Brainwashed and ready to spend money

Many underground stations in Munich have screens on the walls above the train lines.  These show headline news, weather bulletins, fact of the day, Trivial Pursuit-type questions and other meaningful pieces of information you really need to know when away from home.  But everything comes at a price: if you want to learn whether it's raining or not above ground, you have to subject yourself to the ubiquitous adverts that also accompany the bulletins.  

It's highly interesting to observe commuters on the platforms while they are watching the screens.  (Sociologists could do a field study and gain valuable insights into urban, subterranean, behavioural practices of modern man/woman.)  Quite simply, passengers are mesmerised.  They congregate in pools in front of the screens (there are two or three along the platform) and simply stare in rapt silence at the moving pictures, irrelevant whether it's financial news or ads for an Indian takeaway.  Of course, the projection is silent; there isn't even music.  So there isn't any need for passengers/viewers to be quiet - it's not like they're watching Harry Potter at the pictures and have to be 'shhhh'ed.'  People are so transfixed by what they see that, in the interest of public safety, when a train is approaching, the screen turns black and a warning sign fills the void: "Attention!  Train arriving."  Otherwise it would be a big shock if a thundering underground train suddenly blocked off your view, and you'd feel a bit peeved, too, if you missed the answer to the previous Quiz of the Day question.  

Stations with projectors are so quiet: no one shouts on their iPhones, nor do people gossip loudly.  They are all too wrapped up in the show on the wall.  And here's the cherry on the cake for the advertisers - they have a willing and captive audience.  The travellers on the platform are stuck there until the train arrives (and if it's late, even better), they can't go anywhere and in order to relieve the monotony, they stare vapidly ahead of them.

For the transport company, it's a win-win situation:

1. Passengers are kept docile - they don't get all stroppy when their train is late.  They simply forget to look at the announcement board and don't notice how much time has passed.
2. Passengers are kept quiet - they don't wander up and down the platform, talking loudly and bumping into each other.  They wait silently, huddled together like a flock of sheep in a downpour.
3. Said transport company can rake in big bucks in advertising fees.  After all, we all know how crowded public transport is with potential customers.

Make no mistake, I do not condemn these passengers.  I am one of the crowd on the platform and many times have found myself similarly immobilised while waiting for a train.  The really savvy passengers make a beeline for the few empty seats that are situated right in front of the screens; they don't have to stand while viewing and its' a bit like being at the cinema.  I find it difficult to explain: just what is it about moving pictures that makes us immune to our surroundings and we forget time and place?

Time was when a train station was a place that enabled you travel from A to B.  Nowadays it's just one more marketing opportunity for companies to exploit.

Commuter chaos

The underground train arrives in the station and there is a mad scrum to get to the doors first.  Of course, travellers have to wait for passengers already on the train to exit first before they can get on, but if they are first in line at the door, then they stand a pretty good chance of getting one of the few vacant seats inside.  If it isn't your lucky day, then you have to complete your journey, in an upright position, squeezed between pushchairs, rucksacks and someone who's just consumed a particularly strong curry,

The train slows down and, in what resembles a game of reverse Russian roulette, you hope against all hope that one of the doors comes to a halt right where you are standing on the platform.  It's too crowded to go running after a door; you just have to hope Lady Luck is smiling on you today.  Eventually the train stops and all the passengers gravitate towards their nearest door.  But the doors in front of you don't open.  And even more peculiar, the area inside is devoid of crowds.  Why??? The other passengers up and down the platform disappear inside the train.  The platform clears.  The driver warns people over the loudspeaker to stand clear of the train. It's about to leave but you and a handful of fellow passengers still haven't boarded.  You desperately yank on the handle - repeatedly.  Nothing happens - repeatedly.  Why won't the damn door open?  A lucky traveller on the inside of the train gestures towards the glass separating you.  Can't the fool see that you're trying to open the door; why doesn't he help and open the door from the inside?  And then you see them: fluorescent yellow notices plastered all over the doors, at eye level so you can't miss them, and printed in big, red letters are the words "Out of Order."  And in case you are illiterate or don't speak the lingo, there is also a pictograph - it depicts a man trying to open a locked train door.  

