The scent of linden trees in Berlin
I noticed this scent the very first moment I arrived in Berlin accompanying my husband for a week-long conference he was attending. Berlin was a city disproportionally full of trees and flowers, and this fresh scent filled the air. The scent was very light, with woody simplicity and clarity.
Then I noticed these trees everywhere I went, in the park, on the side of the road, and at the subway entrance. It is no exaggeration to say that the whole of Berlin was immersed in this faint fragrance at that moment.
That scent, matched with the growing grass and flying warblers in the early summer of June, was very very bourgeois, which is fascinating. I can’t imagine how Berliners who grew up immersed with this scent could become Nazis.
The omnipotent Google allowed me to find the name of the tree-Linden tree in ten minutes. Germans called it Linden, Americans called it Basswood, Brits called it Limetree.
“The linden tree is revered by the Germans as Freya, the goddess of love and luck. In the past, there was a linden tree in every village center in many places in Central Europe. The linden tree was often a place for gatherings, information exchanges, or weddings. Early May. Most of the dance festivals are held under the lime trees.”
“In contrast to the European oak, the linden tree is often regarded as a female plant, because its name is similar to the German word “lind” for “soft.” In the German mind, the linden tree is sacred.” (from Wikipedia)
After the reunification of Berlin in the last decade or so, a road that was famous in Europe during the Austrian-Hungarian Empire called Unter Den Linden is becoming a center of tourist attraction again. It is a day one must do action in every sort of tour guide you could find for Berlin’s day trip advice. The German name of this avenue means “Under the Linden Trees.” It is equivalent to Renmin South Road in Chengdu, the Bund in Shanghai (I think Hengshan Road is more appropriate), Chang’an Avenue in Beijing, Fifth Avenue in New York, Champs Elysees in Paris.
Continue reading on the Internet, and I found that Hitler indeed thought this tree was too petty bourgeoisie and sentimental. When he came to power, he ordered the linden tree in the most prosperous section of the Museum Island from the gate of the Victory to be cut down and replaced with the mighty Nazi red flags, rows after rows.
To the west of the Brandenburg Gate is Berlin’s forest park — Großer Tiergarten, with a radius of nearly two square miles, which is larger than New York’s Central Park and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge Park.
The hotel we stayed in was right on the side of the park. On the first day, I walked across the park and noticed the big linden trees with lush foliage and graceful posture.
Later, when I went to the Museum Island, I found some smaller varieties, which were trimmed like umbrellas and smelled more fragrant.
Finally, on the way back to the hotel, I took another close-up photo of linden flowers and leaves in the sunset.
Then I went to visit the Reichstag building. Overlooking the city, the narrator mentioned that at the end of World War II, the people in Berlin were short of food and clothing, so they had no choice but to cut down the trees in the forest park (including many of the Linden trees) and burn them for heating. Most of the trees in the forest park were replanted after the war.
It’s heartbroken to see how dire this park looked at the end of WWII. And how forgiving nature is to all the damages it received. I biked back and forth in that Berlin’s oldest city forests a couple of times when I was there and could hardly see any sign of the war except the monuments.
I have been missing that scent ever since.
Today I found an artisan soap made in France was based on the “Linden” scent and with no hesitation and just a quick sniff behind my mask, I bought it.
When I got home, I opened the case and put the soap under my nose. I inhaled deeply. Among the strong artificial aroma, I did sense the faintest similarity of what I was bathed with when I was in Berlin four early summers ago.
This is so far the closest I could recreate of that lovely few days’ aromas in the air that I was breathing in that lovely city. Two years ago, from a Russian ethnic grocery store on the Almaden Express Way, I once found a jar of honey imported from the Bavaria State of Germany. It was called “Linden Honey” and claimed that it was made from the pollen of linden flowers in Germany. In the end, I was disappointed as I could hardly found that scent no matter how much honey I poured into the hot water.
I have to go back to Berlin one day. I must go back when the linden trees start blossoming with that light aroma filled in the air, which gets stronger and sweeter with days gone by. Then, you just cannot help being drunken with it and Berlin becomes even more beautiful through your melancholy eyes.
And in your head, Nana Mouskouri was quietly singing Schubert's “Der Linderbaum”.
