11 Mauerpark
You can’t just see the big sights and say you’ve been to Berlin. This is a city of neighborhoods—of fierce local pride and funky one-off businesses. And to experience that essence of Berlin, one of the best neighborhoods to visit is Prenzlauer Berg (PRENTS-low-er behrk), just north of the historic core.
Prenzlauer Berg is Berlin’s Brooklyn. It has its own proud identity as a huge and fascinating city-within-a-city (pop. 160,000). It grew like crazy in the late 19th century, when newly unified Germany was on the rise, Berlin was industrializing, and housing was needed for the influx of labor from the countryside. It was spared the worst of WWII devastation, but grew dilapidated under the communists. After the fall of the Wall, many locals fled to a better life in the West—vacating their flats and opening the door (literally) to a generation of squatters, students, artists, tree huggers, and alternative-lifestyle idealists who remade the neighborhood in their own image. Years of rent control kept things affordable for its bohemian inhabitants and its remaining working-class residents.
And more recently, Prenzlauer Berg has continued to evolve. Landlords are now free to charge what the market will bear, and the vibe is changing. As hipsters grow up and get real jobs, many are staying put—happy to push their designer baby carriages through Prenzlauer Berg’s inviting parks. Other longtime residents, who cling to their bohemian ways, are finding themselves priced out.
This walk isn’t about sightseeing. There’s barely a museum or a landmark here worth going out of your way for. Rather, it’s about the past, present, and future of this quintessentially Berlin neighborhood. Prenzlauer Berg is a great place to spend the night, to have a meal, to go shopping, or simply to explore.
(See “Prenzlauer Berg Walk” map, here.)
Length of This Walk: Allow 1.5 hours, or more if you plan to visit the Everyday Life in the DDR museum.
When to Go: This walk works anytime. It could be especially pleasant on a warm evening, when locals are out enjoying their neighborhood.
Getting There: Ride the U2 to Senefelderplatz.
Everyday Life in the DDR: Free, Tue-Sun 10:00-18:00, Thu until 20:00, closed Mon.
Eateries: Prenzlauer Berg is packed with eateries; for my recommendations—most of which are on or near this walk—see the Eating in Berlin chapter, here.
Starring: Historic apartment blocks, leafy squares, pierced and tattooed parents, and hipster boutiques in Berlin’s most inviting residential neighborhood.
(See “Prenzlauer Berg Walk” map, here.)
• Our walk begins near the boundary between Prenzlauer Berg and the central Mitte district, at the Senefelderplatz U-Bahn stop. Exit the U-Bahn toward Schönhauser Allee/Schwedter Strasse/Metzer Strasse. At the top of the stairs, turn right, cross the street, walk toward the TV Tower, and pause at the corner. You’re in the area called...
Welcome to Prenzlauer Berg. This sprawling neighborhood has several smaller sub-areas (like Senefelderplatz), each with its own character. On this walk, we’ll hopscotch around Prenzlauer Berg, checking out landmarks and sampling various slices of Berlin life.
Looking downhill, it’s clear that Prenzlauer Berg really is a Berg (“mountain”—er, maybe just a hill). While the city center of Berlin is flat, Prenzlauer Berg was a forested hill on the outskirts. Today, part of Prenzlauer Berg’s appeal is how well-preserved it is—just beyond the core, and therefore largely untouched by WWII bombs or heavy-handed DDR developers. That means that any random street corner can hide echoes of a complex history.
For example, turn around to face the big Meininger Hotel, and find the small metal gate immediately to its right. Peer through the Star of David cutouts in the gate to see an open space that runs through the middle of the block. This lane is the Judengang (“Jews’ Way”), which led unobtrusively to a large Jewish Cemetery. The cemetery was founded in 1827—back when this area was just forests, mills, breweries, and graveyards—after Berlin’s first Jewish cemetery (on Grosse Hamburger Strasse, described on here) filled up. The main entrance to the cemetery, around the corner and up the street from here, faces the busy road called Schönhauser Allee—which leads to Schönhausen Palace. Some believe that the king grew impatient with Jewish funeral processions impeding his progress to his weekend home—so he had the Judengang built.
