I read in Tolstoy that it is the Russian habit to pause to reflect before setting off on a journey. This is that. This is our last morning in Berlin. On Gotzkowskystrasse, which we first saw in thick snow, people are sitting out at the pavement cafés. Good memories: dinner on the roof of the Reichstag, Glühwein in the Nikolaiviertel, hanging out in Mitte, the ever-fascinating Pamuk, the best tagine outside Morocco in the Kasbah, drinking mint tea on cushions in the Tadschicke Teestube, the Königin Luisa exhibition in Charlottenburg, Böcklin’s Toteninsel in the Alte Nazionalgalerie, the Gate of Babylon in the Pergamon, Wurst in the snow, watching the World Cup matches at Moonshine, trips to Wittenberg, Leipzig, Heidelberg, Lüneburg, Brandenburg, Worms, Speyer…
Later this morning, we set off for Warsaw, the first stop on our journey east. I have been dreaming so long of the land of wonders (Russia) that I can’t quite believe it’s about to happen.
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