I am very very tired as I sit down to write this, for good reasons as well as bad.
Hamburg was lovely. Nothing so spectacular that I feel the need to rave, but still a very nice city taken in the aggregate. As the second largest port in Europe and the second largest city in Germany, it’s quite the metropolis, but seems to have better maintained a sense of quiet charm throughout the years. That’s not to say I didn’t see a few of the rough neighborhoods, but a few rough neighborhoods hardly makes it another Berlin.
After the nice relaxing train ride on which I scored myself a forward facing window seat, even without a reservation, I I took advantage of the fact that my hostel was just across the street to stop by the ticket office at the station and do a little more work on getting to France in the next two weeks. I had a little success, but I’m either going to have to chance a three minute transfer or spend $40 I only have to spend because it’s France. Ugh France. You know they just had a train crash last week? You’d think they’d be a bit more accommodating for a bit after that.
Train issues temporarily dealt with, I wasted no time setting off to see some of the sights. Sure, it was nearly seven, but the sun in Hamburg does not set much earlier than the sun in Copenhagen, and at least one of the attractions I wanted to see was open until nine. That attraction? Miniatur Wunderland.
It’s exactly what it sounds like, if not exactly what I expected. An exhibition of the largest model train in the world, complete with representations of America, Switzerland, Austria, Scandinavia, and several different regions of Germany. Italy was under construction while I was there, and there were several temporary definitions showing the city of Hamburg throughout history, political parties’ visions for Germany, and most interestingly the passage of time in Berlin from 1945-1989.
I really liked the miniatures, far more than I thought I would. They’ve been finding their way into my conversations at every turn over the last two days. Apart from the artistry, which was of course impressive, what got to was the stories being told. Yes the recreations of nature are pretty, the mountains and trees and lakes, but what makes the scene is the people, and they’re rarely if ever just standing around.
People hiking and picnicking and sunbathing and working, headed to the airport, attending music festivals, being abducted by aliens, seeing a show at Seaworld San Diego. And the best part was that they all told a story. The kid who snuck off to breakdance behind the airplane hangar at the Berlin airport, the rider who crashed during a major bike race, the hilltop palace burning to the ground. I could have examined the details in the exhibition all day. It took up a whole two floors. I only had a couple hours though, and that was fine too. I examined the scenes until closing and then headed back to my hostel through the picturesque warehouse district.
That night was my first accidentally late night. I’d grabbed some dinner on my way back to the hostel and was eating it in the lounge when a Swiss friend I’d made in Copenhagen sat down to chat. We’d ended up in the same hostel in Hamburg by coincidence, but it was nice to speak again with a decent conversationalist for once. So we talked, and talked and talked and talked, until all of a sudden I realized just how tired I was and excused myself to bed.
It was late enough that even if I’d slept well, I wouldn’t have slept wrong, but now comes the time where I complain about the hostel. Overall it wasn’t that bad; clean enough, and the facilities were decent. It was hellishly hot, however, and not because of the weather.
Hamburg, while warmer than Copenhagen, was still a very nice temperature for most of my time there. The problem in the hostel was that we couldn’t get that temperature inside. The windows cracked, but by no means opened, and when you got eight people in a room at night, or even a mere four, it was difficult to breathe let alone sleep. Even having just showered I was sweaty before I laid down, and while certainly tired enough to sleep, could not seem to ignore the suffocating lack of oxygen in the room. Alas, I made it to sleep eventually only to wake up for a breakfast that was nearly as bad.
For convenience sake, I had pre-purchased breakfast at the hostel in the mornings. Even when it’s a little more expensive, as it was here, the amount of coffee I drink usually makes it worth it for what I would spend buying coffee out. Arriving at eight, an hour after breakfast had started and two hours before it would close, I expected to have beat the biggest crowds, but had no such luck. It took half an hour to get through the buffet line which was then a woefully disorganized and understocked mess. I got a cup of coffee, but hadn’t the time to wait through that ever growing line for more. I actually considered trying to refund my second day’s breakfast, but this morning was much better, thank goodness. I got a whole two cups of coffee, and some yogurt. Though that might have had to do with getting there at seven on the dot.
