Contrasts in sound and space

“Beneath the city two hearts beat.” Bruce Springsteen, Jungleland

“On the roof it’s peaceful as can be.” Carole King, Up on the Roof

It’s another cold and damp morning in Berlin. Seems to be the pattern. I suppose it’s Seattle with a disturbingly dark and still rich history. But without the coffee.

At the Hauptbanhoff, or central train station, there are myriads of options for the traveler. Fast food, fast clothes, papers, trinkets, souvenirs. A lot of junk, and a number of kiosk with information and assistance. It’s a busy place, with tourists leafing through, looking around at the modern glass structure. Inter-city travelers move briskly to get to their appropriate track.

But down on track 8, waiting for the ICE to Hamburg, there’s a dead quiet. Amidst this bustling city, above which move millions, a river, several large trains, and the weight of the past century, it is calm. Perhaps it is because I arrive early, for once. Germans are efficient, as we have been told. And the trains really do run on time here. Which means that if you have a 10:17 train, it will arrive by 10:13, and leave promptly at 10:17, regardless. So people know how to budget accordingly, and while they don’t tarry, they also don’t cue up early for these long distance expresses, at least not in the late morning.

So I seem to have the entire station, or at least a couple of tracks, alone. There is a futuristic feel to all of this. A Will Smith last man standing, minus the detritus and the dog. But it’s the sound that keeps returning. The absence of sound. The deadening of sound. The quiet that usually only comes with expensive Danish headphones, or post-concert ear ringing.

The occasional interruptions from the deliberate voice of the station master, announcing arrivals, making the rare announcement of an upcoming 45 minute delay on the Hannover train, only emphasize how otherwise quiet this significant station can be.

It is unclear to me how glass, steel and concrete can soften sounds, and create a studio like feel, but that’s what you have in the Berlin train station, below grade. It’s literally cool, as ambient air passes through, and the movement from bodies provides a sense that life does continue. But it’s eerie, it’s almost surreal, and it has the feel of a post-apocalyptic vision, one none of us want to experience up close.

And it’s nice, even though it is wholly unfamiliar territory. The question is, can I get used to it?