The art of Berlin

The greatest sound is gravel pressing and popping under your shoes. At least for me, it always leads to something hidden or beautiful. I walked up a long gravel driveway to an art co-op off and saw multiple small studios, food stands and shops. Painted wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing every direction to identify each building. Kaffee I know. I’ll follow the arrow to Kaffee. Into the cafe building I went. Staffed with a young man who took a break from his own art and sketching to greet me. I ordered a flat white in broken German and he responded to me in English. Perhaps because it was 2pm and a weekday, I had the cafe to myself. Just one other table occupied with a reader. The only sound was the trickle from a water fountain in the garden. Well, that and a radio playing a loop of American folk music. Dylan, Joplin, and John Denver. I had just walked over to the area from the East Side Gallery. A stretch of Berlin wall remnants where new graffiti has been woven in over the last few decades to the original revolutionary images.

I kept scanning around the yard where I was nursing the flat white. I had to nurse it, I was too intimidated to interrupt the barista's drawing again. Milking it wasn’t a bad thing though. The sun came out halfway through my time with the coffee for the first that day, and, as it turned out, would be the only time that week I spent in Berlin. This was actually the second kaffee of the day. Earlier that morning I had taken a cab to WestBerlin Cafe, a coffee cafe near Checkpoint Charlie.

I had read it was the perfect coffee shop with delicious coffee, sweet baristas, and a haven of local artists. The shop was so full, I had to suppress all my social anxiety and share a small table in the back. My espresso drink and plated cake sat with a couple who were collaborating on a sketch of something very abstract. As I was paying, the barista had encouraged me to take a piece of raspberry crumb cake baked that morning. He pointed to the woman in a flour stained apron behind the counter to prove how real the cake was. ‘Ja, of course.’ I said. Everyone in the place was cooler than me. I pretended to fit in and read the Rebecca Solnit essays I brought with me. Thinking if I leaned back far enough in my seat I would appear I belonged in this art community. In this cooler than cool coffee locale.

After my caffeine fill, the remaining hours of the day flew by without pause. Graffiti stopped me in my tracks, schnitzel and wine for lunch, and a long urban hike to go down and see Berlinische Galerie. Very worth it, as no one should miss the modern art at Berlinische Galerie.

Locations: Holtzmarkt and WestBerlin