Ich bin Ein Berliner

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Back when the Cold War was raging and JFK came to the town divided by a wall and announced, “Ich bin ein Berliner” we all knew what he meant, claiming that our spirit was with theirs. The translation however was closer to “I am a jelly donut.” We arrived in Warnemunde and had a long day ahead of us. But Sharon decided to jettison me and make me take the one-way three hour train ride to Berlin alone.

The Showroom was packed when I arrived. I received a “D” for my train car, and a Yellow-8 sticker for my bus once I get to Berlin. I had trouble seeing what my sticker was, since I couldn’t look at Sharon’s and she wasn’t there to look at mine. I got a seat by a window on the train, and when nobody sat beside me, I had plenty of room. But we sat there at the station for quite a while, and forty-five minutes elapsed before we would eventually begin to move. We had plenty of time to view the tracks on one side of us and the window height billboards on the other. The couple across from me commented about the rather explicit nature of one billboard, and it reminded me of the inherent bawdy nature of the German people. I remember some thirty-seven years ago I happened to be checking out a German Octoberfest in Bavaria with a co-worker. A five foot six barmaid with 4-liters of beer in each hand bustled up to the table next to us and gave them six beers. Then not wanting to take the two extra beers back, she shoved them in my friend’s hands and mine. When her original customer also wanted a shot of schnapps with his beer, she retrieved a silver jigger from her holster, and dispensed a shot into his beer, and about as much into his lap. With a wry smile, she took her apron and attempted to vigorously dry what she had spilled. Well this billboard was a cartoon of a girl on top of a guy, and although appearing clothed, they were obviously having a very, very good time. And the message of the add, to use a particular brand of condoms, because life happens. We were given a box snack early after our departure; but, I wasn’t very hungry and decided not to eat anything. The people across from me struggled with their box lunch. There was a box of orange drink. When the lady inserted the straw and squeezed to hard on the container orange stuff went spraying everywhere; but, mostly all over her. The woman sitting next to her had fun with the elongated bread roll; but when biting into it butter squirted down her blouse. These treats are booby-trapped. I wasn’t hungry, I kept telling myself. Shortly before reaching Berlin the train stopped and a contingent got off to visit a concentration camp. We continued another quarter hour to reach the eastern most train station in Berlin.

Our first stop was Checkpoint Charlie. It was located in the midst of a bustling but small commercial street. Really just a tiny building painted white and notice that this is a check point. During the Cold War this was one of the crossings from the Soviet-to-American sectors in Berlin. We were given ten minutes to get our pictures. There were a few guards in period uniforms that you could take pictures of, or have them stand beside you while your picture was taken. We were all back on the bus; except one lady. It was nearly fifteen minutes before the tour guide was able to track her down, busy looking for bargains in one of the many Checkpoint Charlie souvenir shops. “Ooh, I just lost all track of time.” Ooh, we just lost fifteen minutes of sight-seeing on an already stressed itinerary. There really is one on every bus.

It was raining when we drove by the Brandenburg gate; albeit a light but steady rain, so our guide made a judicious call to fit in some sight-seeing from the bus before stopping for lunch at noon. We walked to the restaurant in downtown Berlin for an authentic German lunch. Lunch was served with water plus one glass of another drink: Soda, Beer, Wine. You had your choice of a light beer (Pilsner) or a dark (amber) beer made by the local brewery which was part of the restaurant. Wine choices were red or white. Soda was Sprite or Coke, including Diet-Coke. There was already a salad and coleslaw for each place setting on long tables. Food was served community style, several large platters per table that included sausage, meatballs and sliced roast pork, potatoes and sauerkraut.

The rains had vanished for now, and we returned to the Brandenburg Gate for picture taking. We saw the American embassy, as well as those of many other countries. This time everybody got back on the bus on time. We drove next to a shopping district and stopped in front of “The Christmas Store”. I took some pictures and sat on a bench, and there were a few (not many) others who felt the same as I did about shopping (whether window-shopping or not). The forty-five minute “shopping spree” mercifully came to an end, and we got on the bus, and the skies began to open up with a steady drizzle.

