Just a Hotel
When I first saw this hotel, I imagined a golden age.
A time when every room was full, when the building was alive, with parties on every floor.
I later found out it did have a golden era, just not the one I had in mind.
In 1826, the street was named Kastanienallee, Chestnut Avenue, after the trees planted on both sides. Back then, the street was just beginning.
A few houses along the avenue.
Horse-drawn carriages passing.
And a small beer stand glowing at the end of the road.
Over the course of the 19th century, the street came alive. It was paved.
Shops began to appear, their windows filled with objects.
Trams passed by, carrying people and a sign of modern life making its way in.
It was then that the building took shape, filled with activity.
A warehouse stacked with goods.
A watchmaker shaping time behind his counter.
A second-hand shop, already carrying traces of other lives.
In the rear courtyard, a mail-order business operated quietly.
Everything was moving.
People, objects and time itself.