Tom the Curious: Ramblelogue

…ambling and rambling.

  • Home: this must be the place

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • The Train Was on Time: Poland and Lithuania by rail

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Gdańsk & Malbork: where history happened

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Białowieza: Searching for Silence

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Warsaw: Contrast & Compromise

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Lithuania in colour: Vilnius & Kaunas

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Searching for Golgonooza: a ramble around William Blake’s London

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Descending the ladder: a sunny stroll around Harringay

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Istanbul (not Constantinople) Part 2: Boats and cats and minarets

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.                

  • Istanbul (not Constantinople) Part 1: Blizzard on the Bosporus

    Berlin’s influence through the past two centuries may not have been subtle, and it feels obvious that the themes that would guide my fortnight in the corner of central Europe that once hid behind the eastern face of the Iron Curtain penetrated my conscious here: where east met (and stood against) west; where WW2 and the reach of the Third Reich are ever apparent; where counterculture battles establishment; and faded grandeur (me or the buildings I stand in front of?) leans against post-war renewal.

     even being served by a robot waiter from the year 2049 in the café of that world-class institute of ancient history, the Pergamon Museum. 

    It’s also where I decide to adopt the tactics of the flaneur or derive*** .  Another duality: this was an interrail trip on which I would spend most of my time on foot. 

    Another theme makes itself present: self-reflection.  This theme is ever-present, or at least should be, for someone who lives alone, but being a foreigner brings it into sharper focus, somehow takes a layer of pressure off, normalises it, takes away the everyday mundanity, adds, what?  Optimism?  Clarity? Purpose?

    This trip to Berlin was far less nocturnal than my previous visits, perhaps allowing there to be plenty of self-reflection – there always is – but two instances become instant highlights.

    First, the (shamefully) hitherto unknown to me Neues Museum is a wonderful experience, which could have lasted days.  The undoubted highlight is to stand in solitary face-to-face with what must be history’s most beautiful face: the 3,300 year old bust of Nefertiti, described by the archaeologist who unearthed her, Ludwig Borchardt, as “the most alive Egyptian artwork. You cannot describe it with words. You must see it.”. He was right, and for this reason I shan’t attempt to.

    My date with Nefertiti leaves me conflicted in the same way that my regular visits to the British Museum does.  She is believed to have been created c1345BCE by Thutmose, official court sculpture to Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, at whose former capital, Amarna, she was unearthed in 1912.  The tactics by which Borchardt and his employers, the German Oriental Company, secured Nefertiti for Germany were arcane at best. 

    From the banks of the Nile to those of the Spree she travelled, now standing proud but far from home in her hexagonal chamber in the Neues, alone bar two museum assistants. 

    We Europeans benefit, of course, but the oft-used argument that more people get to see an artefact in a European city versus one in the developing world doesn’t hold water here, as Berlin receives roughly the same number of visitors as Cairo (both around 5m annually, according to Euromonitor). 

    I usually hold the opinion that an object’s origin is only part of its story, so each case needs to be considered in the context of its own journey.  In Nefertiti’s case, I find myself in strongly agreeing with the Egyptian claim that she should return home.  Surely AI developments, the use of holograms or 3D printing could be used to produce a replica that could remain in Berlin, allowing Tutankhamun’s step-mother to return to her homeland.         

    My second major bout of reflection  occurs in the excellent Beba Café where, over an almighty schnitzel, I listen to the babble of a half-dozen different languages.  Not an unusual for a sophisticated eatery in such a cosmopolitan city, of course, but this was my soundtrack after the near silence I encountered visiting the next-door Topographie des Terror.

    Located on the former site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters, Topographie des Terror is aptly named, documenting the appalling practices of those criminal organisations masquerading as state police during the twelve years of the Third Reich.  I’m also ‘pleased’ to see a special exhibition on Albert Speer, a character that I suspect we should all know about, especially given his success in whitewashing his image in the decades after Hitler’s downfall: I’m sure he will have been role-model for modern equivalents. 

    Alternative histories are problematic, I think, but as I submit to gluttony over Beba’s gorgeous Jewish cuisine and absorb the accompanying multilingual patter, I can’t help but think how bleakly joyless and plainly stupid we would be had the evils of fascism won out. 

    My travels will later allow for reflection on monoculture, but for now I can enjoy and be thankful that one of my favourite cities to visit is home to so many faces, tongues and cultures that the Nazis would have destroyed.