Olympic effort for an abandoned village

Almost too knackered by the time I got there to do any exploration at all. Cycled over 40km from Friedrichshain to Elstal, wind against me all the way, efforts compounded by several unforeseen diversions due to the slightly optimistic tactic of simply pointing the bike west. "Who needs maps anyway?" I won't be doing that again. And then I still faced the prospect of cycling back! Jaysus, I was wrecked.
Yes, it truly was an Olympic effort to get there - Jesse Owens himself would have been proud - but there was no way I could arrive at this abandoned village once home to 4,000 athletes, peep through the fence, and simply turn back the way I'd come. I had to go in!

There used to be a time when the Olympics was interesting, and Berlin's in 1936 was the most interesting of all. Coming at a time when the Nazis had been in power for three years, it provided Hitler with a stage to show the world their greatness and prove the superiority of the Aryan race.
That notion was kicked back up his arse when a member of an inferior race ultimately proved superior to the rest. There was nothing inferior about the aforementioned Owens' racing in 1936 as his four gold medals affirmed, much to the pleasure of all but the Führer.
His native Austria only collected a measly 13 medals, compared with his adopted country's 89, so he masterminded the Anschluß a couple of years later, before his insatiable appetite for more gold medals prompted his bid to take over the world in 1939. It's no coincidence Nazi Germany attacked, fought or annexed countries which finished above Austria in the medal table from that Olympics.
Thankfully Ireland escaped such treatment as it had boycotted the games, not for any bold political statement against the Nazis, but because of a row over northern athletes competing for the British. The Brits shared Adolf's penchant for medals and had long plundered Irish talent as their own.

Anyway, such thoughts were far from my head as I contemplated the empty buildings lurking ominously between the trees behind the fence. This was it! The Olympic Village, 14km west of Olympiastadion, built between 1934 and 1936, and abandoned once the last Russian soldiers left in 1992.
I'd circled the 550,000 square metre site and noticed a couple of vehicles behind the padlocked gates, on the other side, an unwelcome sign of pestering human presence. As long as they weren't Russian soldiers...
The wind had died down (of course) and all was still. Feck it, I'm going in. Despite nearly impaling myself on the fence, I landed on both feet. I stopped. Listened. Watched. A dog barked in the distance. I froze. Was it a guard dog? Shit. All still again. The trees rustled gently. I moved forward, tentatively. If it was a dog I'd worry about it when his jaws were snapping at my heels. I made a beeline for the first building I could see, one I soon learned was the Hindenburg Haus, the main administration centre for the games with its own TV viewing room. (The Olympics of 1936 provided the first live sports broadcast to the world as I mentioned in a previous post on Tacheles.)

No dogs came near me, and so I proceeded to the Plattenbau buildings, huge empty shells of soulless flats erected by the Russians long after the last athletes had left, after the war, when they were used to house Soviet military personnel from the nearby barracks.
Now the flats are left to the wallpaper which still plasters their walls. The wind had picked up again, so it was flapping unconcertingly as I tip-toed through the doorways. Flap, flap, flap! As if trying to talk to me. My heart was in my mouth. These things are best not done alone. Strange noises came from below me, then above; wood creaking, paper rustling, doors groaning, metal banging. Banging, banging, banging. I realised then, that was actually my heart.
Still I went on, exploring every room, taking more photos of wallpaper than I've ever done before. Up and up I went, up the glass-strewn stairs, until I came to a ladder which led to the roof. The ladder looked feeble but still I went up, the draw of what may be ahead proving far stronger than common sense.
Despite not finding anything remarkable, I was captivated. Everywhere was fascinating dullness, mundane marvels; everywhere an unknown story desperate to be told. Who lived here? What did they do? Where are they now? Where did they buy their wallpaper? I looked in every nook, every cranny (don't ask me what a nook or a cranny is), before eventually deciding to explore the rest of the site, the buildings from 1936.

It wasn't long before I discovered das Speisehaus der Nationen, where the athletes used to eat, and several of the 138 one-story houses where they used to live. Jesse Owens' has been restored (they can't leave anything alone) and one can visit it by going through the normal procedures, (i.e. just ask at the entrance when the site's open to the public).

