“Berliners don’t ride bikes.” That’s more or less how you could put it. At least, that used to be the case. When I was little, I’d walk ten minutes to the S-Bahn station. I’d ride two stops, get off like a good girl, and then walk another ten minutes to my school friend J.’s house.
I could have easily covered that distance much faster by bike. But I’m only realizing that now, with my Dutch perspective. We never rode bikes in Berlin.
That same friend, J., still can’t ride a bike. (Well, she *can*—if you force her. We tried it once, here in the Netherlands. She came along. On a folding bike. But she went very slowly and started to wobble dangerously as soon as we approached a sidewalk.) She doesn’t dare. Because she never learned properly as a child.
How strange? I think now. But we had the bus, the S-Bahn, the tram, and very healthy feet that took us everywhere.
Now, twenty years later. Suddenly, you see bike lanes marked all over the streets. Every now and then, even a red bike lane (though that’s still the exception). And you find yourself at the back of the line at the next traffic light. Berliners have taken up cycling.
My Uncle A. always says (I’d love to give him a Berlin accent, but he doesn’t have one at all, and I have to stick to the truth): “I was one of the first! The others can’t do it at all. They all ride with helmets. At a snail’s pace. Terrible!”
My uncle is right. Grown men and beautiful women even wear helmets on their regular city bikes. Kids, of course. It’s one big helmet parade along the East Side Gallery, the Fernsehturm, and even in Treptower Park. The first time I rode my bike with my two-year-old in front, right next to the trucks, I understood it for a brief moment: here, cyclists are creatures of the lowest class. The driver towers high above them. And if you want to survive this, you have to take precautions.
(Still, I’m not a fan of helmets. They look so touristy. And so German. But that’s beside the point.)
It might be our biggest discovery of the past year. It’s wonderful to cycle through Berlin. And finally I understand (yes, even I, as a die-hard Berliner) which neighborhood borders which, and I notice that I’m way faster than that little black GTI I’ve already passed three times.
Maybe even faster than the S-Bahn. But I don’t want to miss that. So we hop on it on the way back—bikes and all—for 1.50 euros.
(Since we’ve done so much on vacation, I’m going to break up the experiences and share some travel stories with you over the next few posts.)
