Olympic village
Berlin 1936: Olympic effort for an abandoned village
Nearly too knackered by the time I arrived to do any exploring at all. More than 40 kilometers on a bicycle from Friedrichshain to Elstal, a dastardly wind resisting all the way, efforts furthermore compounded by unforeseen diversions derived from the overly optimistic tactic of simply pointing the bike west.
“Who needs maps anyway?” I won’t be doing that again. Then there was the prospect of cycling back! Alter, I was wrecked.
Yes, it truly was an Olympic effort to get there – Jesse Owens himself would have been proud – but there was no way I could arrive at this abandoned village once home to nearly 5,000 athletes, peep through the fence, and simply turn back the way I’d come. I had to go in! So I did.
There used to be a time, before the shadow of suspicion accompanied every achievement, when the Olympic Games were the toast of the world.
Berlin’s in 1936 were the most captivating games of all, albeit for all the wrong reasons, not only doping. Coming at a time when the Nazis had been in power for three years, they provided Hitler with a stage to show the world their greatness and prove the superiority of the Aryan race.
That notion was knocked on the head when a member of a supposed inferior race proved superior to the rest. There was nothing inferior about Jesse Owens as his four gold medals affirmed, much to the pleasure of all but the so-called Führer.
Hitler’s native Austria only collected a measly 13 medals, compared with his adopted country’s 89, so he masterminded the Anschluß a couple of years later, before his insatiable appetite for more gold medals prompted his bid to take over the world in 1939.
Perhaps it’s no coincidence Nazi Germany attacked, fought or annexed countries that finished above Austria in the medal table from that Olympics.
Ireland escaped such a fate as it had boycotted the games, not for any bold political statement against the Nazis, but because of a row over northern athletes competing for the British. The British shared Adolf’s penchant for medals and had long plundered Irish talent as their own.
Anyway, such thoughts were far from my head as I contemplated the empty buildings lurking ominously between the trees behind the fence.
This was it! The Olympic Village, 14km west of Olympiastadion, built between 1934 and 1936, and abandoned since the last Russian soldiers left in 1992.
Berlin was supposed to hold the Olympic Games in 1916, but these were abandoned due to the outbreak of the First World War two years previously.
In a bid to bring Germany back into the international fold after its defeat, the International Olympic Committee decided in 1931 that the games should take place in Berlin after all, 20 years after originally planned.
I’d say Hitler, who got into power two years later, couldn’t have believed his luck. What better stage does a zealous despot need to showcase his country’s grandeur and assert his individual might?
The Nazis also saw the benefits of mixing sport and politics, and they weren’t going to let the opportunity slip.
The Olympic Village was built on a 550,000 square meter site on land belonging to the Wehrmacht (German armed forces) to the east of existing military camps at Elstal and Elsgrund.
The Nazis, considerate souls that they were, ensured that all the constructed buildings would go back to the Wehrmacht after the games.
They spared no expense – they even had animals and waterfowl from the Berlin zoo relocated for the man-made lake. A wooden cabin with veranda provided sauna-fun at one end for the humans.
Some 370,000 curious visitors came to see the site when it was open to the public between May 1 and June 15, 1936. Then more than 4,800 male athletes, coaches or advisors from some 50 countries moved in in July.
They were housed in 136 one-story bungalows. The 500 female athletes were housed at the Reichssportfeld, where the Olympiastadion was (and still is of course). Apparently the luxurious facilities proved a hit with the athletes. Only the constant military presence and shameless propaganda irked them a bit.
Leni Riefenstahl filmed athletes training here for the second part of her 1938 documentary ‘Olympia’ titled ‘Fest der Schönheit’ (Festival of Beauty). She seemed to take great pleasure in filming the naked men splashing about and showering.
The two-story Hindenburg Haus – named after the field marshal and German president Paul von Hindenburg, patron of the Games up to his death in 1934 –was the main administration center with its own theater/television exchange. It was here that the first tests were done on live TV transmissions.
The 1936 Olympics provided the first live sports broadcasts to the world via what would later become known as Tacheles.
The fun ran from August 1-16. After a ‘successful tournament,’ feted by the international press, the Olympic Village was renovated and handed over to the Wehrmacht.
