This week, I biked my way to Martin-Gropius-Bau, an amazing site itself, to see Egypt’s Sunken Treasures, a spectacular exhibition of ancient art and artifacts. The statues, cult objects, jewelry, and every day items were recovered by French marine archaeologist Franck Goddio off the coast of the modern city of Alexandria and in the Bay of Aboukir over the last ten years, and are on display for the first time.
The artifacts come from the sunken cities of Alexandria, Herakleion, and Canopus and date from the 7th century BC to the 8th century AD, a time period that saw the last pharaohs, Alexander the Great and the period of Greek rule, the Roman conquest, and the spread of Christianity. In the 8th century AD, the area was struck by a series of earthquakes, and these cities and their treasures sunk into the sea.
Torso of Arsinoe II, who became ancient queen of Egypt by marrying her brother (no kids –thank god), and later was promoted to goddess with her own cult. I bet the statue helped.
Stele of Naukratis
Among other things it says:
Let one tenth of the gold, silver, wood and joinery and all thing coming from the Greek Sea, be taxed for the King’s House in the place called Honë, as well as the tenth of gold, silver and all things existing in the domain of the harbor named Kratj on the bank of the Anu canal..”
Argh, taxes! Some things never change.
For fellow history buffs: best pictures and information about the artefacts are on Frank Goddio’s site
tags: egypt, alexandria, arsinoe, naukratis, goddio, berlin, martin-gropius-bau
I didn’t take reports about excessive German flag-waving too seriously, until I landed at Berlin airport today. Flags on cars in the parking lot, flags on cars on the city-autobahn, and even a few hanging in apartment windows. Usually Germans are pretty restrained when it comes to outward patriotism. As a mama-mobile with two German flags was overtaking us, my father reminded me of the reason for that restraint.
“The last time I’ve seen so many flags was during Nazi time.”
And then he told the story of Frau Schmidt, the universally-hated Blockwart of the building he grew up in. Her job was to ensure that her building was in-line with Nazi doctrine, insisting that even windows facing the courtyard hang Hakenkreuz-flags on Nazi holidays. Then my father grinned sarcastically and said “and by the way, when the first Russian soldiers rounded the corner of our street, she was also the first to hang white linens outside her window.”
Don’t get me wrong, I do get the difference between now and then, but somehow I hope these little flags will remain seasonal World Cup items. Like the Christmas decoration that gets packed away after the holidays are over. And in the meantime, I will be the odd one out and put the flag below on my bicycle while I’m here.
PS: After 1945, many German girls put the discarded Hakenkreuz-flags to good use, and wore red skirts with white and black trimmings. These were tough times and fabric was hard to come by. With my fellow countrymen and -women being into recycling these days, I wonder what we could do with all these little German flags after the World Cup is over. One flag is enough for one thong, if you have two more you don’t need to go topless ;)
tags: world cup, flag-waving, berlin
While I was posting the Tiananmen poem yesterday, it came to my mind how strange 1989 was. It’s hard to grasp that the Tiananmen Square massacre and the opening of the Berlin Wall took place within the same year. I was living in West Berlin then, and stood on the Wall in front of the Brandenburg Gate. This was a few days before they opened the gates on November 9th, and hundreds of East German border guards stood in front of us, shoving people back up the Wall, whenever someone jumped off to the Eastern side. I felt like being in trance, not quite believing what was happening, fearing that it could all end in bloodshed at the last minute.
We had lived with this reality of a divided city and divided country for so long, that it felt like being in a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. Until then, I only knew life in a divided country. And let me tell you, it was depressing.
My grandmother had lived in a small town in Eastern Germany when she was still alive (she died in the mid-eighties), and my family and I visited her several times a year. My parents also took me frequently to East Berlin, to visit friends and relatives, or just for sightseeing.
There are several things about these visits, that stand out in my memory. First of all, the border controls. One of these border crossings, at Berlin Friedrichstrasse, was aptly named “Palast der Tränen” (palace of tears) by Berliners.
On one of our visits my mother was stripped searched, because she had the audacity to smuggle Western fashion and movie magazines into a communist country. Afterwards, my mother said to the female border guard, that we would miss our train and her eighty year old mother would have to wait in the cold train station for half a day, not knowing what happened to her family. The reply was: “If you travel to a foreign country, you should make sure to abide by its laws and leave your home early”. My mother is a very sweet and calm person, but at that moment she was full of barely contained rage. I was afraid, she would punch the female border guard on the nose.
It was always a relief to finally sit on the train, heading for my grandmother’s town. But even the train rides felt strange. People talked very quietly to each other, probably afraid that someone from the Stasi would overhear their conversations and misconstrue them into high treason. Once we were riding along, and two young men on their leave from military duty came to sit next to us. They were drunk, but we couldn’t blame them, because military duty in Eastern Germany frequently meant watches at the Wall. One of the guys, obviously tanked up on something quite strong, asked my mother if he could marry me (then 10 years old), because his grandfather in Western Germany had promised him a Volkswagen for his wedding. My mom pointed out to him that I was still a little young, and they moved further along the train in search of a bride. They were drunk but quite harmless. At the next stop we saw them on the station platform, questioned by train police and later brought to a van. Even at age 10, I knew that this treatment was excessive.
Daily life in Eastern Germany wasn’t easy, but the absolute low point for my grandmother was her four weeks stay at the hospital before she died. My mother rushed to her side, when she heard the news, and was stunned by the awful conditions there. These days, nostalgic East Germans often talk about the good old days in wonderful East Germany, about the comradeship, the support, they gave each other. Nothing like that was evident in that hospital. The only thing one could do to motivate the nurses to do the basics was to bribe them. My mother gave every single nurse my grandma came into contact with packages of Western coffee, chocolates, washing powder, and booze. After three weeks here visa ended and she had to return to West Berlin, a few days afterwards my grandma died alone in her hospital bed.
When the border gates opened on November 9th 1989, I was thinking about my grandmother. She would have been the happiest person on earth. Why didn’t it happen sooner?
Berlin
Wall
Germany
East
This week, I biked my way to Martin-Gropius-Bau, an amazing site itself, to see Egypt’s Sunken Treasures, a spectacular exhibition of ancient art and artifacts. The statues, cult objects, jewelry, and every day items were recovered by French marine archaeologist Franck Goddio off the coast of the modern city of Alexandria and in the Bay of Aboukir over the last ten years, and are on display for the first time.
