Image courtesy of Five Elephant

I walk through the door of Five Elephant exactly one year after it opened – but there appears to be no time for birthday celebrations.

Out front, customers mill about or sit absorbed in laptop land. Just beyond them, a roasting machine is working its magic, surrounded by a crew of human assistants overseen by co-owner Kris. In the background, Kris’ partner Sophie prepares a generous batch of cakes for the weekend rush.

Despite these bustling scenes of activity in what is essentially quite a small space, the first impression is overwhelmingly olfactory, a hit of coffee delivered directly to the nose like a gentle punch. The roaster, Kris explains, was imported from Idaho in his native US, where by a stroke of luck he was trained one-on-one by the CEO of the famous supplier, Dietrich.

This incredibly complicated process required painstaking attention to detail: each bean has its own idiosyncrasies and there is no set formula to follow. Perfection lies somewhere between art and science, graft and graphs. But the end result is coffee that’s by far the best in the neighbourhood and has quickly become the talk of the town.

And while the machine plays no small part in Five Elephant’s success (Berlin has scandalously few in-house roasters) the true stars of the story, as always, are the people and their passions.

Sophie, the co-founder, is almost single handedly responsible for the baked goods on offer in this simple but dedicated cafe.

Having tasted the Philadelphia cheesecake, I can relate to the depth of emotion it sparks; Sophie has received requests for hugs from strangers and even marriage proposals on the basis of her prodigious patisserie talents.

Speaking of nuptials, perhaps the most unique aspect of the Five Elephant enterprise is its sincere commitment to remarrying product and consumer. As a cartophile I was captivated by the giant wall maps depicting Africa, South and Central America, and Indonesia, thinking them a wonderfully fitting design decision.

But the maps are more than that: they’re a nod to ethics as well as aesthetics, part of a conscious effort to put the journey of this precious commodity into perspective. The owners strive to know exactly where each and every batch of coffee comes from even though this is a frustrating impossibility for a business of their size.

As connoisseurs may know, prices of coffee spiked in December 2010, a cause of both stock market speculation and a warming climate forcing growers further uphill, exacerbating the situation for farmers and all those committed to transparency and fair trade across the supply chain.

The good news is that Kris and Sophie have recently contracted their first micro-lot of direct trade coffee from a sustainable farming project in Brazil. They plan to release details about the farmers and openly account for every penny.

Image courtesy of Five Elephant

There is even talk, thanks to technological advances in grower countries, of introducing customers and farmers via Skype during after-hours events.

While you can’t taste abstract concepts like humanity or humility, these ingredients are as essential as all the others in the popularity and importance of this place.

True, some complain about its location in a lesser-known pocket of east Kreuzberg; but this was actually a canny move, and not just because I happen to live next door, since the area – increasingly desirable but still affordable – is on the cusp of a new phase and Five Elephant represents a new kind of gentrification that promotes sustainability and provides an opportunity for the community to consume quality products ethically.

Like the roasting of the beans, the formula of Five Elephant’s popularity is a fine balance of people and product, passion and action, where the key to continued success is trial and error with a healthy dose of perseverance.  Fortunately for us quality caffeine addicts, Kris and Sophie are modest masters of this abstract algebra.

Five Elephant
Reichenberger Strasse 101
10999 Berlin
T 030 960 815 27
Open: Mon-Fri 8:30 – 19, Sat-Sun 10 – 19

Photo by Tam Eastley

It’s no secret that finding a job in Berlin isn’t easy. With the highest unemployment rate in all Germany (12.7% compared to a 6.5% national average), Germans and ex-pats alike need to be increasingly creative when it comes to finding a job, or find themselves forced to leave and look elsewhere. While this can be a struggle and a stress, it also accounts for the abundance of small, creative businesses here in the city.

Two years ago, Diana Durdic (a former engineer for BMW) and Tasha Arana (an accessories designer from New York) discovered themselves in such a conundrum. They moved to the city and decided that if they couldn’t find anything in six months, they’d start their own business, perhaps one that merged their two shared passions, fashion and, erm, baked goods.

They didn’t find a job and thus Sing Blackbird was born: a vintage clothing store/vegan café on Sanderstrasse in trendy Kreuzkölln. Two years on, the venture has not only exceeded their own expectations, it’s even caught the eye of the international world from Italian Vogue to Dutch Elle.

The modern-day concept store, nestled between a huddle of Imbiss, Spätkauf and the Maybachufer Turkish Market, fits perfectly with this increasingly trendy Berlin kiez. But settling in Kreuzkölln was purely accidental, says Durdic. “We just wanted something with two doors on the street in order to highlight the store, and also the cafe.”

When they first came upon the location, they were not at all impressed. “I thought [the space] was really trashy,” Durdic says. “But when we started pulling away the drop down ceilings we found these amazing crown mouldings.” Uh huh – they had stumbled upon yet another diamond in the rough in Berlin.

