We arrived in Berlin rather late in the evening. I was quite exhausted after some twenty-two hours of travelling, but I was also filled with a remarkable excitement from the unfamiliarity of such a foreign place. I spent a lot of time walking in Berlin, simply observing and reflecting on all of the history and also such newness in my midst.
I woke up early on the day after our arrival and enjoyed an unhurried stroll around the city. Mid-morning the group met with our tour guide, Jesse, in front of the Berliner Dom, and had a marvelous tour of various historical sites and memorials. Though all the places we visited were fantastic and often very thought-provoking, my favorite was likely the Brandenburg gate. It struck such a sense of awe in me, with its towering columns and its impressive history—I could vividly imagine the overwhelming grandeur there must have been when Napoleon rode through it, followed by the Grande Armée, on the 27th of October 1806 after his victories at Lena and Auerstadt. We finished the tour at the Topography of Terror museum, which was, of course, quite haunting.
On the following day, as a group we visited the Pergamon museum. It was a fascinating museum, and to witness the true size and form of the Ishtar gate was quite incredible. Afterwards I visited the Alte Nationalgalerie, a museum of art, and saw such masterpieces as the Slevogt painting of Francisco d’Andrade as Don Giovanni, the Schinkel Gothic Cloister Ruin and Groves of Trees, and an elaborate collection of works by Hans von Marées.
I found the Schinkel painting to be so impressive and so insightful that the next day I returned. After 45 minutes of admiring and considering the work, I was approached by a brilliant young Polish man who had noticed my fixation and wanted to hear my thoughts. We had a fantastic conversation on the depth and connection between time and emotion in art, and then browsed the museum’s collections together. On the same day I also visited the Marienkirche for some time nearing two hours; in addition to admiring and contemplating the breathtaking architecture (and the organ), I also viewed the famous Dance of Death fresco from 1485.
Our time in Berlin was completed with a concert at the Berlin Philharmonic, where Kirill Petrenko directed the Elijah oratorio of Mendelssohn. No words can suffice to describe the wonder of the music, and I shed more than a few tears. I’m still processing what I heard.
Don Giovanni, by Max Slevogt
Karl Friedrich Schinkel: Gothic cloister ruin and Groves of Trees
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