Handbags or history?

Go reader HAZEL JOYuncovered some naked truths about Germany's past on a recent trip to Berlin

WAITING FOR A friend in a bar recently, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two women. One of them was ecstatic at having bought a handbag for the knockdown price of €350. I started calculating how far around the world I could get for that – and in November reached Berlin for possibly the cost of its strap.

I visited during the city’s Festival of Freedom, celebrating the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Its tumbling, in 1989, is still clear in my memory, as I was a fresh-faced first year at secondary school. My elder brothers and sisters warned that the world would change during my second-level education. I’m sure they were referring to my world, although, coincidentally, communism crumbled after midterm break.

Twenty years later I landed at Schönefeld Airport, which was as foggy as my head after my 3.50am start. My German has regressed since I sat the Junior Cert, but with a carefully rehearsed sentence – and €18.50 – I bought a Berlin WelcomeCard, for 48 hours’ unlimited travel on public transport and discounts on attractions.

But the journey to the city centre was one of trepidation. As I couldn’t find a machine to validate my WelcomeCard, technically, at least, I didn’t have a valid ticket; I boarded the train feeling like a character from a John le Carré novel. As it rolled through the suburbs beads of sweat appeared on my brow. Alighting at Hauptbahnhof, I discreetly validated my ticket and swiftly blended with the masses. My Alec Leamas moment was over.

I crossed the River Spree to find myself in Government Quarter, an area of vast parks and imposing buildings, including the ultrarecognisable Reichstag. My sightseeing list was as lengthy as the queue for the parliament building. I’d have to skip a visit this time.

Walking aimlessly down Scheidemannstrasse, I came upon the wall of Styrofoam dominos that were to be a focal point of the celebrations. I spent a great deal of the afternoon absorbing the thought-provoking art decorating the dominoes and refuelling with a Currywurst , the zenith of German fast food. It was perfect before my hours of intensive sightseeing.

The trail of dominoes, mirroring the original wall, snaked past Brandenburg Gate and the solemn Holocaust memorial, ending on Potsdamer Platz. Access to the gate was limited because of the festival, so I took a convoluted journey to Unter den Linden, Berlin’s striking central thoroughfare. Afterwards I headed for Checkpoint Charlie, an attraction clearly geared for souvenir-hunting tourists.

A short break later and I arrived in Alexanderplatz. There isn’t much to see here apart from its 368m television tower, which is visible from many parts of the city. My destination was the minute, incredibly difficult to find but utterly fascinating DDR Museum, packed with predominantly German visitors. You can find out about life behind the Iron Curtain, and the communist regime’s interference in everything from potty training to housing.

Men gathered around the holiday section, where a video on nudity was being shown. Discontent with having to put up with the bracing breezes of Baltic beaches instead of the Mediterranean climes that their West German counterparts had the freedom to choose, East Germans used nudity as a sign of revolution rather than of sexual liberation.

First stop next morning was the East Side Gallery, which, at 1,300m, is the longest stretch of the Berlin Wall in existence. As well as being a reminder of the futility and harshness of times past, it sports a plethora of thought-provoking murals.

The architectural magnificence of Gendarmenmarkt and Bebelplatz is a reminder of Berlin’s regal past. Bebelplatz is also where the Nazis burned tens of thousands of books in 1933. An underground memorial in the centre of the square is a poignant reminder of how the regime influenced people.

I left the most harrowing site until last. The Topography of Terror, located on the ruins of the former Gestapo headquarters on Niederkirchnerstrasse, it is an open-air exhibit that is not for visiting on a full stomach. History drips from every crevice of Berlin, but this site excels in demonstrating the consequences of an evil mindset.

When I arrived back at Potsdamer Platz a concert with Placido Domingo, on Unter den Linden, was getting going. Rain began to bucket down. Unruffled, the crowd listened to speeches and interviews with prominent figures in the events of 1989. Lech Walesa – who, it was no surprise, received sizeable applause – and Hungary’s former prime minister Miklós Németh started the first set of dominoes falling. The crowds reserved the most rousing reception for Mikhail Gorbachev.

In Potsdamer Platz, within an arm’s reach of where I stood, José Manuel Barroso and Jerzy Buzek, the presidents of the European Commission and European Parliament, knocked over the second set of dominoes, which fell towards the Brandenburg Gate.

Rain-soaked fireworks ended the official festivities, but Berlin will always have something to celebrate. It’s a living, breathing history lesson, and the memories of my trip will outlive any handbag.

To tell us where you’ve been recently, e-mail go@irishtimes.com