life on planetm

getting up close and personal with history

My silence the past few days relates to the potentially insane idea I came up with to celebrate my 50^th birthday.  This is normally a fairly quiet period for me work-wise.  The original thought was to take three months and try to knock off all the outstanding “must see” locations on my wish list, climate permitting.

But then I did the reality check and realized neither my current career plans nor my bank account could support such an extravagant scheme.  So I scaled it back a little and made sure I was spending enough time in Vancouver the clients wouldn’t think I had forgotten about them.

You have already heard the stories from round one.  I am now madly preparing for round two.

The 2012 concept is to revisit some old favourites – and to tick off at least a few new destinations from the wish list.  So… I have already been back to Paris and Berlin.  I’ll be on a plane to Amsterdam next week.  Hoping to schedule in New York City and London later in the year.

Istanbul was the first of the wish list destinations.  The original vision was to also visit Cambodia and Vietnam this year.   But I went on a wild google search last autumn and checked out all the must have’s.  Back then the Arab Spring was still fresh and not too many people were going to Egypt.  I have wanted to go to Egypt forever and Abercrombie & Kent tours to Egypt were on sale.

In that time frame I thought I was pretty savvy.  I have travelled just after major world events before and it is usually the perfect time to show up.  Of course, none of those trips involved a destination in the Middle East…

So I was using the wee hours of the morning last week – when my jet lag had me wide awake – to assess whether I was certifiable to be contemplating getting on a flight to Cairo.  According to the Canadian and UK consulates, non-essential travel to Egypt is not recommended.  But I have already invested a lot of non-refundable cash into this adventure so I knew I had to dig deeper.

My thought was that if I stuck to being a tourist and didn’t go protesting in Tahrir Square on Friday I was likely pretty safe.  My research suggested I was right.  And possibly safer than in more normal times – everyone is too busy fighting with each other to bother with tourists.

And given the role tourism plays in the Egyptian economy, there is a good chance I will be welcomed with open arms.  I was hoping to have the Pyramids to myself but supposedly my tour is sold out so I guess I am not the only crazy one out there.

A keen understanding of calculated risk is the key to an interesting life.  My travel stories prove that I am not adverse to taking a risk with my life… but I have never come to any serious harm on any of the six continents I have traversed, including any of the streets of foreign cities I have walked by myself at 2am.

But I always do my homework and know the general lay of the ‘hood even if it’s not my own ‘hood.  And have great people skills and a general sense of girl guide smarts and calm.  You always need to keep your wits about you, you should never panic and you should be able to talk your way out of most situations.

This is not to say that you should just show up in a war zone and see how it goes!  It just means that you shouldn’t freak out unnecessarily – and that you should calculate the risk before venturing in.

The rewards can be phenomenal.  I have been in a lot of places at times the average person would have shunned the place because they weren’t willing to do the risk assessment. I have been thanked for coming to New York City so soon after 9/11 there was talk of funerals in the hotel elevator and the tributes to the firefighters were still outside the fire stations.  Even more memorable was my arrival in Zimbabwe when white farmers were being killed and the economy had collapsed from fear.

But showing up then can become an experience you didn’t even have on your itinerary.  I didn’t even think much about it when I planned my trip to Botswana in 2001.  Victoria Falls is just over the border and a natural inclusion.  I had dreamed of Africa for decades but this was my first actual trip to the dark continent.  The line at the airport in Jo’burg definitely proved one needs some  patience to travel successfully in Africa.  From there we landed at the airport in Vic Falls.  We arrived but our bags did not!

