In which Hamburg hosts the G20.

A couple weeks ago, Hamburg made international news as it hosted the G20 summit. World leaders gathered to do some official schmoozing, put some incredible interpreters to the test, and talk about some important issues concerning (making assumptions here) the planet and how money moves around the planet. As an everyday mensch living in Hamburg without any sort of security clearance, I hardly paid attention to the diplomatic happenings of the week -- not because there wasn't plenty of media coverage about who said what and who shook whose hand for how long (or who got the swerve), but because there were so many other nutso things going on at the same time that required the majority of my attention span, not to mention emotional involvement. Thousands upon thousands of police were shipped into the city from all over to keep the peace as tens of thousands of protesters took to the streets in almost 30 officially registered protests over a span of a few days. Whole sections of the city around the summit areas were blocked off to everyone except those who could prove they lived there, roads were closed, and public transportation ceased to do any public transporting to certain areas. The constant drone of police and media helicopters circling low over the city for days on end, omnipresent police in full-on riot gear, and steady stream of sirens and flashing blue lights of police vans, armored vehicles, and tank-like water cannons made the city feel like it was under siege, and especially after the violence started, added to an underlying feeling of anxiety shared by everyone in the city. It was surreal.

Hamburg had been planning on huge protests ever since it was selected to host the event, and many of the protests themselves had been planned for at least that long as well. There were many, ranging from creative and beautiful to the anti-capitalism/globalism/everythingism protests that ended up getting violent and stealing all the attention. The names of the protests were a pretty good indicator of what was to be expected, for example the "Lieber tanz ich als G20" protest (very loose translation: "Screw the G20, let's dance!") was a rave where about 20,000 people peacefully bobbed up and down downtown to techno, wheras the "Welcome to Hell" protest was officially cancelled after a few short minutes when it was clear that shit was gonna go down, and ended with a police blockade and water cannons and injuries on both sides. Then there was the one where people met at the Kennedy bridge in the heart of the city to do a yoga protest in the early morning sun, or the colorful and self-explanatory "GAY20" (clever name in that "G" is pronounced somewhat like "gay" in German, ha, ha), or all the alternative summits and panels and lectures hosted by universities and cultural centers and theaters that brought in people from all over the world to talk about how real people can tackle big issues and reach out and to one another and recognize humanity across borders and love love peace peace and also hard things, and things that we need to work on as a society and as a planet. 

The most visually striking protest I saw (not personally, as I only heard about it afterwards) was this one where about a thousand people came from all over Europe to create a 2-hour performance piece protesting how the values of our society have shifted away from human connections in pursuit of individual gain. Painstakingly caked in clay, they slowly and silently zombied through the streets, eventually helping one another break through the lonely monotony, peeling away the gray to reveal bright colors below, connecting with one another, laughing, embracing, whooping, dancing, and leaving heaps of dusty clothes scattered over the cobblestones. As the English version of their website says, "We cannot wait until change happens from the world's most powerful, we have to show political and social responsibility – all of us – now!" and "We want to put back in memory how compassion and public spirit conveys identity for a society. Our campaign is a further symbol for the fact that many people do not want to put up with the destructive impact of capitalism any longer. What will save us in the end is not our account balance but someone who will offer their holding hand."

That's adorable, but also beautiful, and unfortunately all the rest of the world saw about the G20 protests in Hamburg were images like this, of Altona and the Schanze aflame, of stores bashed in and looted, and masked individuals facing off against helmeted police, tensions high on both sides. While the world's top leaders were enjoying Beethoven's 9th in the sparkly Elbphilharmonie, protests were heating up nearby, and one of the main TV channels livestreamed both events. The splitscreen broadcast of the two very different but simultaneous events with the protest images on one side and dramatic music and tuxes on the other is somehow so fitting, so head-shaking, so hard to believe that this was a real thing that really happened in real life. 

For all the thousands of people who flocked to Hamburg to peacefully march for issues important to them, there were a few hundred who came with the sole intent of breaking shit and generally wreaking havoc because, well, they're messed up and don't have a better outlet to deal with some serious personal problems. They claimed to be fighting capitalism and consumerism and ALL THE ISMS! and the government and corporations that oppress the "little guy", which I'm sure really are important issues to them, and which is obviously why they then proceeded to bash in not only the windows of whatever banks and stores that hadn't invested in G20 protection, but also whatever other windows they could find, and why they felt so compelled to run around smashing everything and setting cars on fire and slitting the tires of city bikes and destroying the property and services of normal, everyday people who are just living their lives the best they can and trying to get by. The fact that their violent actions had no impact whatsoever on the big guys tucked in safely at the Messehallen (save for a few tweets), and instead were hurting innocent people who might even agree with them to some extent on a lot of issues, didn't seem to bother them.

