If you are under thirty, so is your waistline. In most cases, even the 40 year olds. These people are tiny. Grr.
I wanted to walk around the parliament dome, but the line was out the building and down the park. Waiting in line looked like it would waste my whole day as people were lying down and looked as if they had been camped out for hours. The memorial to the murdered jews was very interesting. Again, the line was too long to get into the museum, but the installation was cool. Not very moving though—the creation is more like a modern art piece than an emotional memorial. The image of headstones is fitting, but the result is more like a stone maze and playground rather than a solemn space.
Someone at one of the bars last night recommended the Topography of Terror exhibit so I made my way there. It also took up a chunk of time just getting there. The exhibit is only in German, but there are other language audio tours. I got one, and was amused to see it was produced by Antenna Audio—an outfit in Sausalito where I interviewed for a job last year. All in all, that exhibit was also a waste of my valuable museum/touring time. The tour was a bit slowly paced, and I am not all that much of a history buff in the first place. And the history of the bureaucracy of the SS (kinda boring), and the atrocities (aie!), were just way too disturbing for a hot sunny day. About 45 minutes into it, I skipped for Museum Island. The New Museum was beautiful from the outside, but apparently closed. All of Berlin is still under construction, and it was cool to see the "backstage" restoration behind the fences. (I have pix for later.)
I did make into the Berlin Dom, the main cathedral, which was spectacular.
The breath-taking climb to the top was worth it for the breathtaking views.
The Pergamon was closed (being Monday), so I had just enough time for a boat tour before meeting Clark for dinner. Unfortunately, I spend the next hour trying to find a tour in English, finally learning that there are none.
After more sight-seeing and shopping in the Quateriers and Gallerie LaFayette (the "Berlin Herrod's"), I hiked home and collapsed with the Juice Guys, who really have become my good friends on this trip. After a shower and wardrobe change, I did laundry at Clark's while he fed Peter (Alexia is on a trip with the President) and we did some more visiting.
On the way for the promised-fun happy hour at Flaxx, I passed the Juice Guys (Keith and Rob, with Steven) just starting dinner on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant—with their Swedish friends they told me about who just returned from Oslo Pride. (or was that Finland?) They invited me to join them but I didn't want to intrude. After chatting a while I realized I was hungry (I didn't really get a chance to eat with Clark b/c of Peter) and I wished I had just accepted their invitation. I stayed with them for a while and went to Flaxx, which was nearly empty. The Juice Guys had told me that if it were a typical German bar, 'happy hour' meant all night and that it would likely not be hopping until later. They said they might meet up with me there after dinner. When I got there it was pretty sparse, so I thought I would kill some time by getting a bite myself. When I returned there were even fewer people. I got a beer and settled into a couch to see if the place would pick up or if the Londoners would show, but neither happened. In fact, I started to fall asleep sitting there.
Finishing my beer I decided to call it a night, but the bartender convinced me to try this other bar which would be crowded (he remembered asking me to come back for happy hour and explained it was only from 7 to 9 so it had been long over). This other bar would be popular because they were having a special on Becks that night and it is a 'dark bar.' Thinking I should not waste an opportunity for a good Berlin experience, I began the trek, which was way beyond walking distance. I should have taken a cab but took the tram and subway instead.
The place was pretty cool if not hard to find [I'll insert the name when I look it up later]. Well, not cool really, but doable. And the Becks were in fact cheap. Beer at dinner: 3.75 euro. Beer at bar: 70 cents. The barback/other bartender was the same kid from Pick Ab I met the night before. This was a stand/sit and pose crowd, with no real opportunity to make conversation. A creepy old guy kept giving me a look so I pretended to be amused and fascinated with the Bel Ami video playing and turned my back. After one more, I cut my losses and started to head back.
With no cabs to be found and no southbound U service, it would take about 30 plus minutes to walk back. I took longer as I hung out and talked with some young guys outside of a late night food place. One kept asking me for a fire. He was mostly speaking German so I wasn't tuned in that he was talking to me. One of his friends corrected him saying, "No man, you got it wrong. It's a light. This is a light, man." It took some time explaining the difference between fire, flame, and "a light." They started to leave to go smoke more pot, but one of them—the guy who had asked for a flame—came trotting back and wanted to make sure that I got the best late night snack possible (clearly, I had no idea what I was reading). I thought he kept suggesting a "tuna," which I thought sounded gross this late at night/early in the morning. It was an excellent chicken (lamb maybe? it was meat) pita sandwich. Hodon I believe it's called. And is the late night staple in Berlin. The equivalent of getting a slice on the way home from the bar. Again, I didn't make it home until after 5:00.
In the morning I had intended to pack up first and hit the Pergamon before flying out. I had to got to Clark's before he went to work so I could get my laundry. German washers are very thorough and take hours to wash so they were not ready the night before. And the smoke is so pervasive I really wanted to wash out the jeans.
Always dressing for the day before, I left in shorts and a linen shirt, and froze my ass off. Sure, 90 yesterday, 45 today.
Got my clothes, helped Clark with Peter, then went back for a nap before packing and going out again. Hey, I had only been in bed for a few hours.
When I woke up again, it was freezing cold outside and pouring rain and I thought I would much rather sleep in than traipse about in the cold rain. After an extended lie-in, I rationalized the sleeping in and not museum-ing with the (1) stay healthy by resting (2) the need to sleep because Robert would surely want to rage our first night in Copenhagen, and (3) it was absolutely piss miserable weather. I packed and then did a final hang-out with the juice guys. I searched vainly for a good lunch place, and spent most of my remaining time in Berlin merely circling the neighborhood looking for a reasonable lunch.
Ultimately, I went into the really nice restaurant downstairs from the guest flat. It was relatively expensive, but warm, dry, beautiful, had a decipherable menu, and coffee. As I entered I noticed a tiny transparent sign on the door: WLAN. All week looking for wi-fi hotspots and there was one just downstairs. Behind the nice restaurant is a deeper coffee lounge with leather seats and low tables—and several people on laptops. I posted the previous entries (I tend to write these as text docs and post later) and met Clark in time for him to give me a lift to the outlying airport for my evening EasyJet (euro SouthWest Airlines) flight to CPH (Copenhagen).
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