Our next stop was on the other side of town, so we had a bit of a drive to get to the Allied Museum. I can read German, at least simple German, so it wasn’t hard for me to decipher the part on the entrance sign, a vintage WWII sign of interchangeable letters declared:”Eintritt Frei” which translates to “Free Admittance”. The premise of the museum highlights the efforts by the allies to supply the allied zones in Berlin once the soviets cut off train access, and the airlift began. And there were stories of the pilots who developed a friendship with the children of Berlin, parachuting packages of candies and sweets. He would roll his wings right and left to let the kids know that he was approaching, and then another load of hope would be parachuted to them. On his first time in Berlin he had walked over to the children who were peering at him and the planes through the fence. He’d pulled out his last stick of gum and was passing it to one of the small children when a larger child grabbed it from him. That boy then divided the stick into four pieces and gave each of these to the four small children by the fence. That’s when the pilot knew that despite all these German children had been through, there were still good children among them, and he embarked on his campaign to bring them more candy each trip.

There was one of the cargo planes that took part in the airlift in the courtyard. The exhibits themselves were a bit ordinary (containing ordinary daily items of the times). It’s understandable why this is a “Free Museum” and for me, this seemed more a way to kill thirty minutes than anything else.

The rain came back just after we got on the bus again. The clouds that once were off in the distance now gloomed directly over us; although, the skies had yet to really open up. Traffic slowed as we past the holocaust memorial, where row upon row of various height rectangular monoliths protruded from the ground, row after row, and stretch on down a sloping and varying grade. People meandered through the forest of stone protrusions, and flowers adorned some, and many reflected on the past.

Our last stop was at one of the three places where there are still portions of the Berlin Wall. The wall was perhaps fifteen feet high of dingy concrete. There was a section where the concrete was removed and we could see the steal reinforcing rods. We were able to pass through this opening in the wall into what was once “No Man’s Land”. It is now very green and park-like. We walked over to a small free-standing paneled area with glass tiles and we saw that it also contained the pictures of those who had been killed while in “No Man’s Land” which included a section of river between the US and Soviet zones. Our guide pointed out three boys immortalized on this memorial. The first young boy had attempted to retrieve his ball that had fallen into the river. A fisherman, who had been allowed to fish the river because that was his occupation, so long as he stayed on the allied side of the river had tried to save the boy, but a soviet guard had warned him to not cross the half-way point. He returned to the allied side and tried to get the Berlin police to help, they told him to try the fire department. They had told him that this was a police issue. Finally he convinced the US Army to provide a diver. But hours had passed, and what the diver finally was able to do was retrieve the body of the boy. One of the other memorialized boys died in a similar manner, and the other after a fishing accident. After some number of years there came agreement among all parties that the fire department would be allowed to conduct rescue operations on the river; but, they must stay on the allied side but could toss a float ring attached by a rope to help swimmers in distress.

It was a long ride back to Warnemunde and we were given a cheese sandwich and a box snack. As this was probably going to be my dinner I ate the sandwich and a pack of nuts. About two and one-half hours later we were finally back by the ship; only, it was a downpour. My umbrella was back in the cabin; but, it would probably not been much good because the wind was driving the rain sideways. We were drenched funneling thru a doorway only to discover that we needed to funnel through the exit door to the ship. As efficiently as they got everybody off the ship, this was nightmare. And did I mention that I was wet. As people exited through that second door, those who tried to use their umbrellas would have the wind turn them inside out. More than one twisted destroyed umbrella had been discarded by the gang plank. I finally get to the cabin, and here Sharon say, “Are you back?” I said, “Look at me, I’m drenched.” She replies, “That’s nice, dear,” as she continues playing her “Train for Thought” Lumosity game. “No, Babe. I’m really, really wet.” Still not looking up she replied, “That’s really, really nice, dear.” That was probably to get me back for ignoring her when I play my word games All I wanted was a warm shower and a good night’s sleep which I got.

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