Blu

The dilapidated walls of Berlin,  kindle the surreal work of Italian street artist Blu.  His art seems so perfectly in tune with the energy of the city, that I assumed his work was a tale from the very streets it illuminates. 

It was in typical Berlin fashion I learnt of his origins, in the circus tent at bar 25. Hunched on a wet sofa at a time in the morning when although full daylight is an unavoidable clue, you don't want to look at your watch for fear of witnessing the destruction you have caused the rest of your weekend.

Sat sandwiched  between an Aussie -  who we later embarassingly realised was called Alex, not Shane,  and a German dude. Shane proceeded to show me and my equally inebriated visiting friends a video on his IPhone,  of the animated work Muto by Blu. It was created on the walls of Buenos Aires and the somewhat less intriguing sounding, and not to mention less fun to pronounce, Baden,  South Germany. 

Halfway through the video, which was drawing appreciative gurgles from its British viewers, the German dude piped in that he knew Blu. He then told us he would tell his "Blu Italiano friend," we watched the video for the first time "right herr' in zee circus tent baaa tventy five!"

That was the only funny thing the German dude said. I spent the next tventy minutes trying to get away as he discharged wank stories about his own art career and how he was also a DJ and really into "mixing African drums and crazy shits over Balkan beats." 

Now, enjoy the genius of Moto.

Both these clips are fantastic keyhole insights into a fervent, relentless imagination, that appears unquenchable until exhaustion.  Below are his creations scattered across the globe.

Sao Paulo,Brazil    

Kreuzberg, Berlin

Wroclaw, Poland

Tate Modern, London

Arhus, Denmark

Wroclaw, Poland

flickr/JackTwo

flickr/MichaelFromm

flickr/coincidentalimages

flickr/chrisjohnbeckett

flickr/iconsfornow

flickr/coincidentalimages

Cafe Buchwald

This traditional German tearoom has thrived on the leafy neighbourhood corner, since 1852. Located north of the Tiergarten, just over Moabit bridge, Cafe Buchwald earned its reputation from delivering cakes to the courthouse.

The conventional feel of the tearoom is maintained both by the furniture and the cafe's loyal regulars. The number of blue rinses (although, in Berlin the popular rinse choice appears to be more akin to the shade of tan leather car seat) on show was staggering. When I walked in to order, it looked like the queue I joined had been waiting in line since the cafe first opened its doors.

A work of art

The cafe is famous for it's Baumkuchen, which due to my poor German we failed to order, instead a chocolate encrusted, wafer cake and a light, spongy, strawberry slice came our way.

Both were delicious, however the chocolate cake - despite it's wonderful appearence - had that slightly tired, lingering cardboard-wafer after taste. A sensation that reminds me of long boring afternoons listening to uncomprehensible Polish , eating chocolate cake that to a seven year old tasted like it was in disguise, while visiting relatives in towerblocks in Warsaw or Sopot.

However, as we made our departure, the beaked locals seemed unanimous in their choice for best cake. They obviously didn't have Polish relatives.

Berlin Zoological Garden

Berlin Zoo is the biggest and most visited zoo in Europe. With more than 14,000 species, set over 35 hectares, three million visitors meander through the leafy Tiergarten setting each year. Half the price of London zoo, and being confronted with a map of the park on entering, which ticks off the plethora of animals you hope and expect to see, one by one, is a feat rarely achieved on previous zoo visits. 

To be welcomed by five Asian elephants at the first enclosure was fantastic. Having already lost my heart to these incredible animals in India, it was wonderful to be reacquainted in such close proximity. There is such serenity about them, and it always delights me how quietly they move for their immense size and flat-footed approach. 

 

Next up was the Great Panda. Bao Bao, lay on his back, content soles of his pads facing skywards, munching bamboo- the Panda's signature move on television- made him feel familiar, like the habits of an old friend. Bao Bao is the oldest Giant Panda in captivity, and is on a permanant visa from China for breeding reasons. 

Our eyes brimming with open jawed wonder at seeing a panda within three feet of us, perhaps inexplicably led to us not taking any photos. That, and perhaps the number of perma-tanned Germans, chainsmoking, flashing their cameras through the glass within a foot of Bao Bao's patch framed eyes.

We reached the lions mid-game. One mischievously looking round the corner of his leafy cover, like an excited kid waiting to scare his sister. Seeing lions move is vaguely similar to when you first saw the moonwalk. It looks impossible to move that gracefully, but then you start to see the different stages play out, before being flummoxed all over once more at how it is achieved.

