Well, epinoid has headed back to Murrysville, the easternmost suburb of Pittsburgh, where his mother lives. He was back home (here) for a little while, since last Friday.

I made some wheat-free Zwiebelkuchen and Zimtsterne for him last week, waiting for him when he got home. He liked them quite a bit, especially the Zimtsterne. (I'll post the recipe sometime this weekend.) Last night, I attempted wheat-free hazelnut Kipferl. Didn't go so well. I'll need to tweak the recipe a bit.

I tried to help him get his errands done, and to help him unwind, as best as I could. He'll be coming back for a longer period on 12/30. He's trying to get his mother to make some decisions and get things done that need him around. We figured out that he'd been gone for 4 weeks, from 11/20 to 12/18. He'd been in Murrysville dealing with his father's death and its aftermath. He'll have to return for short spells once a month for a while, but it'll be shorter periods.

Sometimes, when epinoid is away, for business, or at a retreat, it's a welcome change, giving me a chance to reacquaint me with myself. Other times, I keep busy so that I don't miss him. Still other times, I miss him terribly.

Lately, I've been missing him terribly. But we'll get through this, he and I.

Now, one of the major problems with that information cuisinart, the news, has with "Global Warming" is how they report it. They talk about, "increase in temperature," but forget to mention what that really means.

Climatologists take the results of their models and turn it into a single, nice and easy to work with number. (Most branches of science like to do that, in fact.) What they're really generating from the models are how the behavior of the Earth's atmosphere will change by dumping extra CO₂ into the air. They take those results, specifically the results for the Earth's surface, and average them, over the entire globe, over every day, day and night. This is the "temperature" that the news incorrectly spits at you.

It's the change in the average global atmospheric surface temperature.

The thing is, that's just the symptom of the real effect of pooping all of that CO₂ into the atmosphere. The real effect is that the Earth, "retains heat-energy" (kinda like retaining water, but with different noxious effects). I say, "heat-energy," not to confuse you, dear reader, but to explicitly point out that the climatologists are looking at energy, not "how warm do I feel."

Well, then, how can we convert that, "increase in average global atmospheric surface temperature," to an, "increase in the average global heat-energy at the 'surface' of the atmosphere?"

Grabbing the result from my last entry:

Δ Q=Δ T  cp  MA·(1−e−z· AE·ρ0/MA)

(6)

…where: ΔQ is the change in heat-energy, ΔT is the change in temperature;
c_p=1004 J/(K·kg) for dry air;
M_A=5.14·10¹⁸ kg is the mass of Earth's entire atmosphere;
A_E≃5.1·10¹⁴ m² is the surface area of the Earth;
and ρ₀≈1.2 kg/m³ density of the atmosphere at sea level.

Next, I'll point out that you're already familiar with energy. Sure, the scientific units of energy, "Joules," may not mean anything to you, but you do have a feel for what energy is using other units: tons of TNT.

4.184·10⁹ Joules == 1 ton TNT
1 Hiroshima == 15 kilotons TNT == 6.276·10¹³ Joules

At this point, it's just a matter of deciding how tall the "surface" of the atmosphere is, then plugging in temperature changes. I've seen definitions as low as 2 meters and as high as 500 meters. I'm going to plug both in, and see how they differ:
( Some Geekiness )So, if we make the "surface" of the atmosphere 500 meters thick, ΔQ is about 300 times larger than if we let it be only 2 meters (6.5 feet) thick.

Now, in Copenhagen, there's been a lot of talk about a, "2 °C temperature rise." You now know that they're really talking about a "2 °C increase in the global average surface temperature."

---

We can now convert that to the increase in average heat-energy in the surface layer of the Earth's atmosphere:

ΔQ = ΔT·2.5·10¹⁸ J
       = 590 Megatons of TNT
       = 39,000 Hiroshimas


Do you get it? Now do you understand what it means to have that "2 °C temperature rise"? It's equivalent to adding heat-energy equal to the energy output of 39,000 Hiroshima bombs. Every Year.

Climatologists have been describing human-caused climate change in terms of °C. I suppose that the climatologist thought that °C would be easier for the average person to get a handle on. Unfortunately, it's backfired. The climatologists mean,“the global average surface temperature increase, in °C, due to increased retention of heat energy.” The average person, unfortunately, hears,“I'll feel warmer by °C, that silly metric-system thing that they should convert to °F.”

The irony is, the average person could understand the concept of, "increased retention of heat energy.” Most people understand the idea of,“retaining water,” so saying that the earth is,“retaining extra heat-energy,” should make sense to them, too. Moreover, you can give the average person a sense of just how much energy you're talking about by converting it to familiar units: tons of TNT.

( The Geeky Details )

So, amongst the several recruiters who have contacted me are several "chop-shops." These are unethical barracudas who use job seekers and engage in shady practices.

One of the shady practices that I've encountered is Undermining, as in undermining your other interviews. Here's what usually happens: Shady Recruiter schedules a phone interview (or worse, an in-person one) without consulting you. When you confront them, threatening to sever contact, they claim that they hadn't really scheduled it but were only asking for your availability.

Um… when someone leaves you a voicemail saying, "Your interview with XYZCorp is scheduled for 11am tomorrow," that's not asking for availability.

[Normal Professional Behavior is to say," XYZCorp wants to interview you tomorrow at 11am. Please let me know if you're available and, if not, what time would be better."]


But the worst shady practice I've seen so far is Exclusivity Contracts. Shady Recruiter refuses to send your resume to an employer before you sign an "agreement" that Shady Recruiter is the sole and exclusive recruiter who will represent you, and that you cannot apply to said employer(s) any other way.

Ummm… hell NO.

I can list numerous ways that This Is Just Wrong<ol>

In high-tech, if a company receives the same resume twice, that person is marked as, "desperate," and will not be considered for any job until a certain time has elapsed. (6 months to 1 year)

At some companies, all resumes go through H.R. So, once they have your resume, that's it.

At some larger companies, H.R. knows that there may be more than one job that you may be a fit for. So, they allow the recruiter who submitted you to them to suggest your resume for new positions that may come along.
In this case, you have to wait 6 months after the last position you apply for before you can let a different recruiter submit your resume to the same company.

At some companies, positions are department-by-department. You can submit your resume only once to each department, but you can submit to as many different departments as there are appropriate jobs.

Like the previous case, but positions are handled hiring manager by hiring manager.

</ol> In other words, there's no need for Exclusivity Agreements from the job hunters, because the hiring company drives this anyhow.

I'm So Sick and Tired of dealing with Chop-Shops.

[…name-complicated-technique-here…] is already perfect, because the programmer is in complete control of it. Please don't put a cork tip on the end of my fork – I know how to use it without putting out an eye.

—Dave Mikesell


I love it.

That completes my retrospective of my Berlin adventures, 20 years later. I admit, I'm glad to be finished. This last week was quite a chore, transscribing my journal each day, then taking those raw notes and turning them into a true narrative.

