It’s nearly 14 years since I went to Vancouver in Canada (wow, I feel old saying that), but I can still remember so much about being there – my first trip on a plane; the time we went whitewater rafting; the mountains we casually drove and walked and caught a ski lift up in the middle of the August heat, only to find snow on the peaks and an amazing frozen yogurt stand (another first). But the longer it becomes since I’ve been there, the harder it is to recollect things clearly, which is why I’m so glad I still have the photos to look back on.
As promised, here are the more uplifting views of the Berlin Wall from my trip. I loved how individual each section was, with its own idiosyncrasies. Every time I put my camera down I’d come across another photo opportunity two seconds later, as more of the Wall emerged. I did feel like a brazen tourist, but it was impossible not to get snap-happy.
If you haven’t ever been to Berlin then I hope this post gets across how the Wall really is the focal point of the city, in a lot of positive ways as well as the obvious negative ones. It’s now full of things to photograph and you come away feeling like you’ve learned something from each piece (even if you just like the colours or the way they’ve transformed the space). There’s also something brilliant about seeing public art that really has a point. I think the city can be proud of it, rather than fear it as they used to.
It might be a bit stereotypical to focus on the Berlin Wall on my first post about the city, but I think you’re ignoring the elephant in the room if you don’t mention it.
This wall shaped everything in the city and in the divided country, for decades. The side you lived on dictated the car you drove, the clothes you wore and the rights you had. Being a member of Amnesty International, I can get a bit preachy about this kind of thing, but it was incredibly weird to explore the city without that boundary stopping you, yet knowing it was there all the time.
On my first night in Paris during a work trip, still getting my bearings and exploring the city with my boss, we stumbled across an in-store gig by a rockabilly band, Ghost Highway, which was a really unexpected introduction to the music scene here. I had no idea that there were many French rockabilly bands, or that they’d have such a hardcore following, but I’m really glad that we got to see them play.
Afterwards I did a bit of research about the rockabilly scene in France and it turns out that it’s definitely alive and well, with most bands adopting American names, such as Howlin’ Jaws, Curfew or Kathy and the Firebrands. One bizarre translation I learned along the way was that batterie is the French word for drums, which kind of makes sense but seems pretty violent as it reminds me of ‘assault and battery’ (“I’m afraid we’ve charged your son with assault and drumming, madam”, etc).