Despite valiant attempts by rail workers, people still fail to notice these bright yellow signs.  There are so many pasted on the glass that they block out the light, yet people somehow don't notice them.  Do commuters walk around in such a hypnotised state that they literally do not notice what is staring them in the face?  Maybe they are totally brainwashed by mind-numbing, daily routine that they fail to register anything out of the ordinary that does not fit into their comforting, familiar practices.


The incidents are becoming more frequent (both broken doors and inattentive travellers) and I am at a loss to explain the phenomenon.

Lightness and Heaviness à la Kundera

Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being begins with an examination of the concept of eternal return.  Taking his example of the French Revolution, this event seems lightweight and devoid of its terror and bloodshed by virtue of the fact that it occurred only once and did not infinitely repeat itself.  If, however, the French had to endure another Robespierre every year then this would indeed be an onerous and frightening weight.  Over time, the Revolution has become an object for historical study, and the intervening years mean the abhorrent has lost its immediacy and terror.  Everything surrounding the Revolution is now touched by an “aura of nostalgia.”  (On the other hand, while we might not have an annual French Revolution happening, we do have equally bloody revolutions around the world occurring in our own time.  Perhaps these perpetual revolutions can be used to illustrate the maxim ‘history repeats itself’; it just depends how far and wide you want to stretch the term ‘history.’)

If we subscribe to the idea of eternal return then this colours our perspective of the past.  If an event is only going to occur once then we become nostalgic about such an event that, once gone, will never return.  And in doing so, we bring no judgement to bear on that event – we cannot condemn.

It is this idea of believing that we cannot “come to a verdict” about the past that I find challenging, but also disturbing.  We were not present during the historical era under examination and so do not have access to all the evidence (but then again, living through a historical event doesn’t qualify you as an expert either).  But this temporal distance should not make us shy of interrogating, analyzing and, if necessary, condemning.

The concept of eternal return does indeed affect our perspective of our existence in this world.  And it is all a matter of perspective.  The picture at the top of this post illustrates this better than I can explain.  The granite ball is unbearably heavy; no normal human can lift it unaided.  Water is light and trickles through our fingers.  Yet this lump of rock rolls around gracefully as if suspended in a vacuum and the water here does what no human can do.

It's still recycling

 

In some places, recycling is carried out with almost religious fervour.  Then there are other places where the concept of reusing something old is scoffed at with disdain.  

But recycling doesn't have to be organised by local councils with multi-coloured wheelie bins and the streets littered (excuse the pun) with rows of bottle banks.  Nor do local authorities need to provide facilities for flea markets where like-minded aficionados of the old and quaint can congregate.  Nothing needs to be organised - all you need to do is keep an eye on the rubbish bins in your neighbourhood and wait for your neighbours to have a clear out.  Then when all is quiet (preferably during the midday siesta or after bedtime), just saunter past the bins and help yourself to whatever takes your fancy, like the painting in the above photo, for example.

Many serviceable items have been left at this dumping place, many of them much too big to fit inside the bin, i.e. furniture.  By the next morning, the site is clear again but it isn't the council that comes to collect: they never get there quick enough.

Sometimes local authorities just don't have the resources/imagination/willpower to implement such schemes.  In these cases, it's just as well that citizens show some initiative of their own.

(Re)discovering the Beatles

The Beatles and I were born in the same decade.  I grew up hearing their songs on the radio non stop, both while the group was active and much later after they disbanded.  But I was impervious to their appeal; I hated them!  I acknowledged that they were talented, masters of the pop universe (I never asserted that they were rubbish) but I just didn't like their style, for some indefinable reason.

Then they went their separate ways and left me in peace.  Of course, the radio continued to play their hits but more and more infrequently.  We were moving into the 70s and 80s and other dogs were having their day.  In the meantime, poor John was assassinated and George passed away.  Ringo became a grandad and Paul championed worthy causes.


Fast forward to 2011.  I am charged with teaching English to a group of 6th and 8th graders.  Not an easy assignment, given that they have poor discipline, a low attention span and detest grammar.  I too get fed up with the stale coursebook and arid worksheets.  The entertainment value of crossword puzzles and games is limited to five minutes.  To break the monotony I decided to introduce songs into the lesson, using the lyrics to expand vocabulary or reinforce grammar.  The first song I found was Yellow Submarine.  No way! I thought, I'm not doing a Beatles song.  But I was short of time and didn't have the chance to find and prepare another song.