In closing, here again is an outline with links to all of the entries:

1. Prologue: The Itinerant Writer and the Well-Ordered Kindergarten
2. Introduction: The Summer of Abandoned Heimat
3. An der Uni: Mittelhochdeutch and Die Berlinreise für ausländische Studierende
4. Protests at the Anniversary Party
5. The „Chinesische Lösung“ Avoided
6. The People Already Opened Them
7. "We're Riding into History!"
8. Berlin Diary: Sunday, 12 Nov. 1989 —
   The Busride into History
9. Berlin Diary: Sunday, 12 Nov. 1989 —
   The Tail-End of the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century
10. Berlin Diary: Monday, 13 Nov. 1989 —
    The Hangover After the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century
11. Berlin Diary: Monday, 13 Nov. 1989, Part 2
12. Berlin Diary: Tuesday, 14 Nov. 1989
13. Berlin Diary: Wednesday, 15 Nov. 1989
14. Berlin Diary: Thursday, 16 Nov. 1989
15. Berlin Diary: Friday, 17 Nov. 1989
16. Berlin Diary: Saturday, 18 Nov. 1989 —
    The Return Trip

And, for completeness, here are the raw transscriptions of my journal:

1. Berlin Diary, Raw: Sonntag, 12 Nov. 1989
2. Berlin Diary, Raw: Montag, 13 Nov. 1989
3. Berlin Diary, Raw: Dienstag, 14 Nov. 1989
4. Berlin Diary, Raw: Mittwoch, 15 Nov. 1989
5. Berlin Diary, Raw: Donnerstag, 16 Nov. 1989
6. Berlin Diary, Raw: Freitag, 17 Nov. 1989
7. Berlin Diary, Raw: Samstag, 18 Nov. 1989

The Return Trip

We were all dead tired when we boarded the bus that morning. We'd spent the previous evening — every evening during the previous week, actually — sleeping little, spending every night out in some Kneipe or Keller, talking, philosophizing, debating and drinking beer. Since our days were full, as well, we got very, very little sleep.

So every last one of us on the, „Berlinreise für Ausländische Studierende,“ was out like a light the entier busride back.

The border crossing out of West Berlin went smoothly. There was no traffic jam, no other problems. I was still awake when we pulled off of the Autobahn into a rest area in the DDR for a, „Pinkelpause.“ The rest of the return trip, however, laid behind a hypnogogic fog.

When we reached the DDR-BRD border, a voice over the bus' loudspeaker woke me. Then, still half asleep, I heard a voice say, „Naja. Fahren Sie ruhig durch.“ — "Eh, just drive on through." Unbelievable! It was the exact opposite of when we were first there the prior Sunday, crossing from the other direction at beginning our adventure.


We returned to Mainz, the adventure over.

Ruckfahrt

( the finale, behind the cut )

Vortrag

I didn't take many notes during this lecture. Here are the few that I jotted down.

( Morning Lecture: A Political History of West Germany )

Humor

During the trip, I heard several jokes and humorous tales about the historic events occuring around us. I also heard one other, told to me a few weeks later.

The one joke that I remember came from one of my fellow students on the, "Berlin Trip for International Students," a guy from South America named Luis:

John Wayne arrives in heaven, still dressed in his cowboy hat, leather boots, holster and gun, and other cowboy attire. God then says to him, "Now John, you can't go wandering around Heaven dressed like that. You have to change into these white clothing." So John Wayne did so. As he wandered around heaven, he saw somone who was dressed in a cowboy outfit, including cowboy hat, leather boots, holster and gun. So John Wayne returned to God and protested, "Wait, I thought you said that nobody can wear cowboy clothes in heaven." "Yes, that's so," said God, "But what you saw is a special case. That was Karl Marx. He's waiting for Erich Honeger."

The next two are actual events, retold to me. The second is the one I heard after I'd returned from Berlin.


In a West Berlin Post Office, the following announcement came over the loudspeaker: „Herr Egon Krenz. Herr Egon Krenz. Bitte kommen Sie zum Schalter 4 für Ihr Begrüßungsgeld.“
— "Herr Egon Krenz. Herr Egon Krenz. Please come to counter four for your Begrüßungsgeld."

(If you've forgotten who Egon Krenz or what Begrüßungsgeld is, follow the links.)


During the days immediately after the borders opened, massive crowds gathered at the Brandenbuger Tor (the, "Brandenburg Gate," a memorial arch). At one point, the crowd began to chant:

„Mach' das Tor auf! Mach' das Tor auf!“

… which means, "Open the Gate!"

From the East German side of the wall, came a voice over a loudspeaker: „Wir werden es aufmachen. Wir suchen aber immer noch die Schlüßel.“ — "We will open it. But we're still looking for the key."

Never let anyone tell you that Germans don't have a sense of humor. ^_^

The Rest of the Day and the Evening

I didn't make any notes about the rest of Friday. I'm fairly sure that we did a, "pub crawl."

Unlike what pub-crawls have become in this country, we were merely checking out different pubs and bars. It was a group of several different students who were on the Berlin Trip. We'd spend most of the time in each place sitting, chatting, debating, and drinking just enough beer to keep ourselves from going hoarse.

It was our last day in Berlin, so, of course, we were going to enjoy ourselves. ^_^

Vortrag

( full notes behind the cut )

Humor

→The joke from Luis: „John Wayne kommt vor Gott, immer noch in sein Cowboy Hut, Leder Stiefel, Schießwaffen und Cowboy Anzug angekleidet, und Gott sagt ihm, ‚Na, John, du kannst nicht in die Himmel in diesen Kleider gehen [oder war es „so ausgekleidet“], du mußt dich in diesen weißen Kleider umziehen.‘ So der John Wayne tat es, und geht in die Himmel. Aber dort sah er jemanden, der in Stiefel, Cowboy Hat etc. ausgekleidet worden ist. So John Wayne ging zurück zur Gott und klagte: ‚Moment, ich glaubte, daß Du sagte, daß man darf keine Cowboy Kleider in der Himmel tragen.&lsquo ‚Ja Ja,&lsquo antworted Gott, ‚Stimmt. Aber das ist ein Sonderfall. Das war der Karl Marx. Er wartet auf Erik Honeger.”

In einem Post, over the loudspeaker: „Herr Egon Krenz. Herr Egon Krenz. Bitte kommen Sie zum Schalter 4 für Ihr Begrüßungsgeld.“

A humorous, real event, told to me a month later:
Crowd: „Mach' das Tor auf! Mach' das Tor auf!“
From the other side of the wall, over a loudspeaker: „Wir werden es aufmachen. Wir suchen aber immer noch die Schlüßel.“

Vortrag

There's nothing in my journal. If we did have a morning seminar that day, I didn't take any notes.

