Introduction

People get interested in places and things for weird reasons. Why do some people love dogs and other people can’t stand to be in the same room with them? What makes you prefer chocolate to vanilla?

I wanted to go to Edinburgh because of Ian Rankin’s Inspector Rebus books. I wanted to go to Amsterdam to see the Van Gogh museum. (Yes, I also wanted to indulge in some legalized pot smoking – I’m not going to lie about that.)

And I wanted to go to Berlin because of a movie I was never able to watch – Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire. The image of a melancholy angel perched above a black and white Berlin touched me – I couldn’t understand how a creature that should be happy – eternal life in heaven and all of that – could look so sad. Even though I never found the attention span to watch the film all the way through, the picture stayed with me.

I was supposed to go to Berlin eleven years ago, when I was in London and then Belfast doing law internships. As much as I wanted to go to Berlin, Dublin made a big impression on me and I changed my travel plans to include a return trip to Dublin. Berlin was put on the back-burner and this year, we had the perfect reason to make the trip - the wedding of our friends Colm and Heidi.

Day One: The Little Differences

When I arrived in Berlin, I didn’t really know what to expect, I was just very excited to experience a new foreign adventure. Our flight was uneventful although poor Peter was about ready to keel over. Because he had to attend the visitation services for an uncle in County Mayo the night before we left, he was operating on less than 2 hours of sleep. I’d been too excited to sleep well but at least I was operating on more like 5 hours of sleep. The result was that we were both tired and more than a little cranky.

We took the Airport Express train from Schönefeld Airport to Zoo Station. The train arrived right on time, as German trains are wont to do, and we piled on. It was a nice, clean, modern double-decker train with very flexible seating arrangements. The train moved at a good clip and only stopped at the major stations. From the train, we could see a lot of graffiti and a couple of landmarks, like the TV tower and the glass dome of the Reichstag.

At our stop, we struggled out to the street with our bags. I made the executive decision that since we were both so wrecked, we should take a cab to the hotel. I knew the hotel was close, but I had a nightmare vision of leading us the wrong way and then one or both of us having a meltdown. Peter told me, as we slid into the cab, that I would do the talking.

I told the cabbie the address of the hotel and he shook his head and said “No! That’s too close.” I explained to him that we had heavy luggage but he didn’t care. For a minute, I thought he was really going to refuse to take us. Instead, he just ranted about it bitterly and then topped it off with a vehement “Scheiβe!” The cab ride took about 5 minutes, cost 4 euro and resulted in more ear-bending about how he’d waited at the station for an hour for a fare that wasn’t worth it.

Not exactly the Welcome Wagon, but at least we were at the hotel. We got checked in and then crammed into a closet-sized elevator to get to our third-floor room. Or, should I say, our third-floor suite. And what a sweet suite it was. We had two rooms with 15-foot high ceilings, very tall windows, and hardwood floors. One of the rooms had access to a little loft seating area and grand glass doors out onto a small balcony. This was definitely a case of lucky-draw, since I booked the hotel on the Internet and we were paying a special Internet rate. (a mind-boggling 55 euro a night, inclusive of tax and breakfast.)

My general philosophy on hotel rooms is that we’re not going to be spending much time in them, so size doesn’t matter but cost and location do. I loved the location of the hotel and the nice suite was just a bonus. It also took the sting out of the crappy taxi ride.

After a delicious lunch of beer and bratwurst at a tavern near the hotel, we stopped into the KaDeWa, which is basically the German answer to Harrod’s or Macy’s, to pick up some electricity adapters. Peter went back to the hotel for a nap and I did some exploring.

First exploration stop? The Victory monument in the Tiergarten Park, of course. I didn’t realize that you could go inside the monument, so I happily paid my € 2.20 to climb the 300 spiral steps to the upper observation deck. From the deck, I could look out at a dwarfed Brandenburg Gate and the glittery dome of the Reichstag. My next stop was the Gate and then Potsdamer Platz.

My overwhelming impression, that first day, was of how different and foreign everything was . It’s like in Pulp Fiction, where Vincent tells Jules that the funny thing about Europe is the little differences. “I mean they got the same sh** over there that they got here, but it's just – just there it's a little different .” On that first day, all I could see were the little differences.

Take something as simple as toilet handles. Instead of having small push buttons or silver levers, the toilets have large white panels that you push. In the U-Bahn and S-Bahn stations, instead of having crappy little fast food outlets, they have food kiosks where you can get all manner of freshly baked breads and pastries.