Anyway, after breakfast the first morning, I set out for my run of the mill walking tour. My guide, another newbie from Barcelona, was more professional than the guide from Copenhagen, but also still getting used to giving tours. Considering how little I knew about the city beforehand though, I learned a lot. Perhaps the most resonant anecdote was that of Operation Gomorrah during World War II in which 80% of the city was flattened, but I also enjoyed all the economic history about securing the rights to operate a duty free port that led to Hamburg’s perpetual commercial prosperity.
After the tour I spent some time wandering through Speicherstadt and Hafencity, two old port districts turned leisure and luxury housing area respectively. That led into a stop at St. Michael’s Church, where I didn’t do more than glance through the door to escape the entrance fee, and a pleasant stroll through Planten un Blomen, one of the bigger parks in the city. Despite the meandering path though, all this walking had a purpose, and I eventually ended up at a commuter train station where I could head out to one of the suburbs to see a museum where my American sensibilities, inundated since childhood with the narrative of the melting pot, felt right at home.
Ballinstadt Emigration Museum is housed in three of the old Ballinstadt Emigration Halls, giant hostels affectionately dubbed ‘The World’s Largest Inn,’ where emigrants could stay between the time they arrived in Hamburg and the time their ships left for the New World. The museum spanned most of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including information on why people left, where they went, how they fared, etc. It was full of details about the emigration halls themselves too, and land journeys and sea journeys and just about everything you could imagine. I’d always heard plenty about immigrant arrivals at Ellis Island, but it was fascinating to see the process from the other side.
At the very end of the exhibit, there were computer terminals sponsored by ancestry.com where you could research your own heritage and whether your ancestors came through Hamburg or anywhere else. I wish I had come more prepared, because getting free reign on ancestry.com was kind of exciting. Alas, I didn’t have all that much time to research anyway. I poked around for a bit, but eventually decided I wasn’t finding much out and hopped the train back to the city center.
That evening, I met my Swiss friend and two Aussies from his dorm room for dinner. We went to a little open air market in front of the town hall where more restaurants than I could count had set up little wooden booths serving all manner of traditional German food. I had spatzle and lentils, in part because it was more or less the only vegetarian option and in part because spatzle reminds me of my mother. I found myself hitting it off with the Aussies too, enough that when they suggested we all go out after dinner I readily agreed, despite my usual aversion to nightlife.
I needn’t have worried. Their version of going out was about as close to my version of going out as it gets. I suppose we were technically in the Red Light District of Hamburg, called Reeperbahn, but being a weeknight it wasn’t as wild as you might expect. We sat outside at a bar, I had a glass of Alsterwasser (a traditional mix of beer and Sprite that was actually pretty good), and we all just talked for ages. Then on the way back, we stopped by Herbertstrasse - a street where women and children are vehemently not allowed. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about why that is, because obviously it wasn’t like I was able to go in.
I think it’s a testament to just how well I got along with these people that we decided unanimously to walk back to the hostel, even though it was at least an hour away and already past midnight. It was a nice walk though, with pleasant company and good conversation. Goodbyes were rather rushed though when we had to split up at the lifts, already half exhausted. I gave the Aussie’s my email, so I’m hoping they get in touch.
And that was really it for Hamburg. I had my breakfast this morning and scampered off to catch my train to Amsterdam. I’ve taken a chance on the hostel there. It’s a bit far from the center and brand spanking new, which means it didn’t have any ratings when I booked. I checked last night though and the first few ratings have started to filter through. It sounds like a pretty good place overall. Let’s just hope the laundry facilities are good, because after the heat of Berlin, the Hamburg dorm, and sitting on all those filthy train floors, most of my clothes could really use a wash. Worrying that the train to Amsterdam might be full I even considered reserving a seat on the second leg, but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s one of the emptier trains I’ve been on in a while, and there are even plugs so I can listen to music without killing my phone battery. Oh the little things. =)
Hamburg was lovely. Nothing so spectacular that I feel the need to rave, but still a very nice city taken in the aggregate. As the second largest port in Europe and the second largest city in Germany, it’s quite the metropolis, but seems to have better maintained a sense of quiet charm throughout the years. That’s not to say I didn’t see a few of the rough neighborhoods, but a few rough neighborhoods hardly makes it another Berlin.