As we explore this neighborhood, keep an eye out for the red-painted bike lanes—which are heavily used. Be warned: Pedestrians reading their guidebooks who absentmindedly wander into these lanes are given no quarter.
• Turn with your back to busy Schönhauser Allee and walk two blocks along Metzer Strasse through a sleepy residential area. At Strassburger Strasse, turn left and walk toward the park with a big mound in the middle. As you walk, notice the original Prenzlauer Berg homes on the right side of the street, and the modern-style building on the left.
Soon you’ll reach the park known as...
This mound covers a series of large reservoirs that provided water to the fast-growing district of Prenzlauer Berg in the late 19th century. Jog left to find the staircase that takes you all the way to the top of the mound. Up top, the red-brick structure in the middle of the mound is the cupola of a huge, earthenware dome that covers the subterranean reservoirs. This waterworks intentionally sits on the highest spot in the city—and water could be pumped up into the two big towers nearby, creating even more water pressure. The taller, skinnier water tower was built first, and later came the fatter one—which also housed workers at this water plant. Later, the Wasserturm cellars took on a sinister tinge, as one of the earliest sites of Hitler’s “Wildes-KZ” (improvised concentration camps for political enemies)—before the Nazis established their more ambitious and organized concentration camp network.
Stand with the cupola at your back and walk to the edge of the hill, surveying the neighborhood (with the TV Tower on the horizon). Consider the history of Prenzlauer Berg:
This forested area was originally called Windmühlenberg—“Windmill Hill.” Later, it was the location for many breweries, since it was easier to dig cellars into the solid ground here than in the shallow and mucky Mitte district. From here, barrels of beer would be loaded onto the Nordbahn train line (in today’s Mauerpark, where this walk ends).
By the late 19th century, as the capital of the newly unified, modern state of Germany (1871), Berlin was an industrial engine. Factories and railroads were being built, and peasants from the countryside flocked here for work. From 1860 to 1910, Berlin’s population quadrupled from a half-million to over two million. For a time, Berlin was the third-largest city in the world, and the most densely populated in Europe. In Germany, most cities’ version of “the other side of the tracks” is on the north and east side of town—downwind of heavy industry. And here in Berlin, Prenzlauer Berg quickly grew as a low-rent residential quarter.
Apartment buildings sprouted like dandelions. Property owners were in a hurry to take on tenants—often renting apartments at a discount even though the extremely slow-drying mortar was still damp. The tenants were glad to get a price break, and their body heat helped speed up the drying process (this was called Trockenwohnen—“dry living”). Unfortunately, the mortar fumes caused severe health problems.
Prenzlauer Berg quickly became congested. People lived in almost Dickensian conditions, with many residents crowded into each apartment. At that time, London typically had eight residents per building, New York had 17, Berlin overall had 76, while Prenzlauer Berg had a staggering 110 people per building. To save money, tenants might take on a Schlafbursche—someone who worked the night shift and would sublet your bed to sleep in during the day (“the sharing economy,” Airbnb-style, well before its time).
With so many people living in such close quarters, fire was a big threat. Looking out over the skyline, notice the uniformity of building heights—they rarely exceed 70 feet, because that’s how high the fire department’s ladders could reach (the Berlin government decreed this Traufhöhe, or “eave height,” in the 1860s).
• Now that you have the big picture, head down the stairs next to the taller, skinnier water tower, passing a playground where you may see children from a nearby kindergarten. Then bear left and carry on past the big water tower, to the far end of the park. Across the way, take a few steps up the pretty, broad street called Rykestrasse. On the left side of this street is the...
