February 2012

When I found out about the East Side Gallery in Berlin, I knew that if or when I traveled to the city, it would be one of the first places I’d visit. I thought it was a unique idea to take part of such a well known former tool of oppression and let it stand as a reminder of the past while changing its meaning by turning it into a huge public art exhibit.

I later learned that the East Side Gallery became the center of a controversy during a mishandled restoration in 2009 and like many popular tourist destinations around the world, some people question its authenticity. But I feel that it’s still a worthwhile site to visit in Berlin and a good starting point for exploring Berlin’s history, street art scene, and culture.

The gallery features 105 murals by artists from around the world. It is thought to be the largest and longest running open air gallery in the world. As expected, many of the murals have themes of peace, freedom, and politics:

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The first thing that stands out to me in Berlin is how geometric it looks. There’s so much symmetry, right angles, repetition. As I look up at buildings both old and modern, it seems that even in moments of creativity, there’s an underlying orderliness to the city. The scrawl of graffiti that I often spot at ground level wants to betray that.

I’m getting my first glimpses of Berlin from the backseat of a taxi. Collecting my luggage and clearing immigration had been so easy and efficient that I was almost confused and waiting for more of the airport intensity I’ve grown accustomed to. I’d stepped out of the airport into a overcast and wet evening and immediately caught a taxi. All of the cabs in the queue happened to be Mercedes. For a moment, it felt strange to toss my backpack into the trunk of what would be considered a luxury car at home and to travel to a hostel in such style. It’s funny to think that something we place such a high value on in the U.S. could be commonplace in another reality.

As I approach my hostel, what little bit the sun was doing has nearly ended. And the city suddenly seems more alive than it had appeared along the way. It’s a Thursday night and I’m staying in a part of the city called Friedrichshain — two factors that I eventually learn will guarantee a party atmosphere.

The name of my hostel translates to “Industrial Palace” in English, and it’s just as upright and rectangular as the buildings I passed by on my way. And it’s huge. Before I enter, I stop for a moment to crane my neck and try to take it all in. I’m jetlagged, of course, but I’m even more thrown off by how I haven’t quite felt that sense of adventure and slight fear that occurs when I arrive in  new place.

Europe, it’s been awhile. It’s been several years of traveling the global south, of visiting all those places Europeans reached centuries before me and left indelible marks on. It’s been rickety transportation and bargaining and adding new spicy flavors to my taste buds’ repertoire. It’s been ancient ruins, jungles, deserts. It’s been quirky and sometimes rundown hostels and local people who need no reason to talk to you other than the fact that you’re there. This has become my travel norm.

I never imagined that revisting Germany would feel so different, but it does. And at the same time, it almost feels too normal. But Berlin is a huge city with so many layers of history and so many layers of personality. And what I’ve seen so far only has me more curious to discover what’s beyond those stark facades, behind those never ending rows of windows, in the alleys between the boxy buildings, and around the corners.

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My row mate and I had the easy camaraderie that comes when you realize that boarding has closed and the third person in your row of three will not be joining you. I unbuckled my seat belt and slid into the window seat that I would have picked had I been able to check in earlier. We smiled at each other as we looked forward to a little extra room and two whole armrests each on our 10 hour flight.

We chatted as we prepared for take off. I learned that he was originally from Northwestern England, close to Wales. He had just finished a California vacation with his family of four. His wife and two teenage kids were seated in the row behind us. They had traveled up and down the state and inland to Yosemite National Park. I was glad to hear that they had thoroughly enjoyed their time in my home state.

I explained that I was stopping in London on my way to Berlin, a last minute trip sparked by acquiring enough frequent flyer miles for a free flight. We continued to talk about travel and life as our plane taxied.

We took off during a gorgeous sunset and I looked down at the misty coast of California taking in the blessedness of it all — where I was going, where I’ve been, where I live.

Then came the announcement that we had reached cruising altitude and a ding signaled that the seat belt sign was being turned off. A few people got up and many more decided to sit back, relax, and enjoy the quality selection of free movies. I could see the airplane seats start recline in domino effect form.

When it reached our row, I joined in. As usual, I was not thrilled with the seat in front of me going down, but like many others, I understand and partake in it because I am not willing to sit upright for 10 hours with my head unnaturally pushed forward by the airplane seat.

To say that my row mate was unhappy when the person in front of him started to recline his seat all the way back would be an understatement.

“I can’t see my telly!” he shouted as he pushed and pounded on the seat in front of him. My row mate was very tall, and I could see that the seat was pressed up against his already cramped knees. I could also imagine that because of his height, optimal viewing of the dinky little TV screens could be harder to achieve with the seat in front of him reclined. But still, his air rage was surprising to see. And the person in front of him was not having it.

I got a little nervous as I recalled an story my mom had shared with me just a couple months before. It was about a flight that had to return to the airport that it departed from because of an overheated argument about seat reclining. One of our family friends happened to be on that flight.

When I read the article, it was the first time I’d ever even given any thought to whether or not you should recline your seat. And I noticed that in the article and some of the comments, the sympathy seemed to lie with the man who was upset with the person in front of him for reclining his seat. Did I miss the you’re-not-supposed-to-recline-airplane-seats memo? After all, what is the purpose of having seats that recline a certain amount if it’s a faux pax to recline them the full amount?

I get it that some people are tall and probably shouldn’t have to pay extra for legroom. But at the the same time, why should the person in front of them feel like they are restricted? What if the person who wants to recline has a back problem or another health issue that would make it even more uncomfortable than it already is to sit upright throughout the flight?

Luckily, on my flight, my row mate and the man in front of him grudgingly reached compromise and no physical fight broke out. My row mate’s initial pleasant demeanor was eventually restored and throughout the flight, he helped me interpret the Welsh accent of our flight attendant.

There were no more arguments for the rest of the flight to London, but the incident at the beginning stayed on my mind. I’ve brought up this story with frequent fliers both short and tall and have gotten very mixed feedback. This includes some shorter travelers who feel that it’s rude to recline your seat all the way and some taller fliers who feel that fellow tall people need to deal with it or pay extra for a seat with more legroom.

What are your thoughts?

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