As we found our way past the decrypted buildings and then in front of a Tadao Ando-made-church, we finally made it to the Wall. Strange how your memory has been taught to autobiographically process your own feeling associated with a place, despite knowing the main story of said landmark played of little of importance to your own life – which then, of course, makes us inherently selfish and in turn – evil? But if we’re evil, then why do we always wave to each other from boats? The Wall meant something – a name. A haunting recollection of what I walked away from to see a few things – a name, written right there on a piece of history. 3 letters. In red. With white borders. I remember this 2001 experience like it happened 5 minutes ago. I felt sick. Earlier, when I had first gotten to Berlin, I had felt hungry. I always feel hungry when traveling because I prioritize beers over food. I don’t mind this as I find people who travel in comfort miss out entirely on why we travel – otherwise, just buy the postcard. I was hungry and on about $20 a day. I had a lot I wanted to see and do and eating took a back seat. But I still needed to eat. I was 2 months out of the U.S. for the first time on my own. The bakery doors threw out pheromones and I went inside to inquire a price with their pimp. Too much for me. I walked into a downtrodden grocery store, the cashier either having not been told about the reunification or not being happy about it. But I found long and cold sausages for around a dollar. And a few rolls for half of that. I paid, walked out, sat down and pierced the dough with my mysterious link. To this day it still stands as one of the best meals I’ve ever had. No mustard, cheap salami, but I made this. I bought this and I made this. In Germany. I saw what I wanted to and dug the vibe of Berlin. There was money waiting for me in Prague and I had just enough for the train to the station and that’s all. No food for me that day, but that was okay. I could eat anytime. I unlocked my bag from my dorm room and threw it on my back. ‘Wait!’ shouted the Scandinavian at the desk, who last night had burned one of his dreadlocks with a candle. ‘Your deposit!’. It was about $3. $3!! When you’re looking at not eating that day, it could have been $3000 and I wouldn’t have smiled more. I laughed all the way down the stairs and found a tiny bar. If the walls were dirty I couldn’t tell. Candles were all around as the owner put down a paper plate with one large sausage and mustard in front of me. After the first bite and tug on the course lining, I counted how much I had left – about $1.50. Which was enough for the bus to the train. Or a beer.
I laughed the entire walk.
I should know better than to start one of these ‘Day 01′ scripts, but….erm, no. It’s cold here – snowing lightly, actually. Alonso and I landed yesterday, were met at the airport by 
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