I've known about the many abandoned buildings in and around Berlin since long before I actually came here. Exploring an old, run-down place has sort of been something I've wanted to do for ages, ever since I'd seen photos of real ghost towns. Yesterday, I got to cross this off of my bucket list. Somehow, I managed to explore not one, not two, but five abandoned buildings, all in the same huge complex. There were in actuality nine block buildings, each six storeys tall, with each and every window smashed in or completely gone. I could have spent all day exploring them. As it was, I spent about three hours there, clambering through litter-strewn hallways with doors ripped off their hinges, glass, tile and wallpaper strewn everywhere, and graffiti on every surface. From the outside, the buildings look like this:
Even with pictures it's hard to describe just how huge this area was. I learned from a website called "Abandoned Berlin" that there were six addresses on three streets covering this complex. At first I took this to mean that the buildings were in separate areas, but in reality, they occupy almost an entire block. I'd go through one building, look out a window and see at least three other buildings just like it, stretching off in all directions. The complex used to house over 1,200 refugees from the Balkan crisis of the late nineties. It's obvious that the place could hold tons of people. I can't say enough how big this area was. I'm used to seeing the odd condemned building back in Canada, but to see these huge block buildings, one after another, standing useless and dominating the whole street with their size, was quite shocking. They're smack dab in the middle of a suburban area. The route I took over the fence was actually right next to a residential house. The picture just above this paragraph was taken from a street view outside of the fence. In some places there's only a ten or twenty foot buffer between these trashed eyesores and the surrounding houses. I bet it's prime real estate.
I've never done anything like this before. Until the day I did it, I wasn't sure if I could work up the courage. I wrote down a few addresses of abandoned buildings in Berlin as fall-back plans, but I told myself that if I couldn't work up the courage at the first place, I'd either go to the next place or give up and go draw the Berlin TV Tower or something. On top of breaking the law, tresspassing and entering private property etc, there was the danger of getting caught, or getting into the building only to find unfriendly vagrants, drug junkies and the like. I could fall or break an ankle, cut myself on glass. I wouldn't be the first one to get killed in those abandoned buildings: four people at least have died in there since the buildings were abandoned. Two of them died of smoke inhalation, one froze to death, and somebody fell, probably out of the many broken windows. Though I suppose they could've also fell down the open elevator shafts too.
I've never done anything like this before. Until the day I did it, I wasn't sure if I could work up the courage. I wrote down a few addresses of abandoned buildings in Berlin as fall-back plans, but I told myself that if I couldn't work up the courage at the first place, I'd either go to the next place or give up and go draw the Berlin TV Tower or something. On top of breaking the law, tresspassing and entering private property etc, there was the danger of getting caught, or getting into the building only to find unfriendly vagrants, drug junkies and the like. I could fall or break an ankle, cut myself on glass. I wouldn't be the first one to get killed in those abandoned buildings: four people at least have died in there since the buildings were abandoned. Two of them died of smoke inhalation, one froze to death, and somebody fell, probably out of the many broken windows. Though I suppose they could've also fell down the open elevator shafts too.
I took the train on the long ride out to the place where the abandoned refugee complex is. It was at least an hour on the train, took it almost to the end of the line. It was a Saturday, so there was barely anybody on the train. Then it was just a twenty minute walk. I had heard from online stories about visiting the site that the area was covered from the front by a wall of trees, but all I saw when I got there was a broad dirt pit preceding the hulking ex-residences, with construction vehicles sitting around. The fence around the area divided the mud field from the actual buildings, and blocked both of them from street access, with signs every few feet cautioning people in German against going in. Private property, do not enter, danger, and all the rest of it. I walked around the fence, gaping at the size of it, and how close it was to the street and the homes. No security anywhere. Nobody on the opposite side of the fence at all, actually. Even the mud pit with the cleared trees was quiet. I guess it was a good thing that I came on a weekend.
A high double fence ran around the abandoned buildings most of the way, topped with barbed wire. Even without the wire it would have been hard to climb. But as I went around, I could see that the way the fence was set up varied. The height changed here and there, and the double fence only ran about half way around. It was a single fence in a lot more places. Still, it was high. Twice my height at least. I walked around two sides, and then turned and followed the misshapen third side. It ran parallel to a gas station, then turned off into an alley, with the fence on one side, and a residential home on the other, with clothes hanging on the line in the backyard. Here, the fence was shockingly low. Maybe seven feet tall or so. The best thing was, another fence that was even lower bumped right against the other one, so I could climb up it as support to jump over the first place. At this point, I'd only run into people washing cars in front of the nearby gas station, and they hadn't given me a second glance. At this point I put my ipod away so I could listen for people coming. I hesitated right in front of the fence, knowing that it'd be much harder climbing out of the area than into it, since the lower fence stopped before entering the blocked-off complex. Then I realized that the longer I waited around staring at this fence, the more likely I'd be caught. There were a ton of weeds and brambles and other vegetation choking the area over the fence, but I could see a path through them. I decided to go for it in a rush, and scrambled over the fence, gripping my backpack against me so it didn't get caught on the jump over.
