Derelict buildings are reopening as ‘living projects’, offering everything from cheap food and parties to classical concerts. By Molly Gunn
One of the quirks I’ve noticed since moving to Berlin is the squats dotted about the city. In London, where I’m from, you don’t see squats much. You might read about them in the paper – a bunch of rich kids who’ve squatted on Billionaires’ Row, or an old man who has squatted for 50 years undetected – but that’s about it. In Berlin, squats are visible from the street. They’re the apartment buildings with colourfully decorated exteriors and posters covering the walls of the ground floor. The plaster could be peeling, there may be flags hanging from the balconies and loud music coming from inside. They stand out from the other apartment blocks because of their unkemptness and, as such, they don’t look too inviting.
So when a German graphic designer friend told me that many of these squats offer food, film nights and gigs to paying guests, I was intrigued. Sarah explained: “I used to pop in for VoKü at a squat near my office in Kreuzberg. Unfortunately, it has now been closed down, but it did the best lunches. Everybody was friendly and the food was delicious and cheap.” VoKü is when squats open their doors to the community and offer food at affordable prices; it is short for Volksküche, meaning “people’s kitchen”. This concept is so established that there is an online list (see below) with details of when and where VoKüs take place. It’s an extensive list, too, with eight or so meals taking place in Berlin daily.
The idea sounds so welcoming that it would be rude not to experience it first-hand. So the following Sunday, at 7pm, my husband Tom and I head for VoKü at Zielona Gora, a rainbow-painted building on leafy Boxhagener Platz in Friedrichshain – a neighbourhood in former East Berlin. As we approach, we see a mass of leather-clad punks spilling from a large table on the pavement. They’re eating, chatting and laughing, and hardly notice us as we clamber over their dogs lying in the doorway.
Inside, it looks nothing like I would have imagined. Less squat, more student union cafe. The large square room has tables around the edge and a queue snaking into it, the walls are plastered with photocopied newspaper articles and there is French folky music playing. The food smells good and we join the queue. The atmosphere is buzzy and there is an eclectic crowd: intellectual-looking students, Australian backpackers, a few punks, hippyish couples, crusties playing table football, and a bloke who looks like Thierry Henry asleep in an armchair.
All my preconceptions of what a squat might be like fly out the window; it is clean, unthreatening and has a community feel – the newspaper clippings are all about anti-capitalist marches, people’s festivals and demonstrations, and there is a poster for an event the following night where a gay footballer is giving a talk on prejudice within the game.
After queuing for 10 minutes we reach a bar area, where food is being served from a vat by a bespectacled woman. I salivate as she dishes up two platefuls of steaming vegan Thai curry, rice and a large homemade spring roll. She doesn’t skimp on portions, so I’m more than surprised to discover our dinner for two, including beer, comes to just €5. The food is tasty and plentiful. No wonder the place is packed. I’ve eaten much worse dinners in restaurants for more money, and I am thrilled with the discovery of such recession-busting holiday food in such an interesting venue. I’m not the only one.
On the way out, I talk to a lip-pierced Australian called Alex. “I’m backpacking through Europe and heard about VoKü from a mate,” he says. “It was like an urban legend so I was surprised when it actually existed. I’ve tried out a few in Berlin and this is my favourite.”
Buoyed by the success of this meal, I attempt to take Tom on another dinner date a couple of nights later, this time to a squat called Supamolly, also in Friedrichshain. I’ve spotted posters advertising gigs at Supamolly and have been keen to check it out for a while (the name appeals to me for obvious reasons). Initially, I’m not sure we have the right address as the exterior – though decorated – looks very neat, with newish metal balconies featuring well-tended plants.
We head into the ground floor bar, which is dimly lit and stretches back into the building. Rage Against the Machine are playing, scaffolding poles stretch artily across the well-stocked bar area, there are murals on the walls, and 10 or so tables, with drinkers dotted about. It’s like any other grungy bar and Tom and I order drinks. There is no food though. Maia, the twentysomething barwoman, tells us Supamolly hasn’t done VoKü since its chef left a year ago, but it does host gigs and parties in the basement, along with talks and puppet shows.
Maia’s English is great, so we invite her over for a drink and learn more about squat life in Berlin, although she balks at the use of the word squat. “We used to be a squat, but now we technically own the building so it is more like a ‘living project’.”
Maia has lived at Supamolly for five years, and worked there for 10. “This was the first squat in Berlin and we’re legendary,” she says. “The building was taken over by our ‘first generation’ after the wall came down in 1989. It had been left empty by people fleeing the East, and so a group of 20 West Berliners came and squatted. The building was in disrepair, as was much of the East, so the government said we could have it in exchange for renovating.”
These days Supamolly is into its “third generation”, and is inhabited by 50 people, including OAPs and children. Everyone contributes to the day-to-day running, and they hold group meetings and vote on matters ranging from the building’s heating to the gig schedules. It is so organised that you have to fill in an application form and join a waiting list to live there.
Maia says Supamolly is like a commune, but without any nakedness. “The idea of VoKü and events at living projects/squats is to bring a sense of community, as well as helping poorer people – like gypsies or travellers. Although a lot of tourists visit too: we have people coming to our gigs from all over the world, surprised that Supamolly is still here. Lots of Italians come to see our bands.”
