Stuttgart
There are two kinds of cities in Germany: those which were bombed heavily during World War II and those which weren't. Stuttgart is one of the former, bombed more than 50 times. Nearly every historical building in the central city was damaged if not destroyed. The city created a mountain, Birkenkopf, out of the rubble of the destroyed buildings. You can follow a path to the top, where, like in Planet of the Apes, pieces of historic buildings lie out for the passerby to contemplate. The view from the top is spectacular, but the rubble forces you to contemplate how a beautiful city was destroyed to avenge the unleashing of demons by Nazi Germany.
Some of the historic buildings were rebuilt, and rebuilt well, but you can always tell. They look a little too perfect. The empty spaces in Stuttgart were filled in with 1950s-1960s Modernist buildings from the likes of Mies van der Rohe, Gropius, and Le Corbusier, according to Frommer's Germany 2006. But I had guessed the parentage just from looking at them. The downtown reminded me in some ways of the state office complex in Albany, N.Y., where an historic 19th century neighborhood was torn down and replaced by office highrises and a state library that still look futuristic.
With not much of a past to display, Stuttgart focuses on the present, especially on the arts. The new art museum, opened in a glass cube a year ago, contains one of the world's premier collections of the paintings of German Surrealist Expressionist Otto Dix. Dix's paintings in the 1920s foreshadowed the end of the troubled Weimar Republic and the rise of Hitler. Mangled German veterans of World War I beg for crumbs from rich parasites. Then in "The Triumph of Death" (1934), he foretells the destruction of Germany in World War II, showing a skeletal king wielding a scythe that is about to cut down, soldier, mother, baby, old man, and young lovers alike. Dix was one of the painters labeled "degenerate" by the Nazis.
Last night was the last in my lecture series and probably the best. About 12 people attended, and of those maybe half were recruited by my cousin, Florian Penkwitt. I talked about the Centralia mine fire and the upcoming midterm elections in America. The questions came thick and fast.
Florian invited me to come out for beers with him and his friends afterward. We walked to a nearby beer garden and settled in for some more conversation. Turned out that not everyone there was German. One guy was from Spain, another from Hungary, but they were studying in Germany. Tabea Kilian, another cousin, came along, too. The Spanish guy was carrying a box that Kai, Florian's friend, said contained "religious relics." Actually, they were 350 euros worth of World Cup tickets, ordered a year ago. Germany becomes more obsessed by the day with the upcoming quadrennial world soccer finals, which will be played here this summer. He held them like they were the bones of saints. A woman from another table came over and asked to see and hold them as well.
After two glorious beers and a burger, I said my goodbyes and walked back to my hotel. Tomorrow I head up into the pastoral German countryside where my grandfather was born.