I really couldn't believe how easy it really was to get over. On the other side of the fence, I immediately started moving through the narrow path. It forced me to walk straight, making me visible from the alley and the backyard of the nearby house for a good minute before the path finally turned around the huge weeds and hid me completely. I kept thinking to myself how easy it was to actually get in. I had climbed that fence with my camera around my neck, a bulky backpack full of sketch books, and a thick jacket, but it hadn't been a challenge. And then I realized that if it was that easy for me, it would be that easy for anyone. I could see why the place would be so appealing to homeless people, and I was super worried that I'd run into someone. I kept pausing and listening as I made my way through all the plants. The closer I got to the place, the more trash there was, the more signs that people had been around. The main fence was behind me and out of sight, but to my right side there was another much lower fence that led into the construction area. I thought that if anyone jumped out at me, I could go that way to get away from them.
A high double fence ran around the abandoned buildings most of the way, topped with barbed wire. Even without the wire it would have been hard to climb. But as I went around, I could see that the way the fence was set up varied. The height changed here and there, and the double fence only ran about half way around. It was a single fence in a lot more places. Still, it was high. Twice my height at least. I walked around two sides, and then turned and followed the misshapen third side. It ran parallel to a gas station, then turned off into an alley, with the fence on one side, and a residential home on the other, with clothes hanging on the line in the backyard. Here, the fence was shockingly low. Maybe seven feet tall or so. The best thing was, another fence that was even lower bumped right against the other one, so I could climb up it as support to jump over the first place. At this point, I'd only run into people washing cars in front of the nearby gas station, and they hadn't given me a second glance. At this point I put my ipod away so I could listen for people coming. I hesitated right in front of the fence, knowing that it'd be much harder climbing out of the area than into it, since the lower fence stopped before entering the blocked-off complex. Then I realized that the longer I waited around staring at this fence, the more likely I'd be caught. There were a ton of weeds and brambles and other vegetation choking the area over the fence, but I could see a path through them. I decided to go for it in a rush, and scrambled over the fence, gripping my backpack against me so it didn't get caught on the jump over.
I really couldn't believe how easy it really was to get over. On the other side of the fence, I immediately started moving through the narrow path. It forced me to walk straight, making me visible from the alley and the backyard of the nearby house for a good minute before the path finally turned around the huge weeds and hid me completely. I kept thinking to myself how easy it was to actually get in. I had climbed that fence with my camera around my neck, a bulky backpack full of sketch books, and a thick jacket, but it hadn't been a challenge. And then I realized that if it was that easy for me, it would be that easy for anyone. I could see why the place would be so appealing to homeless people, and I was super worried that I'd run into someone. I kept pausing and listening as I made my way through all the plants. The closer I got to the place, the more trash there was, the more signs that people had been around. The main fence was behind me and out of sight, but to my right side there was another much lower fence that led into the construction area. I thought that if anyone jumped out at me, I could go that way to get away from them.
Naturally, my heart was pounding the whole time. As I got closer to the buildings, I looked over my shoulder and around me more and more frequently. Once I thought I saw someone off to my left, but it was just a jacket hanging from a tree. Getting up to the actual building, I saw a lot more stuff like this. There was a moat of garbage and clothes strewn around each building, obviously chucked from the windows above in the course of the fourteen years that the place had been abandoned. I could tell because any tree close enough to the building was hanging with scraps of paper and clothes of all sorts. Jackets, shirts, dresses, pants, hanging like party streamers. It was straight out of The Blair Witch Project.
Coming up to the closest building, I started looking for a way in. I couldn't see any proper doors, but I did see a window so thoroughly smashed that there was no glass left in it. It had been barred, but the bars had been pried open, leaving a space big enough to crawl through. Did I actually want to go into these buildings? They were huge. 1,200 refugees used to live here, after all. People could be hiding all over the place in there. They could probably go for weeks or months on end without being caught. I had been watching the many broken windows all the time, trying to predict in advance whether or not there were people inside, but I hadn't seen anything. Of course, it was hard to keep every window in view at once. But I'd come this far, so I went in, being careful not to cut myself on the pieces of glass left on the windowsill.