The streets are nearly devoid of litter, but there are sections where every square inch of a building façade is covered with graffiti. People seem to bring their dogs everywhere with them, especially on the trains. And not just little lap dogs – any kind of dog. (I saw a woman get on the train with a Harlequin Great Dane and a boxer – we’re talking at least a combined 180 pounds of dog right there.)

This was my first time visiting a country where English isn’t a major language. Even though English is not the official language of Holland, everyone speaks it and except for signage, it is the default language in shops and restaurants. This is not the case in Germany, where we soon learned that saying “Ich spreche kein Deutsche” or “Ich spreche nur biβchen Deutsche” would inevitably result in sympathetic smiles and nods, followed by friendly questions asking where we were from. Auf Deutsche, naturlich.

In the evening, we met our friends near the Unter Den Linden station (right in front of the gigantic Russian Embassy, actually) and went to dinner at a cool restaurant/book shop near the Brandenburg Gate. I had a delicious potato stew for a starter and disappointing spaetzel. (Disappointing only because my mother makes a mean pot of spaetzel and these were nowhere near as good as hers.) A nice dunkel bier rounded out the meal. We had a nice night and the dinner, although expensive by German standards, was actually fairly reasonable by Dublin standards.

Day Two: Searching for Goya, Turks and Punks

The plan for day two was to meet our friends at the Checkpoint Charlie museum for a morning of Cold War edutainment and then split into two groups. Group A, the Boy Group, planned to go to the citadel at Spandau. Group B, the Girl Group (okay, just me), planned to find a Goya exhibition that I’d seen advertised on a bus stop and then check out the alternative/Turkish/rough-around-the-edges neighborhoods in the Kreuzberg area.

The Checkpoint Charlie museum was incredibly crowded. Since the English audio tours were sold out, we were forced to rely on very poor translations of old German signage. What the museum lacked in terms of an easy-to-follow historical timeline, it made up for in stunning pictures and artifacts used in daring escapes. From homemade SCUBA gear to cars with secret compartments, from hiding people in a large piece of welding equipment to hiding a little boy in a shopping bag and cart, the ingenuity and persistence of the escapees was astonishing.

I had two “favorite bits” in the museum. The first was the exhibit on the two families who escaped from East Germany in a balloon. The movie of their escape was one of my childhood favorites. I remember watching it many times, always with the same funny-stomach feeling that this time, the ending might be different.

The second was a picture of a young couple right after an escape. The boyfriend was on the West German side of the wall and he cut some barbed wire and helped his girlfriend and two other people over the wall, while the security forces scrambled to stop them. The hallmark of the photograph is the looks of utter relief and happiness on the faces of the boyfriend and girlfriend.

After I’d had my fill of black and white photographs and escape gadgets, I headed out in search of the Goya exhibition. Due to poor planning on my part, I didn’t really know where the exhibition was, so I did a little detective guesswork. I looked through my Lonely Planet guidebook, thinking “if I were this Goya show, where would I be?” I decided I would be at the Gemäldegalerie, a museum in the Kulturforum that specializes in 13th to 18th century European painters. The guidebook said that the museum had paintings from Renoir, Reubens, Boticelli, Velasquez and Goya.

I walked in the rain for a good 20 minutes – the kind of cold rain that comes at you on a windy slant that makes it impossible to use an umbrella. When I was close to the museum, a woman stopped me for directions. My German wasn’t up to snuff but her English was fantastic. She was looking for the Gemäldegalerie too, so I pulled out my map and showed her where it was. I asked her if she was going to the Goya exhibit and she said “Oh no! You have to wait in line for hours for that. I am an old woman. I cannot wait like that.”

We headed off to the Gemäldegalerie separately. I was relieved when I got there, sure that soon I would be dry, warm, and viewing dark and disturbing Goya paintings. Alas, it was not to be. It turns out that the Goya exhibit was at the Old National Gallery, which was on Museum Island, and was only accessible by bus. I decided that I didn’t want to trudge around on the rain, try to figure out the bus system with my pigeon-German, and then strand myself at some place where I might have to wait hours to see the paintings.

I figured that since the € 6 admission charge to the Gemäldegalerie included an audio tour, that I might as well check the place out. But, of course, they were out of English audio guides so I had to stumble around the museum with my shocking ignorance of painting and short attention span. I desperately wished that my brother Shane was with me to tell me all the stuff that he learned in art school.