After the nice relaxing train ride on which I scored myself a forward facing window seat, even without a reservation, I I took advantage of the fact that my hostel was just across the street to stop by the ticket office at the station and do a little more work on getting to France in the next two weeks. I had a little success, but I’m either going to have to chance a three minute transfer or spend $40 I only have to spend because it’s France. Ugh France. You know they just had a train crash last week? You’d think they’d be a bit more accommodating for a bit after that.
Train issues temporarily dealt with, I wasted no time setting off to see some of the sights. Sure, it was nearly seven, but the sun in Hamburg does not set much earlier than the sun in Copenhagen, and at least one of the attractions I wanted to see was open until nine. That attraction? Miniatur Wunderland.
It’s exactly what it sounds like, if not exactly what I expected. An exhibition of the largest model train in the world, complete with representations of America, Switzerland, Austria, Scandinavia, and several different regions of Germany. Italy was under construction while I was there, and there were several temporary definitions showing the city of Hamburg throughout history, political parties’ visions for Germany, and most interestingly the passage of time in Berlin from 1945-1989.
I really liked the miniatures, far more than I thought I would. They’ve been finding their way into my conversations at every turn over the last two days. Apart from the artistry, which was of course impressive, what got to was the stories being told. Yes the recreations of nature are pretty, the mountains and trees and lakes, but what makes the scene is the people, and they’re rarely if ever just standing around.
People hiking and picnicking and sunbathing and working, headed to the airport, attending music festivals, being abducted by aliens, seeing a show at Seaworld San Diego. And the best part was that they all told a story. The kid who snuck off to breakdance behind the airplane hangar at the Berlin airport, the rider who crashed during a major bike race, the hilltop palace burning to the ground. I could have examined the details in the exhibition all day. It took up a whole two floors. I only had a couple hours though, and that was fine too. I examined the scenes until closing and then headed back to my hostel through the picturesque warehouse district.
That night was my first accidentally late night. I’d grabbed some dinner on my way back to the hostel and was eating it in the lounge when a Swiss friend I’d made in Copenhagen sat down to chat. We’d ended up in the same hostel in Hamburg by coincidence, but it was nice to speak again with a decent conversationalist for once. So we talked, and talked and talked and talked, until all of a sudden I realized just how tired I was and excused myself to bed.
It was late enough that even if I’d slept well, I wouldn’t have slept wrong, but now comes the time where I complain about the hostel. Overall it wasn’t that bad; clean enough, and the facilities were decent. It was hellishly hot, however, and not because of the weather.
Hamburg, while warmer than Copenhagen, was still a very nice temperature for most of my time there. The problem in the hostel was that we couldn’t get that temperature inside. The windows cracked, but by no means opened, and when you got eight people in a room at night, or even a mere four, it was difficult to breathe let alone sleep. Even having just showered I was sweaty before I laid down, and while certainly tired enough to sleep, could not seem to ignore the suffocating lack of oxygen in the room. Alas, I made it to sleep eventually only to wake up for a breakfast that was nearly as bad.
For convenience sake, I had pre-purchased breakfast at the hostel in the mornings. Even when it’s a little more expensive, as it was here, the amount of coffee I drink usually makes it worth it for what I would spend buying coffee out. Arriving at eight, an hour after breakfast had started and two hours before it would close, I expected to have beat the biggest crowds, but had no such luck. It took half an hour to get through the buffet line which was then a woefully disorganized and understocked mess. I got a cup of coffee, but hadn’t the time to wait through that ever growing line for more. I actually considered trying to refund my second day’s breakfast, but this morning was much better, thank goodness. I got a whole two cups of coffee, and some yogurt. Though that might have had to do with getting there at seven on the dot.
