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Traversing the Iron Curtain (1987)

Berlin remains, other cultural charms notwithstanding, the only place in the world where we Westerners can easily pass through the "Iron Curtain," or whatever else you want to call what separates our First World from the Second. It is the only place where, within a single day, at minimal expense, you can experience in your mind and in your body some essential differences between West and East. While you need a passport to enter East Berlin, you need not obtain the advance visa necessary everywhere else in the Soviet Bloc, you need not join an organized tour; for post-WWII agreements hold that each of Berlin's occupying powers has access to the other's territory. That accounts for why there was no wall separating East Berlin from West until 1961; it also accounts for all the unusual regulations for governing the city and for traffic between East and West.

The regulations must be understood in advance, first to avoid unfortunate surprises, but also because understanding each of them is part of the experience. There are several "checkpoints," as they are called, for entering East Berlin. Some are valid only for West Berliners and others only for West Germans. Only two are open to those from "Andere Staten," as the East German sign says: The Friedrichstrasse train and subway station well within East Berlin takes all three groups, while the famed "Checkpoint Charlie" at the border takes only us. The next two rules to remember are that you can visit only within East Berlin proper (which does not include, say, nearby Potsdam) and that you must be back West by midnight.

For this special trip you will be charged five Deutschemarks (about two dollars) for the day-visa issued to you as you cross; and you will be required to exchange 25 more Deutschemarks into 25 East marks (which have only one-fourth that value on Western free markets). Consider this last detail as your introduction to one difference between West and East--the former with a free market for currency, and the latter with a restricted one. In passing through the checkpoint, you must itemize on a newsprint form how much currency you are carrying and what gifts you might be bringing to East Germans. You should expect to have your wallet or purse or any carrying cases examined thoroughly, all of which can be less of a nuisance if you leave everything problematic behind in West Berlin.

These border inspectors are looking less for drugs or weapons than surplus Western currency that might flow into the East German black market, and then contraband reading material--not just such obvious items as books they might consider anti-Communist, but such unobvious ones as local newspapers with television schedules. Even though every East Berliner with a television set is able to watch West German programs, and does so, that is officially illegal; to preserve that illusion of illegality, West Berlin television schedules are automatically confiscated. When a writer friend tried to bring a new novel of his to an East Berlin colleague, it was confiscated as "pornography," only to be returned to him that evening, apparently well-thumbed, when he crossed back west.

The East German borderguards appear stern, making you nervous at first; but once you realize they cannot do anything serious to you without incurring the threat of greater wrath, you can handle them with confidence. The worst things I ever saw them do are 1.) tell a Yugoslav he could not enter, for reasons that were not clear to either him or me; 2.) take a young hippie into a separate room for, I guess, a discreet body search; 3.) keep people waiting; 4.) rip a "Socialist Party Deutschland" sticker off a Western car (no doubt on the grounds that it represented "anti-Communist political literature"). I once saw an American, tired of waiting while the borderguards rested in their lounge, summon them with the grossest American obscenities that, since they don't understand English, fell on dumb ears. Eventually, they got to work, and he went through.

Incidentally, if any American has profound anxieties about entering East Berlin, he or she can always leave name, social security number, and expected time of return with the U. S. military policeman stationed (only) at Checkpoint Charlie. What happens if I fail to show up? I asked. "Your name will go up the command," the soldier confidently replied. What happens then? "We'll come into East Berlin to find you." For such service, remember, you pay your taxes.

As I said before, there are two checkpoints for us. Bahnhof Friedrichstrasse is the more convenient for those taking public transportation and for those traveling East accompanied by West Germans or Berliners. If you come to it by surface train, called S-Bahn, you look down over the historic Reichstag, at the West Berlin edge of the River Spree, and then see a no man's land with impregnable fences on both sides. Then along the train track are tall fences topped by barbed wire that extends into the Friedrichstrasse terminal. If, on the other hand, you come into its subway platform (U-Bahn), you will first go through East Berlin "ghost" stations that were operative before the Wall. However, now that East Germans are forbidden access to West Berlin's subways, these darkened platforms are patrolled by two armed “volkspolizei” who are, remember, required to shoot each other, or anyone else, attempting to board the West Berlin train.