Also being restored is the old swimming hall. It was all sealed off, so I had to squeeze in under heavy tarpaulin to get in. Thankfully, they hadn't yet ruined it by restoring it, and I could marvel at it in its original state. Again my heart was in my mouth, with the tarp flapping like mad in the wind, and the scaffolding creaking and groaning over my head as I surveyed the vibrant cyan tiles, the windows and the bars. Thump, thump, thump! I could hear footsteps outside, outside or in my head, the effect was the same.
RING! RING!! RING!!! What the fuck?! I jump out of my skin with fright. My phone's ringing, at a volume to wake the dead. Jesus, the noise!! I turn it off, cower at the bottom of the pool, and await my inevitable discovery.
After a few minutes, nobody comes, so I tentatively continue with my nosing. Up on the diving board, behind in the changing rooms, down the stairs to the cellar, in under the pool. I was literally getting in over my head. I couldn't see a thing, relying on the red focus light from my camera again, when I realised I really should be getting home. It was already 7.30pm and I still had to cycle back.

Outside I met someone as surprised to see me as I was to see him. A rabbit. Probably used to having the whole Olympic Village to himself, hopping around, imaging every day he's Jesse Owens winning another four gold medals. We both froze and looked at each other. He twitched his nose and then he was gone, running as if going for another gold. Nothing inferior about his race either.

What
Olympic Village built for the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin.

Where
Elstal, Wustermark, Germany.

How to get there
Well, you could cycle like I did from Berlin, but I don't recommend it. Better to take the S-Bahn to Spandau and cycle from there (about 15 km). If you're too lazy for that, best option is by car - head west from Straße des 17. Juni (the big one in the middle of Tiergarten) and keep going straight on the B5 until you see the signs for Elstal. The marking on Google maps is wrong, but I've marked the site here.
UPDATE - Thanks to Robin for pointing out the RE2 goes from Alex to Elstal Bahnhof, and buses 662, 663 or 667 are good too.

Getting in
Go around to the other side away from the security and nosy guards, and just hope over the fence. Be careful!

When to go
Anytime before dark, preferably when it's not raining.

Difficulty rating
6/10 Getting there is the main problem, but once you're in, you're laughin'.

Who to bring
People who don't mind the sound of wallpaper flapping.

What to bring
Camera. A few bottles of Sterni to break up the journey and/or toast your success on getting there. They'll be warm once you arrive, but what the hell. Maybe bring a few snacks to nibble on too. Unlike the Olympics nowadays, there's a surprising lack of catering stands in this abandoned village. I can't recommend pistachios enough.

Dangers
The imagination tends to run away with itself when exploring on your own, so watch out for that. Strange noises and eerie silences make for tingly nerves. Otherwise, keep an eye out for the security guards out the front.

Again, this guide is designed to help others get to and enjoy a wonderful site before it's too late. They're still in the process of restoration, so I guess it won't be long before they're charging people in and all the fun's gone out of it. Maybe they already are - I didn't check. Anyway, please share with all like-minded individuals on Facebollocks or whatever all ye young people are using these days.

I forgot to mention that the director of the Olympic Village, Wolfgang Fürstner, took his own life three days after the games ended. He had Jewish roots and learned he was to be dismissed from the Wehrmacht because he had been classified a Jew by the Nazis, so rather than face such humiliation, he shot himself with a pistol not far from the lake. The Nazis covered up his suicide to avoid unwelcome attention. Just another little footnote to a crazy story. I could write more, but it's time ye went explorin'.

Soviet swansong (Abandoned military headquarters)

A couple of weeks ago we broke into the former headquarters of the Soviet military in Germany. They weren't there of course, or I wouldn't be here to be able to tell you of it, but it was scary nonetheless. The last Russian soldiers had left in 1994, the tumbling of a certain wall rendering their presence about as welcome as a fart in a Sputnik.
It's a huge site, in Karlshorst, Berlin, with several imposing buildings scattered around a large area, all boarded up, sealed off from prying eyes, stripped of the secrets and any evidence of the Russian hi-jinx from the Cold War, a war which invariably got a lot colder every Berlin winter when each side used to stock up enough nuclear snowballs to last through the spring.
It was here that the unconditional surrender of German troops was finally signed 15 minutes into May 9th, 1945, when Generelfeldmarschall Wilhelm Keitel scribbled his scrawl on the sheet of paper put to him at Stalin's request by Marshal Georgy Zhukov.
(The room where this momentous event took place can now be visited without the need to break down doors or smash windows in the small but fascinating and free-to-enter Deutsch-Russisches Museum.)
It was Zhukov whose men took 134,000 German soldiers prisoner in the surrender of Berlin a week before.
Then, from 1945 to 1949, Karlshorst became the headquarters of the Soviet Military Administration in Deutschland, until East Germany was formed on October 7th, 1949 and the SMAD was replaced on October 10th by the Soviet Control Commission. Same shit really. As I said earlier, the last Russians didn't leave until 1994.

