We had a pleasant and trouble-free journey to Berlin - bus to Liverpool Street, train to Stansted, and check-in taking less than ten minutes. Going through security Jimmy was pulled over for extra checks. The problems seemed to be his phone, which he had switched off, and a metal lighter, both of which were scanned and swabbed.
No delays to the flight; we spent ages waiting for our luggage, then a quick and easy taxi into central Berlin. I always find it a dislocating experience arriving in a strange city in a foreign country, trying to see something of the city on a taxi-drive. Someone once suggested the best way of travelling Europe was by train - by the time you arrive at your destination you are broken-in to the differences. I once went to Geneva that way, and it certainly had its attractions, but that was before the era of cheap flights.
We wandered round a bit and found a bar for some beer. But we were sat outside and it looked like rain and we wanted to eat. Jimmy refused to eat from a menu purely in German. Considering I had left my dictionary at home and the Guidebook in the hotel, I think he had a point. Not wanting to tire ourselves out we decided to eat in the hotel restaurant, the Kempinski Eck, which was very nice. Despite vowing not to, I managed to get drunk...!
We spent the day on Saturday sight-seeing. I reckon if you are only in a city for a short period of time it's well worth getting guided-bus tours. It's a good way to ensure that you get at least a superficial glimpse of the main sights.
That having been said, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about sight-seeing. I enjoy doing it, and I'm good at letting out the exclamations of "That's nice! That's interesting! That's famous!" And one learns something about history, but most of all, about how much history, once learnt, is forgotten. Bismarck? I'm sure he was important!
Berlin is an unusual city, because it is nearly eight hundred years old, yet is extraordinarily new. So much of it was reduced to rubble in 1945, so it has fewer old buildings than just about any major city I have ever visited. A divided city for over forty years, I attempted to work out which bits were ex-East Germany and which were ex-West Germany, simply by the architecture. I don't think I got very far, because so much of the most impressive architecture is 1990s/2000s. We should have spent longer looking at the Jewish Museum. The Diplomatic area is fascinating, with most nations building new embassies in an attempt to represent their culture. That would have been worth a wander, if we had had the time. I particularly noticed the Indian Embassy, clad in alabaster from Rajastan. Perhaps India's first opportunity to portray itself as an economic Superpower.
We had a bit of a wander round Checkpoint Charlie, having seen the preserved sector of the Wall from the bus. It is important to preserve such a symbol of a divided city. Even though I could physically see the checkpoint, I nevertheless found it impossible to imagine the reality of living in a divided city. For the East Berliners, all the restrictions and oppressions that went with living behind the Iron Curtain; for West Berliners, the freedom to move, yet physically hemmed in by the wall, surrounded by a hostile nation. And entirely arbitrarily. If nationality is an arbitrary concept, imagine being divided into the 'Free' West and the Soviet East merely as a result of a postcode lottery by invading occupying troops.
Architecturally, I found the new business buildings, such as the Sony Centre, the most interesting. It will be fascinating to see whether, in twenty years or so, they have stood the test of time.
As we crawled down the Unter den Linden, we were on an open-top bus, and the weather began to spit. Finally, we reached the Brandenburg Gate, and Jimmy decreed we should find some shelter immediately. I just wanted a coffee, so our needs coincided. I was beginning to feel mentally exhausted. I have never studied German, and the little I know, mainly for reading purposes, comes from reading Chalet School books as a child, and from musical libretti. And I think the only phrase that remains from the Chalet School is 'Kaffee und Kuchen'. So I was extraordinarily relieved to be able to talk Italian in the coffee shop.
Once the rain had gone we wandered round some more, having a good look at the outside of the Reichstag. Again, it would have been nice to go in, but not when time was of the essence. I found the Soviet War Memorial most impressive architecturally.
We walked down to the Brandenburg Gate, me realising that the best photos would be got from wandering down the middle of the road. I'm not always the brightest button in the box. But I survived! We passed through the Brandenburg Gate. It's an interesting and imposing structure, and, of course, is iconic in the narrative of 1989, but, that's it. We noticed a heavy black cloud about to burst, so dashed into a nearby hotel (the Hotel Adlon) for coffee, and for me to add another chapter to being the World's Worst Stalker.
We completed the bus tour of Berlin and returned to our hotel. There was far too much information to take in, and most of it went by in a blur. But we were only in the city for forty eight hours, and sightseeing was not our prime objective. I would like to return one day, but not before I have seen many other of the great cities of Europe and beyond.
On the Sunday, we had the intention of going on a guided boat tour. I had the bright idea of walking through the Tiergarten, a good two or three mile walk. That was nice, a good healthy stroll in the fresh air. But, being of a short attention span, I got rather bored of the monotonous greenery. Every city needs its green lung, and the Tiergarten's attraction is how much of it is wild. But I needed a coffee.
The heavens opened, and we decided it was not a day for boat trips. I consulted my handy guide and discovered we could get Kaffee und Kuchen nearby. 'Astounding cakes' it said of the Operncafé. We actually went in the Operntreff, more elegant than the Café. And cakes to die for - if you have a sweet tooth, you will love it. How better to spend a Sunday afternoon than eating the most gorgeous cakes!
Then it was time to return home. We had the most farcical check-in, ever. The flight was at 7pm, so we arrived at the airport at 5pm. The check-in desk wasn't opened, so we found a bar. I get very anxious at airports, watching my watch, and I was a bit concerned that suddenly the time was 5.45.
We returned to the desk. It still wasn't open, but an enormous queue had formed. We saw no point in joining that, so we found another bar, close to the desk. Every ten minutes, we checked the queue. The desk opened at 6, and still the queue grew. It was still there at half six; we got talking to some men who were bitter because they had been queuing for an hour, and were annoyed to see that we still had our suitcase and were getting well sloshed. Finally, at 6.45, we felt it was time to join the queue. We were by no means the last, and in no sense had we done anything to delay. Checked in, and through security, we boarded one of those tarmac buses and waited until everyone was through. People glared at us as we were boarding; they must have thought we had deliberately delayed the plane. I was not sure what their problem was - if we had joined the queue like good girls and boys at five o'clock, there would have been somebody else boarding at five to seven.
The final irony was that the people who had queued dutifully for an hour and a half were all squashed up at the front of the plane. We had three seats between the two of us, and no-one behind us; we were served first with sandwiches, and more wine. And our suitcase was just about the first on the conveyor belt.
I finished my wine on the Stansted Express and by the time we reached Liverpool Street I was three sheets to the wind. Jimmy needed the Gents, and I waited for him with the bags at the top of the stairs. There was another woman waiting there, and we commented on the stupidity of having stairs down to the loos and why our men always have to go. She was a little bit tiddly and quite chatty. She said "So, you're heading home now, where have you been?" "Just Berlin," I replied. "Just Berlin!" she exclaimed. "Not bad! Any particular reason?" I explained we had been to a concert; she enquired more, so I said we had been to see Plácido Domingo. "Ooh! He's a bit of a dish!" she exclaimed. And then Jimmy reappeared and we went home.
In the next few days I shall be publishing some photos that tell the story better.