Coming up to the closest building, I started looking for a way in. I couldn't see any proper doors, but I did see a window so thoroughly smashed that there was no glass left in it. It had been barred, but the bars had been pried open, leaving a space big enough to crawl through. Did I actually want to go into these buildings? They were huge. 1,200 refugees used to live here, after all. People could be hiding all over the place in there. They could probably go for weeks or months on end without being caught. I had been watching the many broken windows all the time, trying to predict in advance whether or not there were people inside, but I hadn't seen anything. Of course, it was hard to keep every window in view at once. But I'd come this far, so I went in, being careful not to cut myself on the pieces of glass left on the windowsill.
Once inside, I stood by my only known exit for a while, listening hard between taking pictures. Under my feet, glass and garbage crunched. I realized that I would probably hear people coming from a long way away because of this. That made me feel a bit better, but I still took every corner slow, peering around before stepping out. I listened to everything. If I heard someone nearby, I'd rush back to my exit and maybe go to one of the other buildings. Anyway, I had entered this little room through the window. The room led out onto a long, dark hallway. Had to crank my camera's ISO up, and take fairly long exposures to get anything. I went from room to room. There were no untouched rooms, no panes of glass that hadn't been cracked or smashed, no clear floor. The wind blew through the windows, but the garbage stayed where it was. I found a discarded newspaper dated from 2014. After I moved the newspaper, the wind started blowing it around, and it followed me from room to room. When I'd gotten all the way to the other end of the hallway, I heard it still rustling across the hallway.
Every floor was virtually the same in terms of layout: a hallway of what were presumably residential rooms, numbered like an apartment.They'd been decorated with different kinds of wallpaper (most of which was now torn down or hanging like open wounds). There were even peepholes on the doors. Many doors were now lying on the floor as if blown of their hinges. The residential rooms were book-ended between washrooms,--a woman's washroom on one end of the hall, and a men's in the other. I could only tell because of the urinals. The washrooms also had shower stalls and little baths. It had obviously been close quarters back in the day when refugees used to occupy the place.
Every floor was virtually the same in terms of layout: a hallway of what were presumably residential rooms, numbered like an apartment.They'd been decorated with different kinds of wallpaper (most of which was now torn down or hanging like open wounds). There were even peepholes on the doors. Many doors were now lying on the floor as if blown of their hinges. The residential rooms were book-ended between washrooms,--a woman's washroom on one end of the hall, and a men's in the other. I could only tell because of the urinals. The washrooms also had shower stalls and little baths. It had obviously been close quarters back in the day when refugees used to occupy the place.
The washrooms were by far the hardest places to navigate, especially the first one I came across. You couldn't take a step without stepping on shattered glass, porcelain, tile or wallpaper. People must have taken hammers to the sinks, toilets and urinals, because I couldn't image how else they could have been broken as they were. And naturally, there was also human shit here and there. Thankfully it was old enough that it didn't stink. The only problem was the dust. It didn't take long to get my throat scratchy. Eventually I got to the stairs up to the next floor. I somehow felt that, if I were to run into anyone, it'd probably be on the upper floors. I tested the stairs gingerly. I knew they probably wouldn't collapse or anything, but didn't want to take any chances. The railings had been broken away, and with no glass in the stairwells it was like I was outside when I walked up them. The next floors were the same in terms of layout, but every pattern of destruction and piece of litter interested me enough that I didn't care. I almost wish I'd gotten there earlier so I could have stayed longer. People had done some interesting things to the place, whether it be with graffiti or other signs. One of the main thing that caught my attention were the burned rooms, rooms that had obviously been set on fire at one point. I remembered reading about the people who had died of smoke inhalation, and now it made sense. I wondered how their bodies had been discovered--did guards ever come into the buildings, or had other squatters informed the police? I also wondered whether I'd see any dead bodies.
The only bodies I found were in one of the burned rooms, all belonging to birds or rodents. They had obviously been collected into this one room after their deaths, because I didn't see any other dead animals in any other rooms. They were all in the corner, with ribcages here and there, lying in cotton stuffing that had been torn from winter clothing. It was an incredibly creepy and depressing place, especially keeping in mind that at least four homeless people had died here. But I couldn't help feeling that it was an incredible place nonetheless. Unlike the other historical places I'd been, there were no tour groups, no signs explaining this or that location, nobody even knew I was in there. I was free to walk and reflect on my own, go places that people wouldn't want me going, and piece together what the place was used for and what went where. After the first heart-pounding half hour, thinking some squatter or cop would show up around a corner and give me trouble, I realized I was alone, at least in the building I was in. After all, the place was so huge that someone could easily have been somewhere and it would've taken hours for us to run into each other. Once I was almost positive that I heard two people talking to each other, about to round the corner just in front of me, but their voices faded away. Later I heard yelling and laughing, but found out after I'd left the fenced-off area that it was just people playing football far away. I was on my own, and could wander at will. I stopped being nervous and started to feel so happy that I'd worked up the courage to do this, at least once in my life. I kinda wanted to do some sketches, but I really didn't want to linger in one place for long. I guess if I wanna make some bigger pieces of art out of this (and I do), I'll have to reference the photos.