Notice the substantial barriers jutting out in front of a red-brick building. This is a synagogue—built in 1904, and one of a handful that still exists in Berlin. While it looks small from the outside, this is Germany’s largest surviving synagogue—with an original capacity for 2,000 worshippers. It’s typical for synagogues to be set back from the street like this—hiding in a big courtyard, and camouflaged to blend in with the other houses on the street. As it turns out, this is what helped save this synagogue. On Kristallnacht (“Crystal Night,” November 9, 1938), in a modern-day pogrom, anti-Semitic government agents and civilians smashed and set fire to synagogues all over Germany. In most cases, fire departments simply let them burn to the ground. But here at Rykestrasse, the burning synagogue put the surrounding non-Jewish homes in jeopardy, so the fires were extinguished. The synagogue remains a place for worship, an active cultural center, and school. Like all Jewish sites in Berlin, it has a strong police presence.
• Head back out toward the Wasserturm and turn right, passing Pasternak Restaurant. Continue straight along Knaackstrasse. After one short block, you emerge at...
This square is named for the artist Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945), who lived in a building that stood on your right (currently #56A, with the wide blue stripe). Kollwitz—a printer and sculptor—lived through tumultuous times. She lost a son in World War I and a grandson in World War II. Her husband ran a medical office, where Käthe witnessed an almost constant wartime stream of sick and downtrodden citizens. Her work is, understandably, reflective of the trauma of her era. Kollwitz’s most famous work is the pietà she sculpted for the Neue Wache on Unter den Linden, Germany’s primary monument to lives lost to fascism (see here). For a more intimate look at Kollwitz’s work and life, visit the small but excellent museum devoted to her near the Ku’damm, in Western Berlin (see here).
A few doors down from Kollwitz’s former house, at #60, you can read some of this building’s history into its current state. First, notice the two little doors flanking the main entrance—still marked with the names of the businesses that once occupied them (H. Weigand and Restauration). Finely crafted medallions are still visible over those doors. At the base of the arch, notice the bulbous barriers protecting the corners—designed to prevent horse carriages from scuffing the walls when they came and went out of the courtyard. But like much of Prenzlauer Berg, this house has clearly been renovated quite recently. Looking up, you can see the date 9 Nov 1989 and the word Freiheit (freedom), commemorating the fall of the Berlin Wall. Despite its cramped heyday in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and its post-DDR stint as the domain of squatters (more on that later), Prenzlauer Berg has become one of Berlin’s poshest neighborhoods.
Cross the street into the park and hang out for a moment by the big, seated sculpture of Käthe Kollwitz and (just to the right) the lively playground. Berlin is a city of small sub-neighborhoods called Kieze. Each Kiez (“keets”) is just a few square blocks, named for a nearby landmark (for more on Kieze, see the sidebar on here). In this case, you’re in the heart of the Kollwitzkiez—the poster child for the pros and cons of gentrification. Look around. Do you see lots of designer strollers? Well-coiffed, latte-sipping young parents? Dapperly dressed toddlers? Kollwitzplatz is the epicenter of Prenzlauer Berg’s über-wealthy yuppie scene. A popular satirical cartoon strip—Die Mütter vom Kollwitzplatz—lampoons exactly this scene. (Prenzlauer Berg is also ground zero for a major baby boom. Count how many strollers you see on the rest of this walk—I’m betting on double digits.)
Class stratification is a huge preoccupation among Berliners. Over the last decade, several neighborhoods—like the Kollwitzkiez—have swung from seedy-but-affordable to gentrified-and-overpriced...sometimes in a matter of mere months. Today, a small, 600-square-foot apartment in this area runs about €1,000 per month. While that may seem cheap by London or Paris standards, keep in mind that a decade ago, Prenzlauer Berg was a bohemian paradise, where creative free spirits could afford to live dirt cheap while pursuing their interests, and maybe working a little on the side. Now these people are being priced out by die Mütter vom Kollwitzplatz, and being forced to move farther and farther into the suburbs—bringing with them lots of resentment about the changing face of Berlin.
• With the Kollwitz statue at your back, exit the park past the playground. Continue straight across the street, down...
While Prenzlauer Berg largely survived World War II, it fell into disrepair under the communists. (Cynical East Berliners would joke, “The DDR is really civilized—they create ruins without using weapons.”) In 1987, East and West Berlin both celebrated the 750th anniversary of the city’s founding, and the DDR government had the street spruced up—restoring it to its original, circa-1900 glory.
