The Wall Crossers

Flashback to Humboldthain Park - Everything will always be okay

Part 4 - Flashback to Humboldthain Park – Everything will always be okay

Olivia's perspective

I am remembering back to a day a few months ago, back before Anja and I made love, before we kissed, before... she left for the East. Before everything got so messed up.

It is a Saturday near the end of September, just five months after Anja and I had first met, and we have been spending the day touring the French sector of West Berlin—the Wedding district.

The highlight of our day is we are now at Humboldthain Park, which is a beautiful garden park which has been here since 1869.

During WWII, Humboldthain was a major target for air raids because of the bunkers and anti-aircraft guns set up there—known as flak towers. After the war, razed areas and bomb craters left very little sign of the original park, so Berliners turned the situation to good. The bunkers were filled in, and gradually vegetation grew over them. Rubble was piled up to form a hill, as a viewing platform.

But the real delight we discover at this park is the Hidden Rose Garden. This garden is home to many thousands of roses arranged in the traditional Victorian style. And even though the season is nearly over, they are beautiful to see.

Anja is wearing a beige button-up down jacket with a hood over a flower-power multi-colored paisley print blouse and a midi skirt—with hem halfway between ankle and knee, bare legs and leather low-cut zip-up go-go boots.

I am bold with a mini-dress with pink long-sleeve cotton shirt under the dress and pink tights but for fun my US Army field jacket over that, with liner zipped in for warmth. The short dress barely peeks out from the field jacket, so I get a lot of looks! I have on the same boots as Anja. I am breaking SOP (Army procedure) to wear uniform when off duty. But strictly speaking, I am not in uniform. And many hippies wear military gear as part of their garb—girls and boys.

We are not wearing makeup today.

As we exit the Rose Garden, there is a lady selling roses (probably now grown in a hothouse) and each rose comes with a card that explains its color meaning. All is of course in English, because in 1971, if you want to sell anything anywhere in the world, you sell in English.

The day has been overcast, but no wind. Temperature according to the rose lady's thermometer is 12 °C (55F).

The lady is older and wrinkles her nose in a disapproving way—toward me. Under her breath she says, "Mensch, verrückter amerikanischer". She assumes we don't speak German, but Anja knows she said, Crazy American.

Anja picks out two roses, one for me and one for Horst. Partly to spite the woman, for me, she picks out Pink, whose meaning is sweetness and femininity. I note on the card it also means elegant. I'll take it.

For Anja, I pick out Lavender, whose meaning she really likes—enchanting and splendor. I point out it also means love at first sight. She smiles, rolls her eyes, and shakes her head at me, "Oh, Livie. You are so albern (silly)!"

For Horst, Anja picks out Blue—pointing out the color is similar to Lavender, so is fitting—and whose meaning is ultimate desire. I say, "Anja, but see that color also means, according to the card, unattainable." She gives me a dirty look and elbows me in the side! And then laughs. But then she looks a bit sad, so I apologize—but that is what the card says!

We take our (and Horst's) roses home with little water-filled sealed wrappers on the stems to keep them fresh.

Several bus rides and some walking later, we are in her flat having kaffee—she on her couch and me sitting in the wing-back chair, facing her.