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Under The Sky of Berlin - My Chinese National Day 2010

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  英语作文:Under The Sky of Berlin - My Chinese National Day 2010
  
  Long, long ago, when I was in college, a classmate brought up in a ballet family asked me what place I wanted most to visit, I told him it was Brandenburg Gate. He laughed and rightly pointed out that I my excessive and morbid love for 3Bs (Bach, Beethoven and Brahms) had led my mind astray. A score of years later, I finally arrived at Berlin, the place I wanted most to visit in the world.
  
  Early in the morning, I took the S-train to Brandenburger Tor (Brandenburg Gate)。 Upon exiting the station, I immediately spotted the bronze Victoria (Roman Goddess of Victory) on the gate, who had witnessed many great events in the history of Germany. I walked through the gate and headed for Bundestag (the parliament) building. There I waited in line to go up to the Dome. I climbed slowly along the spiral passageway to the cupola, relishing the 360-degree view of the surrounding Berlin cityscape. I found many exotic buildings, including the synagogue, the golden pentagon philharmonic concert hall, and the TV tower in Alexanderplatz. The futuristic building designed by Norman Foster is such a transparent beauty that it reminds everybody who has visited it the modernity of Berlin. I walked back to Unter den Linden, the renowned boulevard of linden trees to which Brandenburg Gate serves as a monumental entry.  The linden tree, known in India as “tree of bodhi (enlightenment)”, being a symbol of meditation and insight, testifies to the spiritual resemblance of Germany and India. Strolling on this boulevard is an exhilarating experience for me, for I felt I had been there for many times, perhaps in hallucination. Images of “Little Buddha” performed by Keanu Reeves flashed in my mind, which corresponds with the story of “Guatama Siddharta” written by Hermann Hesse. Buildings along the boulevard include the state opera, where Adolf Hitler reveled in Wagner's operas night after night with standing tickets, the memorial of book burning by Joseph Goebbels, the flagrant Nazi Propaganda Minister, and Humboldt University. I walked along the boulevard until I reached the museum island, an ensemble of five museums. Among them Pergamon Museum is the best-known. It continues to attract one million visitors a year from all over the world to marvel at the reconstructed Pergamon Altar, the Market Gate of Miletus and the Ishtar Gate. The old National Gallery is also a treasure trove of artistic marvels. To me, the most impressive painting of its collection is one by Giovanni Segantini, the Italian symbolist painter. In the exceptionally beautiful Alps, a farmer was carrying a cart with a coffin of his son, on which lay a weeping sister and a whining mother in despair. The pink colour of the clouds seems to ooze from heaven, and the beauty of nature served to augment the unavoidable destiny of human beings greatly. The human suffering is endowed with a sacred meaning under the brushstroke of the painter.
  
  After a tiring tour of all the five museums on the museumsinsel, it was already twilight. I visited the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. The building consists of 2700 concrete blocks on undulating ground. An unbearable heaviness of history gradually seized me, and I nearly stopped breathing when I walked through a wavy path among the stones. It is sheer blood, millions of tons of blood that congealed that heaviness. Berlin is great not only because it is artistic, but because it is tragic.
  
  Potsdamer Platz was a famous painting of Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, which illustrated the transience of modernity, and that happened to be the final stop of my Chinese National Day in Berlin. I attempted to try my luck in Berliner Philharmonie, the concert hall that I have been watching in videos all along. Fortunately, Berliner Philharmonic Orchestra will be performing Dvorak that night. I bought a ticket of Podium Seat, which is supposedly the worst seat, but virtually the best seat, because it faces the director. And the concert is perfect, nearly with the smell of Czech goulash (beef soup with potato) and the fantasized sight of rustic scenery of Bohemian forests. As I was sitting in the podium seat with a black girl from America with a musical scholarship on my left and a British-French software engineer cum amateur pianist on my right, I realized that day was really a day when dreams came true.
  
  Under the sky of Berlin were two angels, piercing through the clouds, haphazardly caught sight of the Alpine painting by Segantini in Alte Nationalgalerie with their clairvoyance. What attracted their attention was the pink colour of the clouds. They argued bitterly about where the pink originated from. One angel claimed it was from a rose in the Eden, the God's garden. The other announced it was nothing but blood of human beings. It is most probable both of them are right.
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