Yet again it has been a while since I wrote anything resembling the furore of past times. That is in part to the place I found myself. Hitting almost 10 year low which has a cause and of course an affect. Something in the fullness of time I will explore in these passages.

Suffering from the “fight or flight” feeling I wished for the “flight” and Spain was indeed my destination. Rekindling a plan of some 8 years ago. A pre-Brexit, pre-COVID dream, that became a nightmare. The hurdles non-EU citizens have to jump through when considering immigration is now quite ‘mind boggling’. 

Claire ever supportive wished to tick off an entry on her ‘bucket list’, a trip to Berlin and stand where her late father, Roger, had served before ‘The Wall’ was constructed. A short city break was booked and all the necessary research.

I had never visited Germany though I have travelled extensively in Germanic countries, but not the Fatherland. The trip was planned to coincide with the Christmas Market so the second week of December was chosen.

Day 1

Our flight directly from Bristol to Brandenburg was scheduled for 8:30am and Claire suggested we stay over at our favourite hotel some 3 miles from the onsite car parking. I more, frugally, accepted the challenge of the night time drive and save the discounted £75 for a few hours stay where I knew I would not get any quality sleep (I never do before using public transport of any kind).

On Wednesday I retired at 8pm with a hot drink and a box set, which usually works. By 1am I was showered, shaved, dressed and sipping strong coffee in the lounge; A full hour before the alarm. By 2.30am I was joined by Claire and we had ate buttery toast washed down with another strong Italian bean Americano. Somewhat anxious I asked although it was less of a question and more of a statement, “Ready!?”

The journey to Bristol was joyous in terms of clear roads and no major unexpected detours, save for the Eglwys Nunydd bridge strengthening causing a quick tour of Pyle.

Car park check-in, transfer to Departures, Special Assistance, and Security, were all a breeze. Finally our flight arrived and we were on the apron in the ambi-lift waiting for the aircraft to park. Within the shortest time I was stood on the parapet and boarding. The Cabin Manager stopping the flow of the able-bodied, introducing himself, and the member of the cabin crew who would escort me to my seat (he quoted the number). Now, this level of service I would normally expect in Business Class of the upper crust airlines not EasyJet. The difference which was remarkable was where the crew came from, Germany. 

We landed a head of schedule and again an ambi-light was on standby, awaiting my arrival. I greeted the driver who was arms out to assist me. As I took my seat he approached and hit with something in German. I suppose despite my broad Welsh accent, my greeting of “Gutte Morgen”, had convinced him of my Germanic roots. I responded, “ich bin Waliser, eine kleine Deutsch. Sprachen Englisch bitte” (I am Welsh, I only have a little German, please speak English). He immediately apologised for which I said there was no need. Add my greeting and surname and of course he thought I was German. 

We travelled by underground the 12 miles from the airport into the heart of Berlin. Alexanderplatz our final destination proved to be a typical large city train station. Exiting to a bustling city with all the characters that congregate around a travel hub. My thoughts of all the Eleanor Rigby’s and the unnamed focus of Gerry Raffety’s “Baker Street” were abruptly interpreted by a passing orange tram. Next began a thunderclap – as I turned my gaze towards the Square that is Alexanderplatz, I saw the source. A gifted a drummer with a full kit, entertaining the passersby. A most  entertaining and energetic fellow. 

Navigating our path to the hotel we passed the Christmas market and where we intended venturing. By this time I was 30 hours since I slept, 13 hours since I ate, and 7 hours post coffee. Finding out that our ‘disabled accessible room’ was on 33rd floor somehow passed me by for sheer exhaustion had become my bosom buddy.

Too tired, too pain-ridden, and frankly too “I can’t be asked”, Claire volunteered to get some sustenance. She returned with cooked meat, cheese, Lays crisps and beer. Yes beer. Beer is vitamins in a bottle and was used extensively by the tinplate workers of my homeland. I am indeed the grandson of tinplate workers, and worked 30 years ago as an historian documenting our industrial culture. Beer is a good tonic!

