Kreuzberg Hotel Debacle

Nobody told me exactly what I needed to do, just that I should be outside the abandoned hotel at 3pm. Let some people in with this key. Don't lose the key. They'll know the rest, they're professionals.

So I took the train over the river and suddenly there I was, standing outside a beautiful 19th Century building in Kreuzberg, nonchalantly jangling the keys to a property that's worth 1.5 million Euros. It was no ordinary Friday.

They arrived one by one, a mix of New Yorkers and Germans, and they were disturbingly young. Around my age, probably. It felt as though I was peering through the looking glass. On the surface they were the same as me, but there was one big difference: these reflections which stared back at me were organised, driven human beings. Goal-oriented. Shrewd. Money people.

And suddenly they were asking me questions.

"Is the facade protected?"

"How many rooms are occupied?"

Earnest faces peered in at me from the other side, the commercial Wonderland. I had two options. Do I lie, pretending to be professional and risk being exposed as a fake when my answers prove to be complete bullshit? Or do I admit to being completely clueless, an unfortunate individual trapped through complicated circumstances in this rather awkward situation?

"I just have the keys," I shrugged, apologetically.

They realised that they were dealing with a complete amateur and left me alone after that. All I had to do was fulfil my duty; that is, I turned the key in the padlock and opened the place up for them.

"What makes a house grand," sang Tom Waits, "it ain't the roof or the door. If there's love in a house, it's a palace for sure." Beautiful words, and very true. Unfortunately, however, love is no longer considered a solid investment. In order to decide whether or not this was a palace these guys had brought a team of surveyors, architects and structural engineers with them and walked around tapping everything.

I realised that I was no longer of use and wandered off to explore. The place was five storeys high and had been left in a complete mess. Mushrooms bloomed from empty wine bottles littering the floor. Mattresses had been torn out, windows smashed and one of the toilets now had what appeared to be a tree growing out of it. Amidst the ruins I found a West German newspaper from 1984, giant metal candlestick holders and framed paintings. I was fighting an extremely strong urge to steal everything that wasn't nailed down.

My new friends seemed less impressed. They walked around knocking the walls and muttering to each other. It was a little strange that none of them seemed enthusiastic about this giant, sleeping beast of a building. A ghost hotel with an old-fashioned mirrored bar, rusting balconies and rotting treasures. A real-life haunted house.

A torn copy of the Bible lay on the floor of a trashed bedroom. The cover had been ripped off, revealing one of those inadvertently funny contents pages telling you where to turn for guidance in every situation under the sun, from the loss of a family member to an unpleasant winter cold.

But unfortunately for me there was no page which advises you on what to do if you are in a 15,000 square metre wasteland, hiding from investors and feeling a strange mix of sadness, excitement, emptiness and adventure.

So I just climbed up to the top of the haunted house and looked down on Kreuzberg, sat up there with the rain clouds, broken furniture and shattered dreams. For the investors it may have been a bit of a waste of time, but I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday afternoon.