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Jeden Monat nähern sich unsere Kolumnisten, die Berliner Filmemacher Dominik und Benjamin Reding, dem jeweiligen Heftthema
auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise. Geboren wurden die Zwillinge am 3. Ja nuar 1969 in Dortmund. Während Dominik Architektur
in Aachen und Film in Hamburg studierte, absolvierte Benjamin ein Schauspielstudium in Stuttgart. 1997 begann die Arbeit an
ihrem ersten gemeinsamen Kinofilm „Oi! Warning“. Seitdem arbeiten sie für Fernseh- und Kinofilmprojekte zusammen.

Each month our columnists, Berlin-based filmmakers Dominik and Benjamin Reding, approach the respective issue-specific
theme in their very personal way. The twins were born on January 3, 1969 in Dortmund. Whilst Dominik studied architecture
in Aachen and film in Hamburg, Benjamin graduated in acting studies in Stuttgart. They started working on their first joint
motion picture “Oi! Warning“ in 1997. Since then they have tightly collaborated for TV and cinema film projects.

G ijon is really ugly. Obviously, the brochures describe it in a completely different ments. He was 20, at most. During dinner at the hotel there was excitement. The
way: "Historic old town, beautiful beaches, wonderful Asturias, Art Nouveau
Chinese tourist group was gone. Without having to pay the bill. The waiter explained
Teatro, exciting nightlife, Bay of Biscay, l´Atlantique, tres beau, fantastic! " But it's def- it to me with his hands and feet. "They didn't pay. Can you believe that?!" I imagined
initely not like that. The beach is artificially piled up and surrounded by skyscrapers, the group fleeing from the coast of Asturias to the South China Sea in pedal boats to
the real beach is covered with rocks and miles away from the town. The old town save themselves the cost of bread rolls in the "El Rey" hotel. No, I couldn't believe it.
looks as "historic" as if it had been designed by a North Korean film company, the The next day I returned to the rocky bay. The beach was deserted, what it had to be,
"nightlife" is not "exciting", but non-existent and the Teatro is not Art Nouveau, but because it was forbidden to swim, surf or even be here. Out at sea, I discovered the
just plain historicism. I really didn't want to go there. I don't actually know how to surfer. He paddled on his board, waited for the right moment, the right wave, pushed
take a vacation. But there was this call. A colleague's film was supposed to be shot himself up and rode on the crest, his arms spread out for balance. Then he sank
in Gijon and wasn't produced. The hotel room was ready, the flight was booked, and down with the wave and the ride started all over again. I remembered the dolphins
the Federal Film Board had already paid for everything. So, I jumped on a plane to off Ancona. For hours they had jumped up and down next to the ferryboat in a
get there. "Do not walk here!" The rusty metal plate on its thin chain swayed back power-sapping, self-forgotten game. In front of the cave, T-shirts were drying in the
and forth. Here, they didn't even bother to write it in the local language. I'm sure all wind. I went in without asking. It wasn't a cave, just a spacious recess in the rock.
the locals were aware of it. Dramatically steep, following the topography in a wild Inside dry, solid sand, a sleeping bag on the floor, a wet-waved surf magazine and
zigzag, the steps meandered down the cliffs to the beach. They were crooked, tread- an MP3 player next to it, a pile of socks and underpants and a net of oranges dan-
ed out and mossy and actually looked a bit gling from a nail. "You have to eat the
dangerous. "Three tourists fell down. Then they oranges!" The young surfer stood in the
closed it." The waiter in the hotel restaurant entrance. He took one orange from the net,
explained it to me over breakfast. It is not stretched it out to me. "Totally firm fruit flesh,
allowed to swim there anymore. At the next fantastically sweet." And then he enthusiasti-
table, a group of tourists from China sat laugh- cally explained the taste of an orange, as if no
ing and looking at us. "I hope, they weren't one had ever tasted this fruit before. "Where
injured?" I asked. The waiter shook his head do you get your food from?" I regretted the
vigorously. "No, they are dead." The hotel was question. Where do you think? Had I imagined
called "El Rey" and was not located next to the that he would hunt his food like a
high-rise buildings on the beach, with a view of Neanderthal? "From the supermarket," he said,
the sea, and not in the old town, with a view of and then, full of enthusiasm, "Did you see it?"
the tiled roofs, but in between, with a view of a I surfed a barrel. The wave was at least three
hotel building like the "El Rey" itself. You'll be metres high, really big waves today, that was
living here for two weeks, I thought to myself totally wicked, so wicked!" His eyes glowed,
and sighed. And sighed. I spent my time hiking, delighted, almost transfigured. Then the shin-
walking to the rocky cliffs, crossing the warning ing eyes disappeared and he looked serious,
sign and climbing down the steep steps. The worried, into the distance with an open gaze as
beach was narrow, the sand wet, greasy and if he understood that behind us, where we
grey, the sky cloudy, but the cliffs were beauti- Foto: Fabian Noichl assert success, income, honour and doctorate,
ful, high and rusty red and surrounded the bay is nothing. "You have to surf, too. This is so
like two protective, earth-crusted hands. much fun!" Now he smiled again. I nodded
"Really strong swell today. Ideal for carving." I nodded although I did not understand politely. "Do you live here all the time?" "No, only in the summer and autumn." "And
what the voice meant and turned around. Behind me stood a surfer, slender, tanned, apart from that?" "Where they allow me to stay." I wanted to ask more questions,
long haired, with his board under his arm. His red-blond beard blurred his age. but he wanted to get out and I got cold. He took his surfboard and looked at the
Maybe he was in his early twenties, maybe late 20s. "Beautiful waves", I said and evening sky. "The weather's gonna be great, nice and windy, so I'll paddle out and
thought a surfer would like to hear that. He shook his head. "No, too high, they will find the perfect wave, you bet?" I went home through the old town, where it was
take me out. Wipe out." He smiled. What else could I say? I don't know anything quiet and smelled of fish and diesel oil. The night was stormy, the morning sunny,
about surfing. "Do you live in Gijon, too, in one of the hotels?" "Nope." He pointed for the first time in these two weeks. And the Chinese were back. In a good-
towards the rock face. My eyes were looking for a house at the top, but I found noth- humoured mood they had breakfast at the table next to mine. It was a misunder-
ing. "In a car, a caravan?" He rolled a cigarette with one hand, pulled out a pack of standing, they took the wrong hotel," the waiter explained. Then he bent over and
matches, lit one, protected the flame with his tanned hand, lit the cigarette, inhaled whispered into my ear. "Did you hear it? Someone drowned at the beach, yesterday
the smoke, pointed back to the rock face and said: "Over there." Now I saw it. At the night. It's not allowed to be there, the rocks, you know, too dangerous." He gave me
foot of the rock face there was an opening, like to a cave. "Is it okay to live here?" the coffee pot. "Another coffee, Sir?" The beach was deserted, as usual. Only in front
"No." Then he strolled with his surfboard towards the sea. "Today I'll catch the per- of the cave, there were police tapes blowing and crackling in the wind. The police
fect wave, you just have to find it." He waved exuberantly. Very young, soft move- had already collected his belongings, the cave was empty.

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