And I'm Back.

Berlin was fantastic. Lovely people, museums, archives, operas, schnitzels, beers... Since you've all seen pictures of the Brandenburg Gate, Checkpoint Charlie and the hotel from which the late, great MJ dangled his baby, I thought I'd focus on the aspects of my trip that most guidebooks don't mention.

1) German toilet paper. I strongly believe it's some sort of government plot to keep the population slightly downtrodden. I mean, how happy can you be if every indulgence leads to a hurtful encounter with splinter-filled sandpaper? OR, perhaps the German fascination with digestion (seriously, every product claims to be poop-inducing, and toilets have a little shelf that catches the poo so you can inspect it before flushing) is a subversive tactic, and the people are using the tools of the oppressor as a means to better colonic health! Are you with me?!

2) German fashion. In addition to numerous mullet sightings, I also saw a woman wearing shoes that were an adidas sneaker-cowboy boot hybrid. Perfect for those occasions when you need to dash off the soccer field and onto your waiting steed.

3) Meissen Porcelain - the only thing I purchased. (OK, so Meissen is in the guidebook. I just wanted to show off my new dish.)

4) German sodas:
(Can you see that? Beer + Cola + X! I can only imagine that X = fun!)

5) The baby birds on my friend's great aunt's back patio:

6) A beautiful cemetery in a small German town - complete with a coin-operated watering can thingy:
7) The flowers I got for coming home.

Ich bin ein Berliner. For a week, anyway.

WARNING: Incredibly schmoopy post ahead.

Well, m'dears, I'm off to Berlin for a week of archive-exploring, museum-visiting, cafe-sitting, schnitzel-eating fun. Of course, if you were to guess what I was about to do based on the tearful, slightly hysterical parting that n.o.c. and I just had, you'd probably think that I was off to Iran for an experimental, highly toxic cancer treatment. Seriously, tears are running down my chest and my lower lip is having quivering spasms - we've never been apart for longer than five days. It's just silly; I mean, I'll be back in one week, and yet I'm still crying so profusely that I can barely see my screen. I do hope n.o.c. is having better luck behind the wheel, because if I'm reduced to a puddle by the prospect of an n.o.c.-free week, I'd be utterly ruined by an n.o.c.-free life.