The bear pit swallows it’s next victim, a petite blonde held together by denim and lace, her thigh-high boots paired with a loose t-shirt-come-dress and finished with a red sash tied around her waist.
She fumbles nervously with the sash as she ejects unknown lyrics to the onlookers, her gaze cast down away from the judging eyes of the public. Nothing she does impresses, the crowd begin to cackle and boo in a comical fashion and soon our confused clash of textiles is unanimously evicted from the public arena. It’s called Bear pit karaoke for a reason.
Behind the grass covered concrete amphitheatre, towering above any natural structure, adorned with street art from all over the world, the remains of the Berlin Wall peer down over the wannabe pop stars. Cutting through green fields like an angular concrete snake, history’s most revered division now acts as both a haunting reminder of humanities darkest hours and a blank canvas for social thought.
The summers heat of a sunny Sunday afternoon mirrors the local vibe, hordes of trendy middle classes picking their way through a maze of antiques stalls sprawling the length of Mauer park.