I found the museum a bit disappointing because it seemed like all the paintings were hung in such a way as to ensure maximum glare. It was like watching TV in a very sunny room and got annoying pretty quickly. I don’t understand why they would have done that unless the angles are better for the taller folks.

My € 6 wasn’t totally wasted though. I saw a Carvaggio and several stunning Botticellis. I really liked the pleasant peasant scenes that Teniers did, which shared gallery space with Giovani Antonio’s views of the Venetian Canals. I think these paintings jumped out at me because their subject matter was markedly different than the others. Instead of painting exalted religious figures or nobility, Teniers showed peasants dancing and socializing. Instead of the bucolic countryside, Antonio showed a rare glimpse into a city.

And although I missed out on Goya’s grotesque world view, I did get to see some gory scenes of biblical justice. The worst (best?) was one by Luca Giordarno.

After about an hour and a half in the museum, I was dry and fairly museum-ed out. I’m just not good at appreciating art without context because I don’t understand enough about it. I was on my way to Kreuzberg, with grand plans of lunch in a Turkish café, when Peter called me. Turned out that the Spandau expedition was a big bust and he wanted to go back to the hotel room, change into dry clothes, and have a nap. The only potential flaw in his plan is that I had the room key.

I rode the train out and met him about halfway between Spandau and where I’d been. When the key delivery was successful, I went back and resumed my search for lunch and interesting sites. Going into this area of Berlin was something I’d wanted to do for more than 10 years, although the area has gentrified tremendously. It used to be the land of the punks and artists and immigrants. Now the immigrants and punks have been pushed farther east and some froufy boutiques and upscale restaurants and apartments have moved in. No matter, I pressed on looking for the scrappier sections.

I had lunch at a small Turkish café/restaurant. I asked for a Turkish coffee and a falafel. The guy told me I didn’t want a Turkish coffee. This conversation was in German so I’m not entirely sure if he thought I wouldn’t like it or that it would be too strong or what his reasoning was, but he told me to have tea and I said okay. The tea was delicious – very minty and tangy – and the falafel was tasty. Plus, this whole feast only cost € 2. In Dublin, you can get a candy bar and a bag of crisps for € 2.

Fortified with lunch, I headed out again, this time in the direction of Kottbusser Tor, which was meant to be a bit edgier and have cool second-hand stores and a small neighborhood museum. I saw a lot of graffiti, some cool public art and a pathetic little petting zoo before I was in a sort of urban wasteland without too much of a clue where exactly I was.

I didn’t want to pull out my map and I felt that I’d gone too far to turn around. I saw a brick church steeple on the horizon, a triple dome, and figured that would have to be some sort of landmark. So I made like Carol-Ann and headed for the light. The area got a little more nerve-wracking, with road construction on my left side and what looked suspiciously like a traveler encampment on my right side. I just kept walking, pretending like I knew were I was going, and when the church turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, I headed for what looked like a major road.

The only person I passed in this nerve-wracking wander was a girl with a blue mohawk who was walking a massive Rottweiler. They were both wearing studded collars. The irony of this moment was not lost on me. Part of the reason I wanted to go to Berlin in my law school years was to experience the resurgence of the punk culture. At that time, the idea of hacking up my hair, painting it a primary color and living in a trailer would have sounded like a capital idea. Now, in my reluctantly-bourgeois, quasi-respectable, nearly-middle-aged state, I am so far removed from that version of me that I couldn’t help but laugh. Quietly. Once I was well past the girl and her dog.

My head-for-the-main-artery approach brought me some reassurance, as I could see what looked like a train station in the distance. I followed a few other people who came off the main road and we did indeed end up at Ostbahnhof. Tour and excitement over.

Day Three: Trains, Busses, and Automobiles

It looked like Friday was going to be another damp and depressing day, but we weren’t too concerned since we knew we going to spend most of the day in transit. The time had come to head down toward Dresden and onto the small town where our friends would be married. We got down to breakfast late and all the tables were occupied, so we headed out to a street market in Wittenberg Platz, which was very close to our hotel.

The market held an interesting mix of wares. They had butcher vans and fruit stands but also had jewelry and clothing for sale in some of the stalls. Peter bought a delicious pastry from a bakery truck and I got a crusty roll. Then I went to a cheese stand and after sampling some cheese bought a small slab of butterkäse to make a sandwich.