Some well-chosen wallpaper, a splash of silver paint on the ceiling and a few antique birdcages later, Sing Blackbird was opened in September 2010 – and has been booming ever since. The store merges the best of two very different worlds – fashion and food – in a healthy, cost-efficient way. The clothing, mostly from the 70s, 80s and 90s is hand picked by Durdic and Arana and priced reasonably.

“A lot of vintage stores are overpriced,” Durdic tells me, “and a lot of the second hand stores have questionable values.” The two entrepreneurs wanted to fill a niche that they didn’t see represented in Berlin, that of mid-range, well priced, good quality vintage clothes.

Their commitment to quality is obvious: the pieces are hung on the racks delicately and colour co-ordinated. There’s no overcrowding or need to squeeze through a claustrophobic space, overflowing with dusty, smelly, torn fabric corpses. Instead, the selection is well thought-out, well treated, and well-informed.

Photo by Tam Eastley

In the winter they carry sweaters, coats and boots, and in the summer, Berlin favourites like floral dresses. They know their market, and they love it. “Berlin style isn’t as crazy as it used to be when people would just wear anything,” says Durdic. “Now it’s more about a casual street style and basic colours.”

When you’re done browsing, cross over to the other side of the store and pull up a seat – maybe by the window, where you can sip a cappuccino and watch the Kreuzkölln foot traffic. The large array of tasty vegan treats on offer include a justly famed breakfast burrito, vegan pancakes, a tempeh lunch bowl and homemade vegan cake.

Durdic and Arana also tend to involve their friends and the wider community to contribute, interact, and (natürlich) party. The various magazines displayed around the store are mostly creative projects by friends, as are the beautiful and delicate vintage necklaces – and customers are encouraged to bring in their unwanted clothes to swap.

On cold, rainy, and miserable winter Thursdays, Sing Blackbird also hosts movie nights [check the Facebook page for listings]. Previous films have included quirky vintage classics like The Warriors, Badlands, Repo Man and Blue Velvet. In the summer, the team sets up a classic Berlin Flohmarkt on the sidewalk outside and, because no hip, beer selling, vegan cafe is complete without a little bit of music, they’ve also starting bringing in bands, mostly of the soft acoustic variety so as not to annoy the neighbours.

When you consider the quirkiness and success of a venture like Sing Blackbird, you have to concede that perhaps Berlin’s high unemployment crisis isn’t so bad, since it seems, at some level, to nourish Berlin with alternative treasures like this one.

Sing Blackbird
Sanderstraße 11
12047 Berlin
T 030 54845051
Open: 13-19 Daily

About The Author

Tam Eastley is from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. After finishing a Bachelor’s Degree in Cultural Anthropology at the University of Calgary, she decided to see the world, and embarked upon a nine month trip around Europe and South-East Asia. She moved to Berlin over three years ago and completed a Master’s Degree at the Freie Universität Berlin in English Literature and Cultural Studies. She recently cured a bout of wanderlust with a trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway. She is currently a freelance travel blogger for NPR Berlin and a contributor to Slow Travel Berlin. In addition to her journalistic endeavors, she is working on a book of short stories about traveling the world by train. Her interests include culture, literature, travel and roller derby.

Photo: Carlijn Potma

Everytime I cycle down Schwedter Strasse there is one special place I can’t bear to ride past. Located nearby the busy Schönhauser Allee, Memory Vintage – a curious shop brimmed with things we deem call ‘retro’ -  just keeps on luring me in with its nostalgic atmosphere that transports me into the past.

Memory is not only a store –  the eponymous café next door is part of the business, run by German/Korean couple Andrea and Seoung-Jin Park. The concept is simple: she runs the shop, he runs the café. If necessary Andrea hops between both locations, helping her husband with the soy latte macchiato’s at the café or sharing her knowledge about vintage wares next door.

It might sound unlikely, but Memory Vintage started as a farm in a small town in the South of Germany. Says Andrea: “My interest in vintage started at a very young age. The farm’s stables and attic were full of curious old things, there was always something new to discover. I liked to dress up with my grandmother’s old garments and grandpa’s hats and started collecting ‘old things’ during my teenage years. For me, the future was clear: I wanted to be a fashion designer, or at least end up working in the industry.”

Because the fashion business was not ‘serious’ enough for her parents, she was forced to change her plans and – temporarily at least – forget about her career in clothing design. “I got my degree in Chemistry, something totally different, and started working as an assistant at a laboratory in Landau. But it simply didn’t feel right. I found out that fashion was the one and only thing that really caught my interest. So I quit my job and moved to Mönchengladbach to study Textile and Clothing Technology.”

Photo: Carlijn Potma

Paris, one of the world’s biggest ‘fashion capitals’, was just a few steps away for the budding young designer: “Actually, I was always longing for a life in a lively metropole, like London or New York. When I got the chance to apply for a design scholarship at a private school in Paris, there was no need to think twice. Next to studying, I started as an intern at the French designer Gilles Rosier, to improve my practical skills. I made a lot of accessories that also appeared  in his fashions shows; it was great job.’