Forthcoming events at Supamolly include a Star Trek puppet show for children, and a night called the Poopsey Club, for which guests are encouraged to dress up as Edie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol’s muse. “Some people think that we’re selling out – by hosting events like this, or smartening up the building – but we have to evolve to survive and move with the times.”
Another squat that has evolved in this way is Tacheles in Mitte, also known as “the art squat”. It has bar, gallery, restaurant and cinema, helping it to attract more than 300,000 tourists a year.
Like Supamolly, Tacheles and many of Berlin’s other squats started life when the Wall came down and Easterners fled crumbling buildings. The city was in chaos, and during the 80s there were plenty of clashes between squatters and police. Twenty years on, there are comparatively few left, which is all the more reason to visit, not only for dinner or to catch a film, but for a truly inspiring experience.
The squat directory
Supamolly For gigs, parties and events – see website for details. 41 Jessner Strasse; 00 49 30 2900 7294; supamolly.de
Zielona Gora
VoKü brunch on Saturdays, midday. Vegan VoKü dinner on Sundays, 7pm. 73 Grünberger Strasse; 00 49 30 292 2471
Sama-café
Cinema on Mondays and Wednesdays, 10.30pm. Vegetarian VoKü Monday-Friday, 10pm. 32 Samariter Strasse; 00 49 30 7477 5765; sama32.squat.net
Rote Insel
Great stone-baked pizza on Fridays, 9pm. 10 Manstein Strasse
Tacheles
Films, art events and general goings on 54-56 Oranienburger Strasse; 00 49 30 282 6185; super.tacheles.de/cms
For list of other VoKüs and squat contact details: stressfaktor.squat.net/vokue.php?day=all
Getting there
Easyjet (easyjet.com) flies to Berlin from Bristol, Glasgow, Liverpool, Gatwick and Luton; Ryanair (ryanair.com) from East Midlands, Edinburgh and Stansted. Travelling by train from London costs £149 on the sleeper via Paris (12 hours 30 mins). Book at 0844 848 4070; raileurope.co.uk
Like it or not, I’m involved
Fed up with windbag actors advocating for the poor and needy? Me too. But shutting up is worse
Why do you have to hear it from an actor? I have a profound dislike of activism. I don’t enjoy hearing dispatches from the crisis zone delivered by actors and rock stars. I get no joy from fundraising events, op-eds, posters, speeches, slogans. I’m tired of it. And I’m tired of the crisis in Africa.
If your profession gives you a public voice, you have a new relationship with those who don’t. Your voice becomes a cherished commodity. Not for its merits but for its sheer volume. You may have nothing to say, but those who do – the wise, the desperate and the better informed – all clamour to make use of your media connection.
We are not in a position to choose whether or not we have a relationship with our own society or with the world’s poorest people. We can choose the nature of those relationships, but either way they’re there. We’re business partners. If we choose to ignore them we are simply choosing to make that relationship a negligent and destructive one. As voters and consumers we are directly complicit in the misery of the millions we do business with. If we let our governments and businesses think we are indifferent to their cynicism they will go on practising it on licence from us and every cup of coffee we drink and every piece of cotton we wear will continue to be an act of cruelty.
We are involved with Africa, whether we like it or not. Of course, I’m aware of famine, drought, poverty and corruption, but I also see the statesmanship of Mandela, Joaquim Chissano, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf … the works of Achebe, Okri, Soyinka … the music of Fela Kuti, Cheikh Lo and Angelique Kidjo.
My own children will inherit all this together with the children of that continent. Within 15 years they’ll be trading or fighting with each other, exchanging diplomacy or whatever other relationship we might have set in motion. They will also share the triple crisis of a global economic slump, high food prices and climate change – all of which will be addressed (or not) by this year’s G8 in Italy.
Italy is another relationship I can’t wish away. My wife and children are Italian. I am completely in love with that country for better or worse. I was decorated by the Italian ambassador as an exhortation to promote Italy’s image abroad; an easy task when it comes to food, wine, architecture, etc … but one which will be made almost impossible if Silvio Berlusconi does not improve his lamentable record on aid. For this reason Oxfam issued me with call-up papers once again. I’ve held the giddy title of global ambassador for Oxfam for a number of years now.
So, with an all too familiar sinking feeling, the ambassador agreed to go to Italy to try to do something to persuade the G8 leaders to deliver on their aid promises and prevent the overwhelming number of preventable deaths taking place daily on their doorstep. No problem.
It’s tempting to look for ways back to a decorous silence. To try to return to a pleasing and well-argued belief that actors should shut up. But you can’t unknow what you know. NGOs have a way of inviting you to be a firsthand witness. And once you’ve seen what a well-placed or well-timed word (by anybody) can do, shutting up starts to require some painful mental contortions.
I had dinner with Bob Geldof a couple of weeks ago. I explained that I felt I had to be judicious about when and when not to speak out, that I wanted to hold fire and keep under the radar so as not to blow all credibility. He said, “Fuck that, you’ve got to just go!”
If everyone did that, we could finally do away with long-winded actors.