Berlin: "Even monkeys know this!"

Early Tuesday morning we caught the Orlybus, right outside our hotel, to Paris-Orly airport for our Air Berlin flight to Tegel. It couldn't have gone smoother: the bus ride was less than half an hour, our packs fit perfectly in the overhead compartments, and we got these delicious fresh pretzels filled with butter as a snack on the short flight.

The cab ride to our apartment in Prenzlauer Berg, in former East Berlin, was one of the most entertaining of our lives: every taboo associated with the country's history had come up before we were even off the airport property, and it just went from there. A Berliner of Moroccan decent, he was nine when the wall came down. When asked what it was like, he said that the former East Berliners "just went crazy." Suddenly the world was available to them, and they wanted it in a single bite. "Bananas... They went crazy for them. But they didn't know how to open them. We had to teach them! Even monkeys know this!" While he was definitely hamming it up for us, a picture of the time emerged from the hyperbole.

What sticks with me now is how adrift he seemed: unable to fit in in the city of his birth because of the colour of his skin, his hair -- he told stories about a professor who was excited to supervise his work until they met face-to-face, fares now saying how good his German is and asking when he will be going home, the constant searches every time he travels -- and unable to fit in in Morocco (where his parents have now retired) because he doesn't speak Arabic. He repeated many times how he would leave Berlin after university; go anywhere else in Europe.

In some very small way, I could sympathize with his plight: as friendly as the Brits have been to us these last two years, those constant questions about how long we've been here, when we're going home, etc., ensure that this never truly feels like home. I am more thankful than ever that I do have a place to call home; where everyone sounds like me and... Well, I could go on and on about how much I've come to appreciate Canada, but let's get back to Berlin.

The main purpose of this leg of the trip was to see a few of the 50-odd Christmas markets and 80-odd pubs -- with Around Berlin in 80 Beers as our guide -- the city has to offer. I'll highlight a few of each, quickly comment on the others we visited, and then finish with the other sights we took in in between, during our five days in the German capital.

Note: all the places I'll mention were easily reachable from our apartment in Prenzlauer Berg, including what is considered the more remote borough of Spandau; cheaply as well: the passes we used for the whole trip, purchased at a convenience store near our apartment, gave us passage on any train (U- and S-Bahn) or tram, all for little more than €30 each.

Weihnachtsmarkts (Christmas Markets)

Topping our list is the WeihnachtsZauber Gendarmenmarkt, nestling between the French and German Cathedrals. We first happened upon it as the early sunset drew the afternoon fog to evening. It was almost magical, with the festive lights, smells and music, and the bigger city left in the mists. We enjoyed it so much that we stopped by the next day, enjoying delicious fried potato medallions, sausages and mulled wine before making our way to Checkpoint Charlie.

Next up would have to be the market at Charlotteburg Palace. Approaching it at night, walking up Schloss (Palace) Strasse, was a treat; it really was beautifully lit. With a good mix of outdoor stalls and heated indoor shopping, it was easy to spend some time there as well. Some local celebrities seemed to be on hand the night we visited: we turned a corner to find the avenue of stalls lit bright white, cameras following these two wide-smiling folks slowly making their way along, chatting with 'locals' in a clearly staged manner.

Other Christmas markets we visited included:

• Alexanderplatz: a frequent stop, as it was closest to our apartment. Dominated by an enormous, beautifully-lit replica of a Christmas Pyramid, all in the shadow of Television Tower.
• Der Grosse Berliner: like a fair or ex, with big rides and shooting galleries amongst the usual stalls and tasty fare.
• Nostalgischer Weihnachtsmarkt: a nice market in Berlin's historic centre. Chips in a paper cone was a rare (and tasty!) treat there.
• Potsdamer Platz: surrounded by skyscrapers, including the beautiful Sony Center (more on that later), we learned about the Hungarian origins of trdelnik (a Tea favourite) and bombed down a man-made icy slope in an inner tube!
• City Weihnachtsmarkt: a bustling market in the shadow of the unique Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church.
• Spandau Weihnachtsmarkt: about twenty minutes west of the famous Friedrichstrasse station by commuter train, this was well worth the trip. It had a small town feel and great community spirit. Plus the stalls serving Baileys in cocoa were a big hit. (And there was a great brewpub out there as well; more on that shortly.)
• Lucia Weihnachtsmarkt in Kulturbrauerei: the last one we visited, with a medieval feel. There was some sort of reading going on in a nearby warehouse; the place had an awesome vibe. I saw German translations of Craig Thompson and Guy Delisle favourites on sale.