I'd actually made my way there alone last September on a reconnaissance mission when I managed to break into the site, but found it very hard to get into any buildings. All doors were very securely boarded up and locked, heavy reinforced wood and metal sheeting. "Eintritt Verboten!!!" they screamed. Curiosity piqued, my desire to get in became overwhelming. What great secrets were being hidden? What untold stories waiting to be told? What wonders to be discovered?
After circling for ages looking for gaps in the boards, or loosely fitting doors, a broken window, anything, I found I'd just have to break my way in. I grabbed a brick and smashed it down on a padlock to one of the doors. Each blow rang out like a rifle shot. Bang! Bang! Bang! Karlshorst is quite a residential area so I was conscious each blow would only bring attention to myself. Nevertheless, the desire to get in drove me on. Bang! Bang! BANG!!!
It opened! The chain snapped and I pushed the door tentatively in. A dark hallway, broken glass, flaking paint. I made my way in and peered into various rooms. Again, broken glass, flaking paint, wires and rubble strewn around. I was looking for evidence of the Russians, an old Kalashnikov, Wodka (as it's written here), a CCCP metal flask, an old fur hat, anything at all, but all I found was broken glass, flaking paint and graffiti from previous visitors.
Light was failing and so I admitted defeat, vowing to come back another day armed with a crow-bar to explore the other buildings. On the way out I noticed a sign announcing their planned future as part of Wohnpark Karlshorst, 350 "attractive and valuable one to four-bedroomed apartments", already for sale off the plans. Apartments! Nowhere's safe.

Four months in South America postponed the return visit, but even then I often thought of my date with the old abandoned Russian military headquarters. When we got back from Perú it was too damn cold to do anything, but finally, a couple of weeks ago, I was able to go back, this time accompanied by Jenny, JB and Isabelle.
We got into the site easily enough, just by lifting up the fence to the side, but were slightly perturbed to notice construction cabins and vehicles parked in front. There was no sign of any life though, so we proceeded with caution.
The doors were no longer so well sealed and we were able to push our way into the first building easily enough. We nosed around like exciting puppies in a bone shop, exploring rooms, taking arty photos. I was delighted to find Russian writing on some of the walls, lampshades still hanging from the ceilings, and old East German wallpaper as if we'd stepped directly back in time.
From the top floor I peered out the window and noticed a man walking below. Another human! Shit. I told the others we'd have to be careful, we weren't alone, and so we tip-toed back out the building.
Walking around the other side of the main building, I nearly walked into another man. He was coming out of a cabin about five metres in front of me. Aaaaaghh!! Retreat! Retreat! I urged the others to move back, and we hurried as quick as we could back the way we'd come, trying all the while to be quiet. It was impossible though - broken glass littered the site so every footstep crunched loud enough to wake the dead.
Thankfully he didn't follow - I don't know if he saw us or not - and we were able to duck around the corner, in through another broken door, and into the cellar. All dark, rusty metal everywhere, ominous-looking machinery, metal walkways over great tanks of water, the darkness pierced only by the odd shaft of light. This is more like it! We nosed around again, guided by the red focus light from my camera. Groping around in the dark, I found a stairway which led up. Let's go!
Soon we were exploring the Russian corridors of power, the officers' mess now a real mess, jangled wires, rubble, broken glass, graffiti, and old Russian newspaper clippings pasted onto the corridor walls. Up we went to the attic, where I found old Russian graffiti carved into the wall, presumably from disgruntled soldiers. Downstairs we found the conference centre, all the seats facing attentively to the front, a room high above it where all could be overseen, old rusty listening equipment, all switches and knobs, sadly dilapidated, but fascinating none the less.
Then we heard voices. People! Shιt! We ran into a room and hid behind the door. Who the hell were these people? Russians? Polizei? Other curious visitors? The voices approached. Closer, closer, closer... Dammit, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Wait there," I told the girls. (We'd already lost JB somewhere along the way.) "I'll go see who it is." Better just one of us caught than all of us. I walked out and discovered an old woman and her son, potential apartment buyers checking out where they might be living in a few months. It was open day! The developers showing people around for free, and there was us sneaking around and breaking in like criminals! Suddenly it wasn't so exciting anymore.
Outside a salesman showed us the plans and gave us the prices. Most of the apartments are sold already and I'm sure he thought he'd sold another two as we nodded attentively and cooed our appreciation. We thanked him for his time and promised to get back in touch, before leaving through the front door.