But – sans luggage – we loaded onto the minibus en route to the Victoria Falls Hotel, which would have hosted Queen Victoria with aplomb.  But more impressive was our young local guide who made an impassioned speech thanking us for coming to Zimbabwe.  At that point, Mugabe was killing white farmers and it was a country in chaos with a faltering economy and a nose-diving currency.  Foreigners with US dollars were welcomed like the second coming of the Messiah… and buying crafts in the market made you feel like you were making a difference in the world… the prices were so insanely cheap I kept rounding up 100%…

So, knowing that flying into touristy Vic Falls was not being a white person holding a placard in a white farmer’s field and any risk to my personal safety was minimal provided a memory I will always treasure.  And the coolest part – we got to ride to the airport and back with this guy to collect our lost luggage – so learned about how he was an African success story, supporting a lot of not so impressive branches of his family… one of the people I’ve met in the developing world who have inspired my desire to do something useful for them with my developed world dollars.

Life is all about calculated risk.  One shouldn’t wade foolishly into war zones without doing your homework.  But I don’t want to be the kind of ignorant westerner who shuns an entire country because of a few bad apples.  I’ve been clamouring to see the Pyramids for decades – what better time than in the aftermath/afterglow of the Arab Spring.  One shouldn’t learn all one’s history from textbooks…

je m’appelle Jean Cluny

That was the first thing I officially learned to say in French.  Semi-helpful.  Especially since the teacher had such a bad accent I doubt any Parisian would have understood what I was saying.  We could understand her but when she put on the tapes of native French speakers it was as though they were speaking some other language entirely.

But Mrs. Tolton loved French – and France.  I am not even sure if she was ever there.  But it was obvious she had a “thing” about the French.  And she passed that on to some of us.  You can always improve your accent.  If someone can impart a love for the language and culture in you, you will make it happen.

When I started learning German, my French got sabotaged.  But given a bit of time in the country, my accent is not too terrible.  I just listen to the people around me and try to imitate them.  Getting the accent right in a language you barely speak is always a mixed blessing.  It’s respectful – and I would never change my behaviour – but it makes you sound like you know more than you do so people babble away as though you are actually bilingual.  Your quizzical bunny in the spotlight expression soon corrects this misconception… and sadly, these days, people generally just start speaking to you in broken English.

Perhaps it was being a product of Trudeaumania – even though I lived in a part of the country where we named our ornery pet calf after him, reflecting his unloved reputation in western Canada – that made me want to speak French almost from the time I could walk.  Once I was old enough to read, I found my mother’s old French textbook and used to follow her around the house, annoyingly asking how to pronounce words in the book.  I also read the translations on the cereal boxes and the aspirin bottles.  Finally, in grade seven, we officially got to learn how to speak French!

Of course, that is when I discovered the joys and frustrations of trying to acquire a second language at an advanced age.  These days I speak enough French and German to easily get by as a tourist, I know a few words in Spanish, I can read an Italian menu like a native, I still speak a handful of words of Thai so that I can eat in any market (and avoid bats and black dogs!) and I know what a mushroom is in all sorts of languages…

I still have the notebook where I wrote down all the countries I wanted to visit as a child – and all the languages I wanted to learn.  The country list is going well and I am sure I can see them all if my adult self has the same ambitions (it knows a little more about politics and geography).  But I will never be fluent in the 20+ languages my ambitious eight year old self saw as a reasonable goal.  It’s good to dream big.  And children should be encouraged to be ambitious… it means when you scale back, the goals will still be impressive.  We’ll see how I do… some people want to perfect their golf swing when they retire.  I want to finally get fluent in French.  And German.  Fluent enough in each that I don’t mix them up, my current state.  And once that is in the bag, a little Spanish would be nice…   I would love to speak Mandarin… and Swahili is just fun.  And I am already in love with Tanzania…

Maybe, on my death bed, I will finally be able to pronounce the ö umlaut correctly.  It always outs me as an English speaker.  But my new friend Björn comes with an ö umlaut – perhaps this will be the motivation I needed to finally twist my tongue in just the right way…

the kindness of strangers

I think they call this kind of thing paying it forward…  My first full day in Paris – a pit stop pre-Istanbul – began very uneventfully.  I made it to Le Bon Marchè without a map and spent the day meandering some of my favourite streets and making notes on things I might buy on my return – as I didn’t know what I might find in Istanbul and didn’t want to carry my purchases all over Europe.

