need of help. She was right. She offered to call the police to file a missing persons report and, overwhelmed with waves of guilt for not having acted sooner, I agreed.
The phone call was going OK until she mentioned Syria. Then all hell broke loose. Within 10 minutes, four security police had barged into the cafe asking for ‘the Australian’. Clearly they’d misunderstood most of the story, assuming we were reporting a potential terrorist. They barked intense questions at me in broken English, before ‘escorting’ us to the police station.
As the cop car whisked us away with Hollywood urgency, I had a sinking feeling I was about to be accused of smuggling a terrorist into Bulgaria, when in fact my only crime had been to give a lift to a shivering woman on the side of the road, then trying to ensure she was OK. Two rights make a wrong, it seems.
Now, I’m not one to complain about being apprehended by foreign police when I can sense a good story in the making, but in a few hours I was due to catch a bus to Istanbul, where my Christmas flight to Melbourne awaited me. Spending the festive season in a Bulgarian prison did not seem like an attractive alternative.
I was in full panic mode by the time we got to the station, but thankfully my calm translator, Liya, set the record straight. She explained the situation clearly enough that even a policeman could understand it – no mean feat. After several hours of slow discussion, and a few pieces of cold pizza, the report was filed and I was free to go!
The lesson here? I’ll continue to pick up hitchhikers, and hitchhike myself, because of the amazing experiences it can provide. Never again, though, will I mention Syria to police who don’t speak my language.
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