Stroll along the left side of the street, enjoying the fine little details: At #1, notice the frilly horse-cart guardrails at the base of the arch. Farther down at #9, decorative heads look down—facing a green wellhead. Look for flagpole holders by some doors—dating from a time when you were required to fly the communist DDR flag for holidays like the First of May.
Also along here, notice the typical arrangement of Prenzlauer Berg homes: The ground floor was generally for shops and workshops (often tucked far back in courtyards—we’ll see good examples of these later). Notice that the first floor up has much higher ceilings and bigger windows—this belle-etage (also called piano nobile—“beautiful” or “noble” floor) was by far the most desirable and expensive. The higher up, and the farther back in the building, the smaller the windows—servants often lived in the top-back parts of the courtyards, with the most stairs and lowest ceilings.
Near the end of the block (at #15, on the left), you’ll see where those 1987 DDR restorers cheaped out. Looking up, notice that only the first story was painted, while the rest was left dilapidated.
At the intersection with Sredzkistrasse, notice the old-timey street signs, with the Berlin bear—also dating from that 1987 remodel. On the round poster kiosk (invented in Berlin), notice the emergency telephone number: Volkspolizei 110. While that was true in DDR times, today the “People’s Police” are long gone.
• Turn left on Sredzkistrasse and walk to the big, yellow, castle-like building.
Remember that Prenzlauer Berg was once a wooded hill with dozens of breweries—including this one, the Schultheiss-Brauerei. By the 1920s, this was one of the largest breweries in the world. World War II put an end to that, as Nazis confiscated the brewery, turned it into a factory for the Wehrmacht (armed forces), and, in the closing days of war, barricaded themselves within the brewery grounds. Today the entire site has been renovated to maintain its historic buildings, and to provide a venue for the cultural transformation of Prenzlauer Berg.
Head up the stairs just past the smokestack, step through a round gate into the main courtyard, and stroll all the way through to the far end. You’ll see a cinema, several small theater and music venues (Frannz Club and Alte Kantine are local favorites; the Haus für Poesie has poetry readings), and various shops, cafés, and restaurants—all wrapped in a 19th-century, brick-industrial shell, with much of the original signage intact. On Sundays, you’ll find a trendy street-food market here (12:00-18:00), and in December, it plays host to a Christmas market. On the left, notice the Ramba Zamba theater—an acclaimed venue, with productions (in German) performed by people with and without disabilities.
At the far end of the courtyard, in the passage, is the entrance to the Everyday Life in the DDR museum—a concise look at East German lifestyles. For more on this museum, see here.
• Continue through the passage past the museum, emerging at a busy street. Turn left, then left again around the corner onto Danziger Strasse, toward the green rail bridge. Cross the street, go under the bridge, and hook left to reach...
If you have yet to try Berlin’s most famous dish—Currywurst (sausage smothered in curry ketchup)—now’s your chance. For more on this dish, see here. Konnopke’s is a local favorite, not just because they grill up a mean Currywurst, but also because of their long heritage. Konnopke’s has been around since 1930, and remained family-operated even through DDR times...a rare feat. Back then, opportunities to eat out were rare, so people would enjoy gathering here, under the railroad tracks, to down a sausage and meet up with friends. And they still do. In fact, after the stand was demolished in 2010 during roadwork, Berliners rioted—and Konnopke’s was rebuilt in this slick, glass-and-steel hut.
Their window display offers a handy visual orientation to a variety of German meats: Krautwurst, Knacker, Bockwurst, and Bratwurst (subtle variations on grilled sausages); Paar Wiener (a pair of weenies); Chili Krakauer (spicy sausage); Geflügelspiess (chicken skewers); and Bulette (a classic Berlin dish—basically a huge meatball, like a round hamburger). They even have a vegan Currywurst...this is Prenzlauer Berg, after all.
• With your back to Konnopke’s, cross the street and proceed to the smaller street, which angles to the left. This is...