I decided to try a different restaurant this time.  I’d had a little nap to deal with my jet lag so the place was booming by the time I arrived.  It was a big operation, combining a fish market, restaurant and oyster bar so they found me a chair at the bar.

When you are travelling alone, the bar is a more fun place to sit anyway.  Normally in Paris everyone speaks French and I don’t meet anyone.  But not this time 🙂  It all started over a bottle of water.  In Europe you always have to order bottles of water.  There is no free flowing tap water.  I asked if there were any smaller sizes available as I wasn’t sure I wanted to drink 750 litres of water all by myself.  There weren’t.  But the lady sitting beside me said I could have some of theirs.

It was a lovely gesture and she was very chic and lively and I just enjoyed watching her talking with her companion.  But she was also very friendly so before long I was part of their conversation.  According to Hans (her third husband, a keeper apparently :)), Daniele loves independent women.  Hans is from Hamburg and works for an American company so his English is excellent and he could play translator as required.

When dinner was over, they invited me to accompany them to a Cuban bar as long as I didn’t mind smoke.  Anti-smoking laws have come to France but it is very painful to the national culture.  What’s a little lung cancer for a memorable cultural experience? 🙂

 Interestingly there weren’t very many people in the smoking room of the packed bar so we got a seat easily.  Hans had to fly to Moscow the next day so it was supposed to be an early night.  But just as we were finishing our first round of Mojitos, they saw some friends walking by on the street outside.  So they joined us and another round of Mojitos arrived!

I had a 6am wakeup call for my flight to Istanbul so by the time I got back to the hotel, I was ready for bed.  I had met Gino the night before and he is one of the warmest people you will ever meet.  Saying ‘no” to Gino is practically impossible and he seemed rather insistent that I should sit down and have a drink with him and the other guest sitting at the bar.  Sleeping on one’s vacation is really a waste of time, n’est-ce pas? 😉

At first it was just good scotch and friendly conversation and I thought I would get a few hours of sleep.  But as time progressed, it became more evident why Gino had wanted me to sit down. 

Grace was staying in the hotel and had had a big fight with her boyfriend.  And it wasn’t just any situation.  She had met him in Iraq and given birth the day the American forces officially pulled out.  She spoke fluent Arabic and it was clear the experience had been traumatic for her.

I didn’t know much about the boyfriend and or the fight – but I knew what it was like to be in Europe in your mid-twenties with some dude who keeps picking fights with you and acts like a class A jerk a lot of the time.  Scott was definitely the worst boyfriend choice of my life but he was also the reason I first came to Europe.  Hans officially declared me a European rather than a North American so I felt very honoured.  So the jerks in our lives serve their purposes.  But it can take some time and life experience to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

I knew I had to have Grace’s back.  She needed someone to care – at least that night.  She was really lucky to have had the good fortune to have Gino working.  But she didn’t want to go back to her room – and her dude.  And I could see Gino didn’t normally have to stay awake ALL night entertaining guests and he was exhausted.  So I told Grace she could stay in my room.

I think I had booked the best room in the hotel.  When she got there, she was in love with the room.  She seemed really distraught and I was pretty sure she was going to wake up with a killer hangover so I went down to see if the room was free for the next night.   It was.  So I told Gino I would pay for three nights so Grace would have some space to make decisions about her life and not feel pressured by the boyfriend or her anticipated hangover. 

It was a really tranquil room with a view of the rooftops of Paris and a chromotherapy tub that was a highlight of my entire trip.  So I put her to bed, packed for Istanbul and left her a note telling her to enjoy the room.  It was hers until Tuesday afternoon.

I then tried to catnap on planes and arrived in Istanbul a bit exhausted.  But Hans and Daniele had been so kind to me.  Gino had been so friendly and welcoming.  It was an evening where humanity seemed to be firing on all its best cylinders – and Grace just got the benefit of that wonderful joie de vivre.

