‘What was it like growing up in Liverpool?’ a journalist asked John Lennon. ‘I didn’t grow up in Liverpool,’ he replied. ‘I grew up in Hamburg.’ My father grew up in Hamburg too, at the end of the second world war. The city had been bombed to smithereens. Cigarettes were the only currency, and my grandma had to trade her jewellery for food. When she met a British soldier who offered to take her to England, she grabbed this lifeline with both hands. If only she were alive to see her smart home town today.
When the Beatles came here in 1960, they stayed in St Pauli, the dockside red-light zone. When I first came here in 1990, St Pauli was still sleazy. Now it’s the height of chic. Some of the old strip-clubs have survived, but they’re outnumbered by swish coffee shops. Sight-seers forage for Beatles souvenirs amid the sex shops of the Reeperbahn. Through a friend, I met an old man who’d been a bouncer at some early Beatles gigs. He said Lennon was a loudmouth, Ringo Starr was easygoing and George Harrison never said a word. He liked Paul McCartney best.
You can see why Liverpool lads would have felt at home here. A Hanseatic port, Hamburg has always been cosmopolitan, Germany’s gateway to the world. The huge container ships in the harbour are a looming, thrilling presence. I like to walk along the waterfront, from Landungsbrücke to the Fischmarkt, and stop off at the quayside stalls for cold beer and pickled herring. Hamburg’s hearty street food reflects its rugged heritage; this is a city built on trade.
Hamburg’s centrepiece is the Alster, a large lake crisscrossed by ferries, right in the heart of town.
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