Stephen at Weihnachtsmarkt Alexanderplatz

Pubs and Brewpubs

Tea gave me a copy of Around Berlin in 80 Beers by Peter Sutcliffe a few days before we left, and, for me, it made the trip. There are just so many choices in Berlin -- well, in Germany in general, from what I've seen -- that you need a plan going in. This was reinforced right from the outset, as our first pick, Brauhaus Mitte, was amazing, and my #1 of those we visited. Everything Sutcliffe says is bang-on: you'd never know you're in a mall -- great atmosphere, really -- and while all four of their beers (brewed on-site) in the sampler were tasty, their Hefeweisse Hell was the star. And to top it all off, the meal was excellent as well.

"Tastes like chicken!"

My second choice is a bit tougher. In the end, I'll go with another brewpub, Lindenbrau, for a few reasons: we could see the roof of the beautiful Sony Center from where we were sitting; the one beer they brew, their Hofbrau-Weiße, was excellent; and, most importantly, when Tea asked the waiter to surprise her with a meal, not only did he fail to hesitate, he brought the winning meal in our minds: this beautiful cooked breast of duck. Great spot!

Other pubs we visited included:

• zum Paddenwirt: a quiet, cosy pub; we'd popped in for a snack, and their soups hit the spot.
• Mommsen-Eck (Haus der 100 Biere): yeah, that's a hundred beers, all right. Sutcliffe's recommendation was perfect: a rauchbier or smoked lager. The best bit? When I ordered it, the waiter got this big ole smile on his face, "Tastes like chicken!" He wasn't wrong.
• Berliner Republik: great li'l' irreverent pub. Inspired by Tea's success at Lindenbrau, we all got fowl -- duck, duck, goose as she kept saying all night. Great food, I enjoyed my krug (two?) of Zwick'l, and we stuck around to see the stock ticker of beer prices start up: prices fluctuate based on volumes ordered!
• Brauhaus in Spandau: as stated earlier, this is a bit out from the centre, but well worth the trip. As Sutcliffe says, their property is almost a neighbourhood, and there's a really warm, welcoming atmosphere. We tried their strong, deceptively smooth Weihnachtsbier (or seasonal specialty) and lighter Havelbrau, as well as enjoying a great supper.
• Zillemarkt: the 'house beer' Zillebrau (technically, brewed off-site, but specifically for them) was excellent, as were our meals: my cabbage roll was epic! The works of Heinrich Zille are also on display throughout, and well worth a peek.
• Alois S.: last, but not least, it's more of a restaurant (specializing in tapas, actually) than a pub. Unfortunately, they no longer have the Augustiner Edelstoff on tap, but the brewery's Hell is still very good. We tested it as a late night dessert spot, and, wow, did it blow our socks off. A great end to the trip.

The 'stock ticker' in Berliner Republik

Note: a comment or two about two misses:

1. Eschenbrau: doesn't open 'til later. I have no excuse, as Sutcliffe lists all the hours for every entry, but as it's a bit out of the way (in Wedding) and I was very disappointed to find it closed, I just thought I'd highlight it.
2. Willy Bresch: probably because it was so close to our apartment, I took this one for granted. Don't. Set aside a weeknight for it if you can, as it's really small, and, when busy, as it was the Friday we tried to go, incredibly smoky. (And I'm not normally overly bothered by that sort of thing.) A shame, as it's Sutcliffe's favourite pub in Berlin.

