When Darkness Descends on Berlin

by

Mackenzie Patel

For some reason, I tend to remember and cherish those memories that involve European cities, cultural monuments, velvety darkness, and golden lights piercing the black. There is something so ethereal about those hazy recollections at night that they seem almost unreal and surreal.  Did I haunt St. Peter’s Square at ten o’clock at night, the looming martyrs and saints soaring high above me, or was it all a dream? Did I actually flounce throughout Placa Reial in Barcelona at dusk after seeing my first intense Flamenco Show?   I did, and I have the photographs to prove it, yet it still seems foggy and somehow unreachable to me. I have those same muddled yet awed feelings towards my amazing journey though Berlin, both in the chilly, weak sunlight of day and the rich texture of the night.

I can vividly remember walking down the snaking Friedrichstrasse (the most famous street of Berlin) around 8:30 p.m. so that I could gaze upon the Brandenburg Gate in all its nightly glory. The air was biting, the sun was conspicuously absent from the sky’s evening party, and the blue of the atmosphere was getting more brilliant by the second. The night before, my friend Peter had given us a “drive by” tour of Berlin after witnessing the fantastic Magic Flute performance at the Deutsche Oper Hall. I saw a tiny sliver of the Brandenburger Tor, its gleaming lights and unmistakable outline being the only clue to its existence in the pitch black surroundings. The Reichstag, the modern yet antique German Parliament building, was lit up from within, its laws and strict proceedings transparent even at night. I even drove by Mutti Merkel’s massive estate, the Bundeskanzleramt (official house of the German Chancellor). Imagine strutting about a multi-tiered building only seconds away from the River Spree and with a breathtaking wall of pure glass! That night, I wasn’t just enamored with Mozart; I was completely taken with the whole landscape of Berlin when the lights shine more brightly than the indigo sky hanging above. The next evening, when the Brandenburg Gate temporarily banished Mozart from my thoughts, I was equally as captivated with the nightscape of Berlin. Walking brusquely down Mohrenstrasse and then Wilhelmstrasse, we finally peeked around the corner and the enormous Gate assaulted our eyes. Although it wasn’t inky black yet, the sight was still one of the most beautiful I have ever seen (St. Peter’s Square at night still snags the gold medal for that). Emerging out of the dark blue surroundings like a colossal marble ship, the Gate was more impressive than the wrought iron one of Buckingham Palace and the Lion’s Gate at Mycenae put together. I had already seen the Gate before in the daylight, but watching the different layers of nighttime surround, caress, and transform it was a different experience altogether. However, I will not deny that walking back to our Hilton Hotel in total darkness was rather seedy and unsafe…I would not recommend going alone!

My final nightly stroll around Berlin involved the stately Gendarmenmarkt plaza in central Berlin. This famous square, complete with European style cafes and multiple tour buses trundling around it throughout the day, was directly across from the Hilton Berlin. Gigantic buildings neoclassical to the hilt crowded around the bustling square, throwing everything under their imposing shadows. The French and German Cathedrals as well as the beautiful Konzerthaus adorn the Gendarmenmarkt, although all three of them are reconstructed phantoms of the original giants. The Huguenots built the original foundations of the French Cathedral in 1701, with Calvinism being the official denomination.  Likewise, the German Cathedral was begun in the same year with Calvinist and Lutheran roots. Unfortunately, due to fires and the raging WWII, both edifices had to be rebuilt out of the smoking ruins. However, my favorite sibling out of the triplets was undoubtedly the Konzerthaus in the center of the square. Its pediment was stained and crammed with carved figures, its columns were taller than any beanstalk Jack could have imagined, and the statue of Friedrich Schiller in the front was powerful. I remember vividly flouncing throughout the Gendarmenmarkt, still high on the glorious sight of the Brandenburg Gate, when the sheer scale of the buildings struck me. Their lighting was brilliant, the skylights and under lights casting perfect amounts of light and darkness onto the marble beasts. I was alone in the square with my mother. Not one person graced the metal seats of the outdoor cafes. All was silent and unnaturally cold for a June evening. Flying past the bronze statue, I ran up the plush red carpet of the Konzerthaus, pushing one step after the other behind me as the white columns grew larger in my dry eyes. Finally reaching the top, I spun around and the surveyed the chiaroscuro scene before me: the French and German domes flanking me on either side, the pitch black sky lightened with the lamps of the Gendarmenmarkt, and the unending velvet steps cascading down at my feet.

Berlin is the most beautiful at night—what other nightly memories refuse to leave your thoughts?