To my utter amazement, the students loved the song.  Once we had completed all the exercises, they wanted to hear the song again and again.  I replayed the CD and they all sang along with their completed lyrics.  Even more amazing, I found myself singing along too!  The passage of time had softened my indifference and disdain and I realised what lovely little stories these songs told, with beautiful melodies.  I don't know what is to blame for my turncoat tactics; whether it is the sentimentality that accompanies approaching senility or a nostalgic yearning for past decades I cannot say.

Today we sang Help! and Beatles songs have a firm place on the timetable.  But it just goes to show how a bunch of 11-year-olds can introduce you to songs from the Swinging Sixties.

Walking down the aisle

Imagine the scene.  It's midday in a busy discount supermarket and I'm wandering the aisles looking for inspiration for the evening meal.  Easily distracted as I am, I come across a prominently displayed box of shower gel and stop to look.  Okay, it's not going to help me decide what to buy for dinner, but it was a brief respite from the intense intellectual activity.  The price seems really good; 1 litre priced at a 250ml bottle.  Not bad.  I forget the groceries and pull over to the side to take a better look.  There must be a catch somewhere, the product was ridiculously cheap.  

On the opposite side of the display I observe another housewife with her trolley eying up the bottles.  Her face displays the same thought processes that are going through my mind: shall I buy a bottle, or not?  Unable to decide, she picks up a random bottle from the box and flips the top in order to smell the contents.  Sniff, sniff and she wrinkles her nose.  She then offers the bottle for me to smell.  I lean forward and inhale.  

Yuck!  

"It smells just like washing up liquid," I opine.

"You're right."  The other lady smiles, returns the bottle to the box with its friends and continues pushing her trolley along the aisles.  I, too, follow my own path.

My short interlude provided no inspiration for the 'dinner dilemma' but it did give me an insight into the philosophy behind effective retailing.

Where's the party?

“Dear Neighbours,

It’s my birthday on Saturday and I’m throwing a party.  This is just to let you know that things might get a big loud late at night and I apologise right now for any inconvenience.

Best wishes,

Jacqueline”

The above message was scrawled on a scrap of paper and sellotaped onto the inside of my apartment building’s front door.  It happens quite often.  Some notices are professional – they are run off on a computer with fancy fonts and printed nice and large so you can’t miss the message.  Others, like Jacqueline’s, are scribbled by hand with whatever writing instrument comes to hand.  In Jackie’s case, a dried up felt tip pen.  She obviously doesn’t do much in the way of writing at home.

It would be nice if Jacqueline’s party was of the kind where you have tea and cake, play musical chairs and thank the hostess as you leave late afternoon.  But no, this was the other kind of party, the kind your mother wouldn’t want you to go to.

The sticking point here is not the fact that Jacqueline has given me advance warning that I’m not going to get any sleep on Saturday night, but the fact that, it’s somehow acceptable to be unsociable, just so long as you tell everyone about it beforehand.  It’s sort of like saying: ‘Look, I’m about to have a tantrum, and I’m really sorry about it, but you can’t accuse me, because I told you what was coming.  So tough luck.’  Jacqueline knows that she can exploit her neighbours’ implicit approval.  She can behave badly with impunity.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no killjoy.  Have a party if you want, get drunk, burst your ear drums, and race down the staircase clinking your empty beer bottles.  Just don’t insult my intelligence by saying you want to celebrate your impending senility and you’re really cut up about my sleepless night.

Getting around in one piece

Policemen, firemen, and prison officers travelling around Berlin are allowed to use public transport for free, not just while performing their official duties but also when commuting to and from work.  The only stipulation is that they have to be wearing their uniforms and not civvies.

A good move on the part of the city authorities - this is one section of society that deserves as much help and support as they can get.  (Some may disagree with me here, but that's another story).  The philosophy behind the idea is that the presence of uniformed law enforcers on Berlin's trams and trains would act as a deterrent to would-be vandals and yobbos.  

A good idea in theory, but there's a problem.  The employees in question don't want to travel in uniform.  They prefer to pay 91 Euros (3 zones) for a monthly travel ticket and use public transport incognito.  Why would they voluntarily pay so much when they could travel for free?  

Policemen, firemen, and prison officers say they don't like to use public transport while in uniform because they are molested by other travellers.  Makes you think.

