Hamburg
Sorry my Berlin post was devoid of detail. I couldn’t be bothered. It already seems like ancient history, though we were there only 7 months ago. Obviously I’m playing catchup, so let me be succinct.
Hamburg sits at the mouth of the Elbe river where it flows into the North sea. It must be one of the top ten shipping ports in Europe, if not the world. Massive container ships squeeze into massive parrallel parking stalls each and every day, delivering goods from China to eager European consumers. Bit like Vancouver, except Hamburg has survived on shipping since the 1300’s. Back in the day ships weren’t so big but they needed plenty of sailors to swab the deck. With all those ship weary sailors hanging around Hamburg needed something to keep them out of trouble, so a few smart Hamburgians (or is it Hamburgers?) created the ‘Reeperbahn.’
Lisa and I arrived in Hamburg on an unseasonably warm evening in October, stepped off our bus and were immediately bear hugged by our good buddy Dietrich. He thrust chilled bottles of Grolsch into our hands and led us forth, to the bright lights of St. Pauli, a neighbourhood of ill repute within spitting distance of the Reeperbahn. We ditched our packs at his flat and headed out for a bite at a little Turkish takeaway round the corner. 20 Euros bought us this:
Not only was this mixed grill spiced to perfection, it had some hidden surprises. Turks take the idea of ‘mixed’ to the extreme, so spread amongst the lamb and beef was the occasional gamey internal, YUM! Thankfully our good buddy Charlie popped up in time to help clear the plate. Results as folllows:
Feeling well fed we thought it appropriate to ease our way into Hamburg nightlife, so we went to barbarabar, which is not a bar, but a Foozbar.
There’s loads of Foozbars in Hamburg, Foozball being very popular with the locals. Me and D gave it a go but were easily handled by two German babes with nasty wrist flicks.
Though D was eager for a rematch, or at least some private coaching, the tour soon moved on to another signature Hamburgian establishment, a Schlager bar. To understand Schlager, one must first hear it. Picture the bastard child of 80’s galm rock and bavarian polka. That’s Schlager. Now these watering holes tend to draw an eclectic crowd, possibly older cougar types or even some new wave cool kids. All shapes and sizes are accepted so long as you like the Schlager, or at least the Lager, which a few of us had come to love:
The beverage was a work of art, but I’m not sure we were in our most appreciative state of mind. Actually, I’m sure we had shed any pretense of a refined palate, cause soon after this photo, the camera was put away and the shots began. Flaming shots, sparkling shots, shots with pop rocks, it was a mess. We hadn’t even made it to the Reeperbahn and anarchy threatened to take hold. So we packed it in early. The Reeperbahn would have to wait…
Next morning me and Lisa started touring. First stop Portugese Coffee house:
An excellent brew with an excellent view. All the beautiful people were out in the midday sun, soaking in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Strangely enough, that aroma followed us through the city wall park, to old town hall and the fountain lagoon. In fact, that coffee smell was with us all day, every day. Turns out there’s a bean roasting plant across the river and when the winds right the odour is everywhere. My dad would love it.
Hamburg has a lot in common with amsterdam and venice. Canals were once the roadways through the medieval city centre and today they are like blue corridors of peace. Locks seperate the main canals from the river and a few large man made lakes. On our second day, D wanted to demonstrate the unique fussion of Canadian and Hamburgian talents that makes him so…
…the words escape me. Basically we rented a canoe and floundered around in the backwaters for a couple hours. It’s a great way to snoop. You can peak into all sorts of secret gardens and forgotten plots. A few stretches of canal have tiny waterfront cottages that city folk use as second homes, or even just weekend retreats. They’ve got vegetable gardens and hammocks and fruit trees set right in the city but only accessible from the water. Very cool.
The canoe trip was a big success, mainly cause we didn’t flip the boat, but also cause we got to see a lot of the city, including the massive fountain up close and personal. I think a few folks on shore thought we might be plotting to sabotage a city landmark. Really we were just scaring Lisa. But all the shouting and pointing forced us to beat a retreat, narrowly avoiding a run-in with the Louisiana Queen.
The next day Charlie played tour guide. He took us to the Elbe where we caught a ferry down stream. We had some great views of the container port and the massive airbus manufacturing facility, where they are currently building a prototype passenger jet that will be ridiculously big, like three 747’s or something. I bet there will still be no leg room. We also walked under the river in a tunnel built in the 1920’s. Cars are actually lowered and raised 5 stories by elevator at either end, not the most efficient system, but at least you have your own choice of elevator music.
That night we finally made it to the Reeperbahn. Sorry but I’ve no photos to illustrate the madness. Basically the Reeperbahn is a wide avenue at the foot of town just about stumbling distance from the docks. It got its name because back in the day Rope (Reeper) for sailing ships was sold there. Today, you might still find some rope, but most sailors are after other things. Such things are readily available at any one of the half dozen multi story brothels, whose brightly lit entrances call out welcoming slogans in every language imaginable. Stationed at the door and throughout the premises are black clad men of massive proportion who direct customers young and old to the “flavour of your choosing”. The corridors stretch for miles, with bare arms and legs hanging from doorways, a seething forest of limbs set to grab hold and pull you in. Floor after floor of small smoky rooms hiding women of every description drawn from the four corners of the globe. Our Lonely Planet guide book described it as ‘a bit of local colour’ – what an understatement.
Aside from brothels, the Reeperbahn is also the epicentre for the young and hip, where dance clubs of every description can keep you sweating til the sun comes up. After 5 hours dancing you’re hungry. A quick visit to the nearby street vendor and you’ve got a massive great Bratwurst to gobble. Mr. Tubesteak can’t compare. Then it’s on to the next club. On the way you can poke your head in one the 24-hour tourist emporiums. They sell the type of overpriced merchandise you’d expect to find for sale on Government Street, just substitute Becks and Footballs for Moose and Beaver. Throughout the night we managed to chat with plenty of friendly locals who are relatively fluent in English. It’s fun, everyone wants to know where you’re from and what you think of Hamburg, so you’ve got a guaranteed ice-breaker. Only trouble is, they all want to buy you a drink, which quickly add up. But it’s the type of trouble I can live with. We all made it home in one piece though the next morning was misery.
And that’s Hamburg in a nutshell. A vibrant city with great nightlife and really interesting history. Thanks to D and Charlie and everyone for making our stay so much fun. Now we’re off to England and beyond…
Tags: Travel
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