Wandering along The Wall

Beim Brandeburger Tor

Thursday in the early afternoon, I found myself wandering along the wall, heading towards the Berliner Philharmonie. I wanted to trade in the complimentary ticket that I had for the orchestral performance for a chamber music concert. If I couldn't trade it, I'd purchase the ticket for the one I wanted to attend.

I began my hike at the Brandeburger Tor (the "Brandenburg Gate," which is really an arch over a wide boulevard). This started me thinking about some of the retrospective programs on TV. (I only had a radio in my dorm room in Mainz, so I hadn't watched any German TV until this trip.) The TV program that I saw contained the now-ubiquitous footage from the previous Sunday.

During the day on Sunday, November 12, the crowd which had gathered near the Brandenburger Tor pulled down a section of the wall. That footage, I'm sure you've seen. What you don't know is that the wall directly in front of the Brandenburger Tor is a 1 meter thick arc. Where that arc meets the, "normal," parts of The Wall, at the corner joint, is where the crowd pulled down that panel.

There's also footage that you've never seen, but which I did, 20 years ago in Berlin. As the crowd worked the segment free, the West Berlin police came and immediately dispersed the crowd from that spot. Meanwhile, the East German troops shooed people off of the top of 1 meter thick section of The Wall. Then both East German troops pulled the piece of wall back into place. The officials in both Berlins almost certainly did not want to cause a diplomatic incident.

Also in that television program, was a scene from the other side of The Wall. The previous week, a middle-aged woman in East Berlin wanted merely to walk up to and stand under the Brandenburger Tor. (It sits entirely on the East Berlin side.) It wasn't clear to me from the TV program, which I remember very little of now, why it was so important to this woman to walk to the Brandenburger Tor, yet it was. She kept pleading with the Volkpolizei and East German troops that she simply wanted to walk up to it, and was that so much to ask? At one point, she told the East Berlin police that they were there to serve the people, that the Brandenburger Tor was there for the people. Finally, one of the officers or soldiers took her by the arm. Like a Victorian-era couple strolling arm-in-arm in the park, he accompanied her to the Brandenburger Tor and back, to the applause of the crowd.

Once at the Brandenburger Tor, at the 1-meter thick section of The Wall, I hung a left, heading towards The Reichstag. The mood was very cheerful and excited, though the police were shooing away the chiselers. Linguistic note: the German word for, "chiseler," is, „Meisler,“ which sounds an awful lot like, „Mäuser,“ the word for, "mice." And the Chiselers were rather like mice, nibbling away at the wall.

Small World at the Reichstag

My first errand was to purchase a book in the bookstore or gift-shop of the Reichstag, Germany's original parliament building. The book, „Fragen an die deutsche Geschichte,“ — "Questions about German History." It covers the 19^th and 20^th century, with an frank, unflinchingly honest description of the Nazi Era. I consult it to this day.

As I exited the Reichstag, I waded my way through the crowd, heading back towards the Brandenburger Tor, then onward to Potsdamer Platz and the Berliner Philharmonie thereafter. The mood outside was almost festive, though crazy and crowded. Then I spied someone. Waaaaaaitaminnit… is that … is that Eric O.?!?! The man I was looking at then said something to someone. Wow, it sounds like Eric. But it couldn't be him. He was a French major, 2 years ahead of me, back at our college. (He was also incredibly cute.) He doesn't speak a word of German. I knew him because, well, because I'm a language geek. I studied 3 semesters of French during my first 2 years, and took every opportunity to speak it (as well as to speak German). When I spoke to Eric last year, he'd said that he was going to work at our college for a year before moving on to something else.

Naaaaah. There's no way it could be him.

(It was him, of course. Once I was back at my college, during spring semester, I ran into him and asked. Small World.)

Die Mauermeisler

My next errand was at the Berliner Philharmonie. I had complimentary tickets for an orchestral concert, part of the, „Berlinreise für Ausländische Studierende.“ I wanted to see if I could exchange them for something else.

I passed the massive bulk of the Wall in front of Brandenburger Tor, and continued onward in the direction of Potsdamer Platz. The Berliner Philharmonie was only a few blocks from there. Again, I passed several Meisler, nibbling away at The Wall.

Now, you might expect that the chisel-wielding set were tourists, mainly Americans. Well, I certainly did see at least one set of loud, obnoxious American girls, who almost certainly spoke not one word of German, posing with a chisel for a snapshot. That, however, was the exception. Nor were they chiseling away to create fragments of the wall to sell as collectibles to right-wing Americans who've never left the U.S.

No. The vast majority of the Meisler were Germans, most likely West Berliner. They happily chiseled away, hammering intently. It was, as if, with each blow against the chisel, they were saying, "Give. Us. Our. City. Back. Damnit!" They seemed to have a sense of relief and joy, as well. The graffiti I saw, as I walked further and further along The Wall, confirmed my interpretation. „Berlin bleibt Eins“ — "Berlin remains One," read one graffiti. Another read, "It shouldn't be more difficult to visit your neighbor than to go to the moon."

Forget the American/Russian Cold-War politics. Forget the communist-vs.-capitalist rhetoric. The Berliner wanted their city back.

Near one of the chiselers, I stopped to write in my journal, scrawling down the very things I've just described to you. The chiselers would free a chunk of Wall. Rather than let it fall to the ground, however, he turned around and cheerfully handed the piece to whatever non-German happened to be passing by. Noticing me standing there and writing, he to a step towards me and handed me the latest result of his handiwork.

And that, dear readers, is how I got my piece of the Berlin Wall. It's sitting in a piece of plastic packaging, taped shut, stored in a closet in my house, in the same place as the cap from my doctoral robes.

Philharmonie, Potsdamer Platz, and the Return Walk

As I said earlier, I wanted see if I could trade the complimentary ticket I had for a different performance. After receiving the free ticket, I discovered that there was a concert of chamber music. Now, while I was in college, I took 3 years of harpsichord lessons. I loved baroque chamber music! Even if I had been unable to exchange the ticket I had, I would've bought a ticket for the chamber music concert.

The Philharmonie is a rats maze.

Firstly, I couldn't find the entrance. I had to walk halfway around the Philharmonie before I found the doors. Once inside, I couldn't find anything. I must have spoken to 10 different people, who sent me in 10 different directions. I did, however, finally find the correct counter. As it turned out, I could exchange my ticket, and did. I was now ready for the concert that evening.

In the Philharmonie, I saw, yet again, a sign I'd encountered everywhere else in West Berlin — „DDR Bürger, Eintritt frei.“ "East German citizens get in free." All of West Berlin is completely excited, still.

I headed back towards Potsdamer Platz, following the huge line heading towards it.

In comparison to Sunday night, Potsdamer Platz was calm. There was almost a sense of normality. I saw a army tent, with troops giving out coffee. The uniforms didn't look East or West German; I think that they may have been British.

I made my way back along the wall, back towards the Brandenburger Tor. I decided to make the return stroll more leisurely, taking my time.