What was meant to be a short-term stay, turned out to be long-term: Andrea settled down in Paris for the next fifteen years. She met her husband, Korean photographer Seoung-Jin, who moved into her apartment not long after. But that was easier said than done. “My apartment was brimming with vintage collectibles and clothes; there was simply no room for another person to live. To create some space, we decided to minimize my collection by selling a great part at a local fleamarket. It was a great success – we sold out completely.”

More markets followed and Andrea’s husband became enthusiastic about the vintage business as well. The decision to open a ‘real’ shop was made, although the newly opened store retained a flea market-esque, underground character (located in the basement of a hotel, no sign outside, word-of-mouth custom).  Meanwhile, Andrea’s parents started collecting all kinds of curiosities and turning their garage into a huge depository for vintage wares and a place to keep stock for the shop. One woman’s passion gradually changed into a wealthy family business.

The Paris-based shop didn’t have a very long life span; alluring stories about Berlin made the couple and their two kids move back to Andrea’s native country about four years ago. “We got enthused by friends telling all these favourable things about Berlin, and visited the city for about three times during holidays. I started to nose around on the internet, looking for a proper location for the shop and was very lucky to find the venue on Schwedter Strasse.”

Photo: Carlijn Potma

Every new location deserves a new name, so Andrea changed  the former name – Parking – into Memory, after her favourite game. It took a year to reconstruct the place and make it fit for the café and store, which opened its doors for the general public in 2009.

Today you’ll find vintage originals from the 50s to the 80s, running from East-German kitchenware, vintage designer dresses and retro hats to furniture, linen and rare accessories.

“I don’t use any special selection criteria to decide whether to sell an object in the shop or not,” says Andrea. “I just sell everything I personally like. East-German wares, like the typical plastic toys, are among my favourites. But the most remarkable thing I ever had on stock in the store was an old winners pedestal, a small stage for the first, second and third price.”

The prices are reasonable because the former designer attaches importance to keeping things fair. “It’s not a really commercially-minded business, I do all of this out of passion. I think vintage shopping should also be fun – overpriced products don’t contribute to that experience.”

The café next door is Seoung-Jin’s responsibility and nothing new to him: he used to own a similar venue during the years he lived in Seoul. Here you can enjoy a wide range of coffee specialties, several kinds of tea (including Japanese rice tea), home made quiches, soup or ‘maxi toast’ and some sweet delights like New York Cheesecake. The best thing though? The milkshakes!

Photo: Carlijn Potma

There’s also a small corner with toys for the kids to play and a bookcase/counter in the center, loaded with reading material on art and design.

The colourful interior is filled with a series of little square tables, placed in the corners and in front of  the sitting bench that lines along one of the walls. Just enough to seat about twenty people, though there’s also the possibility to sit outside during sunny days.

The customers of the café – as well as the shop – are mostly tourists, passing both Memory venues on their way to their hostels, apartments Mauerpark or Prenzlauer Berg’s shopping mile Kastanienallee. Like me they seem unable to walk past without popping into this unique combination of the old, the magical and the tasty.

Schwedter Strasse 2
10119 Berlin – Prenzlauer Berg
Tel: 0160 650 14348
Shop:  Mon-Fri 14:00 – 19:00
Café:  Mon-Sat  08:30  – 17:00
Map

Berliners love their bounteous breakfasts as much as their afternoon Kaffee und Kuchen – and any establishment that can offer both is justly venerated. So it is with Anna Blume, a Prenzlauer Berg institution that manages to combine a florist, bakery and cafe with impressive fluidity.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

Interior designer Thomas Seiffert has made good use of the fact the venue was named after a 1919 Kurt Schwitters poem: lines from the surrealist masterpiece spiral elegantly outwards from a reproduction of an Alphonse Mucha mural – a summer-clad Art-Nouveau woman (Lady Dada?) sniffing coquettishly at a flower – and unfurl along the walls behind the counter.

The conceptual borders between flower shop and café blur even further the more time you spend here. Delicate odors waft through the cafe when the internal door is opened; petals and other flower parts turn up in the beverages and food (think rose-infused crepes, teas, home-made ice cream); gorgeous bouquets and arrangements punctuate the tasteful interior.

A pervasive Art Deco theme continues through the curving red leather banquets, the solid, marble-topped tables and the dark, cosy salon at the rear, all red drapes and candlelight even during the day. Oddly the place only opened in 2005 – it feels like its been here forever.

You can also sit outside on the generous patio (blankets and heat lamps during winter) and watch the Prenzlauer Bergers go about their business. If that gets boring, grab a free book from the tree library – a community bookstore cunningly inserted into a nearby tree trunk.

Anna Blume’s menu stretches to hearty lunches and vigorous dinner courses made from seasonal ingredients – but it’s as a breakfast and cake place that it reigns supreme. For Frühstück there’s the usual run of muesli, eggs, crepes…but the real highlight are the set breakfasts.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

Named after flowers and priced at around 8 euros, they’re beautifully presented and generously proportioned. Fish fans will love the Anemone (salmon, scrambled eggs, shrimps); the Med-style Oleander features salami, provolone, oyster mushrooms and marinated zucchini; the Alpenrose has Tyrolean ham and Schweinelende (pork loin).