Seeing these images of these neighborhoods that I know and love was heartbreaking and frustrating and, even as I type this now, a couple weeks after the fact when everything has calmed down, I feel angry. Hamburg is my home and I get defensive when people pick on it or when a few rowdy rabble rousers give it a bad name. And, as an extremely privileged individual who was not at all negatively affected by these events other than my feelings getting hurt, let me just say that I cannot imagine what it is like for the millions of people in other parts of the world whose cities are burning, whose homes no longer exist, who have lost everything. I know that, and that's not what this is about.

At the same time, life continued as usual. On the Thursday before the official kick-off, I went to work, had an appointment at the bank, and then spent the evening with some neighborhood friends in the park, picnicking and noodling around on the guitar while getting updates via smartphone on the "Welcome to Hell" protest that was quickly getting out of hand at the harbor, a few short kilometers away.

Also on Thursday, the American president landed in Hamburg, as witnessed by everyone who saw his helicopters, and it felt so strange to sit in my apartment that night and know that he was less than two miles away from me, staying at the guest house of the senate after not being able to procure a hotel room in the city (some say because they waited too long to book one for him, some say because no hotels wanted to host him due to the security risk). I had Friday off from work as my department was being moved, though many companies (including mine) told their employees to work from home if they could, or just told them not to come in, as so much of the city was shut down for the summit. The weather was lovely and I didn't want to stay cooped up inside all day, so I went downtown for a while to walk around and see what was going on. It was a ghost town, if all the ghosts were police. Many stores looked like they were bracing for a hurricane, some of which were still open for part of the day, though most of them were closed. I watched as seemingly endless parades of police vehicles drove this way and that, strategically parking to block roads, positioning water cannons to drive wherever needed at a moment's notice, and helicopters flying around and around the whole time. Again, it was surreal. After a couple hours of exploring, the police all started zooming in the same direction I was walking, which I took as my cue to take a train home before the trains stopped running. I was pretty creeped out.

Some more yoga protesting: 

On Saturday I heard last-minute that the mayor of NYC was speaking at a theater downtown, as a kind of G20 protest/offering an alternative American voice to the one sitting at the big kids' table, so I went to that and then joined thousands of other peaceful protesters for the Hamburg zeigt Haltung (loosely translated: "Hamburg is actually mature and composed and perfectly capable of holding a march without setting shit on fire. Also we like peace.") protest. The police were visibly at the ready the whole time, but didn't interfere.

Let the people chant "Ein hoch auf die internationale Solidarität"!

These big guys in pink pussy hats were eating ice cream:

There is enough love for everyone:

This kid had colored a pretty sign for borderless solidarity:

"G20 in Hamburg? Terrible idea! Ever heard of Skype?"

Justice = happiness:

Part of the protest route led along the harbor where previous protests had gotten out of hand. Now people rolled their biycles and wheelchairs and baby strollers over places where barricades had been set on fire a short time before, plastic still fused with cement, with twisted fences and burned out garbage cans standing nearby. 

Hundreds of people volunteered to carry the "Hamburger Weltschal", or Hamburg's "world scarf" -- a handmade banner consisting of the flags from all the world's nations sewn together.

Peaceful protest is what brings us together, makes us one:

It was a wonderful, heart-warming event, and soon afterwards, more violence broke out in other parts of the city. The G20 had officially ended and I and many other people breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the entourage of helicopters carrying the American president fly over and out of the city, and still the violence continued into the night. 

The next morning, however, thousands of people gathered in the hardest hit areas with brooms and trash bags and cookies and cleaned the streets and sidewalks and walls until they were cleaner than ever before (seriously), and in many interviews talked about how Hamburg should not be defined by the violence, how the city and the people who live there are peaceful and open to the world. Museums opened their doors, offering free admission all day. Coffee shops and florists offered free coffee and bouquets to police for their service. I would imagine that random acts of kindness skyrocketed. The whole city came together to say hey, this is who we are, and offered a holding hand.

In which we visit London and avoid a smoting (England part I).

It had been a long time (oh about 17 years) since my last visit to England, so when an opportunity recently presented itself to explore the south coast for long weekend, I jumped on it. A Hamburg friend was there for a conference during the week and invited me to join him afterwards for a couple days of exploring in mid-May. Any offer for someone else to drive me around the British countryside sounds like a good offer to me, so I bought my tickets and set my alarm clock for very early on a Thursday morning.