I began to notice the now numerous holes in The Wall. Over one of them, someone had painted an eye, with the hole as the pupil. I looked through. An empty stretch of wasteland, brightly illuminated, extended to yet another wall in the distance. The wall on the other side is completely white, compared to the graffiti-covered side here in West Berlin. Well, that would explain the lack of graffiti on the buses and subway cars — everyone in East Berlin uses The Wall, instead.

The bright floodlights were even visible from over the Wall, as they threw a long, dark shadow on the ground. Through the gaps and holes in the wall, shafts of light beamed through, slicing the shadow. 3 Germans strike up a conversation with me. One suggests that I should head, "over there," nodding towards East Berlin. I clarify that I'd been there yesterday. Besides, I didn't want to interrupt my thoughts, thoughts I continued to jot down into my journal.

I continued onward to the Tor.

Through some of the holes, one can see the grim figure of a soldier. I sometimes felt like shouting through the hole, „Lächel doch! Das Leben is nicht so schlimm!“ — "Smile! Life isn't so bad!" However, I lose my courage and walk on.

Events am Brandenburger Tor

I'm back at the Brandenburger Tor. It lit from every angle. I opened my journal, a purple spiral notebook, actually, and began writing my impressions.

Atop the 1 meter thick length of wall, two East German soldiers stood, chatting with some of the crowd, and smiling, even! I spot another pair of East German solders, who must have been in their early 20's. More to the point, I notice the 3 guys below them by the wall. Two of them lift up the third, who reaches up and places a can of cola or beer at the soldiers' feet. I notice even more presents at the feet of the young soldiers. A flash of brandy, several other cans, and what appears to be a box of baked goods. Baked goods?!?! Ach, no, they're cartons of cigarettes. I realized this as the 3 guys returned, this time bearing another carton of cigarettes, repeating their lift-and-place routine. "Do you want anything else?" one of the 3 West Berlin men asked. "Share them with your friends," says one of the others.

And now, from nearby, the squawking of American english pierces the air. A gaggle of American girls, loudly wrapped up in themselves, want to take a photo of one of the soldiers atop the Wall. Oh, they may have been my age, or a bit older, but they acted like obnoxious teenage girls, multiplied by the natural obnoxiousness of monolingual American tourists.

Then something unbelievable happened.

One of the young East German soldiers, who was easy on the eyes to begin with, tilted his head down towards one shoulder. His hands already behind his back, he raised his shoulders, and began swinging one leg back and forth. He was striking a bashful pose for the camera! He was playing cute! One of the obnoxiousness American girls, half joking, shouted, "Marry me!" up at him.

I stood, notebook in one hand, pen in the other, both dropped at my sides, jaw on the floor. I stared in amazement at the scene unfolding. Then, when it finished, I started writing madly.


I wandered around a bit more. Ugh, the West side of The Wall was tacky! People swarmed like files, snapping pictures. They were accompanied by flocks of vultures: the American news media, with their blindingly-bright lights, satellite trucks, newscaster trailers, and camera crews wandering everywhere. Cranes for the lights and cameras reached upward. The overall effect was 3-Ring Circus. In mood and in appearance, it looked like a 3 ring circus, lacking only the large tent. There were even food stands present to tend to the American news crews. And, yes, they were American; I saw nothing but American TV station call letters. Tacky tacky tacky!

Remember, this was 20 years ago, when there was still only CNN and the major networks' international news bureaus. Even then, they created a circus, a media circus. It was the first time that I'd seen the other side of our news cameras, of the mess that they create. And, I was ashamed.

I then encountered a young Czech, who fled here recently. Because of the difference between the education systems, he was refinishing Gymnasium, the West German-equivalent of the last 2 year of High School and first year of college. The conversation turned interesting. The Czech had actually been there the week before — he was even atop The Wall, for 5 hours. He said that the mood of the crowd at the Brandenburger Tor had been like that of a child before receiving his Christmas present. The young Czech was quite happy to see, "Freedom finally coming to the Communist countries." He seemed to have drunk the capitalist-cool-aid.

Evening

It turned out that I made a mistake.

The concert of chamber music at the Berliner Philharmonie was 20^th century chamber music by a Romanian composer, and, I believe, a student of Bela Bartok. It was more dissonant than Bartok, like traffic-in-Manhattan dissonant. Combine that with my disappointed expectation, and I was not at all happy with the concert.

Afterwords, I had a conversation with some students from East Germany. It may have been at a cafe in/near the Philharmonie, or it may have been in a Kneipe, over beer. Anyway, the East Germans expressed concerns that improving the standard of living in a western fashion would bring with it western-style problems. One student felt that, ideally, one could improve the standard of living within the current system, curing the ills of the current system. However, he couldn't imagine how that could be or what it would look like. Yes, I told him, that would be ideal, improve the standard of living without causing tremendous unemployment. I then asked him what he thought of Reunification. He said that East Germany wouldn't suddenly change to capitalism. Instead, perhaps in the future there would be some form of confederation.

Vortrag

I have no notes. If we did have a morning seminar that day, I didn't take any notes.

Wandering along The Wall

( description behind the cut )

Amazing Events am Brandenburger Tor

( the full story behind the cut )

Evening

( after the Philharmonie )

A Day in East Berlin

[This is an alternate version of my post, with several personal things omitted. I have no problem sharing those personal things … with friends. They can view the full version here.]

There was no morning seminar on Wednesday. It was a free day, with arrangements for touring East Berlin on our own, if we were so inclined. Not everyone on the, "Berlin Trip for International Students," was, but Heidi, Meredith, and I were.

A few quick reminder: The Berlin Trip was for non-Germans studying at the University of Mainz. My college's, "Junior Semester/Year Abroad," program, being one of the better ones, was so structured that its students matriculated to Uni-Mainz for the one/two semesters. Of all of us in the program, Heidi, Meredith, and I were the only 3 who had signed up for the Berlin Trip that semester.

The Line at the Post Office

Now, before we headed to East Berlin, we had a few errands. I needed to head to some address to pick up the complimentary ticket for the Berliner Philharmonie for Thursday night. (I'll go into details in the Thursday entry.) Heidi had a package that she needed to mail to her relatives in Neu Ulm, a city back in West Germany. We rode together to a particular U-Bahn stop, and agreed to meet back there at a certain time. Then we would head to East Berlin together.

It didn't take me nearly as long to perform my errand as I'd thought, so I arrived back at the subway station first. Meanwhile, at the Post (as the Germans call their post offices), Heidi and Meredith were stuck in line. Behind hundreds of East Berliners, all lined up to collect their 100 DM of Begrüßungsgeld. (Have a look here for a definition of Begrüßungsgeld.) After they'd been in line a very long time, they started to worry about leaving me there waiting. By the time they were 15 minutes late, they began to think like American young women: I must be worrying that they were mugged. Heidi told Meredith that I could be kinda sensitive, and must be worried sick. So Heidi resolved to wait there at the Post when … or even if … she'd sent her package. Meredith would head to our meeting point with all due haste, collect me up, and return to the Post, where we would meet up with Heidi.

