Suicide Modern

I've not been to Berlin's Tegel airport, but having now visited its other one, Schonefeld, I'd say that the latter was the one servicing the East in days gone by. Just a wild guess here.

I arrived at the airport an hour earlier than I needed to, partly to compensate for any idiocy on my part in negotiating the train out there and partly because I find large international airports endlessly engaging. An extra hour watching the comings and goings and wading through wave after wave of tourist tat is no chore whatsoever. I'll not be making that kind of decision quite so lightly again. Schonefeld would have to be the ugliest, most soul-destroying shithole I've ever been miserable enough to visit (and I've been to Indonesia, remember). Ugliness of this magnitude doesn't happen by accident; it's surely not a case of a difference in taste or point of view. Schonefeld hasn't been whacked with the ugly stick, it's where they're manufactured.

What was it with the Soviets and architectural brutality? I completely understand the Communist leanings towards utility, but it's just as easy to design a pleasant structure, or at least a bland one, as it is to create one so offensive that clawing one's eyes out seems a reasonable option. All over Berlin I've seen this Suicide Modern School of Design, and many times I've stood with my eyes wide and mouth gaping whilst flailing around in my bag for the camera. Perhaps it was all a part of keeping the population subdued. It's certainly one of the reasons the Soviets failed to win over the people, in my opinion. Imagine if Sweden had been the seat of Communism. The industrial design would have been simple, stylish and timeless. All the Ikea-style arrows on the footpaths may have worn thin, but the light, airy and functional surrounds would have been some compensation, surely.

The oppressive environment seems to be having the expected effect on the people who are here every day, too. The airport staff, without exception from what I can see, are surly, aggressive, listless or all three, as I'm sure I would be having to spend eight hours a day in Satan's waiting room. It's like a Cold War museum. My spirits are a little lighter knowing that in an hour I'll be boarding a flight out of here, and will never have to see this place again.

Unless, of course, I feed my last few Euros into the razorblade vending machine I noticed just near the main entrance.