Grey and cold. The biting wind a reminder that there is nothing between Berlin and Siberia bar five thousand kilometres of fir trees. A quick trip into the cathedral, not out of piety, but in search of warmth. Quite possibly the worlds ugliest building, both inside and out.
Coffee with an old friend in the Hackeschen Hofe. At night this is the 'hip' centre of Berlin. First thing in the morning it's quiet, the few early morning office workers wrapped up against the chill. Nothing quite like catching up with old friends but all too soon his phone is chirruping away like a lusty starling. The Christmas decoration shop has a wonderful ornament in the window. The shop doesn't open until lunchtime. I jot down their website.
Back through the wartime Jewish ghetto. Paris wears its history lightly, Berlin doesn't. Brass plaques set into the pavement commemorate those who were deported. Herbert Budzliawski made it to 23 before being arrested . Further along the road a monument to the former inhabitants of these buildings. The plinth covered in stones. Do I remember reading that leaving stones is a Jewish sign of mourning ?
Sophie lets out a squeal of joy when she sees me. The three soldiers with machine guns patrolling the arrivals hall look at her. Bob is unaware that I'm home. He is using a large furry paw to trigger the motion detector that makes the hissing doors hiss . A boy has to do what a boy has to do.