If there are two or more in your group, plump for a platter (17.50 euros for two / 24.50 euros for four): a vibrant medley of hams, eggs, fruits and fish superbly arranged on a tiered silver tray. Such offerings are inevitably coveted, especially at weekends. Arriving between 9-10am is a good idea. Any later and you may be left languishing by the door until a table comes free.

With this in mind, try to find a seat facing away from the door unless you want half a dozen famished eyeballs boring enviously into your Latte Macchiato.

If you’re a late riser – don’t worry. Pop by later in the afternoon and succumb to the café’s cake selection – a glittering catwalk of comely crumbles, slick cheesecakes and baroque gateaux that pout and wink from behind a long glass vitrine. Once you’re done with your treat, stroll past the neighbouring florist and look in the window of the Anna Blume bakery next door. If you’re lucky you’ll witness the white-coated staff working their magic with flour, cream and light industrial machinery.

Anna Blume
Kollwitzstraße 83
Mitte/Prenzlauer Berg
Open: 8am–2am daily
Tel: 030 440 487 49

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

Contrary to its name, Mein Haus am See is neither a house, nor on the sea. It’s a former bookshop and warehouse space located just off busy Rosenthaler Strasse in Mitte – about as far from the seaside as you can get – that’s been renovated into a funky new bar and café.

But this is Berlin, where fantasy reigns and one person’s innercity hangout can easily be another’s beach-side dream. In fact the name comes from the Haus am See Hotel on Arendsee, which today is a wellness hotel but in the 80s was a socialist hotel.

“It was a place where a boy could find girls that spent their holidays there,” reminisces MHaS owner Diana Tumm, “and a place where you could have a lot of fun too, with table tennis, miniature golf and a disco playing Italo Pop…although everything was GDR we felt free…”

Even by Berlin standards, Mitte’s Mein Haus Am See is spacious. It’s comprised of three distinct but congruous areas: a voluminous main room extends from the street back to a set of purpose-built steps decorated with mirrors, cushions, tables and chairs – a second seating area that ascends to a very cosy – and very unique – upper terrace.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

To the left as you enter is a third space, created especially for smokers, separated from the main room by a glass wall and door so its occupants don’t feel ostracised. The same thoughtful use of space is applied in the main room.

The coffee machine stands open and free on its own painted cabinet, unprotected by a counter and potentially accessible to all. The bar area is equally unrestricted, fronted by a long, free-standing bar and low wooden-backed stools that help create a feeling of homely openness – no mean feat in a space this size.

The décor throughout is a fairly Berlin-esque mix of pseudo-industrial and flea market chic. A vast but elegant circular light fitting dominates the front ceiling, and the unfinished walls have been used as canvasses by art students keen to flex their etching skills. Such is the integrated subtlety of their work that you can find yourself staring at a patch of wall for a good three minutes before realising a fragile faun or old man’s face is staring back at you.

Admirably, Mein Haus am See is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. During the daytime, a mix of locals, Mitte hipsters and freelancers wander in to lounge, chat or work amongst the old school armchairs and sofas and chip away at the simple menu (scrambled eggs and soups, croissants and breakfasts, plus teas served with jam and  flavoured coffees).

Photo: Paul Sullivan

In the evening the place gets increasingly buzzier as the light dims, the coffee machine quietens and the cocktails come out. There are DJs on Thursday nights and occasional special events like erotic evenings and a forthcoming Spanish wine and tapas event hosted by friends from Madrid.

There are no seats on the street, but a fourth space – an outside patio – will be open soon, so you can also enjoy your newspaper and coffee out in the sun.

Mein Haus Am See
Brunnenstr. 197/198
Mitte, Berlin
Tel: 030 23883561
Open: 24h

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.

To Rococo Rot

“This was where the main bohemian scene used to be,” states Ronald Lippok, gesturing out of a large café window in the general direction of Kastanienallee. “When we were younger, playing in punk-rock bands, all the rehearsal spaces were around Schoenhauser Allee and here in Zionskirchplatz. This was the centre of the art scene in the 80s. Places like the Wiener café and the Metzer Eck (on Metzerstrasse) were where you’d find punks and poets hanging out together…”

Myself, Ronald and his brother Robert are perched on stools in Kapelle, a lovely, well-lit café on Mitte’s Zionskirchplatz. It’s around two in the afternoon on a weekday, and the vibe is mellow, a few people reading newspapers or chatting across the venue’s wooden tables. We sit and talk and stare out of the big windows. I remember hearing that Kapelle used to be a meeting point for the local resistance during the war. Robert sips a coffee (black, no sugar), his brother pulls slowly on a beer. As well as similar facial features, they both sport the same lank hair and relaxed, unpretentious air of archetypal echte (real) Berliners.