Sights

Visiting the Berlin Wall Memorial was a humbling experience. Across the street from the remaining section, the view on high really drives home how much more it was than a wall. Historical accounts, both there and at the Checkpoint Charlie Museum, were so immersive: they even had some of the modes of escape on display in the latter. Finally, the Window of Remembrance (also at the memorial) seemed to dampen all ambient sound: as I stared at the portraits of all those who died trying to escape, it seemed that nature itself mirrored the solemn moment.

The first victim shot trying to escape after the wall went up in '61

The nearby Chapel of Reconciliation provides a segue for the lasting impression the city left on me: that of a creative hub, still working to reinvent itself. The architecture on display -- the chapel, the Sony Center, and the Reichstag Dome all being excellent examples -- really made a big impression on me. It truly is a beautiful city.

Inside the Chapel of Reconciliation

Speaking of the Reichstag, you have to book tours of the Dome in advance. Luckily we found this out early enough in the trip to book a slot in the morning of our last full day in Berlin. What an impressive structure! That, the view, and the excellent audio guide made for an entertaining and educational hour or so -- from detailing the skyline, to discussion of how the cone reflects light down to the parliament floor and reclaims water, to describing the functions of the government itself. Certainly a highlight of the trip!

Although I was a bit too young (and immature) to appreciate the significance of those views of the Brandenburg Gate in 1989, no one can approach it today, particularly at night along Unter den Linden, free from the weight of history. That evening we then cut across the immense Tiergarten parkland to Potsdamer Platz, the leaves crunching underfoot in the near black adding to the solemnity of the occasion.

Finally, we spent a few hours in the Berlin Zoo as well. Highlights included the hippopotamuses -- one of the young ones stole the show -- the condors -- the whoop, whoop of their wings as they flew from perch to perch was truly awesome -- and the lions at feeding time: nearly wet my pants during the latter, if I'm honest; that cage looked like tinfoil by the time they all finally had their huge chunks o' meat.

Up next: the trip movie!

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Paris: The Gold Ring

That's a tip of the hat to a great scene in one of my favourite movies, Pulp Fiction, where the one and only Christopher Walken, as Captain Koons, returns a family heirloom -- The Gold Watch -- to five-year-old Butch.

Read on for the story of the ring.

As we knew we only had one day in Paris, we got up early again and caught the commuter train from Disneyland in, our must-see lists in hand. Since Tea and I had been before, we started on Stephen and Nancy's list, after dropping our packs at the hotel. First up was the Catacombs, a block from where we were staying; unfortunately, they're closed on Monday (boo!), so we caught the metro to Île aux Cygnes to see the replica of the Statue of Liberty (a little over a quarter the size of the one on Ellis Island).

The Isle of the Swans was an oasis in the bustling city; a view that seems to be shared by the locals, given all the joggers we saw. From there, we grabbed some delicious baguette sandwiches to go, making our way to the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The line-up for the first level wasn't bad at all, so we bought tickets and up we climbed. 328 steps. We were rewarded with an amazing view (once we'd caught our breath). Plus, unlike some, I find the structure itself to be beautiful, and much more so when you're amongst it, even. (Tea, Kae and I didn't spend much time there on our previous trip, and didn't go up.)

The Gold Ring

Once we'd walked along the Seine to the Flame of Liberty, that marked a good dent in Stephen and Nancy's list, so it was off to Montmartre. Along the way, as we admired the Alexander III bridge and l'Hôtel national des Invalides in the distance, a woman approached Stephen. In her hand was a gold ring the likes of which I've never seen; truly, it was like a Ring of Power, and all the more so when she began pointing at what I thought was an inscription, asking if it was Stephen's. (Well, it was an inscription -- no, nothing to do with ruling or binding -- but one supposedly indicating its purity; not a name or dedication, as I'd assumed. I only found that out later, after talking with Stephen.)

As Stephen faded back she turned to me, saying she'd just found it, and asking whether it was mine. She was sort of musing, though, it seemed to me, and with what I took to be wonderment, muttered something about bonne chance. Seizing on the chance to use my limited French, I jumped in with, "Ah, oui, c'est la bonne chance!" and made to move on. Well, at that point she started saying that she couldn't keep it, and that I should take it. I was shaking my head, no, no, with my hand up, and she kept pressing, both verbally, and with the ring, on my vertical palm.