Karl Marx Allee - socialist lifestyle in Berlin

Originally named Stalinallee, this boulevard is a two-kilometre long living museum dedicated to the ideals of socialist living.  The buildings went up in the early 1950s, with the aim of providing spacious housing for the proletariat, and emulating the socialist classicism of Soviet architecture.  This region of Friedrichshain suffered heavy wartime damage and in the post-war era, new housing was needed.  Since the area fell under Soviet jurisdiction, it was only natural that the housing constructed reflected Soviet tastes.

The boulevard has its own homepage which gives inside views of apartments for sale or rent, in addition to business premises available.  Prices are not exactly ‘bargain basement’ but then I suppose the developers are placing emphasis on the historical element. 

East German buildings are not known for their technical sophistication or high quality and I can well imagine these apartments would have had their fair share of problems.  Labourers had to contend with a strict schedule and manage without modern construction technologies: they literally used their bare hands to erect each floor. 

Deemed to be of significant architectural merit, the entire complex is now listed and under state protection.  As such, no structural changes can be made, for example, installing double glazing to replace badly fitting windows.  Potential occupants might want to bear this in mind before they buy a piece of history.

Frankfurter Tor

If you wanted to take a look inside one of the buildings you could always pretend to be a potential buyer and approach an estate agent.  A quicker alternative would be to visit the Humana second-hand shop at Frankfurter Tor.  The building in which the shop is housed forms part of the Karl Marx Allee complex and the visitor is free to wander around inside.  As a charity shop, they have obviously left the interior as they found it – winding stone staircase, draughty metal-framed windows, mosaic-marbled floors.  By the way, the Humana shop is itself another museum of GDR fashion trends.  Lots of 1960s polyester skirts, loud ties, and absolutely hundreds of gents’ long leather coats, of the kind once favoured by the secret police.

Domed tower at Frankfurter Tor

Finishing this short tour of socialist architecture, I found the following detail ironic.  At Frankfurter Tor, there are two corner buildings facing each other from opposite sides of the square.  Each building is topped by a grand, domed tower which the architect (Henselmann) intended to resemble the domes of the French and German cathedrals (c.1705) in Gendarmenmarkt.  How appropriate that the German Democratic Republic wanted its grandest square to resemble the splendour and grandeur of eighteenth-century Calvinist churches in Friedrichstadt.

Berlin's Ghost Stations

Gothic & Graffiti

A handful of Berlin’s stations on the S-Bahn network (the rapid transit system) are known as Ghost Stations, or Geisterbahnhöfe.  During the Cold War these stations were closed in order to stop East Berliners escaping to the west.

Nordbahnhof is one such ghost station.  Originally called Stettiner Bahnhof, it began operation in 1936 and continued working throughout World War II.  In the Spring of 1945 the tunnels leading to the station were flooded to make life difficult for the advancing Soviet troops.  As luck would have it, the district where the station is situated fell within the Soviet sector in East Berlin.  The Russians repaired the damage and reopened the station two years later.  They also changed the name to Nordbahnhof in 1950.

The ‘ghost’ part of the story now comes in, together with the Berlin Wall.  When the wall went up in 1961, the station was closed and remained closed until 1990.  Lines that passed through this station originated and ended in West Berlin, with the middle section of the line situated in East Berlin territory.  Part of this East Berlin line stopped at Nordbahnhof.  It was, of course, unthinkable that a train heading towards West Berlin should make a stop in the East, at a station where East Berliners could simply hop on and then find themselves in the West ten minutes later.  So the East German authorities bricked it up.

The station was plunged into a time warp.  Trains from the West would drive through the station, they would slow down but not stop.  Western passengers on the train would observe a deserted station where time had literally stood still – decor, furnishings and advertisements were from 1961 and for each new generation of passengers, the ghost stations seemed even more alien.

The East German authorities sealed all possible entrances to the station above and below ground.  Anyone descending the stairs to the platforms would meet a brick wall.  The tunnel openings through which trains entered the station were made narrower – anyone trying to get to the West by riding on a train’s rooftop would meet with a sticky end.

The station was of course reopened in 1990, cleaned up and put back into service.  The original Art Deco style of the 1930s has been maintained, but somewhat marred by the addition of incongruous graffiti art next to the train lines, specially commissioned for the purpose.  There are photos of the station dating from the Cold War era on display in the entrance hall.