When I came back to Paris, I checked in with Gino to see if he knew what happened to Grace.  Apparently they checked out separately so I told him I thought my money had been well spent.  He hadn’t been working so neither of us know any details but we hope she is OK.  She seemed the kind of girl who deserved a really great guy. 

She was definitely a catalyst that created a bond between Gino and I that took our relationship to a whole new level.  If you are in Paris and not on a really tight budget, I would highly recommend L’Apostrophe Hotel.  Ask for Gino.  And say “hi”from me 🙂

My Thursday night back in Paris was spent with Hans and Daniele.  They love Istanbul and have been four times so we traded travel stories.  And Hans was impressed I met yet another man from Hamburg!  Based on my sample of two, ladies, men from Hamburg are sympathique!

It is pretty cool to know a city so well that it feels like home when you come from other, more foreign cities.  It’s only when I can’t speak French that I remember… oh yes, I don’t LIVE here.  It’s so familiar and now I am even accumulating some Paris friends. 

Here people say  “enchantée” when they meet you.  It’s impossible to not be seduced by a city with a culture like that.  And Daniele says “oo la la”.  She says it with such enthusiasm in this great French accent of course and you are just swept away… enchanted indeed…

geologists rock :)

I figured my friend Iain – one of my loyal readers – would enjoy the headline 🙂  It was inspired by my visit to the Neues Museum.  Personally I think the name is a bit misleading as it’s full of OLD stuff.  But I can just hear some German pedantically explaining to me… well, the stuff was in the Altes Museum and then this was renovated and stuff moved over so natürlich it’s the Neues Museum…

But, hey, the German love of facts and precision is very useful in a museum setting.  That’s how I learned about early Cypriot copper mining, which made Cyprus a big deal in the ancient world.  I apologize that I definitely acquired a cold (likely all that kissing in Istanbul :)) so my brain wasn’t capable of retaining all the facts I would have liked.

But here are my general impressions of my visit to early history and some impressive archaeology.  Mining rocks to make useful stuff is good for your economy.  Peace is great for cultural advancement (apparently that is why Egypt made such a big splash on the world stage).  We have always been trading – long before money or plastic shopping bags.  Migration and multiculturalism have been around practically as long as mankind – and have always enriched their societies and advanced progress.  Some dude with a spear, sword or gun is always trying to pull some alpha male crap and wreck it all…

As John Lennon sings,” imagine a world without possessions.” Pretty impossible.  But watching countries fight over possessions is pretty amusing.

Going to museums in Berlin is pretty interesting.  The place was pretty much annihilated during WWII.  Thinking ahead, the most valuable objects in the precursor to the Neues Museum were packed away in crates and stored all over Germany in secret places.  When the Red Army declared victory, they hauled away the most valuable crates to Moscow as part of the spoils of war.  A couple of items have been returned but generally they are still in crates somewhere in the Soviet system.  The Germans seem pretty bitter about this – but there is no mention in the placards about how Egypt wants the statue of Nefertiti back…

Personally I have decided the world’s treasures are best served by being in a stable country with proper preservation skills on view for anyone who wishes to see them for a minimal charge.  Because who really owns history?  Of course, I also think national borders are one of mankind’s really bad ideas so…

Once I had finished dragging myself around the Neues Museum trying to get my money’s worth while running to the bathroom every few minutes for more incredibly scratchy German toilet paper, I decided that food might help.  It was tempting to just go back to the hotel but I had been in Germany three days now and hadn’t had any Italian food yet!

The way it works is this.  The Italians are crap at running an economy while the Germans excel at this.  The Germans are crap at cooking but they love Italian food.  So lots of Italians escape their moribund economy, move to Germany and open an Italian restaurant.  When I lived in Germany, I ate Italian food almost exclusively and it was fantastic!

My pizza caprese did not disappoint.  And the real Italian server was very charming.  Once I had wolfed down far more pizza than I had planned on, I returned to the hotel and had a nap instead of doing two more museums.  It’s tough to do when you’re travelling but sometimes it’s the right thing.  My nap proved extremely fortuitous this Easter Monday.