The plan was to play in London for a day and a half or so before heading south for the weekend, and the train from Gatwick pulled into Victoria Station hiccup-free in the warm morning sunshine. After poking around for a bit, I met up with a British friend at his workplace for a delightful morning stroll and tea in St. James's Park, dodging the tourists darting between Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and Downing Street. Not feeling any inclination towards touristy destinations, I was more than happy to sit on a bench watching the water fowl waddle past and get caught up on the last months of news since my friend had left Hamburg. While applying sunscreen, because -- amazingly -- that was necessary. When my friend had to get back to work, I settled myself on an inconspicuous bench in Parliament Square Garden for a round of people watching while tour groups of all nationalities took selfies in front of Big Ben. It was only as I got up to leave that I noticed I'd been sitting in front of a statue of Abraham Lincoln the whole time -- perhaps one of the last people I would expect to bump into in that busy square. Guess he needed a break from US politics, too.

That's about the point the sun went away in favour of some more stately, slatey clouds, and I proceeded with my city wandering. It was a wonderful afternoon of sitting in churches, strolling along the Thames, and drinking tea at an outdoor café in Covent Garden while a string quartet and glorious, pink-shirted tenor traded time slots in a nearby corner of the market. The quartet played a mix of short, poppy tunes, with the musicians leaping or unleashing magnificent singing voices as required. The tenor slathered on the charm and juiced the audience for all he could, whether it be serenading people at tables or hanging off the staircase, crooning to people on the landing above who were, in turn, hanging off his every note (and oh boy, could he sing). 

It had just started raining by the time I left the café, so I whipped out my so-glad-I-grabbed-this-on-my-way-out-of-the-apartment-this-morning umbrella and optimisticked that the rain would soon pass. It did not, but I enjoyed wandering anyway, walking the shiny little streets of Chinatown and Soho and wherever else I ended up with feet that were perhaps not as dry as they prefer. As evening approached, I braved the rush hour crowds on the Tube and made my way to a lovely home in west London, where a fellow Smithie had kindly offered to host me for the night (thank you!). 

After a night of good food, good company, and good sleep, I traveled back into the city and hopped on a train to Winchester, City of Kings and Priests, where I wanted to poke around and go on a quick hike before meeting up with my Hamburg friend later that afternoon. (After which my mother provided me with this überwhistleable Ohrwurm -- but be warned -- it'll wiggle its way into your ear canal for the long haul). Once there, I walked downtown in the bright sunshine and pouring rain (yes), and asked the Helpful Lady in the tourist information office for tips on where to stroll for a couple hours, after having read about a particularly glorious walk in a trail guide I'd found at the library. She told me exactly what I needed to know and I went on my way, through violently green meadows and gardens and along a river out of town. 

Once I got about a mile out into the countryside, the clouds tightened and thunder got a-grumbling in the belly of the sky. At this point I had to ask myself this question and decided to chance it and go on, hoping the storm would blow over or at least wait until I got back to town before hitting. I felt pretty safe for the next half hour or so until I got out to the farthest point in the countryside, far away from any sort of shelter, and the sky shouted "HAHA, FOOOOOOOOOOL!" and started unleashing buckets of rain and hale and lightning and all the fun things that always had our family cocker spaniel cowering under the bed back home. Even with a raincoat and umbrella, I was soaked through from the waist down in a matter of minutes, not to mention my entire backpack full of things. When standing under my umbrella wasn't keeping me any drier than walking, I texted my friend where to look for my body should the lightning get too friendly and continued my walk back to town in search of any sort of shelter. An archway in the corner of a church graveyard provided me just that, and I hid behind a curtain of water pouring down from the building above until the sky had drained enough to make a safe exit. Then I tiptoed my way out across the graveyard, dodging ancient headstones and buttercups as the hale crunched in the grass underfoot. 

The sun was shining again by the time I entered the tea room of the Hospital of St Cross a couple minutes later, looking for all the world like a watered poodle. There I kerplunked myself into an inconspicuous corner with a pot of strong black tea and listened to a small group of American college students bantering with one of the Brothers, all of them having a delightful time. Closing time approached and the Church Ladies behind the counter started making a show of washing up dishes and wiping off tables, semi-subtly encouraging visitors to move along now. An elderly gentleman, clearly a regular at the establishment, got up from the next table over and, on his way to the door, stopped beside me and said, "I don't mean to interrupt, but are you alright?" in the kindliest, most apologetic and British-sounding way possible. I assured him that oh yes, I was fine, just a bit rained on, to which he smiled and went on his way.  

By the time it came to leave, I'd told my friend where to meet me but hadn't gotten any confirmation, so I decided to stand on the corner along the main street where I assumed he'd be driving, and was pleasantly surprised when he pulled up just a few minutes later, having spotted my excessively red jacket. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! After automatically opening the door on the right side of the car and getting a pretty hefty smirk from my friend, I remembered what country we were in and got in the passenger seat on the left instead. From there we proceeded to our airbnb, where I hung up all my stuff to dry before going grocery shopping, cooking, going on a spooky evening stroll, and sleeping like a very sleepy baby. 

Rather an unfortunate day weatherwise, but all that would be made up for by the spectacular adventure to follow the next day.