When Germany reunified in 1990, the fiercely debated decision to relocate the entire Government district from Bonn to Berlin had far reaching consequences that continue to influence the capital’s urban landscape to this day.

As a holder of vast architectural archives, the Berlinische Galerie is currently hosting a fascinating exhibition of models, drawings and photographs entitled The New Berlin: Public Buildings and Embassies since 1990, which explores these ongoing changes.

The Reichstag is possibly the most well-known of architectural transformations to have taken place, but the move to Berlin also meant that countries from across the world would have to relocate--and thus rebuild--their embassies.

The Spreebogen, an arch in the river just north of Tiergarten’s eastern edge, was assigned for Berlin’s parliamentary district, with the diplomatic district a few steps away, its embassies encircling the Brandenburg Gate as if to protect it from any future trauma. There is, however, one embassy at the Spreebogen, the sole survivor from the city’s pre-WWII days. The palatial Swiss embassy was built in 1870 and its revamp, which retained only a few of its ornate original features, was unveiled in 2001 to some contention.

Still, as the embassy’s architects, Diener and Diener, and proponents point out, the building strikes a balance between acknowledging its historic roots whilst looking confidently towards the future. The new annex caused a particular headache for constructors, as the architects stipulated a completely seamless concrete exterior. The ingenious solution involved a steel beam tank, which allowed the entire 65 x 19 metre facade to be formed in one pour.


The rebuilding of the Reichstag itself was not without controversy. Originally opened in 1894, the structure was damaged by fire in 1933 and fell into disrepair after WWII. In 1992, the Council of Elders of the Bundestag decided that the Reichstag needed a major overhaul if it was to be the centre of new Germany’s parliamentary assemblies.

A competition was set, and the entries narrowed down to three designs that reflected a new dedication to democratic transparency. Sir Norman Foster’s plans eventually triumphed, but interestingly, his initial designs are a far cry from the Reichstag of today. Foster’s original entry consisted of a set of external pillars that held up an asymmetric glass roof over the domeless building, with an exposed flat terrace at the top of the building for the public to visit, protected by the external glass roof above. It was a fellow runner-up, Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, who came up with the concept of a glass dome. Foster was apparently completely opposed to the idea, but having won the contract, was then pressured by the Council to create one.

The other runner-up was Dutch architect Pi de Bruijn, whose interpretation of openness is probably the most literal of the three. He envisioned moving the entire assembly hall outside, an idea that has was embraced in Brasilia--the only other city to have had such a sudden change in status as capital--where the weather makes it perhaps a more practical feature than here in Berlin.


If the winning plans for the Spreebogen look like something out of sci-fi now, imagine how they looked in 1992. Axel Schultes and Charlotte Frank of Schultes Frank architects won the competition for designing the Band des Bundes (Federal Row), which runs parallel to the Reichstag and Federal Chancellery. Featuring buildings such as Marie Elisabeth Lüders House and Paul Löbe House, the long, straight ribbon intersects the river at two points, its distinctive white structures fusing straight lines and curves in a compelling representation of nascent German concordance.



As if infected by the optimism of a newly reunified country with an exciting new capital, the world’s diplomatic presence in Berlin is, architecturally speaking, a lesson in creativity and innovation. The Indian and Turkish embassies, for example, both defied convention by employing Berlin architects rather than native practitioners. Embassies, by their very nature, present a unique opportunity for architects to incorporate the spirit of a nation into a building, whilst taking into account the characteristics of its host city. Designed by Léon Wohlhage Wernik architects, the Indian Embassy was completed in 2001 and its exterior is made almost entirely of red stone imported from Rajasthan.


Berlin is home to the largest population of Turkish people outside of Turkey, earning parts of Neukölln and Kreuzberg the nickname Little Istanbul. It makes sense, then, that the Turkish embassy would reflect this special but delicate relationship. Designed by Kreuzberg trio Volkmar Nickol, Felipe Schmidt and Thomas Hillig and completed in 2012, the structure’s sandstone facade re-imagines a traditional Girih pattern and incorporates Ottoman inspired materials such as copper, which adorns the doorway. The tall, angular, inverted entrance hints at Turkey’s position as a bridge between Europe and Asia, and also at the strong yet complex links between host and guest.

Other public buildings, such as the Dutch (opened 2004) and Nordic (1999) embassies, employ cutting-edge design. The former is a nod to Dutch openness but tellingly, in the final realisation, only a fraction of the facade ended up transparent. the latter embodying the cooperative spirit of the Scandinavian neighbours in both concept and style with its separate sections for each country joined by a communal area for cultural events.  


In 2001, French former culture minister Jack Lang commented that “Paris is always Paris and Berlin is never Berlin!" in reference to the German capital’s consistent state of change. Indeed, in 2013, some ministries and diplomatic missions are still in the planning stage, and the city is far from “complete”. So if it’s true that history really does repeat itself, it seems that Berlin will continue to count metamorphosis as one of its only true constants for a long time yet.

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