Trees

 When I sit on our balcony and look out, I don’t see much of the calm little street in summer – I see the top of trees. And wonder: which sort of trees they are? Their leaves definitely look like oak. But their “flowers” were so strange. I‘ll have to wait till autumn (and I hope that waiting will take a long time!) and then I might be sure.

Or maybe I get that interesting App that Janet, the Queen of Seaford, mentioned on Facebook. (I will put in a quote later, because she will write a post on that).  

Berlin has lots and lots of trees – it is a green city with many parks, meadows and alleys.

At this time of the year the car drivers are unhappy: most have to park under the trees, and especially those ‘oaks’ drop little flowery things on their cars. At the moment it is even getting dangerous for pedestrians: the city complains that an invasion of oak procession moths (Thaumetopoea processionea) entered the city, polishing off most of the leaves.

a thousand hairy savages,
sitting down to lunch,
gobble, gobble, gulp, gulp,
munch, munch, munch

(Spike Milligan) 

Yeah – that poem comes very near the truth: the caterpillars are very greedy, and very hairy. Some trees only have fifty caterpillars, other have nests with more than thousand. And they are poisonous. If you come in contact with the hairs your skin starts to itch for days – so the City magistrate sends out people who have to get rid of the nests of the caterpillars – clothed in protective suits with breathing protection masks. In Berlin they are not allowed to use insecticides – on an auto hoist they use a sort of vacuum cleaner, and to “free” a tree from that plague costs about 900 Euro – for one single tree.

Zehlendorf, Grunewald and Wannsee are hit mostly, our street in the Bavarian Quarter is still green.

In the next street they have lime trees – which I would prefer: I love their mild coloured heart-shaped leaves and the sweet scent when they are flowering – and they look so lovely!

The Germans loved that tree so much that Schubert’s Lied: “Am Brunnen vor dem Tore, da steht ein Lindenbaum” became a folk song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJMqE17Gy1I&feature=related

At this time of the year the car drivers are unhappy: zillions of  aphids sit in the lime trees – when you walk under them, your shoes stick to the ground, it is really weird: the sugary shit of the aphids drops on the cars, too, and very quickly they are covered with a smeary sticky crust.

And then Berlin has a lot of planes (sycamore trees?). Those are especially beautiful, because the  light, falling through their leaves, makes you think you are in Paris. 

I walk along the Spree and think:

Sheer bliss! Thank you, Berlin!

Please, do come in - you're welcome!

You asked me to tell you how we live in Berlin now. 

Please, do come in – you’re welcome!

Oh, I’m sorry – I have totally forgotten that there are no electric bells beside the entrance door, and no name plates.

There is only a brass button – you press it, it purrs – and then you have to fight against the really heavy door.

If it is not after 6 pm, that is. Because then we have a problem, at least when you have forgotten your cell phone, and you came around spontaneously (if you have rung me up before, of course I will look down from the balcony). Decades ago there has been a concierge here (another vocation that almost became extinct!) who after a sharp glance let vistors in. But you came in the afternoon and now you are standing in the entrance hall of our house. 

An estate agent has told me that in the Bavarian Quarter of Berlin there existed a directive that the entrance hall for the staircase had to be built in marble. 

What I like is another directive that said that ‘even’ in the rooms of the servants there had to be a stove (that was not at all common in 1900 – when we looked for a flat in Berlin we sometimes saw tiny rooms formerly built for servants: the high walls were divided with a sort of intermediate floor – so that two servants could sleep on two levels one above the other).

Even though there are no bell plates next to the entrance door, you can find out on which floor we live: in the direction of the atrium you’ll find a big old wooden frame with carefully drawn names of the inhabitants. 

Yes, there are many: the house is built like a U – the front house and two wings, the rear buildings.

We live in the front house. When an unknown neighbour rang to fetch a delivered parcel and I introduced myself and said: “Sorry, I haven’t met you before”, he said apologetically: “I live in the rear building only”, and I asked quite aghast: “Why ONLY?” Today I know that the expensive flats are those in the front house, in the rear wings live young academics, artists and the janitor.

On the staircase of our house lies a thick carpet – so the sound of the steps are absorbed.

But let us take the elevator! I have the key for it and will come down. 

The elevator was built in 1900 – that was a special luxury at that time, in which the building tycoon Haberland built all the houses of the Bavarian Quarter – all equipped with electrical light (normal houses had gas), warm water and bathrooms – and it is said that the houses also had a central vacuum cleaner station, but that station I cannot discover ;-)

The elevator was modernized in 1977 –I feel a little bit ill at ease when I gaze at the metal plate which reads: “Dear user of the elevator! (…)  In case of an entitled emergency call with good cause  you will be connected with the control centre (…)” 

See, I wonder: Who decides what is ‘an entitlement with good cause’?