Der Tangentenmeister

So let's start with Dresden. 

I have to warn you that I’m a lifelong Germanophile who finds pretty much everything connected to this country interesting. So be prepared for some tangents.

To start with, I almost didn’t get here at all. Polish Rail and its regional partner in Silesia did their usual trick of finding inventive new ways to suck*. From Katowice to Wrocław (three hours) I had to stand in the vestibule and move my bicycle every time someone wanted to use the WC, because they’d sold me a bicycle ticket on a train with no actual space for cycles. But that was dealable with … far worse things can happen on Polish trains.

The truth of this was driven home when I got to Wrocław and tried to board my onward train to Dresden (the final departure of the day). See, I'd assumed that having a ticket meant that I’d actually be able to get on the train when it came.

Silly, naive foreigner.

I arrived on the platform about 10 minutes early, but dying to use the bathroom. Noticing the train was one of those very small regional thingies, I asked the driver (who was hanging out of his window) “Czy jest toaleta w pociągu?”** – ‘Is there a toilet on the train?’. He said “Nie”, which you can probably guess means “No”.

I raced down the platform stairs with my bicycle, and rode it through the tunnel into the main hall. Found the toilets, paid, used them (or at least one of them), and raced back to the platform with two minutes to spare. It was all good; I'd made it.

I then tried to board the train, but when the doors opened, it was packed – there was no space for me or the bicycle. The conductor, who was standing there next to the doors, simply said “Mesta nema” (‘There’s no space’) and shrugged his shoulders, smirking slightly.

Amazing Reconstruction 

(including some still in progress)

Schlossplatz, Dresden, 6.07.17

Feeling desperate, I tried to argue by pointing out that I had a ticket. But my elementary Polish failed me, and the conductor clearly saw no merit in my reasoning. So I said “Maybe there”, pointing to the other carriage. I ran to it and the doors opened to reveal another sea of people, only slightly less dense than the first.

Then something slightly wondrous happened: the sea parted, as all the passengers who were already sardined into the vestibule did their best to make room for an incoming person with a bicycle. They managed somehow, and I slipped into the carriage, thanking everyone profusely.

The next 90 minutes were spent gripping the bicycle brakes, trying not to let the front wheel either roll over the foot of the Mormon missionary standing in front of me, or go slack and lean on the trouser leg of the heavily tattooed Polish guy immediately to my left.

Two hours later, when the train emptied out near the German border, I headed up to the front carriage. (Unlike the one I’d been in, it had a bicycle symbol on the outside, indicating there were places for bikes there.) On the way through the train I passed the toilet – you know, the one which the driver had said didn't exist, thus setting in motion the whole drama I've just described.

Kudos, Polish railways. If your mission statement is “To supply a functionally infinite number of unpleasant surprises to passengers”, then Mission Statement Accomplished.

Anyway … I arrived in Dresden around 10pm, and as I walked along the platform towards the station building, I felt a sudden rush. It’d been five years since I last set foot inside Germany (one of my favourite countries), and even longer since I’d properly visited. Now here I was, after a two-day journey, breaking the absence. This was genuinely exciting :-)

There was also the added intrigue of finding out how much German I could actually remember. I studied the language at both high school and university, but I’ve really had no call to use it for at least a decade. So until recently I was essentially a beginner in terms of my ability to actually produce sentences. But over the past six months, I’ve been trying to brush up the basics on Duolingo. I was about to see whether any of it had stuck.

The moment of truth came almost immediately, when I exited the station onto the street. I had a map, but I was totally disoriented and couldn't work out where I was on it. So I asked for directions … and much to my delight, I understood most of the reply!

“Ausgezeichnet!” (“Brilliant!”), I thought.

Baroquery ... 

Zwinger museum & gallery complex, Dresden, 6.07.17

I was even more delighted the next day when I signed up for a city tour, and the woman who sold me the ticket complimented my German. I’m sure the compliment was at least 50% politeness – especially since I then proceeded to get on the wrong tour bus – but even so, Yay me in a limited way :-)

I spent the next couple of days wandering around, admiring the sights and generally playing tourist. I did the obligatory ‘overview tour’ first, then went back to spend more time in places I was drawn to; I sampled the local cuisine and spent pleasant hours sipping coffee on boulevards; I did some shopping; I cycled around town a bit … you know, all the things normal people do when they’re on a ‘city break’.

Yet all throughout that time, I was continually and deeply cross-examining my own impressions of Dresden. How exactly did I feel about it?  

In the back of my mind were those who have called it Germany’s most beautiful city. I definitely can’t agree there – the competition is just too fierce. Still, it’s certainly a cool place with impressive architecture and a very pleasant vibe. And it becomes all the more impressive when you consider it in the context of 20thC history ... as you’re bound to do if you’re, say for example, me.

Cue tangent.

I’ll try to avoid discussing 'The War' too much, ‘cause I know you’re here to read my silly travel stories, not to get a free history lesson. But just quickly: you may know that, in the closing months of WWII, Dresden was singled out by British and American forces for a particularly brutal series of bombing raids which continued for three days.

The raids are now so infamous that if you type “the bombing of” into Google, “Dresden” is the third auto-complete option you get after “Hiroshima” and “Pearl Harbour”. They’re also widely acknowledged as a war crime – and for good reason.