Peter spied something that looked like Armenian string cheese, one of his favorite Trader Joe buys. He ended up buying a bit, even though he had no idea what it was. The guy didn’t speak English and while Peter’s German pronunciation is nearly flawless after years of World War II movies, he has never actually studied the language. He gave it a good try though and remarked “It’s an act of hopeless optimism to ask ‘Was ist das?’ when you know you won’t understand a word of what is said.”

We settled onto a bench near the U-Bahn station and had our breakfast. It was a good time – the sun came out for a few minutes and a passerby asked us for directions. Of course, we weren’t much help but it felt good to be asked.

After breakfast, we checked out of the hotel and dragged our carcasses over to Ostbahnhof. Now, I had made a crucial packing error. I confused the concept of traveling light with traveling with few bags and crammed all of our stuff into a single garment bag. A single garment bag that seemed to get heavier with each step. The better option would have been to pack most of the stuff in a wheeled bag and then just put the dress clothes in a garment bag. But I saw the one-bag solution as a challenge and woe unto me when I decide to take on a packing challenge.

Peter and I traded off carrying the heavy bag and we made it to Ostbahnhof without any great catastrophe befalling us. When the train pulled up, we trooped on and found our compartment. We were a bit sad since our friends were sitting in a different compartment but it was only going to be a 2-hour train ride.

In one of his books, Bill Bryson laments the reality of the train compartment. To his American eyes, it looked like a glamorous way to travel. But in reality, he compared it to sitting in a doctor’s waiting office with several strangers for a doctor who never shows up. I can confirm that he hit the imagery nail right on the head. I am glad it was a relatively short ride.

Heidi and Colm met us at the station in Dresden and then showed us to the bus station and told us how to take the bus to Oberbärenburg. The bus showed up right on time and we made our connection in Dippsowold and arrived in Oberbärenburg without incident. Heidi made all of the reservation arrangements for us, so we knew our hotel name, but not which name the reservation was under. When we told the proprietor that we had reservations but didn’t know which name, he said “I have the names”. Indeed, he had all of our names and he doled out keys to us.

After some relaxing, we met up and had a walk around Oberbärenburg while we waited for further instructions. Heidi’s parents were intending on hosting a barbecue, but the weather seemed just as intent on canceling it. Colm, Heidi and her friend Claudia arrived in the evening to shuttle us to the barbecue.

Heidi’s parents live in an apartment, as do many people in Altenberg, but they are allotted a garden plot not too far from where they live. Their plot was large and had a small summerhouse on it. A tent was set up for the barbecue, which kept out the wind and mist quite nicely. We met Heidi’s parents, her grandparents, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend and re-met Colm’s parents, brother, sister and his sister’s boyfriend.

Heidi’s parents put on a magnificent barbecue, with a seemingly never-ending supply of steaks, juicy sausages, and assortment of salads. We had a nice time talking to everyone and spend a good part of the evening standing around the dying embers of coal, warming up a bit. The garden was beautiful, well organized with lots of flowers, and had a good view of the mountains. (Or, at least it would have if it hadn’t been quite so misty.)

Day Four: The Wedding

I was up early so I could get in my 9 mile Long Run. Yes, marathon training waits for no wedding. It was cold and rained almost the whole time. I didn’t have any distance marked out, so I just went by time. I figured 10-minute miles because of the hills and the higher altitude, so I ran for 90 minutes. I just sort of toured through the town and out towards the outskirts a little bit. Every time I thought I was going to get brave and head along a road for a certain amount of time, I’d chicken out when I felt myself getting too far from “civilization”. I just couldn’t run too far into the deep, dark forest.

On my travels, I saw a giant hare, a black squirrel, a golden finch, and a red-headed sort of bird that flittered away before I could really identify it. In the end, I was very glad that my run was over and I told Peter that I had gotten “the hypothermia”. In fact, I was so cold that when the run was finished, I went into the town store and bought the warmest top I could find – an extra-large dark blue fleece that had a couple of embroidered flowers and the odd phrase “The Spirit of Sence” on it. (A quality that Peter was quick to point out that I did not possess.)

The wedding was at 2 pm, so we had time for breakfast and a nap before we had to get ready. The wedding was held in a registry office room in the building that holds the tourist information office and a shop. It was a nice room – not at all formal or bureaucratic. In fact, it felt more like a ski lodge than a government facility.