Anyway, after breakfast the first morning, I set out for my run of the mill walking tour. My guide, another newbie from Barcelona, was more professional than the guide from Copenhagen, but also still getting used to giving tours. Considering how little I knew about the city beforehand though, I learned a lot. Perhaps the most resonant anecdote was that of Operation Gomorrah during World War II in which 80% of the city was flattened, but I also enjoyed all the economic history about securing the rights to operate a duty free port that led to Hamburg’s perpetual commercial prosperity.
After the tour I spent some time wandering through Speicherstadt and Hafencity, two old port districts turned leisure and luxury housing area respectively. That led into a stop at St. Michael’s Church, where I didn’t do more than glance through the door to escape the entrance fee, and a pleasant stroll through Planten un Blomen, one of the bigger parks in the city. Despite the meandering path though, all this walking had a purpose, and I eventually ended up at a commuter train station where I could head out to one of the suburbs to see a museum where my American sensibilities, inundated since childhood with the narrative of the melting pot, felt right at home.
Ballinstadt Emigration Museum is housed in three of the old Ballinstadt Emigration Halls, giant hostels affectionately dubbed ‘The World’s Largest Inn,’ where emigrants could stay between the time they arrived in Hamburg and the time their ships left for the New World. The museum spanned most of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including information on why people left, where they went, how they fared, etc. It was full of details about the emigration halls themselves too, and land journeys and sea journeys and just about everything you could imagine. I’d always heard plenty about immigrant arrivals at Ellis Island, but it was fascinating to see the process from the other side.
At the very end of the exhibit, there were computer terminals sponsored by ancestry.com where you could research your own heritage and whether your ancestors came through Hamburg or anywhere else. I wish I had come more prepared, because getting free reign on ancestry.com was kind of exciting. Alas, I didn’t have all that much time to research anyway. I poked around for a bit, but eventually decided I wasn’t finding much out and hopped the train back to the city center.
That evening, I met my Swiss friend and two Aussies from his dorm room for dinner. We went to a little open air market in front of the town hall where more restaurants than I could count had set up little wooden booths serving all manner of traditional German food. I had spatzle and lentils, in part because it was more or less the only vegetarian option and in part because spatzle reminds me of my mother. I found myself hitting it off with the Aussies too, enough that when they suggested we all go out after dinner I readily agreed, despite my usual aversion to nightlife.
I needn’t have worried. Their version of going out was about as close to my version of going out as it gets. I suppose we were technically in the Red Light District of Hamburg, called Reeperbahn, but being a weeknight it wasn’t as wild as you might expect. We sat outside at a bar, I had a glass of Alsterwasser (a traditional mix of beer and Sprite that was actually pretty good), and we all just talked for ages. Then on the way back, we stopped by Herbertstrasse - a street where women and children are vehemently not allowed. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about why that is, because obviously it wasn’t like I was able to go in.
I think it’s a testament to just how well I got along with these people that we decided unanimously to walk back to the hostel, even though it was at least an hour away and already past midnight. It was a nice walk though, with pleasant company and good conversation. Goodbyes were rather rushed though when we had to split up at the lifts, already half exhausted. I gave the Aussie’s my email, so I’m hoping they get in touch.
And that was really it for Hamburg. I had my breakfast this morning and scampered off to catch my train to Amsterdam. I’ve taken a chance on the hostel there. It’s a bit far from the center and brand spanking new, which means it didn’t have any ratings when I booked. I checked last night though and the first few ratings have started to filter through. It sounds like a pretty good place overall. Let’s just hope the laundry facilities are good, because after the heat of Berlin, the Hamburg dorm, and sitting on all those filthy train floors, most of my clothes could really use a wash. Worrying that the train to Amsterdam might be full I even considered reserving a seat on the second leg, but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s one of the emptier trains I’ve been on in a while, and there are even plugs so I can listen to music without killing my phone battery. Oh the little things. =)
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