I did manage to get away in the end, but it left me feeling a bit down. To this day, I'm so naive, and normally don't fare so well in those situations. Turns out this is very common in Paris (also called The Drop), although this woman never got to the asking for money bit.

* * *

At the Place de la Concorde we took another detour... for our first Christmas market of the trip! A complete surprise, it was a great way to get us all excited about what awaited us in Berlin. Our tummies full of mulled wine, pastries and smoked fish -- not all at once; trust me, it was awesome -- we hopped the metro to Montmartre and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica.

Om nom nom!

Sacré-Cœur Basilica

Avoiding the bracelet scam, we took a few minutes to enjoy the view and great people watching. The latter continued in spades as we sat outside a café in Place du Tertre, at first for wine, and then, tempted by the smells from the kitchen, for a full meal that included onion soup, beef bourguignon and escargot. Thanks to the heat lamps, we were there well past dark.

Place du Tertre

We then caught the metro back to our hotel, stopping off for a nightcap at the nearby l’Académie de la Bière, specializing in Belgian beer. With friendly staff, a cozy atmosphere and an impressive beer menu, it was the perfect way to close out the day.

l’Académie de la Bière

Up next: Berlin, Germany

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Disneyland Paris: "I need a Captain EO."

On the Disney property, just behind our hotel

We got up nice 'n' early on Saturday to walk to St. Pancras, which was a breeze with backpacks. (We're seriously wondering if we'll ever vacation with luggage again, in fact.) The Eurostar took us to Lille, where we switched to the TVG (high-speed train) to Marne-la-Vallée – Chessy, inside Disneyland Paris. After quickly checking in at Sequoia Lodge, it was off to the parks, to make the most of our day and a half there.

The all-important "picking of the ears"

Highlights of our time there included:

• The Christmas tree trimming in the Disneyland Park; we arrived in time for the unveiling.
• That first glimpse of le château de la belle au bois dormant (Sleeping Beauty Castle) lit up at night.
• It's A Small World: we all adore that ride. (It was my favourite part of the parks, actually; it satisfies something deep down in me.)
• Space Mountain: Mission 2: we were expecting something along the lines of the original Space Mountain, 'til we saw the shoulder restraints; it's more like the Aerosmith Rock 'n' Roller Coaster, and all the better for the unexpected thrill.
  
• Goofin' around on Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast: the girls had to take care of Zorg, as Stephen and I were too busy trying to screw up each other's shots.
• The big roaring fireplace, open on two sides, in the Sequoia Lodge; a great way to banish the last of the evening's chill.
• The Mad Hatter's Tea Cups, lit up beautifully with Chinese lanterns.

Early on, Stephen pointed out the profusion of what he deemed "space coats": puffy, shiny and ribbed, we then couldn't fail to see them, on adults, teenagers, kids, whole families. Maybe the French are starting something.

Finally, the subtitle comes from that 80s ride, which was playing in the Disneyland Park. Stephen told us about how he fell asleep in it the first time 'round, in the 80s, and was looking forward to seeing whether what he remembered was in the movie or just his dreams. Well, needless to say, history repeated itself, and he took Tea with him this time. (It was a euphemism for a nap from then on.)

I found it really interesting, the way it obviously liberally borrowed from Star Wars, as well as the H. R. Giger Alien, while at the same time clearly inspiring those who would design the Borg: particularly their housings and the Queen.

All in all, we had a great time. It was surreal, standing in spots we'd swear we'd been before, only those were now some 7000 kilometres away. We all agreed that Tea summed it up best: while Disneyland Park was a fantastic copy of the Magic Kingdom in Orlando, you couldn't help feeling that it lacked depth; like there was something missing, below the surface. (Which is true, of course, as it is smaller.)

Up next: Paris, France

PS: Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Vacation: Day 1: Barcelona, via London and Paris

Note: Due to technical difficulties, it will be some time before I'll have access to the pictures from the first part of our cruise. Over the coming days, I'll blog about our stops, and then (hopefully) update these posts with pictures at a later date.