The ceremony was in German and then translated into English. The officiant gave a nice little counseling session on what is required for a good marriage and then did the marrying bit. I’ve never been to a registry office wedding before, so I was interested to see the differences from a church wedding. The big differences (besides the obvious non-religious nature) were the mentions of things like craving and desire (which I could never imagine a priest acknowledging) and the simplicity of the vows (pretty much just a simple yes – no promises of honoring and obeying).

Colm and Heidi left the ceremony in a horse-drawn carriage and the rest of us go to use what Colm called “the comedy transport”. The Bimmelbahn looked like a little novelty train but it ran on the ground like a golf cart or a bus. It sort of reminded me of the zoo train at the Cleveland Zoo, only smaller and quainter.

We had a nice tour of the area and eventually were taken up the steep mountainside to the reception site. We climbed the observation tower to admire the view and just hung out waiting for Heidi and Colm to arrive. There was some speculation about whether or not the horses could make it up the hill, but they were made of strong stuff and pulled the happy couple to the reception without trouble.

After some pictures, Heidi and Colm walked up to a log on a stand and put on some gardening gloves. I’d seen the log and I thought maybe the proprietor of the restaurant sawed off chunks for an outdoor fire or something. It turns out that the log was part of a German wedding tradition – it’s meant to be the first bit of work that the bride and groom do together. We watched Heidi and Colm work together to hack up the log and it looked to my inexperienced eye like they did a pretty good job.

The reception was very homey and sweet. There were only about 25 people there and the owners of the restaurant felt like they were part of the party. They were very kind and friendly and cooked some mean dishes. An extensive salad bar started out the dinner. The main theme of the dinner would have to be garlic. The appetizer choices included garlic bread and garlic soup, a dinner choice was garlic steak and for dessert, you could even have garlic ice cream. Peter went for the “straight garlic card” while I had garlic bread, breaded cauliflower medallion and chocolate ice cream with cherries for dessert.

The party went way into the night, with music and drinking and dancing. OK, not so much dancing for me (none, in fact), but the music and drinking were good. Everyone had a great time and even though I’d originally planned to leave early because I was tired, I found that I really didn’t want to leave.

At 1 am, we trundled into the Bimmelbahn (I was a bit worse for wear but still having a good time) and had a very cold ride down the mountain and back to Oberbärenburg, dropping off guests at various spots along the way.

Day Five: Mistakes, Miscalculations and Other Near Disasters

As much as I enjoyed the wedding and our time in rural Germany, I was anxious to get back to the conveniences and excitement of Berlin. (I do want to return to the area, but only with a car.) In fact, I was so anxious that I misread the train schedule and herded Peter out of the hotel on a quest for a train that didn’t exist. The train plan looked simple enough – train from Altenberg to Heidenau, where we’d switch to a train for Dresden. I misread the schedule though and thought the train left Altenberg for Heidenau at 8:50. Actually, it was leaving Dresden for Heidenau. The train from Altenberg to Heidenau didn’t leave until 10:17.

Yeah. Peter was none too pleased that I dragged him out of bed early to catch a train that didn’t exist. So we were stranded at the Altenberg train station (the closed station with the deserted platform) until 10.17. Our trip into Dresden went smoothly enough and I went into the ticket office to sort out our trip to Berlin. Our tickets were open-ended on the return, so I needed to find out which train we should take.

The guy didn’t speak English but I was able to tell him I needed a non-stop train to Berlin. He charged me an upgrade to do that and printed me out a schedule and ticket supplement for the 12:05 train. I tried to reserve seats on the train, but he told me no. With my child’s vocabulary and comprehension, I didn’t know if it was a “no you can’t” or “no you don’t need to.”

We got the platform with about 25 minutes to spare and Peter went to get some lunch. About 5 minutes after he left, our train pulled up. I was worried we’d miss the train, so I texted Peter and then set out to make sure that it was our train, since the board said it was going to Hamburg. (But it was going to Berlin first.) Peter arrived, with a plate of bratwurst in hand, just as the doors seemed to be closing, at least the door where I was standing.

We hopped on the train and proceeded to struggle along the narrow corridors, looking for a compartment. After about two train cars, Peter had an unfortunate incident involving a rude man, a hyper-ish kid and a pair of insistent-on-closing-right-on-him automatic doors. The upshot of this incident was that his bratwurst went flying and his patience got a bit fried.

We got off the train and walked on the platform to another car, still looking for unreserved seats. We did find a pair in a compartment, but two different people in the compartment insisted to us in what I think were different languages that we could not have the seats. I didn’t know if they were just being rude or if someone really was sitting there, but it didn’t help our moods much.

