I often start a Waste posting with this. Okay. As in, "Okay, today we are going to..." And then I delete the Okay, because who needs placeholders when not speaking out loud. I thought I would share this look behind the Waste curtain because today might be the quietest day out of more than forty on the road.
Room service breakfast. Omelets.
I do not feel good at all. Vicodin has been the key to stopping the cough to let me sleep. Therefore, today I started a fast-acting round of anti-biotics. If you are not a travel genius like Barbie who travels with fast-acting 5-day antibiotics, then you had better be a person like me who travels with such a genius. In truth, I am typing this a few days after-the-fact and man-oh-man did those anti-biotics do their job.
In the meantime, I nearly let Barbie and my parents go to the Berlin Jewish Museum without me. Not only because I find this sort of museum less interesting (do not get mad, I know the history well enough and I prefer museums that expand my knowledge, not reinforce what I was taught already), but because I did not feel well. Barbie said whatever words or looked whatever look it took to get me out of bed, and soon I was dressed for a museum visit.
This little shocking work of art stands outside the Jewish Museum Berlin.
I am going to go on my own here and theorize that the artist had a specific thought in mind. The Jewish creators of Superman based the concept for their SuperHero on the Jewish myth of the Golem of Prague, a clay statue that came to life to protect the Jews of Prague. Superman's creators extended his protective circle to all of mankind, but I believe the point of a statue featuring Superman head first and rather damaged or dead with his skull in a Berlin sidewalk is that, really, in light of the events that surround the city of Berlin during the last century, Superman crashed and burned. He did not save anyone, Jew or otherwise.
This Museum was well designed and provocative at times. It did an honorable job covering the several hundred years of Jewish life that flourished in Berlin, and lightly covered how that life came to an end. This museum's aim is not the Holocaust, but life before it. I suppose this is an honorable goal, as the life before it deserves to not be forgotten and there are plenty of reminders of the history which occurred from 1933 to 1945.
After the visit to the museum, we walked back towards the hotel and hit a planned stop at Checkpoint Charlie. This space is a bit overrun by cheesyness at this point. The truth is that important, globally important, events happened here during the cold war. Everything from East Germans dying after being shot by their own police as they ran for their freedom, American soldiers not helping said people due to fears of nuclear war, and demonstrations on both sides by militaries and citizens alike. This space is dense with history, but for the moment it is covered with vagrants selling Soviet hats.
This shack sits here to be photographed.
This sign is a cool reminder of what once was.
JFK did some very brave, very honorable things here. When tanks were lined up on both sides, he did not budge. That man may not have been our President for very long, but it seems as if he was there when needed most.
A few dozen feet North of Checkpoint Charlie, brick traces the line of the Wall.
We returned to the Westin Grand for rest and work and such. I have yet to mention that my parents are in the hotel room next to us. I do not think this has been the case for around 25 years, but it sure has been convenient for this stay in Berlin. When it is time for dinner, we knock on each other's doors.
Today we will stroll down Unter Den Linden and eat where we please. Unter Den Linden, by the way, means, "Under the Linden Trees." Linden trees line this street from the Brandenburg Gate to the Berlin Royal Palace, making for one of the loveliest streets in Europe. The Palace was never rebuilt after the war. I hope that they rebuild that palace someday.
We chose the German-French Dressler Restaurant, just around the corner from our hotel.
It feels like Paris, in a way. I learned yesterday that after the Tolerance Edict of Potsdam, when French Lutherans and Jews were allowed to emigrate to Prussia, Berlin was 1/5 French at once point. So, you see, there is reason for French influence here.
Onion soup for me.
Caesar salad for Barbie.
Roasted duck for me.
Risotto for Barbie.
We bought some water bottles and went back to the hotel.
Until tomorrow....
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