Ich Bin Ein Berliner

The 6 hour train ride from Munich to Berlin was relatively uneventful.  I think I enjoy train travel (except for night train travel, but I’ve said enough about the horrors of that.)  It’s similar to travelling by plane, except that you are given about 3 times the space, and you are allowed to stand up and walk around whenever you want!  The freedom!  My only complaint would be the Eurorail Pass system.  Annoyingly, Blake and I were required to purchase 1st Class tickets at about a $400 surcharge a piece due to our old age (26 and above must purchase 1st class Eurorail tickets.)  This was annoying, but the first class cabin from Zurich to Florence was nothing short of amazing (with drink service!  and snacks!  for free!!), so I felt like at least we were getting something out of these stupid expensive tickets.  That was the last time we saw a 1st class cabin.  Most of the trains seem to not even have 1st class cabins, or they are already booked.  So, we are stuck with the rest of the peasants in coach, much to my dismay.  And they don’t even give us free coke.  Lame.

We arrived in Berlin, and I immediately morphed into Train Station Kristi (she sucks.)  Seems like everytime we arrive in a train station, my stress level sky rockets, exacberated by the heavy back pack on my back – which seems to be doing permanant damage to my lower back (Andrea, am I right??)  Angry and hot, the only person arround to bear the brunt of my uncomfortableness is poor innocent Blake, who at that moment can’t do anything right.  I mean really, how hard is it to magically know which train to take to our hotel and/or carry my pack in addition to his?  Irrationally, I stomped around the train station for a while before Blake has the best idea he has had in his entire life (besides to marry me), he suggests we take a taxi to our hotel, rather than wonder aimlessly in the gigantor of a train station.  Which we do.  It was awesome.  We were dropped off right at our door!

Oh Rick Steves. You give the best advice. I am secretly (not so secretly) in love with you.

Our hotel in Berlin is really a hostel (liars!), but its actually not a bad thing.  For some reason, Blake and I have a sweet 6 bed room (with a private bathroom – we did not pay for that) all to ourselves.  Some helpful person even pushed the beds together, so we sorta have a double bed even!

We set off for some lunch/dinner and ate at this amazing Thai restaurant (don’t worry, I consulted my best friend, Rick Steves, and he informed me that Berlin does not have food it is necessarily known for, so I wasn’t concerned that I was missing out on a quintessential Berlin experience.  Plus, I was more than tired of sausage.)  We then found the mother of all chocolate shops, which became dessert.

Look at my amazing attempt to eat the cathedral made of chocolate!

We had a little taste test of all our purchased truffels (caramel won!) and continued out walk. We missed the starting time for yet another walking tour (this is beginning to be a pattern), so we followed the walking tour outlined in my guidebook.  Beginning at the Reichstag (which had an incredibly long line…we will be going to see that this morning, early),

Hi from the Reichstag!

we walked through the Bradenberg Gate, saw the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (which is a very disconcerting memorial.  You walk through it, and suddenly find yourself sort of trapped.  My toes tingled!  I think its good if a memorial makes your toes tingle), and walked down Unter den Linden – where Mr. Steves informed us of all sorts of East Berlin history.  Oh yeah, and we saw the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his baby (Blanket, the baby’s name, not the item) from the balcony.  This was Blake’s favorite factoid of the entire walking tour.  We walked all the way to Alexanderplat before we decided that our feet might possibly commit mutiny and run away, leaving us footless and immobile if we didn’t head back soon.  We stopped at our best friend, McDonald’s and had some mozzarella cheese sticks (that’s right) and a Magum McFlurry before heading back into the ghetto (kidding, sorta) to our Hotel/Hostel.

Bradenburg Gate. And Me.

Where we passed out of tiredness.  Seriously, from after dinner on, we walked for 3 hours and 30 minutes.  THAT IS A LONG TIME.

Please don't make me walk anymore, Kristi.

Also, why can’t I sleep here?  This waking up at 6 thing is getting old.

I would also like to mention here my dislike for the Contiki Tour.  We ran into none of these obnoxious tour groups in Florence, but THEY ARE EVERYWHERE IN GERMANY!  Placed there just to annoy me!  They are usually full of Austrailian and US kids about 17 – 19 year’s old.  Drinking themselves silly.  And being loud.  And embarrassing.  Oh man, so embarrasing.  I think this is showing my age, but I can’t imagine the thought process of the parents that allow their children to go on these tours!  They do nothing but drink and barf!  Blake and I watched a giant group of them SLAMMING their 5 pound mugs together (in a misguided attempt at a “cool” CHEERS!), until they BROKE THEM!!  That is so hard to do!  And then one guy started bleeding and attempting to hide his gushing hand from the waiter, who was awesomely German and stern and kicked him out immediately.  It is the ultimate insult from Blake or I to accuse a group of young kids to be on a Contiki Tour (whether or not we know for sure).  Are you annoying one of us by bragging about “drinking and vomiting your way through Wales” while touring the Memorial to the Murdered Jews?  Contiki Tour.  Ok.  Enough about that.

Blake seems to be stirring, so we are off to go to the top of the Reichstag.

BYE!