Don was on his fourth day in Berlin by the time he met me at the station, so he had already visited all of the required landmarks and museums like the Reichstag, Checkpoint Charlie, Kaiser Wilhelm's church, the German Historical Gallery etc., and since I had also been in Berlin before, there was no pressure to visit all of the main attractions during our weekend. Instead we were free to roam--somewhat aimlessly. Don had booked what is referred to as a pension, essentially the European equivalent of a boarding house. This place was a hit--located beyond a secluded courtyard, and featuring high vaulted ceilings, burnt orange decor and (gasp!) a CLOSET.
First on the agenda after dropping off my backpack at the pension was dinner. We chose to eat at an Indian restaurant because I had not yet tried this type of cuisine in Germany, and it turned out to be a fantastic decision. The restaurant looked very much like the Indian places do in the U.S., with pictures of Indian royalty and Hindu gods and gold detailing on the walls. We had nan, chicken tikki masala, and some sort of lamb dish, all of which practically melted in our mouths. By the time our stomachs were full, the sun had set, but it was a warm night and we weren't quite ready to return to the pension where little packs of gummi bears that said "Schlaf gut!" (sleep well) waited on our pillows. Berlin is an active city even at night, so there was plenty to see: high-end shoe stores and clothing botiques selling items for more than a month's salary, cafes where elegantly dressed couples sipped cocktails on the verandas, asian markets selling goods ranging from lychees to life-size geisha statues, and little kiosks offering menus of cheap doenners (that's the big meat revolving on a stick) and pizzas to the young people out on the town.
The next day began as every day should, with clear skies and pastries that are just crispy enough on the outside, decadently soft on the inside and speckled with chocolate chips. At the small bakery around the corner from the hotel, these fresh baked items sold as "wuppis," or if you've been waiting all week to eat one on a Saturday morning, "whoopie!"s. We checked out of the pension and headed toward the famous Alexander platz for no other reason than we felt like it; Berlin has no real city center to speak of, so if you're just looking to browse around the city, anything ending in "platz" is a safe bet for interesting sights. On the subway we sat by an old couple who smiled at the rapid English we were conversing in and kindly stood up to let us by when we abruptly bolted toward the exit, while Don exclaimed, "Oh my God, there's a German flea market! Let's go!"
Having visited only a handful of American flea markets and exactly zero German ones, I didn't know what to expect from the rows of tables spread with goods for sale on this Berlin boulevard. The wares ranged widely from table to table, first one selling old tea sets and silverware, next one selling old military paraphernalia, and next one selling what must add up to hundreds of pounds of comic books. Sometimes the items ranged widely at an individual table as well, with antique doll clothes arranged neatly adjascent to a box full of pairs of binoculars, followed by lighters with pictures of scantily clan pinups from the '60s. I won the award for finding the strangest object, a Frankenstein-esque pen constructed from the foot of a deer with the ball point coming out of the ankle so that the hoof stuck up in the air and waved around while one attempted to write. Don bought two small pins, some sort of propaganda leftover from the communist GDR days, depicting Karl Marx.
After this pit-stop we did make it to Alexander platz as per the original plan. The open-air market featured local Berlin artists selling their paintings, hand-bags, and jewelry, as well as the usual freshly made baked goods, meats, and fresh fruits. One artist seemed to be supplementing his painting income via paparazzi photography, and though the pictures of Angelina Jolie drinking tea and Baldwin brothers with confused expressions did not interest me, I was surprised to find photos of the dalai lama (who knew HE had paparazzi problems?) and pictures of Obama from as recently as two weeks before. We made our way through the market and found a famous building designed by I.M. Pei, which I'm sure has a name that I just can't remember, next to a giant souvenir shop where you could buy tiny pieces of the Berlin wall.
When our stomachs started growling we stopped at a cafe on the river and watched the tour boats floating by while we enjoyed thick slices of Italian bread still warm from the oven. Our waitress spoke to Don in English, but to me in German, though I'm not exactly sure why. With our bellies once again full and our feet rested a little, we continued the walking tour and found ourselves at the Sony Center, which a travel website explains as follows: "Seven steel and glass structures and a light-flooded plaza spanned by a spectacular roof offer space for a modern lifestyle: Entertainment and events, cafés and restaurants, working and living in the middle of the German capital." Not to downplay the magnificence of the place, but "pretty fancy mall" might also be an accurate description.
At the time we entered the Sony Center, a crew was preparing for the premiere of the movie "17 Again," rolling out the red carpet and all. I wondered if the paparazzi artist would be there to capture Zac Efron in a half-squint as he stepped out of his limo. We paused at Leggo Land long enough to take picture of seversal Leggo creations including a life-size giraffe and a replica of Einstein's head at least five feet across. We browsed a few shops and took a picture or two of the Berlin Bear mascot statues (these bears can be spotted in all corners of the city, painted in any variety of dress from German soccer jersey to clown suit) before walking to the Brandenburg Gate. Having no particular schedule or agenda, we were content to walk, but if we'd had the desire, we could have hired a horse-drawn carriage or the Ben-and-Jerry-mobile (a cross between a scooter and a golf cart with ads for ice cream on the sides) to take us there.
We reached the east side of the Brandenburg Gate and took the mandatory photos of the Gate itself and Victory Tower (celebrating the Prussian defeat of the Danes; in 1938 Hitler ordered moved to its current position--how do you move an entire 200 foot tall tower?). Since it was a gorgeous day, we also took a long walk around a park large enough that we were concerned we might lose our bearings, but fortunately we did not. With the sun and our energy levels dropping, we stopped at a very German restaurant where we sat outside and tried pea soup, schnitzel and of course some of the local beer. The waitresses at the very German restaurant were not themselves German, but rather of some nationality from a little farther east (Hungary perhaps?)
Next we stumbled upon an independent record store near the train station. This was a real record store, the kind that actually still sells records. They also sold posters and calendars featuring celebrities, some of which were hilariously outdated. Anyone looking for a 2005 Clay Akin calendar, or maybe a Meatloaf poster? I know where you can find them. Our last stop before the train departure was an asian gift shop that sold its own amusing wares, including school supplies with strange phrases like "smile cabagge" and "love strawberry."
I dozed and read a little on the uneventful train ride and once back in Magdeburg, I fell promptly asleep next to Sophie. On Sunday my routine returned to the usual--I went for my jog in the morning and spent the afternoon in the sun at my regular cafe, perservering through a New York Times crossword puzzle and a fluffy pastry. Sunday is always a welcome intermission between adventures.
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