Years ago, I was browsing through an old edition of Time Magazine that featured this mini article about Times Square. Some preacher claimed that Times Square had more sin per square inch than any other place in the world, and revealed his plans to build a chapel there.
It's a good thing Preacher Man never made it to Hamburg, because his definition of 'sin' would go flying out the window like the anorexic Olsen twins after turning on an electric fan.
I am talking about the notorious Redlight District in Hamburg, the Reeperbahn in St. Pauli, of course. Just for kicks, my host Peter and I decide to take a stroll down there one evening. At first, I hesitate. As a married man, I can think of better ways to get my kicks. But there it is, the famous Herbertstraße, where you will find a series of window displays, each one exhibiting a fine-looking woman dressed in the most suggestive garb, all yours for the taking...if the price as right, as Bob Barker used to say.
People who first come to visit the Herbertstraße need to shake their heads to reassure themselves of what they have just discovered. And yet, these are not mannequins but live women, all on display for whatever reason. As you pass the windows, they will open up, one by one, a head will pop out and beckon for you to join her. I am too embarrassed to answer, let alone look at them, that's how sad this all is. This little strip is enclosed by what appears to be a wall on each end, and guarded by the meanest looking gorillas you can clone in a lab. Though fascinated by this open display of pretentious lust, I am more than happy to move on.
But the Mile of Sin (die geile Meile, as the Germans call it) doesn't stop there. Aside from the hundred or so more offers we receive on our way to the harbor, we run into the drug dealers. These guys are as much a secret to the local police as a Category 5 hurricane would be the day before hitting Florida. These are usually colored people (sorry, but they are, without exception) speaking broken German and beginning their sales pitch with the famous "Haben Sie Feuer?" Do you have a light, pure and simple. We have to pass a dozen dealers and a dozen more consumers (that is not incense) until we finally reach the saner shores of the Elbe river and the harbor.
On our way there, we pick up a beer each at the local gas station, a station that's famous for never closing, according to Peter. How does he know this? Years ago, they practiced a fire drill in the neighborhood one afternoon that called for each resident and business owner to clear their premises ASAP. Shopowners were encouraged to lock their doors and bring themselves to safety. The only problem with this little drill was that nobody had any keys to the gas station. Thus, they were compelled to leave the place open, the way it had been since, oh, how about its grand opening?
We treat ourselves to a snack down by the harbor and then begin our trip back home, this route leading us past a dozen x-rated clubs, and what was formerly known as the Star Club, where the Beatles famously perfected their live act in the early sixties before hitting the big time back in the UK.
As we head home, I realize that this place hasn't changed at all since I first saw it decades ago and probably never will, unless human taste does, in this case the voracious appetite for the pervasive activities the Mile of Sin has to offer. Here's a line Preacher Man would have probably come up with: Rejoice, oh young man in thy youth. So very true. I'm still glad those days are over.
It's a good thing Preacher Man never made it to Hamburg, because his definition of 'sin' would go flying out the window like the anorexic Olsen twins after turning on an electric fan.
I am talking about the notorious Redlight District in Hamburg, the Reeperbahn in St. Pauli, of course. Just for kicks, my host Peter and I decide to take a stroll down there one evening. At first, I hesitate. As a married man, I can think of better ways to get my kicks. But there it is, the famous Herbertstraße, where you will find a series of window displays, each one exhibiting a fine-looking woman dressed in the most suggestive garb, all yours for the taking...if the price as right, as Bob Barker used to say.
People who first come to visit the Herbertstraße need to shake their heads to reassure themselves of what they have just discovered. And yet, these are not mannequins but live women, all on display for whatever reason. As you pass the windows, they will open up, one by one, a head will pop out and beckon for you to join her. I am too embarrassed to answer, let alone look at them, that's how sad this all is. This little strip is enclosed by what appears to be a wall on each end, and guarded by the meanest looking gorillas you can clone in a lab. Though fascinated by this open display of pretentious lust, I am more than happy to move on.
But the Mile of Sin (die geile Meile, as the Germans call it) doesn't stop there. Aside from the hundred or so more offers we receive on our way to the harbor, we run into the drug dealers. These guys are as much a secret to the local police as a Category 5 hurricane would be the day before hitting Florida. These are usually colored people (sorry, but they are, without exception) speaking broken German and beginning their sales pitch with the famous "Haben Sie Feuer?" Do you have a light, pure and simple. We have to pass a dozen dealers and a dozen more consumers (that is not incense) until we finally reach the saner shores of the Elbe river and the harbor.
On our way there, we pick up a beer each at the local gas station, a station that's famous for never closing, according to Peter. How does he know this? Years ago, they practiced a fire drill in the neighborhood one afternoon that called for each resident and business owner to clear their premises ASAP. Shopowners were encouraged to lock their doors and bring themselves to safety. The only problem with this little drill was that nobody had any keys to the gas station. Thus, they were compelled to leave the place open, the way it had been since, oh, how about its grand opening?
We treat ourselves to a snack down by the harbor and then begin our trip back home, this route leading us past a dozen x-rated clubs, and what was formerly known as the Star Club, where the Beatles famously perfected their live act in the early sixties before hitting the big time back in the UK.
As we head home, I realize that this place hasn't changed at all since I first saw it decades ago and probably never will, unless human taste does, in this case the voracious appetite for the pervasive activities the Mile of Sin has to offer. Here's a line Preacher Man would have probably come up with: Rejoice, oh young man in thy youth. So very true. I'm still glad those days are over.