What a posh title, eh? I feel slightly more important for writing it, I must say. I kept a journal during our two-week cruise of the Mediterranean, and I'll be posting the entries as they are dated there, with some additional exposition, as appropriate. For example, this post is about our overnight train to Barcelona, which might strike you as an odd choice of transportation. However, what I don't mention in my journal is that we booked this cruise right around the time that volcanic ash from Eyjafjallajökull was messing up most of Europe's airspace, and we had visions of missing the ship as it left Barcelona. Oh, the irony, as you'll soon learn.

Saturday, June 19, 9:45 a.m.

We're still at least an hour outside Barcelona. The train seems to pause often; don't know whether that's normal.

In one of those funny coincidences, I've just heard a conversation outside our compartment (in English, amazingly enough) about what has happened: we hit a car at some point in the night, dragged it for 200 metres, and are now on our way back to meet another locomotive, I believe. All told, we will be between six and seven hours late. Tea's managed to fall asleep again; I don't think I'll wake her to give her the bad news. Apparently that staff member has never heard of this happening before. Oh well, this is why you don't plan to travel on the day you sail.

It's really exotic: this mix of French, English and Spanish (with both the soft 'c' that I'm used to, and the heavy 'th' of the north that sounds like yet another language to my ears). The staff really manage very well. I guess the list of destinations contribute to that exotic feeling as well: London, Paris, Barcelona... and all in less than 24 hours. (Well, according to the original plan.)

I still find it hard to believe that we hit a car! We're far back in the train, but I'd still expect to feel something. Thankfully it seems like no one was hurt too badly, otherwise I can't see the police allowing us to continue so quickly. Tea's awake now, and commented that that's probably the horrible diesel smell that filled the cabin (briefly, again, thankfully) in the middle of the night.

2:30 p.m.

The green continues to roll by. I pause as a tunnel blacks out the world. The chaos of the countryside is interrupted every so often by the perfect lines of groves and vineyards. My mobile tells me we still haven't hit the border yet. A few minutes later we stop in Cerbère.

4:20 p.m.

We're still in Cerbère. Apparently our conductor has left. There are rumours that he took some heat about the crash, and by leaving us at this border town at the end of his shift, a mere ten minutes from another station with plenty of drivers, he's really fixed us. It's difficult to get here by road, although the remaining crew assure us that we will be in Barcelona in three hours.

As the other passengers mill about out on the platform, with no one around and plenty of rusty old trains, I find myself speculating on our chances, were we the last humans on the continent.

I may come to regret my fascination with dystopian fiction and movies, particularly if we end up spending the night here; there are some really creepy tunnels just a few hundred yards down the tracks.

* * * * *

Epilogue

My journal skips ahead to our first stop, Villefranche-sur-Mer, at this point, but I won't leave you hanging: we made it to Barcelona; eight hours late. Still, we had time to walk along La Rambla -- stopping for some fantastic seafood paella along the way -- and down by the port with Nancy and Stephen before getting on the Brilliance the next day.

Up next: the French Riviera

Tea and Jae... and Kae! in the city of lights

If Dublin has a pulse, Paris has grace; and such grace. At no time have my thoughts and words felt less adequate, or A Moveable Feast more impressive.

She is a lady: in the young woman standing outside her shop, "un café" in one hand, a cigarette in the other; in the older man in a tweed coat hopping on his bicycle, his thin scarf flapping in the breeze.

Chillin' at our apartment

We got an afternoon train to London, and the Eurostar to Paris, arriving in the early evening. We spent a few hours exploring the neighbourhood around our apartment that first morning. Our arms full of warm bread, and delicious meats and cheeses, we congratulated ourselves on this breakfast fit for any Parisian. One point on the local grocery store: the milk that doesn't need to be refrigerated seems to be very popular in Paris; it was all we could find in our neighbourhood. And I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it's all "facile à digérer." With the sheep's milk cheese, I was good to go!

The Sully wing of the Louvre

Fortune smiled on us as we ducked in and out of the rain that first day. One of our favourite ways to begin a trip is a city tour, to get our bearings and change our itinerary as sights grab our eyes. This trip was no different, and we had excellent (sheltered) seats on the double-decker bus for most of the tour. That done, it was time to see a bit of Louvre – with kilometres of galleries, we didn't kid ourselves about seeing more.