The first soldiers moved in to what became the Infanterieschule Döberitz (Infantry School Döberitz) in December.
The huge Speisehaus der Nationen, which had 40 canteens to cater for the hungry athletes, was converted into a hospital, while the Hindenburg Haus became a school and lecture hall.
The Nazis got back to their pre-tournament ways and resumed their persecution of Jews and other groups.
Even before the tournament, they had forced several Jews out of German sports clubs and the national team. Part-Jewish fencer Helene Mayer was a notable exception, winning a silver Olympic medal for the country that persecuted her.
Olympic Village director Wolfgang Fürstner took his own life three days after the games ended. He had Jewish roots and learned he was to be dismissed from the Wehrmacht because he had been classified a Jew by the Nazis, so rather than face such humiliation, he shot himself with a pistol not far from the lake. The Nazis covered up his suicide to avoid unwelcome attention.
They got plenty of attention with the outbreak of war three years later, and were left to regret it when it ended nearly six years after that.
The Soviets took over the Olympic Village and used it to house military personnel from the Döberitz barracks, also seized from the Germans. It was they who erected the Plattenbau buildings, huge empty shells of soulless apartments, long after the last athletes were gone.
It’s been abandoned since the last Russian soldiers left in 1992. Now the apartments are left to the wallpaper that still flaps on their walls. Flap, flap, flap! As if trying to talk to you.
My heart was in my mouth. Strange noises came from below me, then above; wood creaking, paper rustling, doors groaning, metal banging. Banging, banging, banging. Then I realized it was my heart. I closed my mouth so it wouldn’t jump out and proceeded cautiously.
I was captivated. Everywhere was fascinating dullness, mundane marvels; everywhere an unknown story desperate to be told. Who lived here? What did they do? Where are they now? Where did they buy their wallpaper? I never took so many pictures of wallpaper in my life.
What’s left of the original buildings are now under Denkmalschutz and beginning to look a bit healthier than they did before. Restoration is proceeding at a slow pace, restricted by a lack of money and unsuitability for lucrative apartments. It’s just that too far from Berlin, for now.
Outside I met someone as surprised to see me as I was to see him. A rabbit, he was probably used to having the whole Olympic Village to himself, hopping around, imagining every day that he’s Jesse Owens winning another four gold medals. We both froze and looked at each other. He twitched his nose and was gone, running as if going for another gold. Nothing inferior about his race either.
LOCATION AND ACCESS (HOW TO FIND GUIDE)
What: Olympic Village built for the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin.
Where: Elstal, Wustermark, Germany.
How to get there: Well, you could cycle like I did from Berlin, but I don’t recommend it. Better to take the regional train to Elstal and walk or cycle from there. An ABC ticket will cover you if you don’t want to risk “schwarzfahren.” Here it is on a map.
Getting in: Go around to the other side away from the security and nosy guards, and just hop over the fence. Be careful! Or, and I write this with a heavy heart, you can actually visit it legitimately before Hallowe’en, paying €4 at the entrance to be allowed wander around at your own leisure. It’s not quite the same of course. You can do tours for €10 for access inside some of the buildings. Dogs are allowed if you think your dog would be interested. They don’t have to pay.
When to go: Anytime before dark, preferably when it’s not raining.
Difficulty rating: 4/10. Getting there is the main problem, but once you’re in, you’re laughing.
Who to bring: People who don’t mind the sound of wallpaper flapping.
What to bring: Camera. A few bottles of Sterni to break up the journey and/or toast your success on getting there. They’ll be warm once you arrive, but what the hell. Maybe bring a few snacks to nibble on too. Unlike the Olympics nowadays, there’s a surprising lack of catering stands in this abandoned village. I can’t recommend pistachios enough.
Dangers: The imagination tends to run away with itself when exploring on your own, so watch out for that. Strange noises and eerie silences make for tingly nerves, unless you’ve paid in of course, which will make it as exciting as a visit to the supermarket. Otherwise, keep an eye out for the security guards. They take their job pretty seriously here. I figured Christmas Day would be a safe day to visit with everyone at home pretending to be happy, but there they were, zooming up after spotting me at the swimming pool and giving chase in a car despite the snow. I ran like Jesse Owens and obviously lived to tale the tale.
Filed 25/4/2010 | Updated 12/8/2016