So, 27 minutes after our agreed-upon meeting time, Meredith came sprinting toward me, panting, out of breath, exhaling apologies and explanations of the situation. We began our walk to the Post.

Once Heidi finally reached the front of the line and mailed her package, we discussed our plans for the day. I said that I'd like to visit the antiquities section of the Pergamon museum, since this would likely be the only chance I'd have to visit the Pergamon. That, and I'd like to have a nice relaxing dinner. Meredith wanted to make a quick stop in a shop to purchase a particular deck of playing cards. Someone … I think it may have been her father … collected playing card decks, and needed only one to complete the East German part of the collection. We also had tickets for a ballet. I believe that they had been complementary tickets, provided as part of the Berlin Trip.

Off to the Border!

Our crossing into East Berlin wasn't very notable. To lighten the mood, we began cracking some jokes. "Barnacles!" one of us whispered at the sight of the buttons on the East German uniforms. Everything checked out. We were allowed through. Leaving the checkpoint, we glanced at each other, then said, "Barnacles." We burst into giggles.

Having grown up during the Cold War, our heads had all been filled with all sorts of easily-marketable, "pop-aganda," from the American media. Like any other American raised during the Cold War, we had our preconceptions about the eeeeeebil, "Communist Nations."

As it turns out, it wasn't so grim & grey on the other side — people smile, children play, babies go, "eeeehhhgthblblbw," just like anywhere else. There was a feeling of complete normality there. Or could it be due to recent events that everyone looked so alive? If I had been from another planet, I would not have noticed a terribly great difference in the two Berlins. Well, at least no difference other than Architecture and the occasional insipid official Party signs in loud neon.

Deep Time at the Pergamon

I remember next to nothing about our visit to the Pergamon, Berlin's world-famous museum of antiquities. I know that we were there, however, as I do remember seeing the Pergamon Altar. We're not talking about a stone pedestal here. The Pergamon Altar is the size of a small building, with a staircase and facade of columns. It was reassembled inside of the Pergamon Museum, in a gigantic hall. It's not a sight one soon forgets.

I also vaguely recall seeing Sumero-Akkadian artifacts for the first time. These are objects from 6000 years ago, from the first human cities. These weren't very large objects: a pottery shard here, a cuneiform seal there. But they were old, the oldest human-made things from the beginning of written history.

The Hunt for Red Cards

After the museum, we went to Alexanderplatz to look for Meredith's collectible deck of playing cards.

Near a church with two towers, we found what would appear to be a Fußgängerzone, not unlike one of those in Mainz. „Fußgängerzone“ is one of those German words whose translation doesn't do it justice. It literally means, "pedestrian zone." You could also translate it as, "pedestrian mall," but the few pedestrian malls in a handful of U.S. cities don't come close to the German Fußgängerzone. One usually finds a Fußgängerzone German city or town's, "old-quarter," where the centuries-old streets are far too narrow for modern automobile traffic. The ancient buildings have almost always been renovated and restored, and now contain small shops, cafes and restaurants at the ground level. A Fußgängerzone could also be in a more contemporary section of a city, where one would additionally find department stores, groceries, and other more modern shopping establishments.

The Fußgängerzone that we'd just found, while in a more modern section of East Berlin, was still characteristically German. Huh. Looks like East Berlin hadn't lost too much of its germanness in the time since the war, after all. Funny. Last night, in West Berlin, I had been thinking how it seemed as if West Berlin had sold itself off to the U. S.

We were glad to find the Fußgängerzone, for that meant stores. Surely, we'd find a stationary store or bookstore where these playing cards, a well-known brand, would be available.

Famous. Last. Words.

We found no book stores. We found one stationary store, which not only didn't have the deck that Meredith was looking for, it had never heard of them. They did, however, give us the address of another store that we could try.

Before we left, I saw something in the window display of what looked like some kind of department store. It was a combination tape player, recorder, and radio, sort of a non-obnoxious version of a boom-box. It cost over 1000 ostmark. For a rather shitty-looking cassette radio. Unbelievable! You would think that, for some cheap electronics made in a communist country, the price wouldn't be so absurdly high. No wonder that so many East Berliner were pooling their Begrüßungsgeld and purchasing home electronics in West Berlin!

When we reached the next store, the same scene played out. They didn't have them, nor had they heard of them. They could give us the address of Yet Another Store. With each store, Meredith grew more frustrated and apologetic. She felt that she was wasting our time. Heidi and I told her that it was no problem. We were actually both amused by the Monty-Pythonesque situation, and were cracking jokes about it. Eventually, though, Meredith admitted defeat. She just couldn't find these collectibles. We told her that she did her best.

"Barnacles." Our in-joke of the day, repeated to make us laugh after the failed Hunt for Red Playing Cards.

New Impressions of „Berlin Ost“

During our travels, We kept thinking about how — no, realizing that we were in a, "communist country." Oddly, our tour yesterday hadn't really shown us the best-of-the-best. Everything wasn't all grey. We kept noticing buildings with nice facades. We saw more old buildings, whether original or restored.

There were, I noticed, more massive buildings in East Berlin, buildings both tall and wide. The buildings in West Berlin, by contrast never seemed to be taller than 12 stories, and seemed to be mostly narrow in footprint.

Except for a slightly run-down appearance, East Berlin really didn't seem all that different from any other city. There was even a bit of the old charm still around, some of the original atmosphere of the city. As I noticed throughout the trip, Berlin was a city divided physically, but not in spirit.

A Night at the Opera

Sorry, I couldn't help the Marx Brothers reference.

Oh no. Did I just make the pun that I think I did? (blushes) It wasn't intentional.

Anyway… the 3 of us found a restaurant to eat dinner. We had plenty of time to relax before we needed to get to the opera house where the ballet was being performed.

Again, put aside the Cold-War era American "pop-aganda." The meal we had was no less tasty than what we'd had in West Berlin, or anyplace else in West Germany. The menu had a decent-sized selection, no different from, again, a similarly-sized restaurant in West Germany. The waitress was a tad cold and unfriendly, not something one encountered back in West Germany. Still, we enjoyed our meal, and our coffee and desserts.

There were really only 3 noticeable things about our dining experience that would hint to you that you were in a "communist" country. First, there were several items on the menu that weren't available. Obviously, this was due to the shortages endemic to the Eastern-Bloc nations. However, all total, no more than 25% of the listed entrees were unavailable, leaving plenty of other things to choose from.

The second thing that one would notice were the portion sizes. They weren't impoverishedly minuscule, but they were small, smaller than what would find in a West German restaurant. Now, you must remember that we were used to American-sized portions, which even 20 years ago were absurdly-oversized even compared to West German restaurants. However, the small portions actually worked in our favor. We had nothing left over to carry around with us, and had room for desert, letting us sit and relax a bit longer.