This delightful drag is the essence of today’s Prenzlauer Berg—with a fun and lively variety of restaurants, shops, and residences. Locals have nicknamed this “Casting Alley”—this is where Prenzlauer Berg’s fashionable residents go to see and be seen. We’ll stroll the most colorful stretch of Kastanienallee, then double back to another fine street that leads to the end of our walk.
Along here, notice the abundance of tempting eateries, dishing up every type of cuisine. While I’ve recommended some specific restaurants in the Eating in Berlin chapter, you almost can’t go wrong getting a bite or drink along this stretch.
A few steps down Kastanienallee on the right, notice Prater Biergarten—Berlin’s oldest beer garden. Step under the gate and explore, passing a huge bicycle parking lot (a must in this bike-happy city). Deep in the beer garden, amid the trees and the tables, you get the feeling of what this place must have been like when it opened in 1837—back when it was in the middle of a forest. Workers, soldiers, and servants would escape the city to drink, hang out, and fool around in the woods. Prater Biergarten is such a treasured landmark that the surrounding apartment blocks were built around it rather than disturb it.
Back out on Kastanienallee, keep heading down the street. At #12, on the right, see if Galerie Kurt im Hirsch is open (it has very short hours—usually Sat-Sun 14:00-17:00). This is the most venerable of Prenzlauer Berg’s funky art collectives—taking you back to the bohemian vibe of the 1990s.
Cross to the left side of Kastanienalle. At Oderberger Strasse, look left to see a fine old Neo-Renaissance building with pretty gables. This was built in 1902 as a public bathhouse (Volksbadeanstalt). Remember how crowded Prenzlauer Berg apartments were back then? On top of the tight conditions, most people didn’t even have private bathrooms. Buildings came equipped with an Etagenklo—a shared toilet on the stairwell connecting floors. And if you wanted to bathe, you had to go to a public bathhouse, such as this one. Like much of Prenzlauer Berg, it fell into disrepair, and for decades it was used only as an occasional venue for concerts. But the building was recently completely restored, and now houses the recommended Hotel Oderberger, a restaurant, and—as in the old days—a shallow swimming pool in a beautiful hall (you can step into the reception and peek into the pool).
Continue down Kastanienallee. A half-block farther, on the left at #86, you can’t miss the Tuntenhaus (“Drag Queen House”)—with a ramshackle exterior and provocative, old-school-Prenzlauer Berg messages spelled out in big silver letters: Kapitalismus zerstört tötet (“Capitalism destroys and kills”). During the post-DDR but pregentrification period—in the 1990s—Prenzlauer Berg was a hotbed for squatters, including the drag queens (Tunten) who lived at this address. (For more on the squatting lifestyle, see here.) Now legal, the Tuntenhaus maintains its creative and collective vibe. Next door, the Café Morgenrot (“Red Dawn”) is also operated by an artists’ collective, with coffee, cocktails, vegan goodies, and weekend punk concerts in the cellar.
Continuing down Kastanienallee, you’ll pass GLS (a language school), and then, at #79, Dock 11—a renowned modern-dance school and studio, which attracts performers from all over Germany. They’re very active in the community (offering, for example, children’s dance classes) and often present high-quality, cutting-edge dance performances (look for these advertised at the entrance, or check www.dock11-berlin.de). Step into the graffitied, ramshackle courtyard, and watch parents drop off their kids.
Next door, at #77, is a green building marked Farben. Its short stature (just three stories) is a sign that this is one of Prenzlauer Berg’s oldest surviving buildings (dating from the 1850s). Today it houses the tiny Lichtblick art house cinema. Being discreet—people live here—walk deep back into this building’s courtyard to see how Prenzlauer Berg housing complexes are designed: a series of courtyards broken up by high-density housing. At the far end is a little Keramik Werkstatt—evocative of the busy little workshops that would traditionally be buried far from the street.