Part of the reason for the nap was so that I would hopefully be sufficiently recovered from my cold to go the Bassy Club.  I had discovered it on my recognisance mission of the neighborhood the previous day.  The poster outside advertised the upcoming concerts.  Who can resist an Australian mariachi band? 😉

When I arrived, some lady in a dress that would have looked perfect on Doris Day was barking instructions in German on swing dancing to an entire floor of dancers, most with tattoos and sneakers instead of poodle skirts.  It was a fascinating cultural adventure and I felt like I had found the ‘real Berlin’.

After the lesson broke up, some English guy named Mike asked me to dance.  Apparently performing complicated dance moves with strangers is what I do in Berlin.  The same thing happened in 2009!  At some point I should actually learn how to dance so I will be ready for these chance encounters 😉

The band was fascinating.  They were good musicians.  And dressed up and made up to look like an authentic Mexican mariachi band.  But when they played, it sounded like mariachi music filtered through a little AC/DC.

I was anticipating that I would just go home after the music stopped but my nap had mostly ridded me of the cold so I thought I might stay a little longer if there was someone to talk to.  First I spied the Brazilian guy I had chatted with pre-band.  We said “hi” but I was distracted by a cute guy with a killer smile who seemed to be smiling at ME.  As they say, the rest is history…

I got back to my hotel at 3am, chivalrously walked there by Björn, the German guy with the Scandinavian name.  I had taught him the word “player” and agreed that he didn’t seem like one so I accepted his invitation to meet up the next day.  It was my last day in Berlin.  He had just returned from vacation in New Orleans and Nashville so didn’t work again until Thursday.

So Berlin ended on a brilliant high note.  I never made it to the Deutsches Historiches Museum – but I got a personal tour by a local of Prenzlauer Berg and Kreuzberg.  My goal this time in Berlin had been to see the “real city” and get closer to feeling like a local.  What better way to accomplish that than actually wandering the streets with someone who lives in Berlin.

I know I will be back.  So I will get to all the museums eventually.  And maybe Björn will show me more of the city – or come with me to a museum.  He is from Hamburg and has only been in Berlin for five years so he could likely play tourist for a few hours.

Hanging out with locals has been a big theme this trip.  The perfect way to see any city…  So, what can I say, don’t forget to hang out in bars when you travel…  Don’t drink too much so you can remember the names of the people you meet – and are sober enough to exchange information so you can be in contact to actually get to see the city with them 😉

Free wi-fi is a great concept but it isn’t working very well so I have a few posts in the queue but no guarantee when you might see them…

don’t drink the raki! :)

I am managing to stay on top of Berlin so think I will go for a combination of the present and the past until I have caught up with all the stories.

Last night I went to the Circus Hotel for gin and jazz… and dinner.  Had broccoli-cauliflower soup, a big salad and an excellent schnitzel (the Germans really know their way around a pig :)) so balanced out all the cake.  I haven’t seen a room yet but my guidebook speaks very highly of Circus, which offers both a hostel and a hotel.  If the bar is representative, I would recommend it too.

My own hotel seems to be trying a little too hard.  Apparently they threw a block party and artists painted the walls and some British band recorded a playlist for one of the rooms.  I am sure if you were on the roof in the summer for an exclusive party, it would be a brilliant venue.  But last night the bar at Circus was packed and lively while the bar in my hotel felt like a ghost town.

Naturally I made friends with yet another bartender 🙂  He didn’t seem to have a German accent and was very serious about mixing his cocktails so he made me a special one and we got to chatting.  His name is Matthias and he is from Peru, here in Berlin to study film.  It is funny the difference between the Nordic and the Latin cultures.  Maybe all that sunshine makes people friendlier while the cold turns them frosty inside as well.