The third thing that one would notice was the price. They were absurdly inexpensive, half to one third the price of what one would spend at a restaurant in West Germany, never mind West Berlin.

The opera was especially beautiful, with wonderful internal decor. I'm now a bit more certain that the tickets were complementary tickets, provided as part of the Berlin Trip. I recall that we were sitting in a balcony box, because I also recall that we gathered some stares. You see, Heidi, Meredith, and I were dressed for a day of wandering around a city. Our clothes were casual and we wore sneakers. Not the rest of the people around us. The men were all dressed in suits, at least. The ladies wore their finest attire. It's what one would expect from those sitting in the box seats at the ballet.

And there we were, looking like slobs.

We enjoyed the ballet, realizing that the East Germans had adopted the favorite art form of their occupiers. While watching the ballet, it dawned on me that plays, musicals, operas, and ballets are all all related art forms, if not the same. Musicals stand in the middle, with a balance of plot, dance, and singing. The other three each carry one of these aspects to an extreme. Plays are pure plot, nothing more. In an opera, the music is the most important aspect, with the human larynx the main instrument. For ballet, music is a mere accompaniment; motion is the most important aspect, and the human body is the performing instrument. For an opera or a ballet, the plot becomes no more important that the costumes and lighting. It serves the music or the motion, respectively, of the opera or ballet, nothing more.

Once you realize this about opera and ballet, they each become far more enjoyable.


With the end of the ballet came the end to our day in East Berlin. We returned back across the border crossing, making our "Barnacles" joke-of-the-day one last time, before returning to our hotel.

It had been a wonderful day.

A Day in East Berlin

( details behind the cut )

Morning, November 14, 1989 — The View from Hotel Hamburg

Impressions: What a perfectly ugly city. Grey buildings. No real
skyscrapers. Dreary. Gray. Hazy. Looks better at night —
especially the boulevard called Kurfürstendamm (Kudamm) —
Glitter, Sparkle, Posh, that neat flowing clock.

Oh, and from up here, I can see a line in front of the post office down at street level.

The Morning Seminar

( Introduction to the Situation in East Germany )

Bus-Tour, East Berlin

Pre-border → a bit tense, a bit nervous. How will we be handled at the border? Will it be friendly? Hostile? Cut & dry? I wonder if the buildings in East Berlin will be as aesthetically unpleasing as in West Berlin?

The Border — hmmm… it looks like a prison. The East German official is friendly, though.

On the other side of the border, there are smiling faces, old & young. A giant line winds its way from the currency exchange building. The atmosphere's still a bit tense, but our tour guide is very relaxed.

Ok — we're only going to see the renovated streets. There are still many buildings which haven't changed since the end of the War.

That brings me to the buildings: a bit dirty, a bit depressed. Looks like some of the old parts of Queens or Brooklyn in NY. They'r mostly gray or brown. Color (at least, when one sees any color) are pastel. Or perhaps discolored — It looks as if it was once very colorful, but someone bleached the buildings, like someone threw them into the wash together and the colors ran!

YaKnow, it just occurred to me, that East Berlin doesn't know the meaning of the phrase, "Zoning Laws." It's like northern New Jersey scrambled into Long Island, factories next to housing.

The boulevard, „Under den Linden“ looks a bit better. Ah, there's the Brandenburg Gate! It's at the end of „Under den Linden“ . Lots of the other students on the bus are snapping away at their cameras. It doesn't look that special to me. The Lindenforum contains a bit of the old charm, and isn't so gray.

Some of the buildings still have bullet holes in them, far more than in the Kreuzberg district of West Berlin. The window pane frames in some are decaying. The buildings, on the whole, look deteriorated. Untended.

Now we're approaching the old Berlin Cathedral — burnt and left like that. Our guide tells us that 80% of East Berlin was destroyed and reconstructed from the original plans.

Ooohh – a building with aesthetically pleasing architecture! An A-frame building, or should I say several, all interconnected in a circle.

A bunch of people are at the border crossing that the bus is now passing.

Well, so far, my impressions remain the same: whether East or West, all times seem to coexist at once in Berlin. (Although one doesn't see much of the future in East Berlinyet.) West Berlin: Ups & Downs – Glitz & Decay. East Berlin: in the Middle – Lacking Disparity. But we're seeing only the good sections. I can imagine the other parts of East Berlin looking like the Bronx. Berlin — in the end — is like all other cities.

Next we reach, "the transit stop for the tourists," probably the best looking building in Easst Berlin so far. And that strikes me as tacky.

Oh, it's not the decor, which is very tasteful for a tourist trap. It's the fact that there even is a tourist trap in East Berlin. And that's not only tacky, but a shame, and also tragic. It's a form of self-deception, as if East Berlin is trying to legitimize themselves, to convince themselves that they have no problems and everything is alright. Tragic. This sense of self-deception extends to our tour guide. It's not, as some back in the US would claim, pure lies, rather she's trying to always present the positive, good, wonderful aspects of things. She's not trying to convince just us, she's trying to convince herself. It's as if they're all trying to convince themselves that they have no problems, no worries. And that's sad … if only they'd have the courage to face their problems. Perhaps that, too, will come.

[Note from 2009: Remember that, at the time I wrote those words, reunification was not an inevitability.]

We're back in the bus, bombarded with ever more statistics. Damn, she's spreading it on thick (like I said, a form of self-deception). Well, they're still living under the shadow of the Russians (even though the Russians aren't coming). Everything looks as if it's 20-30 yrs old. Postmodern, urban decay, reminiscent of some of the more depressed cities in the US, like the Bethlehem/Allentown/Easton area or Scranton in Pennsylvania.

Well, we're back on the border! There's more happening, more people there. We're met by the same border guard. And then a spark of Sunday night's crazy spirit appears: our bus driver asks the East German official if he'd like a beer. The mood is congenial, almost jovial.

Berlin has a different feel, to me, from any other city. East & West each have a slightly different mood, but each is only a part of a larger whole. You know, it just occurred to me that each half of Berlin developed along those lines that curried favor from the occupying forces who were in charge there. Not, mind you, that they had any choice. This would explain why large parts of West Berlin kept reminding me of the greater New York metropolitan area, and why East Berlin looks a lot like what I'd imagine a Soviet city to be. This city does not seem German at all — neither East nor West — it really is a foreign body in Germany.

Still, underneath all of the postwar changes, a mood, a pulse, is still there. The old Berlin was conquered, defeated, and divided, but its charater was not destroyed. Berlin is at last beginning to rediscover its own identity. Given the chance, I think that Berlin will rise again — no, I don't mean militarily, I mean culturally. It can never go back to its Weimar Era heyday, when Berlin was still characteristically Berlin. But someday, this city will rediscover itself and its identity.