Looking down on the Sully courtyard

We'd planned to take one of the tour boats on the Seine that evening, presuming the weather cooperated. The rain was light as we left the Louvre, so we decided to have a bite to eat near the Pont Neuf quays and catch the last tour of the evening, around 10 p.m. The restaurant of the same name was warm and quaint, as were our hosts. Up to this point, Kae had been a bit self-conscious about her French – which Tea and I took as perfect, incidentally, and a life-saver on more than one occasion. At the end of our meal, Kae admitted as much to our hostess, who assured her that she expressed herself very well. I think that left her tickled for hours afterwards.

The next day we caught the Metro to Montmartre, in the eighteenth arrondissement. The view from the steps of the Sacré-Cœur was wonderful. Walking around the cobblestoned plazas, past cafe seats facing out on artists sketching folks and cutting their silhouettes out of paper, was more than a little surreal; similar to other experiences I've had – in Quebec City, for example – in that I could now understand what they were imitating. It was so natural here; like drawing breath, for them, I'm sure.

In Montmartre Cemetary

We stumbled upon the Montmartre Cemetary; literally an awesome sight: above-ground tombs and mausoleums, most more elaborate than I'd ever seen, stretching out to the horizon. The avenues through it are named, and compost bins for the many, many flowers sit at every corner.

Moulin Rouge was our next stop, in the heart of the 'red light' district. Obligatory photos taken, we decided to find some sustenance to get us through to the evening's entertainment: a fondue house that Tea had read about. Tea had onion soup – yes, Stephen, they drop the French part here :-) – and Kae enjoyed a cheese plate, as we took in the foot traffic; Paris really has some of the best people watching I've seen: everyone is so different, from their dress – formal or casual, it is always deliberate – and mannerisms, to their features; I could've been imagining things, but it seemed that I'd never seen such a variety of noses, chins, skin tones, facial hair... tall and lanky folks beside others so small you could only think 'miniature.' Silly, I know, but it's true!

The fondue house was fully booked, but the owner assured Kae that he would find a spot for us a bit later. We consoled ourselves with more wine at yet another brasserie, and by the time we returned, there was a significant queue. Thankfully, Kae is very memorable – as we all know! – and we were seated without too much fuss. Well, what a restaurant! I barely had time to take in the raucous atmosphere in what really amounted to a narrow room before a baby bottle of the vin rouge was thrust into my hand. Ah, hold on to your hat, I thought to myself.

I lost time that night.

I figure it's important that a writer acknowledge that up front. I remember moments right up to my head hitting the pillow, but many of them seem more like last grasps at dreams as I write this. I'm told I was very happy throughout, managing against all odds to avoid making a fool of myself. Thank goodness I had two lovely ladies looking after me, otherwise I surely would've left all my belongings behind as I hopelessly wandered the streets of Paris.

The next day was a bit rough.

I turned a year older, and felt all of those 365 days over the course of that morning. Then it was off to the Latin quarter, walking around the old haunts of Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Orwell. The market streets were just as Hemingway described them so many years ago: narrow and chock full of carts offering fruit, cheese and seafood, with amazing pâtisseries and book shops in between. Oh, and a rack of rotisserie chicken, with the potatoes roasting away in the drippings tray at the bottom. (It smelled amazing!) And the vendors warmly greeting their regulars with a kiss on either cheek, and such joyful expressions that you'd swear they'd been years apart.

The Panthéon

We then made our way to the Panthéon and the Sorbonne, through streets full of young life. It was at that moment that the last of the austre grace that had marked my first day in the city melted away: yes, the city of lights can be elegant, but no one who walks through Montmartre or the clusters of students around the Sorbonne could fail to feel its warmth.

With our train scheduled to depart at 3 p.m., we spent our last morning shopping in the Galeries Lafayette, taking in the stained glass of that amazing ceiling to the main building, and ladies' accessories worth the GDP of small nations.

No, Tea, our luggage isn't that big. ;-)