In between chatting to Matthias – and drinking some excellent gin that tasted of the Black Forest – I wrote up my penultimate day in Istanbul.  So we will time travel back to Istanbul to finish the stories.  Not 101 nights, but two still unaccounted for – but maybe 101 nights in Istanbul in my future…

Up early again to hit my final “must see” Istanbul tourist attraction – Topkapi Palace.  Home of the Sultan – and his harem.

Also home of the infamous carpet shop!  As noted previously, the taxis can’t pull up next to the big tourist attractions so instead deposit you in a general drop-off zone.  Right where I was dropped off yesterday…  The previous day’s adventure did make getting dropped off a little more exciting than for most tourists.  I watched carefully for Nïsam and the carpet shop and make sure the coast was clear before I got out of the taxi.

I scurried out of the drop off zone as fast as possible and avoided eye contact to discourage any “free guides”.  I did take some more photos of the previous day’s attractions.  And took a photo of some Chinese kid in front of the Blue Mosque.  He seemed really pleased.  I take all photos seriously – even if I will never see the final product – so I AM the random stranger you want to ask to take your tourist photo 😉

I then had to find Topkapi Palace on my own.  Nïsam had given me his card and was on call for further tour guide duties.  That would have been a lot easier as tourist signage in Istanbul is not a high priority.  But the place was swarming with tourist buses.  And Nïsam had mildly molested me in some park the day before that he said was next to Topkapi Palace – so I figured I had a general idea which direction to head.

And, without a guide, I was able to wander around Sultanahmet a bit and get lost in small back streets.  I eventually found a crowd to follow and joined the painful line to buy tickets.  The special “local” status Nïsam had conferred on me had disappeared but I was free to spend the day as I wished once I finally got to the ticket window.

Topkapi Palace is the premier tourist attraction in Istanbul and is really worth seeing.  But the Turks are not Germans and it is fairly chaotically organized so you spend a lot of time standing in line and being jostled by Chinese tourists and women in headscarves.  Apparently civility not a big part of either culture.

But the emeralds!  And the Spoonmaker’s  diamond!  And weird stuff like boxes filled with pieces of Muhammad’s beard.  You have to pay extra for the harem – but it’s an architectural marvel.  And really freezing!  I guess the Sultan figured if they were cold, jumping into bed with him would seem a little less repulsive…

While the view from the Palace’s cafe was stunning, the menu was expensive and underwhelming so I finally walked far enough away from the tourist zone to find a taxi to get me back to my ‘hood.  On the previous night’s wandering, I had spied an interesting restaurant (Auf) but at that stage I was stuffed from trying to eat 59 lira worth of sandwiches and cake at high tea.

But this afternoon I was starving – just worried I might be too late for lunch.  I had finally stumbled into the “real” Turkey.  No one really spoke English and it took some time – and hand gestures – to reach agreement that I could still eat lunch at 3pm.

Since it was so late I opted for the carrot-ginger soup and beet salad.  Suffice to say, lunch was so amazing I went back again in a few hours for dinner!  A wonderful salad followed by the best rack of lamb in my entire life.  And this delicious Öküzgözü.  I was drinking so much Turkish wine I was finally getting to know the local grapes 🙂

The wine was so good I wanted a second glass but my server had run off mysteriously… the food and wine were outstanding but they didn’t seem to know what to do with customers… There were about three guys hovering around the bar so when I finally got their attention I moved to the bar to have my second glass of wine.

No one spoke much English but the bartender was moving to Australia in six months to learn English.  He had made me an excellent cocktail to start the meal and we had bonded when I confirmed I wanted the manly cocktail, not the girlie substitute he had suggested.  I discovered the Australia angle via a combination of using my slowest, most basic English and him typing stuff into a google translate app on his iphone.  Communication in the 21^st century 🙂 

But it worked!  I even learned what it’s like to live in an overpopulated country with Syria as your neighbour.

Since I was in the neighborhood, I then went a few doors down to the Büyük Londra hotel to see if Ïlhan was working.  He was!  So I took a seat at the bar and told him I should drink something local.  So naturally he suggested raki.  He explained the proof and I used ALL the water provided.  But when I woke up with a headache the next morning I thought, “I only had two glasses of wine – and then I remembered the raki!”