I’ve met them before, the Lippoks, along with fellow band member Stefan Schneider (based in Dusseldorf) for an interview in their Kreuzberg studio, back in 1999. The trio had formed To Rococo Rot (a cunningly palindromic name, in case you hadn’t noticed) in 1995 and already achieved acclaim for their 1997 album Veiculo. They were about to release a new record, The Amateur View, which would transpire to be a landmark release for them, underlining the uniqueness of their lolloping, melodic Krautrock-meets-Post-Rock-meets-Brian-Eno sound.

Ten years later and they’re on the eve of putting out another album, Speculation. Partly recorded at Faust’s studio in southern Germany, the album is rawer than its predecessors yet equally hypnotic. It’s the first major recording since 2006’s acclaimed Hotel Morgen, though the delay doesn’t phase them in the slightest. “We’ve been busy with other projects,” shrugs Robert, whose recent collaborations have included Ludovico Einaudi and Barbara Morgenstern; Ronald, meanwhile, is part of Tarwater. “Things have their own pace. We didn’t want to put out something for the sake of it. We prefer to wait until there’s a reason to do so, until we have something to say…”

Zionskirche, Zionskirchplatz (Photo: Paul Sullivan)

A typically unhurried Berlin attitude, fully in keeping with the peaceful Platz outside. Dominated by an eponymous and striking 130 year old church, this square is where the brothers were raised. In fact Ronald still lives in the family house they grew up in, just a few doors along from Kapelle. “Our grandparents told us lots of fun stories about how this area was back in the day,” he recalls. “There was a memorable story about a one-legged prostitute that lived in our block. She didn’t work for money but for things like coffee and stockings. She had a heart of gold, it was said. She took care of our father from time to time when he was ill. Slightly weirder were these two sisters that used to walk around  with an axe. I don’t think they ever hurt anybody but they sounded pretty spooky…”

“Back then, just after the war, this here used to be a holding area for prisoners of war,” chimes in Ronald, pointing out of the window again towards the back of the Zionskirche. “There was a big fence around the church and the locals living here would go and swap cigarettes or food through it for bits of woodwork or whatever the prisoners had to offer. Then the Russians took over. Our grandfather had to step in and pull some strings to stop the house being raided at that point. Luckily he spoke some Russian and managed to get some protection.”

Before the wall came down, and before they made their name as acousto-electronica artists, Robert and Ronald were in punk bands. It’s no secret that being a musician in the former East wasn’t easy. It involved playing in front of a committee who would judge your band name, sound and lyrics and decide if you could have a license for public performances.

“The Stasi would come and knock on all the surrounding flats to ask about our illegal jamming sessions,” laughs Robert. “The old ladies who lived there would then come and tell us that they’d been. Our band name was Ornament und Verbrechen (Ornament and Crime), a phrase borrowed from the architect Adolf Loos, which was fairly controversial in itself. Our rehearsals were often broken up. We would have to show our passports and sometimes people were thrown into jail. I was once banned from visiting the Alexplatz area, but in the end they couldn’t keep up with all the activity and kind of gave up…”

So were the brothers happy when the wall came down? “Yes, we were happy,” says Ronald. “It’s not that our life was bad, but after a while we started to realise how much our possibilities were narrowed by not being able to travel and not being able to meet people from abroad and have interaction with other artists. We had West German TV and could listen to John Peel on the radio, but it was still like being in a box…”

“When the wall came down everything changed for us as musicians,” rejoins Robert. “It right away became about getting a deal and becoming more international. We’d started working a bit with the noise scene in West Berlin before the wall and some of the bands would come and do shows, but it was always complicated to get permission and jump through all the hoops. Within three days of the wall coming down we’d moved into a rehearsal room in Kreuzberg. We didn’t really look back”

Speculation by To Rococo Rot (2010)

The subsequent years have been well documented as some of Berlin’s best, or at least most decadent. Abandoned buildings were squatted and taken over for parties and DJs, musicians and artists flooded in from all over the globe to be a part of the history and partake in the optimistic, liberal atmosphere. Events like the Love Parade gained massive momentum. It was the beginning of the modern, international Berlin most of us know and love today.

“I don’t like to be sentimental but the early 90s were so good,” enthuses Robert. “The police from the East just had no idea what to do about all these underground clubs and random caipirinha bars that were springing up everywhere, so they just didn’t do anything. It was total anarchy for almost two years. It was great to experience it, to have that feeling that people could organise themselves easily and really well without any help, and that not everything would fall apart. You can still see a bit of that spirit in Berlin today, with clubs like Picknick and Kim opening right in the center of town. Sometimes you sit back and think, ‘wow, how many other cities would allow that?’”