I went into three of the towering residential buildings, as well as two single-story buildings in the middle of the complex that seemed to once be some kind of administrative office or canteen. There was a lot that I saw, but a lot more that I didn't see. Unfortunately, my camera battery ran out after about three hours there. I was sure that I'd brought my second battery with me, but it turned out that I left it charging back at the apartment. Oh well. I took nearly 300 photos of the place, so I'm satisfied, but I would have stayed longer if I'd had that second battery.
I went into three of the towering residential buildings, as well as two single-story buildings in the middle of the complex that seemed to once be some kind of administrative office or canteen. There was a lot that I saw, but a lot more that I didn't see. Unfortunately, my camera battery ran out after about three hours there. I was sure that I'd brought my second battery with me, but it turned out that I left it charging back at the apartment. Oh well. I took nearly 300 photos of the place, so I'm satisfied, but I would have stayed longer if I'd had that second battery.
Towards the end, I came across a dark room with an iron ladder in it. The ladder let up through a hole into a sort of mystery room. It broke the pattern of bathrooms, residential rooms, offices and stairwells. I thought I'd go poke around up there. The ladder was nerve-wracking, rickety but stable at the same time. With only a slit of daylight getting in, the room was the darkest I'd come across. I could see, but it was really hard to take photos that weren't shaky up there. Interesting graffiti as well. I think the machine was an electronic pulley for transporting things from one floor to the other. There were dumb-waiter doors on the floors below.
As it started to get darker, I started to think I shouldn't hang around much longer. I figured night would be the most likely time that other people would start coming in (assuming anyone would come in at all). Then, when my battery died and I saw I forgot my other one, I knew I should leave. I poked my head into a few more buildings and open manhole covers on the ground, and then left. On the way out I passed that same black jacket suspended from a tree branch as if someone was wearing it, and startled again. I started to think I might get caught on my way out by somebody. As quietly as I could, I approached that residential back yard across from the fence, expecting someone to come to the end of the alley and see me. But nothing happened. The fence was a bit tricky to climb up again, I had to angle my foot to get a hold in the bars, but I got up just fine. I hopped over and started walking down the street. Nobody said anything to me, or looked at me twice. I had done it, I hadn't been caught. Nobody knew what I'd done, and it was exhilarating. I was giddy all the way to the train station. It was easily one of the most exciting and interesting times I had while in Berlin, and it was illegal, but I hadn't been caught. The sun was setting and the sky was getting red. It was all pretty quiet.
So, I got to see a part of Berlin's history I wasn't supposed to see--what happens to old buildings that were once used to house refugees. In the midst of this new Syrian refugee crisis, where space is so valuable and precious to those that come here, a private developing company has been sitting on this ugly swath of property for fourteen years, talking of converting the space into affordable living. Maybe the cleared area of trees is a sign that they're finally going forward with it, clearing away all the debris and making homes again, this time not for refugees, but for locals. Maybe if it had been done sooner, those four homeless people (at least) wouldn't have died here. So I'm conflicted about this whole abandoned place thing. I'm happy I got to see this place as it was, abandoned, a sort of embarrassment in the local layout, before it got cleaned up and whitewashed. I even got to keep myself a little souvenir.
So, I got to see a part of Berlin's history I wasn't supposed to see--what happens to old buildings that were once used to house refugees. In the midst of this new Syrian refugee crisis, where space is so valuable and precious to those that come here, a private developing company has been sitting on this ugly swath of property for fourteen years, talking of converting the space into affordable living. Maybe the cleared area of trees is a sign that they're finally going forward with it, clearing away all the debris and making homes again, this time not for refugees, but for locals. Maybe if it had been done sooner, those four homeless people (at least) wouldn't have died here. So I'm conflicted about this whole abandoned place thing. I'm happy I got to see this place as it was, abandoned, a sort of embarrassment in the local layout, before it got cleaned up and whitewashed. I even got to keep myself a little souvenir.