There is nothing like Berlin, three hours before the game. I spent the day finding ways to entertain my mother and two grandmothers, allowing myself a rest on the double-decker sightseeing bus around town. Saw the last reminents of the Berlin wall I stood next to when I was six, hugging on my fathers leg, asking him if the men with big guns are gonna shoot us.
Yesterday was spent driving around the city, trying to remember where my father’s childhood flat is, it took us aeons, but we finally found it.. in tact. The door was locked, so i pressed all the buttons and when someone finally answered, I spoke in my best German possible: “hallo, i’m Susi Döring, my father grew up in this complex and he’s already passed.. could you please allow my family and I in so we can remember him?”, the gate buzzed immediately. My hand in my grandmothers, we inspected my memories, twenty years later.
We left dad on the bank of the Spree river, and sat on the same bench my father sat with us 20 years ago, with his video camera sat at an angle. It took awhile to find this place, not far from the tiergarten and passed the victory angel, it was the sweetest goodbye. I have realized my father grew up in a truly amazing city. Berliners are some of the friendliest people to run into.
Italians have taken over the city.. far more than the French. Horns are beeping, flags floating above the cars.. women with fine threads and high heels are clicking down the streets. I think I am the only one without a ticket. damn. My mother asked for a lemonade, so I got a mojito intstead at the outside stand blaring South American music. I don’t think she could taste the difference
The brazilians haven’t left and I think the Germans are quite satisfied with their third place. I am however, quite disappointed that my brother left this morning.. on his way to France. I don’t know how ballsy I feel going to a pub alone on such a crazy night.
I’ll wake up tomorrow at the break of dawn to avoid the traffic and take the ladies back to Frankfurt. My trip: short and sweet.
Powered by Facebook Comments