At the checkpoint itself, you will be shunted into a large windowless room, perhaps 25 yards square, with a row of doors at the far end, each accompanied by a sign announcing which of the three categories can proceed through it. The first time I came to East Berlin this way, the room was impossibly crowded, hot and smelly, with children and parents hysterically deploring the lack of toilets. Every other time, the wait has been no more than 30 minutes, and more than once I made new friends with whom I did some touring on the other side. Once past a second set of guards, you find yourself, surprise, smack in a bustling East Berlin train station that, surprise again, is near the major museums, theaters and opera of East Berlin. I felt like Alice suddenly deposited in another wonder land.

Checkpoint Charlie, by contrast, occupies a break in the nearly continuous wall and its surrounding no man's land. The “vopos” occupy a tall guard tower and a string of flimsy huts. For the opening move, the checking of your passport, you will be kept waiting in fresh air that is a pleasure in summer, though painful in winter. Westerners entering East Berlin by car necessarily go this way. I would advise against taking a car, because you do not want to separate your body from the experience of East Berlin, but also because GDR police have a notorious reputation for capriciously issuing traffic tickets that must be paid on the spot, only in Western currency, of course! Besides, the walk from West Berlin public transport to Checkpoint Charlie takes only a few minutes; and on the other side you can walk within ten minutes to Under den Linden, which was the fabled center of 20s Berlin.

Once inside East Berlin, you will find a world different in more ways that you can immediately comprehend. East Berliners dress differently from their stockings to their hats; stores are sparsely stocked; the food is often different (try the local soda pop for a distasteful surprise). You will see a lot more policemen, whose job is not preventing crime, which is negligible, but insuring that the East German rules are enforced. While you may bring a camera with you, you may not photograph policemen, soldiers, checkpoints, trains, subways, or the great wall itself. You may also be whistled to a stop, as I once was, with momentary terror, for crossing an empty street intersection against the red light. Those familiar with Nazi military dress might find the uniforms of these policeman disturbing. They might become even more upset by the changing of the guard ceremony outside the Memorial to the Victims of Fascism and Militarism, where uniformed, gun-toting soldiers “goose-step” with intimidating ferocity.

If West Berlin is filled with greenery, downtown East Berlin is mostly gray. While Unter der Linden has new trees, they are not yet as tall or grand as those before the War. The center of town, Alexanderplatz, is a large asphalt patio. In part because the most prominent buildings are dark and gray, East Berlin strikes most of us as decades older than West. As one West German told me, "It has the grayness of my hometown in the fifties, with cobblestone streets, old-fashioned street lights, corner stores without signs in the windows, faded billboard-sized advertisements still visible on building walls. Everybody was still poor then; everything looked less colorful." The most visible car is a petit plastic item manufactured in the GDR and unavailable in the West. Especially when it accelerates, the Traband, as it is called, sounds like it is powered by rubber bands. This backwardness explains why East Berlin evokes, especially for West Germans, a nostalgia for an earlier time. Reminded of H.G. Wells' famous praise of the Soviet Union as representing “the future,” I think: This is the past, and I wonder how well it works.

If you try to use a telephone to call West Berlin, you will get a stark introduction to current local politics. Since West Berlin regards the East as an intrinsic part of the city still governed by the occupying powers, a telephone call from West Berlin to East is charged at "local" rates. However, since East Berlin regards itself as the capital of a separate country, a call from East to West requires "international" tariff, which is several times more expensive.

One major difference between East and West lies in the acceptance of World War II. If West Berlin was slickly reconstructed to realize the illusion that there was no War, East Berlin is filled with ominous mementos. Just inside Checkpoint Charlie, at the first major cross street, is a five-story building whose lower floors have been reconstructed, while its top floors are only twisted metal beams. Elsewhere in Berlin remain standing facades, such as that on Oranienburgerstrasse, within walking distance of the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof, of what was once Berlin's largest synagogue. On its face is a sign reading, "Never forget this." No one could convince me that the temperature must be the same on both sides of the Wall, so different is the climate.

