Dresden by Vitali Vitaliev

On my first visit to Dresden in October 1992, I was mistaken for a Princess Di's bodyguard. I came there to report on the Queen’s first trip to the former East Germany for the now-defunct European newspaper. With a young lady from Her Majesty’s press office (who vaguely resembled the Princess of Wales), we stepped off the Royal Train and got immediately separated from the rest of the “rat pack”. To be in time for the next Royal function, we had to run across Dresden at random stopping every now and then to ask for directions. A pedestrian whom we questioned on how we could get to the Rathaus (Town Hall), squinted at my companion and said in English: “I know who you are. You are Princess Diana.” Despite the lady’s ardent denial, he didn’t budge: “Don’t try to fool me,” he insisted. “You are Diana!” “And who do you think I am? Prince Charles?” I demanded impatiently. “No,” he uttered firmly. “You must be Diana's bodyguard!”



I shall never forget that first flying visit to Dresden. The mutilated capital of Saxony, once known as the Florence on the Elbe and the realm of the glorious Saxon kings, had only just started recovering from the forty odd years of Communist rule. The roads were rugged, the houses looked dreary and unkempt. But what saddened me most was the painfully familiar expression on people’s faces, the one that I used to call “the seal of oppression” – a peculiar haunted look, brought about by years of life under totalitarianism, with its fear, shortages, hypocrisy and daily struggle for survival. It made them look as if they were constantly expecting a blow from behind their backs. Two years of re-united Germany were not enough to erase it. And Dresden itself was carrying that “seal of oppression” too.

The locals showed little enthusiasm for the Royal visit. The Queen was even booed briefly when attending the service of reconciliation at the Kreuzkirche. This came as no surprise to those remembering the horrors of the Anglo-American fire-bombing raids of the 13th of February, 1945, during which Dresden, an officially designated Red Cross City , with no significant industry, was raised to the ground, and thousands of innocent people (135,000 by German estimates, and 35,000 according to one modern British source!) lost their lives. The famous baroque Frauenkirche in Neumarkt got a direct hit and was literally erased from the face of the earth. The Communists, installed in power by the Soviets after World War II, chose not to restore it and turned it into a “war memorial”. In 1992, the inspired creation of architect George Bahr remained what it became in 1945 - a big pile of rubble.

Apart from the booing episode at the Kreutzkirche, the locals didn’t show much hostility towards us. The long-suffering people of Dresden knew the dangers of being blatantly blamed for the crimes of previous generations.



“Go through my backside and then turn left!” the buxom blonde receptionist of my Dresden hotel said curtly when I asked her for directions to the Neumarkt.

That was how my second encounter with Dresden started in 1996: through the backside of the hotel receptionist (she meant the hotel’s back door, of course).

It was like coming back to an entirely different, yet still recognisable, place. The huge statue of Lenin that used to dominate the cityscape had disappeared. I was told that the costs of its removal were so high that the city fathers had to appeal to the hard-up Dresden residents for donations.

The city tidied itself up by replacing a number of “Communist” facades with new, “Western” ones, although multiple scars of the past were still visible everywhere. Some of these “scars” were mobile: clumsy GDR-made Trabants (or ‘Trabbies’, as they were affectionately called in East Germany), these much-ridiculed snuffboxes on wheels, were coughing defiantly amongst gleaming Western limos. And “the seal of oppression”, enhanced by the inevitable pains of re-unification, was still imprinted on people’s faces. My guide, a sad-eyed middle-aged woman, complained of the trials of her daily life, spent in fear of losing her job and being replaced by a machine. “That’s what they are going to do to all the guides soon,” she asserted. My other contact, a local businessman, proudly wore a solar watch, totally useless in permanently overcast Saxony, and kept asking me the time every five minutes. He wouldn’t part with this “Western” toy of his for love or money...

Having successfully negotiated the receptionist’s ample backside, which stretched for a good couple of miles, I finally reached the grassy Neumarkt Square and froze in disbelief: the foundation and some of the supports of the destroyed Frauenkirche were back in place! What’s more, all its remaining fragments (about 10,000) were dug out, numbered and neatly piled under canvas tents around it. Non-existent only a couple of years before, the magnificent church was now being reborn in front of my eyes, put back together bit by bit like a giant jigsaw puzzle, with truly German meticulousness and precision.

Sitting at the Espresso Cafe next to the Square, I was thinking about the phenomenal resilience of Dresden – twice destroyed, twice disfigured, but never dispirited – when my attention was drawn to an opening hours sign on the Café’s door:

“Samstag: 10.01 – 02.02

Sonntag: 10.01 – 22.21

Montag – Dienstag: 10.01 – 00.31”

Reading this, convinced me even further that the Frauenkirche was going to be fully restored one day, with not a single fragment gone missing.

