How Seafood Pizza caused my Accidental Death

An unpleasant thing happened on the U-bahn yesterday. A mature, but leggy blonde got on at Potsdamer Platz and sat down. There was a wolfwhistle behind me and this very dodgy looking character, in a hooded army jacket and tied up hair got on, staring after the woman. He didn't sit. Standing at the set of doors at my end of the carriage, he slowly moved up to the middle doors and then again on to the doors just beside the woman, occasionally glancing around, though not seeing anyone else in particular. He stood with his back to the carriage, facing the doors looking on to the subway wall, glancing over at her repeatedly. I won't go out and say it , but it was pretty apparent what he was doing. Whenever the train stopped he'd glance around, but there were very few people on board. Eventually the woman got up, glanced at him and hurriedly left the train. As he didn't leave right away I thought that was the end of that, but after a pause he did get off. I watched him on the platform staring after her and rambling in circles. I thought again, that's it, she's gone. Suddenly he stormed right out of the station in the direction she went. I hope she was too far ahead at that point.

Should I have pursued, stalked the stalker? Or should I have alerted someone? It was early in the day, but that guy looked very, very shady, and determined. I hope nothing unpleasant happened.

The hostel, though not the spotlessly clean establishment I was led to believe, was very welcoming. They did not have my bed ready immediately, but I hung around for an hour, drank coffee, chatted briefly to an Aussie eating Vegamite (I kid you not) and checked mail. Eventually the bed was ready, which means empty. Clean linen was placed on the bare bed for me to make up. Fine. I did this, had a shower and went out on the town.

First though I stopped in a small Italian restaurant for some lunch. It wasn't too impressive to look at, but there were a lot of people there, a table outside and the sun was shining, so I thought I'd give it a go. I even bravely went for a seafood pizza. Oh, it looked lovely, with shrimp, mussels, octopus, etc. and I tucked in enthusiastically. Just over halfway through I pulled out a piece of plastic, a bite later (I kept going!) I noticed an octopus tentacle was a little cold. Did I stop? Not right away, one or two more octopus legs to consume, then I did. I began to feel the first twinges of nausea. I paid the bill. Sweating began. I could still taste that last cold octopus leg. My stomach churned and I began salivating, you know that gross watering preparatory to puking. At this point I was in the subway. Sweating, nauseous, I began to retch. Not wanting to decorate the platform, I knelt by the track and began puking on to the gravel. At that point, the U2 train arrived and whisked my head of, painting a nice red streak across the platform I had wanted to keep clean.

That's what could have happened. Only as far as going into the subway station actually did. Thankfully the beer I had had with the wonderful pizza, sterilised my stomach and left me feeling queasy for the next four hours. Sweating and mild delirium accompanied this queasiness, but that's what I get for eating bad seafood!

What didn't help was the long subway ride I took to get to the Olympic Stadium. You know, maybe it was the stadium that caused the queasiness. It's the only Nazi-built building still standing and very overpowering. The walk from the station is quite beautiful, with the sun shining and the tree lined path, and then the complex rears up.

It has to be said this is where the World Cup final was held and the pitch stretching out before you when you enter. Even compared to the arena in Verona, this is nosebleed architecture. I went to the top tier to terrify myself and caught frostbite. Having said that though, it could almost be any football stadium, except for the marathon gate at one end. It's the rest of the complex that raises the eyebrows. The horse jumping arena, for instance, with its two huge very Nordic equestrian statues. Then there's the six towers dotted around, one for each of the German 'tribes'. A seventh tower, the bell tower, rises up from the Langemarck (or something), that is a war memorial to the dead of World War 1 (and specifically the battle of Langemarck). The comments on the information signs are very strange too, almost like the writer of them was at variance with the Government. For instance after discussing the Nazi ideology behind the memorial building, it says that though it was destroyed the Federal Government paid to restore it almost exactly as it was, even employing the original architect. It was rededicated to the "victims of war and violence", which meant (according to the notes) that the Nazi intention was maintained. Even stranger is the account of the bell that had been in the bell tower. Made by the Nazis, it was nearly destroyed when the bell tower was demolished, but ten years later it appeared on display in the south forecourt with the Nazi symbols "only barely concealed".

Most of what I presume to be statues around the grounds seem to be in containers, at least one statue (of discus throwers) hidden under canvas and plastic. There's something very schizophrenic about the whole place; on one hand they want to celebrate the stadium and on the other they want to hide it.

On the way back I saved a beetle. It was struggling on its back on the pavement and no amount of flicking over would right it. I proffered a small twig and it grabbed on with its feet and I managed to right it. It seemed just like a drowning man grabbing at a hand. The person behind me stood on it. Only kidding. Later I continued my good deeds breaking a padlock for some Aussie girls.

Down to Postdamer Platz to go to the Film Museum. The temporary exhibition on Psychoanalysis and the Cinema was okay, but the permanent collection, with nicely done displays on the history of German Cinema, was really entertaining. There was the stadium again in a piece on Leni Reifenstahl's "Olympia" films. Her achievements, however, are dwarfed by rooms devoted to Marlene Dietrich. She was a strange one with male and female lovers, from Ernest Hemingway to Delores Del Rio. I have to say I never found her attractive (though an early picture of her before she remade herself Madonna-style shows a pretty young girl), but they're pretty proud of her all the same. Personally I wanted to learn more about Fritz Lang's Dr Mabuse pictures which I still haven't seen, but which a few clips they played over and over made me salivate again. Big kid that I am, I got a kick out of the tribute to Ray Harryhausen, close to the end of the tour.

I felt a good deal better at this point, so I had a nice big ribeye steak with tonnes of salad and a good beer (sterilise my stomach). This presented me with no ill side effects.

When I got back to the hostel, I broke the padlock (they'd lost their key) and prepared for bed. Unfortunately my bed, made and all, had been taken by a Chicagoan. To be fair, there had been a mixup and though he had been there the night before they had cleared away his things. One way or the other I had another bed to make. Two Aussie girls also in the room had just been to Munich and were heading on to Prague, so we chatted a little. With the windows open and traffic fairly loud, I didn't expect to get any sleep, but I did. I was up at 7.30, showered and ready to go, but thought I'd write a little first.

Phil, from Munich arrives today, and he seems to have a fairly intensively planned trip arranged. Should be fun.