Ausblick von Hotel Hamburg 14.11.89 – Eindruck: ( behind the cut )

Vorrede: Situation in der DDR

( Tuesday's Seminar: A Lecture about East Germany )

Bus-Tour — Eindrücke, Ost Berlin

( Impressions from behind the window in the comfy seat )

The Morning Seminar

( A History of the Two Germanys )

[11/12/09 – Yeeesh! I'm not as fluent as I used to be! Since starting this project to transscribe my journal entries from Berlin, I find myself looking up words. These words were ones that I used, on my own, that came out of my brain 20 years ago. And I can't remember what some of them mean now.]

Bus-Tour, West Berlin

During the bus tour, I learn several randon details. Kochstraße (Koch-Street) is the publishing & news quarter. The Spree river belongs to the Eastern Sector. We see a bridge over the Spree, a bridge over which one can cross into East Berlin. Many of my fellow students on the bus snap photos.

We see the ruins of a former train station that was once the largest in the city, before the war. Nothing remains where it was except for a steel arch representing the height of the old main hall of the station. We see several other former-train-stations, their grounds also brown and untended. We see a church that stands in ruins, to this day, as a monument.

But there are 3 things on the tour that catch my interest.

The first is the, "forgotten quarter," of West Berlin: Kreuzberg. There are buildings in the Kreuzberg neighborhood that still contain holes in their facades, bullet holes unrepaired since 1945. There are buildings still damaged — rowhouses with a gaping hole where another building once stood. One sees, "RAF," and other radical (German)leftist graffiti.

Then we see the, "homeless wagons." In Kreuzberg, there was a small piece of land that belonged to East Berlin, but which The Wall didn't completely enclose. The Wall merely bordered it on one side. So, there it was, an acre or two that the West German police had no juristiction over. It was, technically, administered by East Berlin. In reality, it was no-man's-land. So squatters had built a small colony on it. And the West German police could do nothing about it.

Many young people had moved to Kreuzberg for the cheap rent in the, "forgotten district." So did many Turkish „Gastarbeiter“ … the "guest workers" invited to West Germany during its labor shortages in the 1960's and 1970's. (Like the generations of immigrants to the US, the Turks stayed.) This is why not much had been repaired or renovated. One reason why these apartments were so cheap was lack of bathrooms. The buildings had a shared toilet and sink on each floor, no bathtub or shower. Residents had to head to a public, "city bath," to bathe.


The second interesting sight was Sebastianstraße. This was an odd street, a result of dividing Berlin without checking the maps. Or not caring. The houses on Sebastianstraße stood in West Berlin. The sidewalks in front and the street itself belonged to East Berlin. The Wall ran down the street or along the opposite side. (I no longer recall which.) As a result, the lights on the front of the house, attached to the building's wall, were in East Berlin! The house lights even used electricity from East Berlin, due to the prewar wiring of the city.


The last sight stuck with me for a reason. It's a patch of earth where the SS and SA headquarters once stood. That building was like, "The Ministry of Love" — those that went in didn't come back out. The torture basement still exists, below ground. Within the fence surrounding this horrid place, everything looks brown and dead, except for a few sickly, twisted trees. What did grow, grew wild. There's some broken glass and other debris, like in the run-down parks I've seen in Brooklyn and Queens. I wish that I could state, dramatically, that the place looked eeeeeevil … but it looked dead. Abandoned. Were you to drive by it, you probably would not take much notice of it.

The Hangover After the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century

Before I begin describing the remainder of the week, let's review why I was there to begin with.

During my junior semester at the University of Mainz, I'd registered for the Berlin Trip for International Students, back in September. The Iron Curtain, which had been slowly coming down over the previous months, came crashing to the floor on November 9, 1989, the Thursday before the Berlin Trip.

The Berlin Trip for International Students had been occurring for several years, once per semester. It wasn't just some vacation, either. There were seminars nearly morning, covering a range of topics from the history of the 2 Germanys, to political relations between them, to the economic system of East German. There were at least two afternoon bus tours around West and East Berlin. There was an afternoon free, for sightseeing on our own. Several cultural institutions provided complimentary tickets to evening events.

And, of course, we had our evenings free. In previous years, this naturally meant heading to a classic Berlin „Kneipe” for conversation and beer.

Given the dates that we were there, none of us „Ausländische Studierende“ got much sleep that week. Those of us who preferred coffee were guzzling it during the morning seminars.

But that's not why this section is named, "The Hangover After the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century."

Every morning seminar began with, "Well, usually I'd be talking to all about [… East-West blah blah blah …], but now? I have to toss out my notes." I repeat: this Berlin Trip had been a semester occurrence, sponsored by both the West and East German governments, for several years. The presenters truly were at a loss.

During our free afternoons and evenings, we saw more of, "The Hangover." Public transit was packed. I'm talking Tokyo-at-rush-hour packed. On the U-Bahn (subway), on every bus, one had to shout, „Bitte aussteigen lassen!“ It translates, roughly, as, "Please let us/me exit!" It was the only way to get out of the bus or subway car.

Every post-office was, similarly, packed. ( Definition: Begrüßungsgeld ) It made buying stamps or sending a package very difficult.

Another symptom of The Hangover can best be described by an olde-timey song: "Yes, We have no Banannas, We have no Banannas today."

If you're from the US, forget the pop-aganda that Americans had been feeding themselves for the 4 decades before 1989. East Germans were not, "heading to West Germany for ‘Freedom.’"


They were heading to West Germany for banannas.


They were heading to West Germany for oranges. For pineapples. For other tropical fruit, and other produce that they couldn't get regularly. During the week that I was in West Berlin, there wasn't an orange or bananna in sight. Every grocery store had signs reading, "Out of oranges," and/or "No banannas."

I saw East Germans carrying boxes with newly-bought TVs, stereo systems, and other home electronics that were difficult to get back home (or were crappy and overpriced).


In short, East Berliners were heading to West Berlin to play tourist, then head back home It was still their Heimat, after all.


However, the biggest piece of, "The Hangover After the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century," wasn't observable, was… Well, my impressions when I awoke that Monday morning say it best:

Morning Impressions

After my adventures on Sunday night, I wrote down the following when I woke up that Monday morning:

I wonder if the East Germans want reunification. I wonder, what they want, period. Capitalism? Probably not.

The words of that young fellow still ring in my head: "The Germans may lose their lone chance at reunification." Was he German? Austrian? Swiss? When I told him that I was an American, he didn't act like one of the usual two kinds¹ of (West) German. He didn't start speaking English to me, or slow his speech and start o-ver-e-nun-ci-a-ting. He spoke to me as if he was speaking to any other native speaker.

We conversed a bit more after his statement. He expressed concern that everything was happening far too fast. That a new government (presumably in East Germany) could be elected too quickly. He's right, too. If one looks, one sees that the whole situation is changing a little too fast.

It was indeed a concern back then. With events moving so rapidly, the events could've controlled the people, taking things in directions nobody would expect, or want. Worse, things could've spun out of control into chaos.

It makes the events of 20 years ago all the more miraculous.