Day 2

Following a good night’s sleep we feasted upon the cornucopia of cold and warm breakfast buffet and soon were commenting for 2 very apparent observations of Berlin; 1, the place is clean; 2, the people are genuinely friendly.
Next came what were we going to do. This is where my inner self ventured over the parapet or shell I have been hiding behind. Claire’s suggestion was a tour of the city using the “hop on-hop off” service. I offered to stay at the hotel and wallow in my own self pity as when I was able, I had done these type of tours and found them exhausting physically then.
A little cajoling and I agreed to try. The bus stop was outside the hotel. The driver lowered the ramp to get me and my aid on board. Our first stop was the Brandenburg gate. The whole tour has an audio commentary which is both entertaining and informative. Berliners do like their history – good or bad, they are ready to accept where they were and where they are now. 


Hearing some of the truths of what the Nazis and USSR did to the city and its people is shocking and if truth be known, I felt quite emotional. Being an empath is a “bitch” on times.
 Plenty of things to see; not just architecture, the people, even the convoy of “Trabants” emitting the perfume of pre-Unification was noticeable especially since this odour was the only coming from the vehicles of the city.
Passing through the Brandenburg Gate I spied a new piece of architecture. An installation in the form of an “Hanukkah menorah” with a “star of David” embellishing the central stem. All white – a sign of peace. 


Nearby a Christmas tree, and a violinist serenading the passing masses. She played everything from Wham to Mozart, but for me it was her rendition of Ennio Morricone’s “Chi Mai” that stood out. A piece of music written by an Italian about a Welshman – David Lloyd George.
She smiled into my lens and I waited patiently as she played before popping a 2 euro coin in her hat. She again smiled and this time nodded her thanks whilst I nodded my appreciation of her art.

More photographs, more travelling and more heart strings being pulled. Passing a memorial to the all who lost their lives trying to cross “The Wall”, for the LBTQ people who I am ashamed to admit I never knew where forced to wear pink stars by the Nazis. Then of course the columns remembering the Jews massacred during the darkest episode in living memory. In a city where you mix with all colours, all languages, all orientations, where people are people; you soon realise how far this city has come. Moreover leaving Bristol I met someone born in London and had moved westward because of immigration. The type who rally to stop the boats, and make our land safe for the middle class Anglo-Saxon. I had an epiphany of sorts; this city tried this, failed, destroying itself, yet rebuilt welcoming all to come and be free. 


Eventually we arrived at a place very dear to Claire; Checkpoint Charlie. Walking in the steps of her father whilst a young service man. A very different street to that of the early 1950s. Again the mass of visitors who were free to cross back and for across the line purely to get a better angle on their camera-phone with little regard for the risk, nay, the impossibility of doing such a mere 40 years ago.
We completed our tour of the West and planned an early start to visit the remnants of the East in the morning.

 

After an hour or 2 of rest we explored the market. Sampling the local delicacies. Currywurst was invented in Berlin and although I came thinking of sausage and sauerkraut with boiled potatoes, the local cuisine is Currywurst and Kebabs. The curry invented to mask the poor quality of the pork in the post World War 2 days, and the Kebab introduced by the Turkish immigrants who poured in to rebuild the Federal Germany.


Berliners take both very seriously and pride themselves on these dishes as being a part of who they are.