We finally trudged into the car of last resort, the bar car, and dumped our bags down. Peter went to search the last train car and I resigned myself to having to sit in the corridor with a very disgruntled, tired Peter who would have every right to blame me for the ongoing train debacle.

Peter found a couple of seats in the last car, which just had regular seating, not compartment seating. We stowed our luggage and gratefully collapsed in the seats, only to become aware that we were most likely sitting in first class. Rather than wait to get turfed out, Peter sent me on a mission to get it sorted out somehow.

I found the conductor having a smoking break and had a nice chat (in English) about our seat situation. I learned that we could upgrade our tickets for € 19 euro and I jumped on the chance. When the nice conductor printed out our upgrade slips, I thanked him profusely, saying “You’ve saved my marriage!” I don’t know if he understood exactly what I was saying, but the sentiment was clear enough.

We arrived back at our hotel in the mid-afternoon and received a room that was more along the lines of what we were paying for. We were disappointed not to have the suite, but the room had tall ceilings and big windows, so it was alright even though it was only just big enough to hold the bed.

In the evening, we had some time before we were meeting our friends for dinner, so we headed out to Alexander Platz and went to the top of the TV Tower. It was a good view, high enough so you could see everything but low enough so that you could still see details. It was also cool to see places after acquiring a certain familiarity with the city.

Since the weather was a lot more agreeable, we headed back outside after the TV Tower and lounged on a bench on the square. I thumbed through the guidebook and happened about Gendarmenmarkt, which was billed as the most spectacular square in Berlin. We hopped back on the U-Bahn and went to check it out.

I can concur that Gendarmenmarkt is indeed the most spectacular square in Berlin. It has three graceful old domed buildings and then a line of stately apartment blocks. Our experience was enhanced by a violin player busking near the national concert hall. It was the perfect way to unwind after a tiring and stressful day’s journey – laying on a bench, soaking up the architecture and ambiance while Vivaldi plays in the background.

One weird thing about Berlin is that you can’t forget World War II while you’re there. It’s a strange subtext, like the elephant in the middle of the room that no one talks about. The older buildings bear the scars of bullets and shells and so many of the reconstructed buildings, with their jarring 50s and 60s architecture are just a different sort of scar, like a skin graft instead of scar tissue. While we were in the Gendarmenmarkt, a DC-3 flew fairly low overhead.

I could clearly make out its shape and its two engines. I couldn’t identify what it was, but I could tell it wasn’t your standard commercial jet. For that passing moment, I could picture the doors opening up and bombs tumbling out. It was just an automatic vision, planted from years of newsreel and film footage.

When I asked Peter if he’d imagined it dropping bombs, he admitted that he sort of had for a second, but then knew it was A. not a bomber and B. was an Allied plane, so “it wouldn’t be dropping bombs….except, of course, this is Germany so it would have.”

Our dinner plans were to meet up with our friends at the Rosenthaler Platz U-Bahn station and then head out toward a couple of places recommended in the guidebook. We ended up eating at a place that was near the other places, although not specifically listed in the book. It was an open, airy Italian and pizza restaurant, whose menu was in both Italian and German (but no English).

I don’t think our waitress was German (if I had to guess, I’d say she was from one of the Eastern Bloc countries, but I could be wrong) but she did speak pretty good English and was happy to try it out on us. In fact, she was so happy to try it out on us that she pretty much ordered for us. Peter told her he wanted the prosciutto and mushroom pizza and she told him “no, that is too easy, I think you should have this”, indicating another pizza that she unfortunately was not able to translate entirely. She made recommendations and when we balked, she made her recommendations more forcefully. We got the sense that we could order whatever we wanted and she was still going to bring us whatever she thought we should have.

The antipasto platter she recommended was heartily enjoyed by all. The main courses met with varying degrees of appreciation. Peter and I swapped pizzas (his sausage and tomato for my chunky mozzarella, cherry tomato and spinach) and we all shared around. It was also stunningly cheap – it cost less for the four of us than the last meal Peter and I had together in Dublin. (And the places were probably of similar status although the food was much better at the place in Berlin.)

Conclusion

I won’t bore you with the details of our trip back to Dublin. We obviously made it here. We had a great trip and it definitely has set off the “exploring/traveling” impulse in me. One of my few regrets in life is that I rushed through college and into law school without ever having a proper European backpacker phase. I’d like to do that while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. Now that we live in Europe, the possibilities are much more frequent.