 

Panthers, leopards, tigers and the sand cats were other highlights of the big cat area. The warthogs were an unexpected surprise. I loved how they walked quickly in packs; some had the crazed look of an agoraphobic trying to escape from a throng of people, while others looked like they were reveling in the numbers.

Bears were our next prority. A pair of black bears looking like they were searching for ants greeted us. On seeing black bears I have an almost twitch like tendency to extoil my favourite and perhaps, only fact about them. Although very friendly in comparason to a grizzly, if they do look a little perplexed to see you on a narrow mountain path, just spark your lighter. They are terrified of fire due to the sap from the trees making them exstremely flammable. For some reason they are fully aware of this fact...now you are also.

We also admired a muddy polar bear, and a patrolling brown bear. We saw seals- who really dont look like they are meant to go on land given how awkward it seems for them.  They look a little like grandparents who stubbornly refuse to use a chair lift.

After seeing the Flamingos looking as poncy as ever, the anotherl highlight was seeing Pedro the Chimp, who within 48 hours after  our visit chomped off a Zoo directors finger. We also watched a very grumpy silver back Gorilla glower at his admirers through the glass, before sending us all skittling back on our heels as he thumped the glass menacingly.

After finishing with a quick gaze at the elephants we left the zoo, satisfied and excited by the day we'd had. The zoo is a must visit in Berlin and a place I hope to return to in the near future.

John

Imagine my surprise to see John on the S-Bahn...

 

The land of wooden bikes

Henne (Leuschnerdamm 25)

Tucked away, at the end of one of the leafy, graffiti scrawled side streets that form gratin like grids around eastern Kreuzberg - perches Henne. I arrived without a reservation, and was first placed awkwardly on a stool on tall bar table.  My elbows, being British, overcompensating polite tucked in at my sides, yet still only a beer mat in distance from that of a newlywed bride on a Chinese honeymoon. Luckily, the waitress soon found me a nook, a tartan clothed table the size of a pizza box, that I could just about fit my cricket legs under.

 

I had a perfect panorama of the restaurant,  my table gave me the discretion a hide affords a twitcher. The timber interior, unchanged since 1907, is equally grand to the customer a century on from its creation. My attention however, was soon drawn to the chickens coming out of the kitchen at methodic intervals,  When one was placed in front of me, it became immediately apparent why the restaurant is such an institution.

                                                                                                                                                                

How the organic chicken is cooked so perfectly remains hotly debated. Some claim it is fried, while others adhere the delightfully crisp - almost like the torched brown sugar of a crème Brule - exterior, to a more complex milk roasting technique (similar to the buttermilk chicken roasting tradition in the deep south according to a Californian work collegue). The chicken arrives with just a slice of bread for company, so, being greedy, I ordered the karttofelsalate - thinly sliced potatoes in an effortless, yet tasty cream sauce.

Cleaning every bit of flesh from the bones of the succulent chicken, I felt a little like Obelix as I did so.

Gleefully I observed a wealthy looking German family- complete with face lifts and family rings - chatting and flattering over mugs I at first assumed, nievely given its lack of alcohol content-compote (A mix of winter fruits, stewed to liquid and served cold in mugs. It's popular in Poland), but later discovered was in fact Landbier.

I also watched in embarrassment as a clearly sozzled Munich tourist in his sixties, approached the Chinese newlyweds and gave a very German two thumbs up twice. Announcing, "I love Shanghai," and "I love Beijing!"- gesticulating both "I's", with a slap of his portly, pink golf t-shirt swathed chest - before stumbling after his wife to a table.

On returning to the bar to settle up, I admired the letter from JFK that sits proudly at eye-level. It offers his sincerest apologies for not being able to dine at the restaurant, as originally planned on his state visit. I felt sympathy for the president, given the meal I had just delighted over. But, I mused and consoled - although the odds are slim, he might  have been returning to Broadway to spend an evening with Marilyn. Swings and roundabouts.

 

Even the thought of those seats makes me sleepy...

Hidden behind a knicker-bocker glory paintball gun effect vinyl, lies a comfort of womb like proportions. The nocturnal seats on the lifechanging  24hr weekend U-bahn are quickly becoming my nemesis.

On my first Friday, I did the whole S-Bahn ring, waking up in Schoneberg, the stop I departed from. On the following night, I fell asleep on the U7, waking up at the airport. 

Things have gotta change. I've decided I'm going to make sure I hold a bottle, so when I fall asleep and the beer slips from my grasp,  the crash will wake me up. At least , that's the theory anyway...

Being lazy, I'm going to leave my observations of the U-Bahn to another day. I know that public transport is the proverbial village bicycle for writers, but given the number of nutters I've already seen, I will no doubt not be able to resist introducing you to one soon...maybe even sheep man if you're lucky...