Berlin Confidential

I have just seen Phil off to the airport and am now at home in the Hauptbahnhof. I am still not quite recovered and another night train ride (seated, foolish me) will probably destroy my fragile system. It'll be fun finding out.

Getting to my hotel was a little worrying particularly as for the first time I hadn't got an U-bahn station on my doorstep. Instead there was a 15 minute tram ride from Alexanderplatz and a doubly worrying ten minute walk to the hotel. Each step I took with mini-monster on my back (the main bag was at the station) was an anticipated step of pain later when I retrieved the haversack. The heat was intense, the pavement hard and already my back creaked. When I arrived I was scruffy, sweaty and in need of a hug. Unfortunately what I got was a "what shoe were you scraped off" look and the news that my room wasn't ready. When I asked about the nearest U-bahn station it felt like pulling teeth from a rabid biter. In the end though the receptionist allowed me to leave my small bag while I went to collect the other one.

The distance out threw my calculations out, so by the time I did get back to the hotel it was close to 4; I had arranged to meet Phil between 3.30 and 4. As it happened his flight had been delayed and his luggage hadn't arrived, so all was well. Also now that the hassle of getting my luggage to my new abode was over, I could look around and marvel at the four star splendour; it really was a lovely hotel.

Phil has a huge interest in Germany's recent past. Given that a growing family can limit the investigations one might make of Germany's capital, he had left them behind to adopt the more docile child that is me. First item on the itinerary was an inspection of a Soviet war memorial near the Brandenburg Gate. What we failed to take into account, however, was the Berlin Marathon. The starting line of the race happened to be beside the memorial and barricades, tape and security barred our way. Well, they would have barred an ordinary couple of tourists; not so Phil. In we went in one of the many criminal acts he encouraged or enacted over the weekend. It's certainly a big monument, with a huge, stodgy soldier on a plinth flanked by artillery and tanks. From here it was a short walk to the Victory monument (the huge pillar surmounted by a golden angel that appears in "Wings of Desire"). Sadly they had closed for the night, so we couldn't climb the tower to get a view of the city.

Maintaining the theme of all things Russian, Phil had reserved a table at a Russian restaurant called Pasternak's. Funnily enough it was a stone's throw from my hostel of the previous night, though discovering that took us enough time to warrant Phil ringing ahead to warn them we'd be late. In the end some good solid lamb casserole and Moscow beer filled the gap that had been growing. As we ate he described the Russian disco he had in mind for the following night. Soviet kitch was the order of the day, though I hadn't seen it on the menu.

Next stop was a pub near Alexanderplatz, any pub really, the general area had been recommended. It was as we drank that Phil learnt the docile kid was not quite so docile. I suppose I have been out of human company for too long, but a smashed bottle was hint of things to come.

Home. In the middle of the night I awoke from a dream, the air conditioning rumbling, the room pitch black and the unshakeable conviction that I was locked in the bowels of a ship burning in my brain. Only when I opened my door to the corridor did I suddenly slap my mental wrist and go back to bed.

As it happened transport was not going to be the problem I had thought. Just like the trains, the trams run like clockwork, and the walk to them was nicely decorated with exquisite graffiti. Today our first target was "The Story of Berlin", a museum charting the birth and rise of Germany's favourite city from the Thirteenth Century to the present day. Incorporated into this was a trip to a bunker. Foolishly I had presumed this was a World War Two bunker. Inasmuch as it had used a World War Two bunker as the basis it was, but this was a fully functioning nuclear bunker, that doubles as a carpark in peacetime. Unfortunately we hadn't counted on some U-bahn, so we were just in time to see the English language guided tour enter the bunker as we tried to find the ticket booth. In the end we had to join a German speaking group, but I got the general gist of it all.

Phil had booked us into a trip to the main Stasi prison, but again public transport just wouldn't get us there in time. The clock was ticking. Phil had been warned to be punctual. Our only solution was a taxi, something that goes against the grain of public tranport fanatic me. I was worried when I saw the driver consult his map and as we got closer to 3 o'clock, I thought we be repeating our bunker experience. Thankfully we made it, joining a group of Norwegian school kids, who seemed more than comfortable with the English language guide. I am sure we all have an idea of the horrors of the Stasi, but it's probably not something we dwell on. The prison puts it into perspective. Everything was done to isolate the prisoner, tying them to their interogator and breaking down all resistance. Prisoners would never see each other, even to the extent that the corridors had traffic lights to warn guards transporting prisoners if someone else was around the corner. If so they immediately put their prisoner into an emergency cell until the other prisoner was moved on. Attempts to communicate were punished, so whistling or singing while in the exercise 'yard' or 'Tiger cage' (unlikely given that a heavily armed guard looked down on you from above and sometimes fired a round accidentally), was forbidden. Water torture was common as were many other insidiously simple forms. And the reasons for imprisonment were often trivial in the extreme (complaining about a shop suddenly not accepting money) or sinister (a man was imprisoned because the Stasi wanted his furniture collection). There was a lot in this tour that was sobering in the extreme and painted a picture of a truly insane Orwellian state.

We went back for an hour's rest. Malte, a German I had met in Australia on a Contiki tour, was on for meeting us. Phil had come across a Thai restaurant he wanted to try and as it happened Malte knew it. I was a little worried that the two of them might not have much to talk about, or that I might monopolise things. As it happened, in a quasi-Masonic act, Malte immediately recognised Phil as a fellow marathon runner from his watch! I hadn't even known Malte was into running, but not only does he run, he was a German champion in his youth and currently sells running footwear. They had more than enough to discuss, what with running plans, pb's (personal bests) and the differing merits of Nike, Asics, Adidas etc.. Malte had to leave us after the meal, but he left us with a recommendation for a nearby pub, White Trash.

White Trash was a kind of punk rock type place and we both took to it immediately. The Thai restaurant had been more of a snack place, so we took the opportunity now to get some more food, accompanied by pitchers of beer. The pitchers were my idea, but we varied between the pub's own Pils, Weis and Lager (which was more like an ale). The staff were mainly English speakers, and the American who served us ended up drinking a vodka shot with us on the house.

If I was a little rowdy the night before, I was positively obnoxious tonight. Pitchers tend to do that, I suppose. Poor Phil was subjected to my alter ego, the mad drinking machine that is Dennis. Finally by 4 in the morning he was spared any more of my ramblings as we headed for home.

No shipside panic tonight! Instead I decorated the sink a little, slapped my mental wrist once more and went back to bed.

Neither of us got out of our beds for breakfast. However, I did manage to post a few pictures to this blog. Words simply weren't possible.

Checking out I introduced Phil to the glories of LEFT LUGGAGE. Unfortunately today was the day of the Berlin Marathon and there was a frighteningly long queue. Not knowing what else to do we stayed. The place was full of luggage so they could only take new bags as people collected what had already been left. We were lucky and got out in 15 minutes.

I have to go soon, so I'll sum up the rest of the day. We took a look at the marathon, then got trapped by the marathon, not being able to cross the road. Phil tried to persuade me to run in front of the runners, but I resisted adamantly. Phil then showed me the car park that lies above what was once Hitler's bunker. We went for food, had a coffee, enjoyed the sunshine and then came back to Hupbahnhoff where we made our farewells. I'll be seeing him in the morning.