Pictures: Expat Couple Visits St. Pauli’s Red Light District in Hamburg, Germany
Welcome to the Free and Hanseatic City of Hamburg, the second largest city in Germany, where you can legally pay someone to touch your pork roll.
On March 23rd, 2013, The Wife and I took a day trip to Hamburg. We rode the Metronome (or “slow train,” as we affectionately refer to it) north for about one hour, changed lines in Uelzen, then rode another hour to Hamburg.
When we first arrived, I was struck by the extent to which Hamburg reminded me of Seattle. It was beautiful, with a lively and colorful bay rife with wide-eyed tourists staggered about in circles. However, where Seattle has hills and skyscrapers, Hamburg has cargo cranes and a world-famous red light district. The red light district surrounds the street called Reeperbahn, which runs right through the St. Pauli quarter of the city. St. Pauli used to make me think of St. Pauli Girl beer (which is actually brewed in Bremen). Now, Saint Pauli makes me think of a slightly intimidating neighborhood where a couple of euros gets your bone smooched.
The Red Light District of St. Pauli is best seen at night, or so I was advised, enthusiastically, by the German guy I spoke with at the Restaurant Fischerhaus. Sure enough, there were neon signs and crazy porno storefronts everywhere, so I imagine the effect at night would be much like that of the Las Vegas Strip, where my every sense is subjected to a spectacular display of Shock and Awe. And much like the Las Vegas Strip, I wanted to spend just enough time on Reeperbahn street to have a beer, take a few pictures and get the hell out of there before shit got weird.
Here are our pictures. We hope you can dig ’em!
Here’s the Uelzen Train Station on the way to Hamburg. Some artist named Friedensreich Hundertwasser designed this crazy bastard. Inside it’s like a trippy little Shire, and the hobbits are clearly off the wagon.
We arrived! This is likely the first thing you’ll see in the Hamburg train station… and it may very well be the last thing you remember.
The Hamburg Hauptbahnhof. Look at that sucker. Why is the ceiling so high? Ventilation? It made me feel like Pinocchio inside the whale.
As you exit the Central Station, you’ll pass under this giant clock. Always note the time, because you might be frightened and hauling ass when it comes time to leave Hamburg.
That’s the Port of Hamburg; a menagerie of cranes, cruise liners, container vessels and luxury yachts arranged to confound and disorient the average tourist.
That’s a lot of cranes, man. Some of them are for cargo and some are for construction, but any one of them could drop something heavy on a skittish American tourist and his tiny German wife.
There are all sorts of museums and tunnels under the Port of Hamburg, and their entrance fees are prohibitively expensive. (Also, I hate spending money on anything but beer and iTunes credits.)
You can take a tour of that U-Boat right there. You’ll pay €12 euros to relive the horrors of Das Boot and they don’t even serve beer.
This should be about the last picture of the shipyard cranes. Sorry. But now we all know where to go when we need to winterize our yachts, right? Right guys…?
I think we all knew this picture was coming: Brewdoggies at the famous Fischerhaus Restaurant. MAN it was cold that day. Even with a blanket on our laps, we didn’t last too long outside.
This was taken inside the Restaurant Fischerhaus. Look at that man. That is a large man. You could fit an entire American tourist inside him, plus his German wife, and still leave room for dessert.
There’s the Reeperbahn street sign, pointing us toward the Red Light District and all kinds of trouble. (Especially the kind of trouble where you’re butt nekid.)
And here’s Reeperbahn street itself. Not too crazy during the daytime, but I could already smell the nasty promises coming off those heart-shaped neon signs.
Look at those crazy dildos. Are they for “him” or for “her?” I don’t know! I feel like I just stumbled into Herpes Disneyland!
Die Polizei, sitting peacefully right in the middle of the Red Light District. I don’t know why, but this picture warms my American heart.
My wife told me people can DEFINITELY get horizontal in that building in the middle. I kept asking her if she could tell for sure. I wanted absolute proof, you see, because some part of my Puritanically rooted brain still struggles to accept the fact that prostitution is legal here. (Exactly the way God intended.)
This is the entrance to the famous alley where you can — no doubt about it — pay your hard-earned money to slam the Black Forest ham. I actually went in and tried to take a picture, but one of the prostitutes opened her window and told me I wasn’t allowed to do that. And seriously, just like Eve in the Garden of Eden, she was eating an apple. (And sitting there looking bored as hell, ready to just ruin shit for everybody.)
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You should try going to the main Hamburg market at about five am and having the original hot dog – a frankfurter in a bun. Mind you, I was taken for this treat in 1950-something aged about seven.
Different to Amsterdam where you are allowed to wander a bit more freely – id probably be more curious and determined if someone told me I wasn’t allowed to go somewhere than if I was able to go wherever!
I know. In retrospect, I could have walked around recording video if I’d wanted. No one could have really stopped me. (Especially because the ladies probably weren’t wearing shoes, so I could just run away real quick-like.) :)
lol if they were wearing stripper heels they could do some damage (mental image of one being thrown down the street boomarang style!)
I respect that they don’t want pictures taken, same goes in Amsterdam. Guess I wouldn’t want people snapping pictures of me at work either – especially if I had my kit off!
I know. Me neither. I’d hate for people to take pictures of me as I sit in front of my computer for 10 hours per day, still wearing my pajamas and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over my head. *shudder*
Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
You should try going to the main Hamburg market at about five am and having the original hot dog – a frankfurter in a bun. Mind you, I was taken for this treat in 1950-something aged about seven.
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Haw haw! Sounds awesome, Hilary. Next time I will do exactly that.
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Different to Amsterdam where you are allowed to wander a bit more freely – id probably be more curious and determined if someone told me I wasn’t allowed to go somewhere than if I was able to go wherever!
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I know. In retrospect, I could have walked around recording video if I’d wanted. No one could have really stopped me. (Especially because the ladies probably weren’t wearing shoes, so I could just run away real quick-like.) :)
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lol if they were wearing stripper heels they could do some damage (mental image of one being thrown down the street boomarang style!)
I respect that they don’t want pictures taken, same goes in Amsterdam. Guess I wouldn’t want people snapping pictures of me at work either – especially if I had my kit off!
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I know. Me neither. I’d hate for people to take pictures of me as I sit in front of my computer for 10 hours per day, still wearing my pajamas and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over my head. *shudder*
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