Out, over the road to the DLR station, and onto the first train heading for London City Airport. On this line, Stratford International is the terminus, so Amanda was able to get a shot of the buffers as we pulled out.
Less than 20 minutes later and we were at the Airport. From the DLR platform to the main hall is all under cover, and (having checked in on-line) our bags were checked within 10 minutes. Time then for a cup of tea and a morning muffin.
LCY is a 'quiet' airport, with no tannoy announcements. It is also quiet in the sense that it is used largely by business people, who that morning were all intent on looking intense and business-like.
Upstairs to security, where for the second year running I was pulled aside to have my carry-on bag checked. I half expected this, as the bag holds a torch and a collection of cables, chargers, batteries, etc. But no - the scanner informed the operator that I was carrying liquids (which I was not). Eventually we deduced that the scanner was picking up the moisture in a packet of antiseptic wipes (which now go everywhere with me, since last year I fell off a 3" step in Lausanne and the resulting wound to my knee became so infected that when I got back to the UK our GP said I was lucky to avoid hospitalisation).
The security of the nation remaining intact, I was waved through to the departure lounge - where we watched our plane (an Embraer 170) being readied:
A straightforward embarkation, and we settled into seats 17C&D and took the obligatory selfie:
A straightforward flight, arrival and passage through security:
We made our way outside and round the terminal perimeter to the Route 2 bus stop, where we purchased and validated tickets for the TXL Express bus into the city centre. The bus was moderately crowded, and our luggage was stashed at precisely the point that the bus articulated, meaning that I needed to maintain a steadying hand on it throughout the journey:
Amanda, meanwhile, recorded what I already knew - that it was raining, and that the sky didn't show much sign of it improving; our raincoats, meanwhile, remained at home:
A straightforward journey to Berlin's main railway station, from where we caught a taxi.
Our cheerful Ghanaian driver pointed out various sights (and sites) of interest and, within a few minutes, deposited us at our home for the next few days - the Adina Apartment Hotel, Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin.
Cases remained where we dumped them while I planned our afternoon:
and Amanda took pictures of the apartment, reckoning that it was unlikely to look quite that tidy again while we were in occupation:
And so out onto the street (Krausenstrasse) and to the #hashtag Coffee Shop, where hot drinks and cakes revived us sufficiently to start our explorations.
Amanda outside the coffee shop with one of many (many) bears that we saw during our stay:
and writing up the journal on which these blog entries are largely based:
When Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon, almost the very first task on his checklist was to collect the Contingency Sample - an initial small-scale collection of moon rock and dust to be retained in a container strapped to his suit. Thus, in the event of an emergency (contingency) that necessitated the aborting of the rest of the mission, he would at least have something to show for his endeavours.
In much the same way, I regarded a visit to Checkpoint Charlie as a necessary first step in our sightseeing, on the basis that whatever else happened afterwards (including falling off a 3" step and potentially incapacitating myself) I would have something to talk about on my return.
They say that you should never meet your heroes, since reality rarely matches expectation; I guess you could say the same about certain geographical locations. I knew that Checkpoint Charlie was commercialised and could not, in a unified Germany, cause the same frisson that I might have anticipated if I had visited it, say, 30 years ago. Accordingly I suppose it was only fitting that my first view of this iconic location should be framed between a KFC and a McDonalds, and providing the backdrop to one of many shell games that we saw during our visit to Berlin:
Such cons were common enough in London in years gone by, but really - is there anyone in the developed world who seriously thinks they have a chance to win? Clearly yes, on the basis of what we saw - though it has to be said that the number of spotters and shills involved in this game must have meant that any pickings would have to have been split many different ways.
Walking to Potsdamer Platz:
for our first close-up view of the Bahntower:
Our taxi driver had told us that these were the oldest traffic lights in the world:
He was mistaken.
According to Wikipedia, by 1900 more than 100,000 people, 20,000 cars, horse-drawn vehicles and handcarts, as well as thousands of bicycles, were passing through the square every day:
"Up to 11 policemen at a time had tried to control all this traffic, many of them standing on small wooden platforms positioned in key locations around the platz, but with varying success. The traffic lights, again from Siemens, were mounted on a five-sided 8.5 m high tower designed by Jean Kramer, shipped over from the United States, and actually modelled on a similar one erected on Fifth Avenue in New York in 1922, although towers like this had been a feature of New York since 1918. A solitary policeman sat in a small cabin at the top of the tower and switched the lights around manually, until they were eventually automated in 1926. Yet some officers still remained on the ground in case people did not pay any attention to the lights. The tower remained until c.1936, when it was removed to allow for excavations for the new S-Bahn line (on 26 September 1997, a replica of the tower was erected, just for show, close to its original location by Siemens, to celebrate the company's 150th anniversary. The replica was moved again on 29 September 2000, to the place where it stands today)."
Strolling on, along Erna-Berger-Strasse, to the GDR Watchtower:
In these early towers, the East German guards did not even have the luxury of stairs, and had to climb to the top by means of a vertical metal ladder fixed to the wall.
More walking, along Niederkirchnerstraße, and past the home of the Berlin House of Representatives, from which Amanda felt moved to wave:
Across the road to the Topography of Terror:
We left the interior museum for another day, but were drawn to the outside exhibit:
Kastner is the author of one of my favourite childhood books, "Emil and the Detectives" - which is set in pre-war Berlin:
Your correspondent standing in front of a preserved section of the Berlin Wall:
Starting our return journey to the apartment - along Zimmerstraße and past Trabi World (and a large tethered balloon - about which more later):
An alternative way of sightseeing - such guided tours were quite popular:
On the way to the apartment we stopped off at the supermarket and did what all retired English gentlefolk do on holiday - stocked up on milk, tea and sugar. The 2IC decided to treat herself to a bottle of red wine that cost 2.79 Euros (and apparently tasted like it cost 2.79 Euros...)
and so back to the apartment:
Fortified by a cup of Earl Grey we then made a decision regarding where to eat. Out to the Stadtmitte station, from where we got the U-Bahn two stops up the line to visit Peter Pane.
The floor just inside the door was on a split level; not noticing this, Amanda went flying and ended up in the arms of the maitre d', who thereby prevented any injury to her. I told him that the next dance was mine, and we sat down.
Your correspondent looking tired (or Oriental - it's hard to tell):
We ordered two 'Käse Speck's with fries, a Becks and a Fritz Kola. "Why not", our waiter wondered, "order the 'Pound of Chips' - you get more and it costs less". We took his advice, and this was one of the few occasions when the quantity of chips made available did justice to both the bacon cheeseburgers and my appetite:
Having rolled out of the door, your correspondent did a good impression of one who is replete:
We started to stroll along Friedrichstrasse, heading for our apartment. Before long we encountered Dussmann - the first of several visits during the holiday.
Dussmann is a bit like a cross between Foyles and the main Oxford Street branch of HMV before the store collapsed. It has a well-stocked 'international' books section, with a great selection of high quality English books, and (wait for it) a decent dedicated jazz CD section - something I haven't seen in this country for probably at least a decade. Sadly the CD prices were around twice what I knew them to be from on-line sellers, but I took advantage of the listening posts to catch up on a few new releases.
Back to the apartment for some unpacking and a quick survey of the TV channels available. A quarter of a century ago when we first went to Europe together it was hard to find any English-speaking channels. Now you can lie on a sofa in Berlin and watch Emmerdale in the original Yorkshire. I'm not sure things have improved...
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