Tempelhof used to be an airport: its curved terminal building was designed by Hitler’s favorite architect Albert Speer, but ten years ago the air traffic was moved southward to Schönefeld, and gardeners and skaters and runners have reclaimed it. That evening was warm, and so the park was full of groups of friends lighting early spring barbecues and couples twisted in blankets. I felt full of a kind of illicit hope, witnessing such human-scale pleasures taking place on a site designed for machines and industry and war.