But Berlin has changed of course. “It’s a bit like the H.G. Wells movie “The Time Machine,” says Ronald, “where he’s looking in the shop window and watching the womens’ fashions changing rapidly from the 1920s onwards. From my perspective, as a resident, it’s been pretty quick. One minute Torstrasse had nothing, the next it was lined with shops and galleries. And not all of the change is positive. In this area we had a lot of older people, now it’s more youthful and in a way more monocultural. A lot of people had to move out…”

Yet the brothers confess to being deeply connected to their Kiez. Ronald never moved at all and Robert lives just a short stroll away.  “We’re pretty lazy,” admits Robert, and Ronald smirks in agreement. “Even though we were born here we still need a map and compass if we go further than Mitte…”

To Rococo Rot’s fifth album Speculation is out now on Domino. You can download a free track here, or check out the band’s MySpace.

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.

Joost Schmidt, Poster for Bauhaus Exhibition, Weimar 1923 (Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin/ Foto: Markus Hawlik© VG Bild-Kunst Bonn)

Though short lived, Germany’s Bauhaus design school went on to become one of the 20^th century’s most influential and pervasive movements. Almost every major European and American city features some example of the Bauhaus style, whether one of the school’s linear, flat-topped buildings or one of the many lamps, tables and chairs produced through the years.

As Annemarie Jaeggi, Director of Berlin’s Bauhaus Archiv has pointed out, “Bauhaus is better known abroad than Goethe or Schiller”.

The Bauhaus (“building house” in German) began life in Weimar in the aftermath of the First World War. Rooted in modernism and bolstered by the liberal milieu of the Weimar Republic, founder Walter Gropius was specifically inspired by British designer William Morris and prior German movements like the Deutscher Werkbund and the “Neues Bauen”.

Exploring the links between fine art and craftsmanship (and later art and mass production), Gropius set in motion the fusion of form and function that would become the Bauhaus trademark.

Gropius inaugurated the school in 1919. The first Bauhaus teachers were Swiss painter Johannes Itten (who taught the school’s all important Vorkurs or preliminary course until 1922), German-American painter Lyonel Feininger and German sculptor Gerhard Marcks. Not long afterwards the German painter, sculptor and designer Oskar Schlemmer (who headed the theater workshop) and the painters Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky joined.

Though the school began in Weimar it really took off in the industrial town of Dessau, where it moved in 1925 following financial cuts by the Thuringian government. Housed in an a building  designed by Gropius, the school hit its creative stride here underpinned by the new motto: “art and technology – a new unity”. The final stage of the Bauhaus school occured in Berlin, where the school operated in an abandoned telephone factory for a year before being closed down by the Nazis.

T. Lux Feininger, Sport am Bauhaus, 1927 (Bildnachweis: Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin© T. Lux Feininger)

Today the main repository of all things Bauhaus is also in Berlin, namely the Bauhaus Archiv in the city’s Tiergarten district. Housed in an idiosyncratic building constructed by Gropius himself (1976-1979), the Archiv/Museum’s distinctive roof, reminiscent of a flotilla, tends to polarise (Bauhaus member Max Bill derided it “a screwed-up old man’s design”) but makes it easy to find at least.

Its surprisingly demure interior is the best place to get an overview of the breadth and depth of Bauhaus’ expansive activities, which ranged from architecture and furniture to ceramics, metalwork, photography and more. Set on one floor of the main building, the exhibition space is not huge – only a third of the entire collection can be shown at any one time; but it manages to pack in insightful work from Vorkurs students and Bauhaus heavyweights alike.

There are some gorgeous examples of tubular steel furniture from Hungarian Marcel Breuer, including a cherrywood and horsehair original, and leather and wicker armchairs from Mies van der Rohe, who also created the marvellous rosewood writing desk also on display.

The endearing black and white documentary of Gropius’ home, for which he designed every aspect for “maximum efficiency and simplicity” underlines the Bauhaus commitment to everyday functionality. While paintings from Itten, Schlemmer, Feininger, Albers and Klee testify to the influence of Goethe’s Colour Theory, and the wallpaper samples – wallpaper allegedly being most profitable Bauhaus product of all – illustrate the stylistic reach of the movement.

There’s also a host of remarkable pieces rendered in clay, wood and metal, ranging from classic lamps to a beautiful chess set (see photo) by Josef Hartwig in oak, maple, pear and oak, each piece designed to reflect the moves it can make in the game. Also of note is the reconstruction of Gropius’ curvaceous coffee bar, designed originally for the 1930 Werkbund Paris exhibition.

Josef Hartwig Chess Set, 1924 (Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin/Fotostudio Bartsch)

In the back room are models of some of the larger Bauhaus projects. Strangely, although the school’s original vision was centered on buildings, they didn’t begin an architecture school until 1927.

However, these diminutive versions of the Fagus factory, Mies van der Rohe’s planned high-rise at Friedrich Str. and the Bauhaus building at Dessau adequately display the school’s legendary architectural vision, all flat roofs, clean lines and a determined lack of ostentation.

If all this doesn’t sate your curiosity, pop next door to the main archive where you’ll find the largest Bauhaus resource in the world, featuring books, magazines, newspaper clippings and more.