¹Two Kinds of (West) German:

All of us Americans in the program at the University of Mainz encountered one of 2 kinds of German:

1. "Oh! You're American! Let me practice my Englisch on You!"
2. "You stupid filthy Ami, I'm going to show you that I know your language better than you do. And if I do deign to say anything to you in German, I'm going to act as if you're mentally retarded."

You only ever encountered one of the two.

Heidi always encountered the first kind. Meredith and I, comparing notes after we returned from Berlin, realized that we were encountering the second.

Morning Impressions:

( Some thoughts regarding the night before )

Vortrag:

( Monday's Morning Seminar: The History of the Two Germanys )

Bus-Tour, West Berlin

( Impressions from behind the window in the comfy seat )

The Tail-End of the Biggest Party of the 20^th Century

Heidi and Meredith stopped by my room, inviting me to join them. Or perhaps we had the same idea, to walk to the Brandenburg Gate. Well, regardless how it happened, Meredith, Heidi, and I began a walk from the hotel to The Wall, at the Brandenburg Gate, on a nippy November Sunday night.

Heidi and Meredith were already good friends from back at our college. I'd been hanging out with Heidi during the semester in Mainz. On this trip, all 3 of us would become friends in ways none of us expected. But that comes later in the week.

It turns out that we all underestimated the walk.

The „Straße des 17. Junis“ — "June 17^th Street" — gets its name from a day in 1953, when East German farmers protested … something (I have more information about this in later posts). West Germany decided it was a protest for reunification, and named an avenue after it. A really long avenue.

Although we were getting tired and cold, we did see some amusing things. One of the street signs had a piece of paper, covering over the, „Straße des 17. Junis,“ changing it to, „Straße des 9. Novembers.“ Further down the wide, rather empty, "June 17^th Street," was a Trabbi on the side of the road. (Recall: The Trabant, nicknamed Trabbi, was the DDR's automobile company.) Someone had placed a flower on the Trabbi's windshield, under the wiper.

As we neared The Wall, we began hearing cheers, but not from ahead of us. So we changed direction, following the sounds and the now-visible lights illuminating the air.

We arrived at Potsdamer Platz.

Potsdamer Platz had once been Berlin's Herald Square. (I'd actually translate its name as, "Potsdam Square.") It was a major shopping quarter at the intersection of several major streets. It was sliced in two by the Allies when they divided Berlin into 4 pieces. The Wall ran right through it.

But now, here, on this Sunday night in 1989, the section of The Wall dividing Potsdamer Platz had a street-width hole in it. Floodlights illuminated the new vehicle crossing that now reconnected an old east-west running road. Crowds lined the road on the West Berlin side.

Goosebumps!

A sign hung on the wall, reading, "Last one out, turn off the light." (!) People, cars, bicycles … all headed through the new crossing in both directions. Every time a vehicle crossed in either direction, the crowds lining the road cheered. One car even moooed as it headed back east! The people seem happy to just see each other.

"Beethoven's 9^th – Ode to Joy – is all we need now," I think, then jot it down in my journal.

I look up from my scrawlings to look for my two classmates. Ah, there's Heidi! She's chatting with two Germans, East or West, I can't tell. Some border police — whether east or west I don't know (though they're probably West Berlin officers, given the green uniforms) — said a loud, "Hello," to Heidi as she went by.

There are several elevated platforms around, presumably to offer a better view of the events. At some point, having wandered near one of these platforms, I overhear an old couple standing up above. One said to the other, "It'll be a long time before that comes down." They were probably in their 70's. What they must have seen in their lifetime.

I notice someone with a large video camera & lights, filming a group of people. Ah! It's a group of West Berliners wishing a group of East Berliners goodbye. As the Easterners head off to the crossing, to head home, the cameras turn to the West Berliners, interviewing them.

"So, writing everything down?" said a young man next to me in the crowd. "I have something for you write," he continued: „Die Deutchen verspielen hier vielleicht ihre einzige Chance der Wiedervereinigung.“ "The Germans may lose their lone chance at reunification." Strong words. I chat a bit more with this fellow, but don't write more down.

---

Later that evening, I find myself laughing hysterically on a wild ride in a West German police car.


But let's back up a bit.


At some point, Meredith and Heidi and I find our way back to each other. We wander away from the new crossing, away from the crowds. We're jazzed! We're excited! And we're really cold! I'd love a mug of hot cocoa, I tell them. We decide to find a cafe in the vicinity, so that we can warm up, then come back.

Umm…

Uh…

There doesn't seem to be a cafe in visible walking distance. There doesn't seem to be, well, anything in visible walking distance.

We notice a police officer, and decide to ask him for information. Being a bit more outgoing than Meredith or I, Heidi takes the lead. Of course, it helps that Heidi was a lovely young lady (and still is lovely) with a very genial personality. Heidi has recent German ancestry and, with her blond hair, looks like a native, a point whose importance will reveal itself soon. The policeman looked German too — no, stop that; yes I know that he should look German — he looked like something out of a billboard. His cap pushed down his slightly-curly Einsteinesque locks down in front of his forehead. His mustache looked more like a pushbroom glued to his upper lip. And he spoke a mile-a-minute.

So, picture it: 3 chilly American students, trying to understand a West Berlin police officer rattling off directions to hop-on-this-bus-then-transfer-to-that-bus-then-walk-one-block-backwards-then-catch-this-bus-then-turn-left-then…

"Ummm… we only just arrived. We don't know West Berlin well at all," said Heidi auf Deutsch.

He looked at us. "What, just the 3 of you?" he asked, "Ok. C'mon."

"Well, come on!" he said, waving us over to his vehicle. We climb into the back seat, bewildered, trying to wrap our brains around what's happening. Then the policeman drives off…

…as we hang on for dear life! As we careen through the streets of West Berlin, the officer jokes, "Now, you won't tell my superiors I'm doing this, will you?" We all laugh! The policeman-turned-chauffeur starts cracking jokes with us. I'm near one door, hanging onto it for fear of sliding over and smooshing Meredith as we whip around corners.

"So, are you from Over There?" the police officer inquires at one point. We greet him with stunned silence.

None of us thought our German was that good. We certainly did not have a Berlin accent. We'd spent the past 3 months in Mainz, in a totally different dialect-region. Sure, Heidi looked like a native, but how could he not hear our accents? (We were all certain that we had horrible American accents, though we really didn't.) How could he mistake us for Germans?

"Um…," said Heidi finally, "Actually we're Americans."

"Ach! Better Americans than East Germans!" quipped the police officer. The three of us in the back seat were in stitches. The officer sped, wildly, onward to our destination. The 3 of us exit the back seat, offering our gracious guide repeated thanks.

I watch as the police car speeds off down the quiet streets. Neither then, nor earlier, did he use his sirens, by the way.

I don't recall much more of the evening, here 20 years later. I didn't write down those details. I do recall that the cafe had no hot chocolate, so I settled for a warm cup of decaf instead. I also believe that the cafe was actually not that far from our hotel, to our surprise.