So we didn't actually have to sneak in, but we definitely saw a lot more than we would have otherwise, and it sure was a hell of a lot more fun. For others who'd like to see this old abandoned Soviet military headquarters before it's too late, I've provided the following guide. Hurry up though. There isn't much time left!

What
Former Soviet Military Headquarters in Germany.
Where

Zwieseler Straße 10-50, 10318 Berlin.

How to get there
Get the S-Bahn to Karlshorst and walk or get the bus from there. It's not the Deutsch-Russisches Museum, which is signposted and well worth a visit in itself, but the huge building beside it. Map can be accessed here.
Getting in
If there's an apartment showing, simply pretend you want to buy one. Otherwise, between the site itself and the Deutsch-Russisches Museum, there's a laneway where you'll easily be able to lift the fence and enter.
When to go
Sunday. There won't be any workers on the site unless it's an open day.
Difficulty rating
5/10 Really depends on what stage construction is at and whether the workers are there.
Who to bring
Like-minded explorers.
What to bring
Camera. Beer and/or some Russian Wodka with which to toast the site's former inhabitants.
Dangers
Nosy neighbours and spoilsport construction workers and/or security guards. Be quiet and you should be okay. Viel Spaß!

Again, please share this with the world, so others may get a taste of Berlin's fascinating past before it's lost forever. The ongoing gentrification of this great city is shameless and it won't be long before there's nothing worth exploring at all. To this end, I'd welcome any suggestions for other sites or abandoned buildings to be explored before it's too late!

Pictures from both visits are available on request. But only if you ask nicely.

Tacheles - How long is now

'How long is now' runs the giant mural on the side of Tacheles. Whether it’s a question or an existential sigh, it perfectly sums up the uncertain past, present and future of one of Berlin’s most remarkable initiatives.
Possessed by squatters and artists in the aftermath of the tumbling of the Berlin Wall 20 years ago, this iconic shell of a building now houses exhibitions, performances, a cinema, and three bars one of which, Café Zapata, houses a fire-breathing dragon which frightens the shite out of unsuspecting visitors. A few beers, and you won’t notice anymore.
Tacheles means to speak directly and honestly in Yiddish, (as if there was any other way for Germans to speak), and it is so named as the building’s in the former Jewish quarter of Berlin, and in defiance of the East German propensity to repress freedom of expression (and everything else for that matter).
The building opened in 1909 as the Friedrichstraßenpassage, a giant shopping complex, one of the first of its kind, so named because it linked Oranienburgerstraße with Friedrichstraße behind it. It promptly went bankrupt, and was later reopened as department store. That too didn’t last, and it was taken over by the AEG electric company to showcase their new contraptions and fancy technology.
It was under their watch the building became the first to broadcast a live sporting event to the world, with the transmission of the Berlin Olympics in 1936.
The Nazis later took over as they were prone to doing at the time, and the building became the central office of the SS. They horded French prisoners of war in the attic during the war when the building was badly damaged what with bombs falling on it and the like. Most of it was totally destroyed.
What was left didn’t fare much better after the war either I’m afraid. Russian soldiers used statues in the entrance for target practice, and they didn’t exactly wear slippers when they were stomping about.
Those headless statues are still there today and can be seen on the way to the hinterhof behind, where artists and sculptors now proudly display their engaging creations, iron horses, iron eagles, spiky things, high things, mad things.
Inside the walls are smothered from top to bottom in colourful street art which very much reclaims the notion of freedom of expression. Some of the imagery is just mad, better than the shit you’ll find in museums and better than some of the exhibitions which are always on show here. Bring a can of spray paint, have a go yourself – there’s enough space for all and always room for improvement.
Needless to say the building, while structurally sound, is still in pretty bad shape, despite all the licks of paint, but this only adds to its charm. Don’t be put off by the dark corridors or the smell of piss on the stairs and the foyer, or even the rats which scurry around the hinterhof at twilight – it only adds to the authentic experience.
Tacheles’ future is still uncertin, sitting as it does on real estate worth some €250 million beside Berlin’s tourist and financial centres. Legal battles pitting squatters and artists against developers and the city are part and parcel of its existence.
Guests are invited to sign a petition to help preserve its future as a creative space. (Anything to stop it from being turned into yet more apartments.) I guess if enough people get involved, we won't have to wonder "how long is now?" anymore.