You will have to spend those twenty-five marks you were forced to exchange, because the East German forbid you to bring their money to the West. Unless you have a taste for Teutonic restaurants, it will not be easy. You won't be tempted by East Germans offering to sell you their currency at reduced, free-market rates, not just because it is the sort of illegal move all those police are prepared to arrest, but because you won't know what to do with all the DDR money. Stores are scarcer than in the West, and merchandise is limited. Since, don't forget, all stores have the same owner, you cannot comparison-shop. For certain temporarily attractive goods, such as ice cream on a summer day, you will see intolerably long lines, reminding you of socialism's inability to readjust supply to demand. The obvious bargains here are books and music scores, especially of classics which are much cheaper here than in the West (even at the 1 = 1 exchange rate). A hardbound score of Georg Friedrich Handel's Messiah cost me 17 marks.

One place your GDR money cannot be spent is in the glossy Intershops which accept only Western currency from people displaying Western passports. Filled mostly with goods heavily taxed in the West (and otherwise unavailable in the GDR), such as American cigarettes and liquor, these Intershops constitute a kind of black market that, incidentally, insults the East German people and the currency they earn. Among the familiar Western items totally unavailable here are photocopy shops, because in the East, don't forget, you cannot reproduce, or print, without a special license, not because the government wants to protect copyright holders, but because it fears the uncontrolled dissemination of information, any information.

One problem is that local clerks, generally more adept at Russian than English, will not warn you that many items cannot be legally exported to West Berlin. On the other hand, as long as the value of your purchases does not exceed the difference between the Western money you had at the beginning and now have upon return, the exit inspectors are likewise not as fierce as they initially seem. One night I returned with some cheap canvas slippers. When the guard saw "shoes" on my declaration sheet, he asked to see. "Nicht gut" he said as he disappeared into his office to find a small newsprint sheet itemizing what was forbidden from export. Since I saw only "footwear," I told him in simple English: "shoes okay, no shoes." He looked at the English list, puzzled, and then directed me to take my canvas slippers through.

Another time, I made the mistake of telling the exit inspector that I was a writer. That prompted him to ask to see my personal notebook. When he came across a list of names with telephone numbers, he asked who they were? I made another mistake in identifying them as fellow writers. That cost me a trip into an examination room, while he spent perhaps twenty minutes examining carefully everything I had, especially looking through the pages of my notebooks and the books I had purchased. Not until I got to the other side did I realize what he was looking for--manuscripts of books that cannot be published in the East! (Many West German best-sellers, such as the novels of Stefan Heym, come from writers who are still resident in the East and, like Heym, forbidden to publish there.) Anyone departing East Berlin by car can expect to have it searched, initially for human beings emigrating illegally.

One difference between East Berlin and, say, Russia is that you don't feel alien as a western visitor; you don't feel that anyone is following you, reporting on your presence, simply because in East Berlin there are too many westerners present at any time. East Berliners won't be reluctant to talk with you, especially if you speak German; for here, unlike Russia, no official is likely to ask why they were talking to a Westerner. In East Berlin, streets are only sparsely populated in the evening, even in nice weather. There is no place where people cruise--not even an equivalent of Nevsky Prospect in Leningrad or Moscow's Gorky Street. Cafés are few, discos furtive, bars empty, because "nightlife" takes place mostly within peoples' homes. Rumor is that many are watching the West German television that is forbidden to them (itself indicating that no other Eastern capital has such a close relationship to the West). In over two dozen trips into East Berlin, the only place I actually met strangers who remain friends was at the only synagogue on Friday night!

When you cross back over into West Berlin in the evening, you return to a city that is lively at night, well into the night, which will seem ever more special after you have done what cannot be done anywhere else--spent part of a day in the other world.