Messrs. Knobloch, Richter and Wenzel have written an excellent book on Berlin’s Geisterbahnhöfe with lots of fantastic photographs (however, the spoilsports at Google Books have left out the photos).  The authors interviewed train employees who worked at the stations at the time when they were shut down. 

To the trains

Entrance Hall

Most underground stations in Berlin are warm and cosy.  Nordbahnhof, however, is cold and draughty with a chill that goes right through to the marrow.  I’m sure this is down to the geology of the place but it is something that just makes you impatient for your train to arrive so you can get away while you can.

Trains to the West, via the East

Entrance Hall

Berlin-Hackescher Markt

Berlin-Hackesher Markt, originally uploaded by Elizabeth Chairopoulou.

This S-Bahn station is one of very few Berlin stations that has been maintained in its original condition, without additions or radical change.  Built in the 1880s, I find it amazing that builders had the patience to construct such a beautiful public building while lacking today's advance technical knowledge.  Terracotta frames the porthole windows: from inside a waiting train, you can see the surrounding buildings through the porthole.  The platform is not as long as those in modern stations and thankfully, hasn't been desecrated by the presence of kiosks selling oriental takeaway and pizzas in envelopes.  The roof is wooden with skylights which makes for a bright, airy atmosphere even on dismal winter days.

Outside, the district is a magnet for tourists with cafeterias, boutiques and bars. A lot of it is a bit kitsch but the youngsters seem to like it.

The square hosts an outdoor market twice a week - on good-weather days everyone is packed in like sardines.

The area has just received the attention of developers. That means another huge office block has gone up right next to the station, with the attendant restaurants, bakeries, pharmacies etc. to help the employees spend their money during the lunch breaks. Everything is fresh, new and clean here, but regrettably, the same cannot be said for the space underneath the station arches. The bar proprietors use them as convenient dumping areas for old tables and sundry cafeteria paraphernalia, the ground is muddy and they have fenced off their private rubbish tips. This is in full sight of the trams that terminate next to the arches. The owners are obviously too busy with pulling pints and slicing sandwiches to go outside and clean up a bit.

Final resting place

Final resting place, originally uploaded by Elizabeth Chairopoulou.

When Berlin bus stops reach retirement age, they are put out to pasture in this depot in the eastern part of the city. Even off duty, they form orderly lines.

Ostbahnhof traveler

Ostbahnhof traveler, originally uploaded by Elizabeth Chairopoulou.

Disaffected customers of Berlin's S-Bahn have been known to express their feelings about late trains, overcrowding and cancellation. You sometimes see them at the top of the platform and, as the train comes to a halt right next to them, they make an exaggerated show of looking at their watches. A gesture that is not lost on the driver of the train as he looks out of his cabin. Let's face it, though; the drivers aren't the ones in a position to change how the company is organised.

This chap, however, waited ever patiently, scanning the horizon for signs of his train. He never protested nor moved from his spot until his master, having finished off his bottle of beer, called him and they left the station together.

S-Bahnhof Ostbahnhof, Berlin
January 2011

Snail trains

Slower, shorter, colder, less frequent, more expensive.

Such are the S-Bahns these days in the New Year in the capital. I had the misfortune to travel on one such train today.  If you miss one, you have to wait twenty minutes on a freezing platform for the next one.  The rubbish bins were overflowing with empty coffee cups: commuters guzzled down hot coffee in an attempt to stave off hypothermia.  The only individual rubbing his hands was the canteen owner - and it wasn't because he was cold.

The price of a single ticket has increased 10%.  I wish I could say the same for the heating thermostat in the train.  Outside temperature was 0 Celsius, about the same as inside.

Technicians are trying to catch up with essential maintenance work.  Half the trains are iced up in the sheds instead of trundling up and down the lines, full of happy (warm) commuters and tourists.  This means that when a train eventually does arrive, it's missing a few extra wagons and a little bit overflowing with people.  On second thoughts, this is good because when you're squeezed in like sardines it helps keep everybody nice and warm!

A word of warning!  Make sure you have a validated ticket.  Surprise inspections are common.  Inspectors go around wearing civvies and strike by way of pincer attack (one at either end of a wagon).  Their favourite tactic is to enter the train at the penultimate stop on the line, where travellers think they'll never be caught out.  I've seen many an unsuspecting tourist have to cough up a 40 Euro fine on the spot.  Ouch.


p.s. If you're a glutton for punishment, you can always see alternative forms of transport on my Flickr stream below.