In the late 1980s, these courtyards became a cradle of anti-DDR sentiment. Prenzlauer Berg was run down, and the authorities proposed tearing the neighborhood down and replacing it with more efficient and modern concrete block housing instead. But locals had a respect for this area’s history, and fought to keep the original architecture. They’d take ownership of courtyards like this one, chipping away at the concrete and planting grass and gardens—a process called Hofbegrünung (“courtyard greening-up”...urban gardening before it was hip). It was a literal “grassroots movement” of opposition to the centrally planned communist aesthetic (which hated the idea of people making their own decisions)—people were reclaiming their “shared property” from a government they didn’t trust. As the DDR’s grip slipped, courtyards became gathering places for artists, musicians, and rabble-rousing neighbors. (Another such gathering place were churches. For more on the role of churches—especially the nearby Zionskirche—in providing a haven for free speech under a dictatorship, see the sidebar on here.)
• Exiting the Farben courtyard, cross the street to the Künstler Magazin art-supply store (at #33), turn right, and head back up the other side of Kastanienallee. Enjoy browsing the businesses on this side of the street, and when you get back to Oderberger Strasse, turn left.
This unusually wide and inviting street is a favorite of Prenzlauer Berg residents. Its width suggests that, during the neighborhood’s industrial heyday, this was a main artery for deliveries to the Nordbahn (where we’re headed now).
Window-shop the funky bars and cafés along here. But choose wisely. You’ll spot many tacky, interchangeable “tropical cocktail” bars, with hanging lanterns out front and menus of forgettable Asian dishes, falafel, and Mexican food. These places—mostly catering to tourists—are disdained by many locals as not being authentically Berlin.
Instead, as you stroll, keep an eye out for these favorites: Kiezkantine (on the left at #50) is a cheap lunch spot run as a charity for the mentally disabled. Entweder Oder (“Either Or,” on the right at #15) is a sentimental favorite—it’s been in business since around the time the Wall came down. On the left at #44, Kauf dich Glücklich (“Shop Yourself Happy”) is another neighborhood classic—a ramshackle bar known for its tasty waffles and ice cream.
Across the street from Kauf dich Glücklich (just past #18), notice the big gap in the buildings—a sure sign that one of Prenzlauer Berg’s few random casualties from WWII bombs once stood here. This gap in particular leads to a historic courtyard: the Hirschhof (“Deer Courtyard”), which was the main location of those grassroots, urban-beautification movements in the late-communist period. You could say that the Hirschhof was the birthplace of East Berlin’s “Green” movement. This courtyard is now private property, but you can see kids playing nearby...under the gaze of a graffiti deer (Hirsch).
Continue along Oderberger Strasse. You’ll pass the recommended Engelberg café (on the right at #21, with Bavarian food in a trendy Berlin setting), then Berlin’s oldest red-brick fire station, and then another gap (WWII-destroyed building).
A couple of blocks from this walk (down Kastanienallee) stands the Zionskirche. While there’s little to see there, inside or out, it’s an important landmark of the neighborhood—and Prenzlauer Berg’s history of resistance.
In the Depression-era 1930s, a wealthy young man named Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945) chose the simple life of a priest, and worked with disadvantaged children here at the Zionskirche. Later he spoke out boldly against the rise of Nazism, conspired against the Hitler regime, was sent to a concentration camp, and was hanged just weeks before the end of the war.
In the 1980s, the Zionskirche hosted the “Environmental Library” (Umweltbibliothek)—an underground resource for the anti-DDR, pro-environment crew that took root in dilapidated Prenzlauer Berg courtyards. In a sign of the DDR’s waning power, the government’s attempts to shut down the library failed.
This is a good example of the role that the Church played throughout DDR times: While the atheistic regime formally stripped the Church of its power, individual churches provided a safe place for like-minded people to gather and organize. This phenomenon—called Kirche von unten (“Church from below”)—was one of the most significant footholds of anti-DDR resistance. To attract participants, many DDR churches had Bluesmesse—church services combined with popular musical acts. In October of 1987, the Zionskirche famously hosted a rock concert by a West Berlin band, who screamed into their microphones from the pulpit. Later that night, concertgoers were attacked by East Berlin skinheads—a PR black eye for the proudly “antifascist” DDR government, just when it least needed one.
And it wasn’t just in East Berlin. In nearby Leipzig, Monday evening “prayer for peace” gatherings began in 1982, and later became the nucleus of citywide protests in September and October of 1989—which proved instrumental in the collapse of the DDR.