There’s also the shop, which stocks a surprisingly large range of lovely Bauhaus reproductions and also sells a map of the key Bauhaus buildings in Berlin (one of the more prominent being Mies van der Rohe’s Neue National Galerie on Potsdamerstrasse). And if you’re feeling intrepid, it’s worth checking out the Bauhaus school in Dessau, 130km south-west of Berlin.

Bauhaus Archiv
Klingelhöferstraße 14
10785 Berlin (Tiergarten)
Tel: 030 25 40 02 0
Info: 030 25 40 02 78
Admission: Sat, Sun, Mon: €7/€4 / Wed, Thurs, Fri: €6/€3 (includes audio tour)

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

The last couple of years have seen Kindercafes spring up all over Berlin, catering to an increasing demand from young (and young-ish) parents for a combination of funky, ‘adult style’ cafes and indoor children’s play areas.

One of the most recent openings is Knilchbar, near Friedrichshain’s buzzing Boxhagener Platz. Run by friendly young couple Annika and Daniel, the space is comprised of three smartly refurbished rooms that have the atmosphere of an open house.

Everything feels modern and new, from the polished wooden floors and freshly painted walls, to the tiny shop that sells handmade boutique baby goods (some from designers, some from the owners’ parents) and the specially commissioned children’s artwork on the walls (also for sale). There’s even free wifi if you have your laptop or phone and need to get online.

The two rooms at the front are styled like normal (kid-friendly) cafe areas with tables, chairs and sitting booths for the parents to hang out in. Kids can run around anywhere but the back room is their main area, featuring an assortment of toys, bean bags and low tables where they can sit and play or draw, and a specially installed wooden climbing maze to clamber around on. If they make it to the top there’s a little room with a grille through which they can wave down at mama and papa below. It’s extremely popular, as you can imagine.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

The menu offers delicious cakes and homemade soups, three breakfast menus (one vegetarian) and there’s a family Sunday brunch from 10am-2pm. Knilchbar also offers kid’s courses that range from yoga to music and dancing, and are toying with the idea of a babysitting service, which would be a massive boon for visiting families wanting to explore Friedrichshain’s sights and shops “unhindered” for a few hours.

That said, it’s fun to take the kids for a stroll in the surrounding area. If you’re here at the weekend there’s a farmers market on Boxhagener Platz (Saturdays, 9-16) and a flea market on Sundays (9-17). Nearby Simon-Dach-Strasse offers plenty of cafes, boutiques and bars. A little further and you’ll reach the impressive Karl-Marx Allee and its wealth of imposing Soviet architecture.

Inevitably Knilchbar is sometimes a bit crowded, especially at weekends. But fear not. A stroll along Krossener Str. to number 35 will bring you to another Kindercafe called Amitola (Mo-Sat 10-18). It’s less “designer” but has a cafe, a small second hand clothes shop and a massive open space for kids to play in while you enjoy your coffee.

Knilchbar
Krossener Straße 8
10245 Berlin
Tel: 030 29 36 79 89
Open: 10-18 Daily
Charge: E1 (1-2); E2 (2+)

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.

There’s something immediately agreeable about Sgaminegg, an unassuming sanctuary of Slow located a few minutes stroll from Schoenhauser Allee’s bustling U-Bahn station.

Maybe it’s the way the light floats gently through the two large windows, bouncing off the large floor and splashing across the simple green tables. Perhaps it’s the liminal hum of alternative music, always set at just the right volume. Or it could be the heady aroma of freshly ground coffee and fantastic, home-made cooking.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

Probably it’s all these things and more. Sgaminegg is one of those places whose simple charms can’t be easily explained nor reciprocated. It’s not particularly fancy, not trying to be too hip.

It’s pleasantly down to earth yet special, an aspect no doubt helped by its location on Seelower Strasse, which keeps it slightly apart from the high-street hordes that rage up and down Schoenhauser. The relative quietude of the surroundings lend it a real neighbourhood atmosphere.

You’ll meet the owners Christine (Munich) and Hardy (Stuttgart), since they’re there daily, serving up their soups and casseroles, patiently talking their customers through the copious choices of Kusmi tea or explaining their considered collection of bio wines in the small shop out back. So much care has gone into the choices of these products that they know them intimately, and can happily tell you about that menu item or this wine producer…

Now it’s true that the lunch menu is limited, mostly a selection of fresh deli produce bolstered by specials scribbled on a small blackboard. But, as mentioned, the place is big on attention to detail, which means that those “specials” really are special. Whether its couscous, lentil soup, spinach casserole or the simple but delicious South German speciality Leberkäs with potato salad – they’ve all been made with love, by hand, in the Sgaminegg kitchen.

Which is why, if you walk in too late in the day (after, say, 3pm) and expect food, you may well encounter several content-looking customers leaning back with empty bowls and plates in front of them, a blackboard full of scratched out menu items and a shrugging, apologetic looking Hardy. You have been warned.

Though lunch is a very good reason to visit Sgaminegg, it’s not the only one. The breakfasts are also very decent, the coffee (Andraschko, made in Berlin) excellent and the Van Nahmen fruit juices are cosmically good – especially the Rhubarb.