Istanbul really was this surfeit of delights.  Not only did I confirm my friendship with Ïlhan, I also met a Spanish film guy named Manuel.  We talked football (the proper kind :)).  He gave me tips on Istanbul.  I offered to take him out the next time he is filming in Vancouver.

Ïlhan finished his shift at midnight and somehow we decided the night wasn’t over.  So I followed him down some of the winding back streets of Pera until we climbed a few flights of stairs and ended up in a club where he seemed to know everyone and drinks were on the house.

There was a live band.  We danced.  And when I was too sleepy to continue and he had to head home, he organized a guide to steer me practically back to the doorstep of my hotel.

So… don’t drink the raki!  Be careful getting out of taxis.  But be friendly.  Engage with the locals.  And you will likely come home with memories no guidebook recommended…

let them eat cake!

Maybe not great advice if you are a French peasant but if you are a tourist in Germany, you really should eat cake!  Likely not twice in one day…  but hey, it was freezing out there so I had to stop at some cafes to keep my hands from falling off… and if you have been to a German cafe you will know that the cake calls to you… it is multilingual.  And almost uniformly delicious 🙂

At least I did my kaffee und kuchen like a proper German.  I walked all over Mitte and Prenzlauer Berg so that I would know my way around the neighborhood in the dark and finally get out of the hotel! 

Both cakes were amazing.  First I had an old favourite, Apfelkuchen, along with a hot chocolate.  Here on the continent, hot chocolate is a whole different beast than in North America – not a sweet, sticky mess but a bitter essence of cocoa frothed up like a cappuccino.  The second cake was one of the best cheesecakes I have ever had, complete with a fresh blueberry topping that reminded me of my German mother-in-law’s homemade jam.

I think this is the coldest it has ever been in Berlin – and I am usually here in November.  But it was one of those brilliant bracing winter days that give you rosy cheeks… and great photos 🙂  At certain points I was worried my hands might fall off but it was too hard to resist trying to get the perfect shot of the Fernsehturm. 

The Fernsehturm (television tower) was the East’s version of KaDeWe.  It was opened on October 7, 1969, the 20^th anniversary of the founding of the DDR.  It marked the very center of the city and was a showpiece for communist East Berlin.  It was associated so strongly with the East there were calls to tear it down after Reunification but now it has become a symbol of Berlin – and a handy landmark for navigation.  Particularly for me since my hotel is nearby.  I actually climbed to the roof of the hotel to get the final shot of it for this post.  I also took some photos of the entrance to the hotel – The Weinmeister…

Mitte reminds me of Toronto circa 1983, especially Queen Street back in the days when punks roamed the streets.  It’s also part of the romance of Berlin for me.  It’s not often you can go back and relive your youth in real time!  🙂

Speaking of Fernseher, I did some troubleshooting on the hotel’s technology this morning and found a cable that wasn’t plugged in to an outlet so I helpfully draped it over the iMac and told reception… and I now have TV!  

But no CNN in English.  I was hoping to catch up on what was going on in the actual world.  I can find CNN in the TV Guide but not on my fancy iMac connection.  So I am typing this listening to some ABBA tribute band called Fernando Forever… the scenery is great.  OMG it’s Nana Mouskouri!  Travel does broaden your horizons J  And I really have to give ABBA credit for drilling those crazy songs into your unsuspecting sub consciousness.  They were singing in German but I knew it was ABBA even before the band name came on.  Apparently my German is going to get some practice while I am in Berlin…

I am planning to leave the hotel tonight to finally be able to report on the nightlife of Berlin.  Since it’s Easter weekend, it might not be too happening but at least I will have seen what is going on…  Based on today’s recognisance, it would appear there is something happening only a few blocks from my hotel… If not, the cafe with the great cheesecake is right in the neighborhood – but cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner likely just a little too much.  Even Marie Antoinette wouldn’t have gone there…