These days, churches are considered conservative and old-fashioned. The Zionskirche offers an intriguing lesson that, back in DDR times, it was exactly the opposite.
Just past the gap, peruse the window displays at VEB Orange (#29, with the East German hammer-and-compass insignia)—a tongue-in-cheek antique store specializing in DDR-era items. If it’s cheaply made of bright-colored plastic, you’ll find it here. The little cups shaped like chickens—for eating a hard-boiled egg—were standard-issue throughout the DDR, and remain a kitschy symbol of those times. The name VEB (Volkseigener Betrieb) means “people’s own company”—the main way of doing business in communist times, when private property was frowned upon (as opposed to West Germany’s standard, the GmbH—a privately owned “business with limited liability”).
Across the street at #35, Bonanza Coffee Heroes is a favorite of coffee snobs.
• Soon you’ll reach a point where the road takes a dramatic bend to the left—as if to avoid the busier road (Bernauer Strasse) just beyond. This bend curls into...
The Berlin Wall came over the hill on the horizon, then took a sharp left turn along Bernauer Strasse. This was the East. Just across Bernauer Strasse was the West. That’s why, rather than flowing logically into the main road, Schwedter Strasse has last-minute second thoughts and retreats from it. This street was so close to the Wall that locals had to show their ID to even be allowed to walk here. Meanwhile, a platform on the other side of Bernauer Strasse allowed Westerners to peer down into the mysterious East—and even shout across to loved ones who were still trapped there. In 1964, Martin Luther King, Jr. stood here to survey the Wall.
Facing away from the busy street, notice the blown-up photograph on the side of the building: Hundreds of people gathered right here. It’s 1989, and the Berlin Wall has just (finally) cracked open. You come here, with everyone else in the neighborhood, and wait for your turn to cross...to set foot in West Berlin for the first time since 1961. And then—unbelievably—it actually happens.
By the way, that giant photograph—and the rust-colored pillars just below it—are the last stop of the more than one-mile-long Berlin Wall Memorial. You could follow informational pillars like this one all the way to the beginning—or, at the end of this walk, you can hop on a tram to Nordbahnhof and follow those sights in order. (More on that in a moment.)
• Cross busy Bernauer Strasse and head into the...
This “Wall Park” fills an area that used to be the deadly no-man’s-land between East and West. Today it’s a lively gathering place.
Head up the hill to the graffitied wall of the sports stadium to get the big picture. Have a seat (or go for a swing) and survey the valley below you.
The brick path is where the wall once ran. The vast field beyond (now under development) was, before that, the site of the Nordbahn train line—once the economic lifeline of Prenzlauer Berg. The big wall behind you—now a favorite canvas for local graffiti artists—strategically blocked the view of the West for people attending an event at the DDR soccer stadium, the Friedrich-Ludwig-Jahn-Sportpark. This was built to host the World Youth Festival in 1951 and is still marked by its original bombastic light towers (even light towers were designed to stir young communist souls).
While this park is usually quiet, it’s packed on Sundays, when it hosts a lively outdoor market and a big karaoke sing-off on the outdoor stage...a celebration of life, as Berliners literally dance on the grave of the Wall that divided their city. In Prenzlauer Berg, the future is very bright indeed.
• Our walk is finished. If you head back to Bernauer Strasse, you’ll find a stop for tram #M10. If you’d like to see more of the Berlin Wall, you can take this to the right, to the Berlin Nordbahnhof stop, at the start of the 
Berlin Wall Memorial Tour.
Alternatively, you can take tram #M10 to the left one stop (or simply walk a few minutes) to reach the Eberswalder Strasse U-Bahn station—with Konnopke’s (if you’re ready for a Currywurst) and several other great restaurants; the start of Kastanienallee (for more browsing); tram #M1 back down along Kastanienallee, and eventually to Hackescher Markt and the Scheunenviertel; and the U2 subway line to anywhere in Berlin. The Kulturbraueri and Everyday Life in the DDR museum are a short walk just beyond the U-Bahn station.