Photo: Paul Sullivan

Then there’s the afore-mentioned shop. Small, yes, but well proportioned and certainly well stacked. This square space offers an array of bespoke goods including wines (look out for one called Sgaminegg: it’s the wine that gave the café its name) plus olive oils, crisps, chocolate from Zaabär and Intveld and other mouth-watering items.

On Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays you can also find fresh bread from Soluna and Hofpfisterei (white, vollkorn, sourdough and more). Which basically means that any time of day – or any day of the week (note that they’re closed on Sundays) – is good to saunter through Sgaminegg’s doors, settle into a window nook or table and enjoy your newspaper or book.

Perhaps also reflect on Sgaminegg’s former “incarnation” as a Christian bookstore: does this explain why the ambiance is so restful and the food so divine?

Every Saturday you’ll find a small bio market outside Sgaminegg on Seelower Str., selling fresh vegetables, fruit, meat and fish.

Sgaminegg
Seelower Str. 2
10439 Berlin
Tel. (030) 44731525
Open: Mon-Fri 8:30 – 19:00; Sat 10:00 – 18:00

Despite being tucked away down a courtyard in Mitte, it’s not particularly difficult to find Chén Chè: the pair of tall bamboo plants that stand incongruously on Rosenthaler Strasse and the large blackboard featuring exotic Vietnamese dishes kind of give it away.

Photo: Binh Truong

Duck into the courtyard and Berlin’s newest Vietnamese tea room lies directly ahead. The capacious main room, all dark wooden floors, elegant cascades of natural light (during the day) and lovely high ceilings adorned with an assortment of Vietnamese hanging lanterns, exudes an immediate exotic charm.

Dominated the room is an Asian ‘chandelier’ made from the torn pages of a Chinese herbal medicine book. Like the sturdy wooden tables (decorated with squat clusters of flowers and berries and bowls of honey and dates) and distinctive high-backed Asian chairs. the lantern was  designed by the owners, who had everything manufactured in Vietnam then shipped back to Berlin.

Having only opened a couple of months ago, the venue’s newness and refined flamboyance – soundtracked by a euphonious selection of Chanson, jazz and traditional Asian music – can come across as slightly ‘Asia Chic’. But Chén Chè is authentic, run by an extended  Vietnamese family who – as dedicated patrons of their sister restaurants Si An in Prenzlauer Berg and Chi Sing will no doubt tell you – have a passion for, and great knowledge of, the world renowned cuisine of their homeland.

Photo: Binh Truong

The menu, like the venue, is exquisitely balanced. There are around eight starters, a handful of mains and just three delicious-looking desserts. But each dish is meticulously made and the menu’s geography runs from Hanoi and North Vietnam, down through Huế and Hoi An, all the way to Ho Chi Minh and the Mekong ‘rice bowl’ in the south.

The Vorspeisen (starters) include Bò Biá and Chả Giò (uncooked and cooked spring rolls, brimming with tofu, water chestnuts, green papaya, glass noodles and more), Hoành Thành (Wontons, Hoi An style) or – our personal favourite – Xôi Gà, a tasty sticky-rice dish containing coconut milk, Lap Xuong Salami and warm strips of chicken breast.

The mains are equally tasty and healthy, and are supplemented by daily specials – soups, noodle dishes, salads – chalked up on a board near the bar. Through the week the place is best suited for lunches or dinner but at weekends there’s a special breakfast menu featuring everything from waffles and fresh tropical fruits to a “Saigon-style” omelet.

Of course you can also just pop in for a tea. The drinks list is every bit as exciting and imaginative as the food menu, ranging from a gorgeous ’poetry-in-a-cup’ concoction called Blue Butterfly Leaf Tea, which is made with rice milk and blue plant petals specially flown in from Vietnam, to fruit teas and shakes that features such uncommon ingredients as wild maracuja, bitter melon red soybeans and lychee.

Photo: Binh Truong

The coffees are good too. Espressos and cappuccinos are served up with soya milk and you can try a traditional Vietnamese coffee – a viscous black brew that drips slowly through a filter into a sweet, white bed of condensed milk.

Upstairs is another room, soon to be used as an art gallery featuring works by contemporary Vietnamese artists as well as tea ceremonies. You can also buy the lovely porcelain cups and bowls along with a host of imported teas and dainty Vietnamese snacks from a shop near the bar. In summer the adjacent outdoor patio will be opened.

The attention to detail in Chén Chè is generally fantastic. The food (and drink) is excellent quality and the atmosphere warm and friendly. Whether breakfasting with friends at the weekend, lunching with a partner midweek or just sipping some tea and reading a newspaper on a lazy afternoon, you’ll feel exotic and welcome here all at the same time.

Chén Chè
Rosenthaler Str.13
10119 Berlin
Tel:  (0) 30- 28 88 42 82
Open: 12 – 24 daily

About The Author

Paul Sullivan is a Berlin-based writer & travel photographer and the founder of Slow Travel Berlin. You can check out his personal website here and some of his photography galleries here.