My chance of being taken for Di's bodyguard on my third and last (so far) visit to Dresden last year was, mercifully, close to zero: the faces or real heroes and anti-heroes of the never-ending soap-opera of the British Royalty have become too familiar in the former East Germany.

Despite high unemployment, the creeping economic recession and the rise of the Far Right, Dresden’s “westernisation” was going ahead full speed. Asthmatic “Trabbies” have all but vanished, and the only “Communist” car I could spot was an abandoned coffin-like Skoda. A new, state-of-the art Volkswagen factory was being built in Neustadt area. Its main assembly line was being placed under a huge glass dome which would allow passers-by to observe the goings-on inside. The brand-new cars will be stored in a special tower, also made of glass and visible from afar. The whole project was about space, openness and accessibility - a daring architectural decision for Dresden, the city that values its newly re-acquired freedom.

The headquarters of Stasi, the GDR’s much-feared secret police, on the bank of the Elbe River, have been turned – quite symbolically - into a disco. Almost all the city facades, even the old Soviet-style apartment blocks, have been re-painted in bright “Western” colours. It is amazing how much difference a bright paint can make. It puts a smile on the city’s face.

Nowhere else have I seen so many travel agencies. Their "density" in Dresden can only be compared with that of pubs and hairdressers in a small town somewhere in Kent. Residents of the former East Germany are making up for the years of enforced immobility by becoming the world’s most adventurous travellers. You bump into them anywhere, even as far as in the Falklands, where once met a group of fishermen from Dresden!



This time, I was put up at a brand-new hotel in Radebeul, a leafy Dresden suburb. The staff were helpful, yet unsmiling and tense. It was with sadness that I had to admit: “the seal of oppression” was still there and was probably going to be the last totalitarian trait to disappear, for painting houses and changing street names is much easier than altering human mentality.

Speaking of street names, I was pleased to observe that Dresden did not take part in the name-changing frenzy, which seized East Germany in the wake of the re-unification. In one city, they even re-named Spartacus Street, although, as far as I know, the ill-fated Thracian slave and gladiator never tarnished himself by collaborating with the Communists. A convinced opponent of Marxism (I have always been of the opinion that Marks & Spencer is the only sort of Marxism that works) and never a fan of “the great proletarian writer” Maxim Gorky, I was nevertheless pleased to see that both Karl Marx Street and Maxim Gorky Street still existed in Dresden. The latter, by the way, was next to my hotel, and it was in Maxim Gorky Street in Radebeul, Saxony, that I had one of the best Greek meals in my life ("Zorbas” – an extremely successful Greek restaurant, had Greek staff, the manager named Staphis, and all products – from ouso to yoghurt – daily flown in from Athens).

Street names are part of history, and Dresdeners have learnt to treat history with care.



Eager to see how the restoration of the Frauenkirche was progressing, I took a tram from Radebeul to the city centre. I love trams, these moving wrinkles on the faces of modern cities. In Dresden, they have recently replaced the squeaky Czechoslovakian-made trams with much smoother German ones.

Despite the brand-new tram, my ride was slow and bumpy. According to the official statistics, six per cent of Dresden roads get “upgraded” (read “smoothed up” and "westernised") every year, yet it felt as if our tram was deliberately avoiding them. Also, every couple of minutes it would grind to a long halt at one of the countless sets of traffic lights that seemed to display three ovariations of one and the same colour – red. During one such stop, the driver entered the salon to announce: “Tram Kaput!", and everyone had to get off. I did it without regret thanking Dresden’s erratic electricity supply for interrupting my endless journey and giving me an excuse to get a cab.

My joy, however, was premature. The taxi was almost immediately stuck in the worst traffic jam I have ever experienced. Narrow and not-yet-“upgraded” streets of central Dresden were more suited for compact Trabants than for modern Western cars. Standing in a traffic jam, however, was much safer than moving. In the five minutes that it took us to reach Neumarkt, I witnessed two nasty collisions, both taken by the participating drivers with truly German sang-froid. What a striking contrast to the dull and nearly car-less streets of the GDR!



The piles of numbered stones in the middle of Neumarkt have melted away considerably since my previous visit, whereas the church itself, its regenerating carcass covered with scaffolding, has become several metres higher. I stood there for a while, mesmerised by the slow and painstaking process of restoration. Like the growth of a flower, it was invisible to the eye, and yet – continuous and unstoppable. It was like witnessing the rebuilding of Democracy itself – a laborious task that cannot be completed overnight. Stone by stone, fragment by fragment – is the only way it can be done.

The restoration of the Frauenkirche is due to be completed by 2006 to coincide with the 800th anniversary of Dresden. Don’t ask me why, but somehow I am sure that the moment the last piece of the church is fitted neatly into its niche, “the seal of oppression” will be erased forever from the beautiful face of Dresden.

I’ll have to come back again and see for myself.