A corridor inside the fort leading to an enticingly open gate
On Saturday 26th July, I trekked off to Fort Gorgast, a moated ruin a few kilometres from the Polish border, for The Reader Berlin’s summer festival. A programme of mainly (but not exclusively) literary-themed activities had been devised for the weekend, which also included live music, films and a wine bar.
After waking with a headache which I attributed to lack of sleep over the previous two nights
rather than the three craft beers I’d had in the Monterey Bar the evening before, I drank half a pint of water, took an Ibuprofen
and stepped into the shower, hoping that it might liven me up for the day ahead. Then I
checked off the things I needed – money, phone, train ticket, pens and paper, plus
an assortment of other potential necessities.
I wish I was the kind of person who could just fling a bag over their shoulder
and set off without having to first fill it with provisions for every possible
eventuality, but I’m a life-long sufferer of ‘kitchen sink’ syndrome and I
behave like an anally retentive boy scout whenever I go anywhere.
A lingering fog swathed the DDR architecture of
Lichtenberg, where I just had time to pick up a coffee and sandwich before boarding the Kostrzyn-bound train. As we headed east, the suburbs began to thin
out and before long we were trundling through open countryside. The stations we stopped at seemed to be little
more than derelict buildings in the middle of nowhere, Gorgast's being no exception.
By the time we arrived the
early mist had evaporated and it was hot.
I followed a lonely road which,
after about fifteen minutes, brought me to the ‘fischerei’ (a wooden shack which contained a smokehouse and a quaint fish
restaurant) at the fort's entrance. Across from the fischerei was a tiny
meadow where a yoga class – one of the weekend’s planned activities – was taking
place. I opened an iron gate and crossed
the moat into the fort complex which was begging to be explored.
Old station building at Gorgast
On the way to the fort - the white building in the distance is the one in the previous picture
Inside the fort it was dark and musty. Rooms led into other rooms or onto winding
corridors. At one point I spotted the
remains of a crumbling stone staircase – the bottom half a dozen steps had
eroded completely away making it tantalisingly inaccessible. As I made my way further into the chilly
interior, I thought inevitably of gothic romances – windswept castles,
imprisoned heroines, and creepy passageways with secret compartments. As the location for a literary festival, this
was an inspired choice.
Another of the fort's creepy corridors - they weren't all this well-lit!
Emerging back into the
daylight, I took one of the winding paths that criss-crossed the woods, walking
over the top of the fort and through the trees to the section of moat behind
it. Bathing in
the moat was off limits at it was spiked but, looking at the colour of the
water which was bright green with algae, I’m not sure many would have wanted to
anyway. Every so often I came across a
tent or a lone scribbler. There was
plenty of evidence of the previous night’s revelries; spent tea lights were
scattered throughout the grounds and in one clearing there was a gazebo-type
canopy, some sound equipment and a crate of empty bottles.
Looking down into a section of the fort
The woods behind the fort
Back at the fort, a barbecue was blazing and one or two were
having lunch. There was a kitchen inside
the fort but no fridge – although the chilly interior meant that one wasn’t
really needed. Various items (bottles of
water, bags of food, musical instruments) had been stowed in dark corners. I’d
deposited my own bag of supplies in what appeared to be a defunct inglenook
fireplace.
The first of the day’s two planned workshops, run by Jane
Flett, took place in the yard under a porch of sorts. For this, Jane had sourced a random selection
of ads from Craigslist – people wanting to buy or sell, appeal for or offer services, or simply attempt to make contact with that beautiful
stranger they’d seen on the S-Bahn the day before. We each took an ad and set about creating a narrative
based on it. In mine, someone was
trying to get rid of a large quantity of wooden windows. After completing a number of exercises designed to get us thinking first about the person who might be behind our ad then about who might respond,
we dispersed to spend twenty minutes writing up our narratives. I sought
the shade of the fort for this. We then returned to
the porch to share what we had written.
I love hearing other people’s responses, getting an idea of their
creative style and an understanding of how their thought processes work. Another writer in the group had also taken
the ‘windows’ ad and the piece she produced could not have been more
different from mine.
For the next workshop we carried the tables and benches into the cool and airy entrance to the fort.
By then the wine bar had been set up, and I decided
it was high time for a glass of chilled white Bordeaux. This workshop, ‘Kickstart Your Writing’
with Victoria Gosling, was all about stimulating creativity. It involved various exercises aimed at firing the imagination, and a discussion of the techniques used for banishing writer's block.
Writing workshop in the entrance to the fort
Afterwards, I took another glass of wine to a shady spot in
the woods where I continued to scribble away at the story I’d begun in the
first workshop.
There was an open mic session planned for the evening and I’d intended to
stay for it but I was anxious about getting my train back to Berlin.
I'd opted for a one-day ticket as I had a lot to do that weekend with visitors arriving. I’d had a fantastic day and it was with great reluctance that I made my
way back to the station, thinking about the ghostly tales I was missing. I don’t
know whether the summer festival will be an annual event but if so, I’ll definitely
be going for the whole weekend next time!
Back at the station - the deserted platform
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