Day 3


I awoke with a startle and observed the time, 9:05am. I muttered an expletive under my breathe for I knew we had planned an early start and I need an hour to come to my senses, caffeinate, and ablaut in the morning (notwithstanding nicotine). We entered the restaurant (food hall) hunting a table as the place was bouncing. 
Although only our second breakfast we Fishers had formed a silent ritual. Claire made for the coffee island and returned with juice and a cafetière of Jacob’s (Germany’s favourite coffee) whilst I raided the cold buffet. Armed with two plates of assorted rolls, bagels, cheeses, and meats, I returned to our table. I was shortly joined by Claire presenting the spoils from the hot buffet. American pancakes, scrambled eggs mixed with bacon, frankfurters and a boiled egg. There was no scrimping at the breakfast in a Radisson. I prepared a couple of rolls for take out in case we needed to dash for our tour of the east, before kicking into the hot food. 
Before my second coffee a gentleman caught my attention with “photograph!”. I scanned his face and immediately recognised him as a member of a group of Norwegians I had entertained at the Brandenburg Gate the day before. Asking me to take a group shot will never be point and shoot. I need to see happy faces and natural smiles. You entertain your subjects so they pose less and be natural the more.
We exchanged pleasantries and wishes and he returned to his table, behind us. The world is smaller when you travel and differences diminish whilst friendships grow. Within a matter of minutes his wife approached. My guess was her English was better than her spouse. Again a short exchange of wishes and smiles, before returning to our collective feasting.
Sufficiently fed and watered we crossed the busy road to the bus stop to meet the bus for the Blue route. Red is the very popular western route, whilst the eastern route is a lesser circuit. 
Meeting our driver was an experience. He could not have been more helpful, pleasant, courteous, and selfless. Assisting me onto the bus and ensuring I was comfortable. We began our journey with the piped commentary beginning with a chorus from “The Winds of Change” by the Skorpions. Our trio of presenters re-introduced themselves and began to explain the history of east Berlin. How the west side had the input and backing of the western allies and notably American cash in the 50s whilst the backrupt USSR took from the former East Germany. 
We past examples of Soviet architecture where various demonstrations to the plight of the overworked proletariat was met with Russian tanks. Eventually we came to a remnant of the Wall covered in murals. An open air gallery with some quite famous images. One such depicts Brezhnev and Honecker entwined in a kiss on the lips. This was explained as a traditional way of greeting in the USSR. I however, remember it as being a symbol of how the former East German government was ‘in bed with Moscow’.
We were allowed a ten minute lay over and whilst Claire went off to get some shots I stepped out for a vape. I soon was joined by the driver who insisted in getting my rollator so I could sit in comfort. I initiated a conversation with him. I learned though German his parents came from two very different cultures. His father was Iranian and had escaped after the fall of American back Shah in the late 70s whilst his mother was German. We chatted about how cosmopolitan Berlin is and how extremism in any form inhibits our development.
Back on the bus we entered the techno club district where parties begin on Friday night and end at 9am Monday. Berliners know how to party. We also enjoyed the Caribbean market and the clubs dedicated to reggae.
We soon were back to where we started. I was fulfilled with history and culture. Getting a sense that “anything goes” in Berlin, providing it is lawful. I bid our driver goodbye with a hearty handshake and small tip to express our appreciation of his good humour and manners.


The next stop was something on my bucket list and according to Apple Maps was not an excessive walk for the majority but was a daunting prospect for me. Having several stops and coffees I managed the 1/3rd mile to the “TV Tower”. The largest single building in all Germany. Built to spread propaganda giving a communist bias on the news being overheard from the west. 
Today the 300m+ plus structure is a revolving restaurant that offers uninhibited views of Berlin (at a price). 25 euros to get in, or 35 with a single drink and its 50 if you fancy a sausage with your drink. The true price of communism!
I was happy to take photographs of the outside from ground level for the princely sum of zero euro. As I shot and adjusted my position to achieve better angles, I spied the sun illuminating, making a silhouette of the “Berlin Cathedral”. A poignant image when you consider how the relationship between Church and State was during the Leninist period.


We returned to our hotel, crossing Alexanderplatz and having one last look at the market. As often is the case, these markets aren’t what they profess to be but are events. Places to eat and drink and get the odd gift.
 It is a spectacle without reservation and it is good to see people coming together from all over the world; every background, culture, language united in one aim, of seeing the Christmas market, and being a part of it.
Berlin has intrigued me to an extend that I will return… for longer…some day.