On a European tour with my husband this summer, while flying from Helsinki to Berlin, we passed the suspended time praising Finland’s mastery of the 45 degree angle and its flawless execution of civility and precision. Scandinavian cities have always a treat for us, but this trip would mark our first visit to Germany.

My mouth gaped as we silently made our way down the colourful cobblestone streets of Berlin, in search of our hotel in the heart of downtown. Berlin is not tidy, obedient or predictable.  Hell, no. This was not Helsinki, or Vancouver, or even London. This was something entirely different…

There is a constant pulse that hums and hisses, threatening to explode- an energy that is too swollen to stay confined to the stone buildings that mark it on a map. Where cracks and chasms in her grey façade surface, along well-worn train tracks and trampled city streets, her energy escapes like water from a fire hydrant, fervently soaking the streets and walls with technicolour verve.

Graffiti, equal part gorgeous and makeshift and crude, clash and grind against the inspiring vista of castles and skyscrapers. Cold and hot. Old and new. Grey and technicolour. Good and bad. She’s full of contradictions, and that’s where she finds her power and her mesmerizing beauty. It’s as if she’s evolving before your eyes, moving so fast that you can’t pin her down with your labels and judgments. She’s not for sale, she belongs to the people at last.

The museums and history books are overrun with stories of Germany, stories of Berlin. But the museums tell only stories of countries and cities. Her people– their living, breathing story – is unfolding on those technicolour streets. The graffiti, live street music and razor-sharp fashion is telling their story.

Tacheles – The Story of a Berliner

The floor to ceiling glass wall of the hotel suite gave us a penetrating view of Tacheles, an iconic shell of a building that speaks, or rather screams, the story of the Berliner. We watched and listened as a chapter of history turned over before our eyes.

Tacheles lived Berlin’s story alongside her. Born in 1909 as a part of a shopping centre in a Jewish community, the building was devastated during World War II. Hard times left their scars, the Berlin wall stood and fell, but Tacheles was still standing.

Some called them squatters and some called them artists, but labels aside, the building became the epicentre of a community of Berliners who needed a place to call home and a place to tell their uncensored story.

The halls and courtyards have bristled with egalitarian art for the past 22 years. Chris and I were two of 400,000 tourists to visit the monument to free culture in the past year alone. It’s an overwhelming experience, an onslaught of emotions, so raw and diverse, that it left me feeling weary, frightened and alive. It’s a living breathing song of pain, courage, passion and hope.

September 4, 2012, we watched from our hotel room as police pushed past the self-proclaimed guards of Tacheles, and roped off her exhibits, and closed her doors. The building wasn’t safe any longer; its crumbled halls and dilapidated stairwells were called a tourist trap. Artists protested with groans and tears, musicians filled the streets with vibrating ballads, and people danced and shouted as the doors were sealed shut.

She has known both sides of boundless pain; she has both inflicted and affected suffering, desperation and loss. I was thankful for the opportunity to see deeper into her complex history, and awed by her tenacity to carry on and dare to hope for a brighter future. I know I will be watching and waiting for the next chapter of her story to unfold.

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