The details of the bombing are phenomenally awful. British and US military command specifically targetted civilians, deliberately trapped them in the city, and then massacred around 25,000 of them. Many were burned alive by incendiary devices that ignited just above the ground, turning the air itself into flame – a death almost too nightmarish to imagine. And the strategic value of doing this (though the US Air Force made up some bullshit later) was essentially nil. It was purely the impulse to inflict terrible suffering that motivated the attacks, and that’s all.

Of course, all of this has to be evaluated in the context of ‘World War II Morality’, which was horrifying on all sides. Looking back at that time, it often seems as though a collective psychosis took over every participating nation, and produced six years’ worth of top-shelf human cruelty. Still … it was brutal.


Incidentally, the other thing which British and American forces ‘accomplished’ in Dresden was to utterly ruin the architectural fabric of the city. They dropped almost four million kilograms of explosives, and it actually would’ve been slightly more had the smoke not forced them to rely on crappy American radar during the second and third days, resulting in large numbers of bombs being dropped elsewhere. Some American pilots even ended up bombarding Prague by mistake. (It’s an uncharitable thought, but it has crossed my mind that this might be where all those jokes about Americans’ poor geographical knowledge started. Apologies to my American friends for that thought.) 

Anyway, the result was basically this: the entire inner city and parts of the suburbs were reduced to rubble, and Germany lost one of its ‘architectural jewels’ for essentially no reason whatsoever.

So when you factor in all of this, the present-day state of Dresden becomes not just very pleasant, but actually kind of remarkable. I detected no ‘dark vibe’ hanging over the city at all, though you sometimes get that in cities that have suffered catastrophes in living memory, so I wouldn’t have been surprised to find it here. And the reconstruction work is undeniably exquisite.

Rubble Woman

Dresden, 7.07.17

Having said all that, I actually found my attention being drawn less to the impressive big-ass architecture, and more to other features of the city. The open, spacious nature of the central streets was something I loved, as were the extensive pedestrianised areas and fabulous cycling paths. (Remember, I'm coming from Almaty, where Islam is attempting to make a post-Soviet comeback, but where the REAL religion of the people is the motor car).

There were also specific details that I enjoyed, like the poignant statue of the 'Rubble Woman', erected to honour the women of Dresden who were responsible for clearing away something like 19 million tonnes of rubble so that the postwar ruins could be turned back into a functioning city. And then there was the Ampelmännchen ('little traffiic light man'), who I’m going to tell you about in the next entry.

On my second full day I ventured into the Großer Garten: two square kilometres of parkland and walking/cycling trails, with a Baroque palace slapped in the middle. I've always admired how the Germans 'do' city parks (Weimar’s Park on The River Ilm is a particular favourite – it occupies a third of the city’s total area, and it’s a feast of colour, especially in autumn). This one confirmed my view; it’s just a few minutes’ ride from the centre of town, and yet in places it feels more like you're in a forest than a city.

I’m aware, btw, that devoting an entire paragraph to a park in a blog entry makes me old. But I’d argue that it also makes me well-travelled. I mean, when you’ve visited and lived in a number of cities, these things start to become noticeable. 

In Sydney, for instance, the parks aren’t spectacular (excluding the botanical gardens and perhaps Centennial Park), but you’re never far from one and they do their job of creating ‘breathing spaces’ and places for people to read, hang out on benches, kick footballs etc. That helps to make Sydney a more livable city than, say, Ha Noi, where ‘going to the park’ requires a major outing. Then on the other end of the spectrum you've got places like, say, Warsaw, where parks are always close at hand, as well as often being vast and beautiful. 

If you’ve never lived in a place at either extreme (that is, either the extreme parklessness of Ha Noi or the plentiful parkland of Warsaw), trust me: it does make a difference.

Suburban Mansion

Dresden, 8.07.17

Finally, after three days in the city, I took off through Dresden’s suburbs, heading for the town of Pirna further down the Elbe River. Here the aesthetic changed to large manor-like houses and intense greenery, and once again I found myself quite impressed. But it got even better once I was outside the city limits – perfect riverside bicycle paths led me through picturesque villages, and the journey was broken by a palace surrounded by even more extensive, shady parklands.

All in all, it was one of my most enjoyable cycling days ever, and a nice, gentle re-introduction to this mode of travel.

Skinny Pub for Passing Cyclists

Pirna, Germany, 8.07.17

I mean, yes, I did get soaked while crossing a motorway bridge that spans the Elbe River ... but hey, that's just one of those small prices you pay for spending time on the Green Continent. I’d call it a bargain. 

View from The Villa

Pirna, Germany, 8.07.17

Now I’m relaxing in the garden of a small villa outside Pirna, directly overlooking the river through lush greenery and wondering why I stayed away from the Bundesrepublik for so long. It won't happen again :-)

Bye!



(* Bad train services are among the very few things about Poland that are worth moaning about on a travel blog. It's pretty much only that, and the dreadful wi-fi. If you've been reading 'The Manor' for a while, this isn't the first time you've heard me complain about either. And I make no apologies – PKP really needs to get its act together!)

(** When I said this sentence, I had the feeling that I'd made a grammar mistake. Checked it later on Google translate, and realised that indeed I had. This is the corrected version.)