Toward the end of the second “Lockdown”, the prospect of a month long, half price, first class, European rail pass seemed too good to miss. But for the best part of eighteen months the InterRail, anniversary, flash sale booty awaited activation. Maybe that’s because the confinement of Lockdown contracted horizons, or eroded confidence, but whatever the reason, with the expiry date fast approaching, I finally fetched up at my local train station with a light rucksack, heavy packed lunch and the InterRail app loaded with a Eurostar ticket to Amsterdam.
In the past, watching the white cliffs of Dover slip below the horizon and the shores of France emerge across the way seemed like a curtain coming down and going up on a play; a slow moving analogue between one act and the next. But now the journey’ s digital, an instant switch between the sunny Kent countryside and subterranean darkness, between the Off state of Brexit and the On states of Europe.
The plan had stretched as far as Amsterdam, a city that uniquely combines hedonism with no-nonsense, protestant sensibility. A city of juxtapositions, with land hemmed in by water and shops selling rounds of Edam alongside others displaying even cheesier offerings. Though the Dutch have long lured tourists with their permissive values, the “Stay away” campaign is now discouraging young men from pursuing Bacchus, Eros and Soma though its narrow streets. But for me it’s the beauty and unique character of the place that appeals, there’s only one Amsterdam.
Last Wednesday, after days of rain, it was rammed with tourists who, like ants awaiting the warm weather to swarm the nest, were thick about the place. So many nationalities beetling about, with ice creams and sugary crepes, so many bodies needing beds.
Arriving at the hotel I thought I was staying at revealed a crucial error. The receptionist who somehow found time between piles of plastic wrapped mattresses and a steady stream of more organised guests, to read the reservation, noticed my booking was for August not July. So after a number of further unsuccessful enquiries, Amsterdam turned into a day trip.
Besides the Eurostar, the best memory from that day was sitting by the side of a canal watching a steady procession of twenty-meter long tourist boats negotiate a ridiculously tight, ninety-degree turn. Their graceful manoeuvrings were mesmerising and a world apart from the bustle of hot, narrow streets.
So with the shadows lengthening and after a lengthy queue at the booking office in Dam central, seats were reserved on trains heading to Berlin: a long, dark journey through the night to perhaps the most historic city of modern times.
The pushbikes of Amsterdam must have made an impression, as on the way I booked a cycling tour for that morning. The Internet can be a uniquely wonderful thing, especially when you know the month 😉 .
– and cycling is a great way to get the feel of a city, especially when it’s flat.
Thor, our guide, was a knowledgable Icelandic nomad who had fallen in love with Berlin and stayed. He wove us through the sites and history and even recommended a nice hotel, so after the tour I kept the bike, donned headphones and went back to exploring the city, this time accompanied by Ziggy Stardust and the spiders from mars (nb the kids unfortunately killed Ziggy shortly after he fell in love with Berlin, but the smacked out Thin White Duke cut Low and Heroes there). Nietzsche might also have been tagging along, as what exactly is the meaning or purpose of floating around Berlin on a pushbike whilst listening to fifty year old tunes?
So that was a four day, whistle stop tour of two brilliant cities and a dozen train stations; a trip of vivid memories, that included a brief dance with a pair of incompetent muggers. Berlin has been at the centre of modern European history and gloried, suffered and evolved accordingly. There’s too much to recount here, suffice to say it remains dynamic, “edgy” and “up for it”, If the EU were a party, Berlin would be where the smokers gathered.
Another comparison is how even the night trains were busy with young people criss crossing the continent. The trip did nothing to dispel my view that Brexit was like a swimming pool where most of the noise came from the shallow end.
Jimmy Carr – Henning what was your take on the whole Brexit Vote
Henning When – Well you have to take the rough with the smooth and there are upsides to living in an attic. Always very peaceful, might even get a book out of it.
These past four days have been both a tonic and an eye opener. Yes there were positives about staying close to home these past years, and there’s no need to be parochial or ignorant with the Internet at hand, but there’s also nothing quite like new experiences and pushing out into the magic of the flow.
Auf wiederhören
Something about boys 