Hello Stranger,
It’s Saturday. It’s been a while that I’ve
woken up listening on how the rain can quiet down every urban sound outside the
window. Life is barely noticeable in the lack of morning light, below the even tap
dance of the falling water. My body has sunk into the warmth of 2 cushions and
it’s debating whether procrastinating for a bit longer would unleash the dogs
of remorse.
There is so much to do on any given Saturday. For
everyone who is part of the corporate 5 day working week, life begins only now.
That’s why it is hard to cope with these mornings. The need to catch up on things, that the week
was too busy to give me space for, is biting the edges of my semi-conscious
body. Lists with errands are filling my head. I should buy stuff, fix stuff,
throw away stuff… I should be working out; I should go back to one of the
hundred hobbies currently occupying several boxes under my bed. I should read
all I’ve put away for “later” or see what the world of Hamburg has to offer. But the rain is like a drug. I lie in bed
listening to the hypnotic rustle outside. The scars of the week are still very
present on my back and I’m not ready to give into the lists. I already feel
like a slave chained to the Monday and the Tuesday and all the other Day Masters.
Saturdays should be different. They are story tellers - irrational. Saturdays
are for late wake up calls, watching bad movies in bed, the need to stretch your
sleepy limbs or dance like a madman to an 80’s song in the kitchen. Saturdays
are for long walks, for coffee at a crowded place and the attempts to read
something in Spanish. And in Hamburg, Saturdays are for Schanze.
Schanze is everything that Hamburg has swept under the
carpet after ordering its living arrangements into neatly
defined categories. It is a symbol of protest against the rational laws of an
organized society, the complete opposite of I’ve always associated Germany
with. I imagine the great “Hansa city” like a proud and conservative parent,
who wouldn't admit of having this rebellious child under its roof. With the
years their relationship seems to have grown more cordial, because Schanze has certainly
escaped the faith of a shabby quarter and has become one of the coolest spots
in town, a place with a strong and vibrant face.
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| One of these random Schanze images |
I somehow always find myself here on a Saturday,
attracted to Schanze’s curiosities like a fly to a sugar frosting. I cross Max Brauer Allee and the world full of
tasks transforms into an out-of-time soul searching experience. Vintage shops dwelling
among the arched entrances to hip Hamburg homes greet me first. Then I follow
the thousands of posters announcing events, which are spread on every inch of
public space. My mind is catching phrases falling out of their frames, making
my eyes follow their dance onto lamp post, walls, supermarket windows, traffic
signs. Graffiti messages are scattered wildly onto the building doors, reminding
loudly of their creators’ political views. I can identify some regulars at a
nearby kiosk. They are smoking yet another afternoon away with a tone of
philosophy and the attitude of forgotten cowboys. The disfigured body of the Rote
Flora theatre, one of the most prominent symbols of Schanze, seems quiet today.
It’s decaying slowly right onto the Schulterblatt
street, colouring the air with a sharp and moldy odour. The former theatre
building is one of the besetze Haeuser
in Hamburg, occupied by a few free souls, who would ask you for a coin or a
cigarette, if you dare to pass by closely enough. On a sunny day you might even
catch the recital of an unknown poet or hear about the greatest sins of capitalistic
societies. The audience that gathers around the chain of cafes & bars on
the opposite side of the street welcomes any performance in a relaxed &
composed manner.
One can say the reality of Schanze is both
cruel and enigmatic. Among the jungle of shattered glass bottles, questionable business
affairs, hangover faces you suddenly come across the spiking presence of a
coffee shop in uncomfortably feminine colours and its cheerful menu with ultra-modern
vegan options. Plenty of exotic brunch spots have also come to existence, each
one adding a personal spin to the dining hype. One can always find Susannenstrasse packed in the late
weekend mornings. Most guests don’t restrict themselves to the provided seating,
using the sidewalk to arrange themselves in a cool pose with a beer in hand.
My exploration continues in direction of the flea
market that gathers every Saturday at a square near Neuer Kamp street. I cycle despite the rain, which has chased away some
of the smaller vendors. Only the truly dedicated guardians of aging merchandise
are still here. Today what’s absolutely hot on display are some passports dating
back from before the WWII. Some “experts” have gathered around the stall,
creating a buzz like children in front of an ice cream truck. I’m not in the
need of anything. The curiosity brought me here. I like seeing what new
findings join the flea collection week after week. The eccentricity of Flohschanze is
spilling fabrics from the square further onto Marktstrasse. I’m following the trail of clothes, animal horns,
singled out shoes, bold psychology books and tacky souvenirs. A skeleton wearing
a gas mask is leaning nonchalantly onto a stop sign. The art of nameless
painters is piled in the corner of a table. The paintings look sad and full of self-doubt.
Their seller is hoping to get a good price at least for their frames…
A walk through Schanze always turns into an overwhelmingly
colourful experience. It’s a cocktail of images, different nuances of grey
& green, the feeling of a hot mess and missed exit signs, the cruel passion
for a vice and indifferent motives for action. I like being yet another
anonymous body into this crowd, which seems to be less preoccupied with the
need of work morals, clothing aesthetics or rules. Here most people look somehow
ageless to me. Everyone seems to be evolving around the borders of their personal
destiny instead of following the must-do’s
and must-have’s in prescribed age groups.
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| Flohschanze on a Saturday |
The rain continues to reign over the Northern lands.
One perceives the world differently through the wet eyes of the sky. It makes
it uncomfortably quiet and unconventionally beautiful. And to me Schanze in the
rain looks like a woman whose make up is running down her cheeks and every
attempt to brush the water away creates big puddles of colour melting into one.
I’m pushing my bike through the stains the rain is creating on the pavement, looking for a cup of coffee.
And all the Saturday lists? They can wait…
And all the Saturday lists? They can wait…
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| Coffee in Schanze |
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