Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

Overnight in a train to Berlin was more convivial than I'd expected. One of my compartment-mates was very upset that her booking had ended up with two women (the other not getting on till Katowice at midnight) rather than with the husband with whom she was celebrating their second wedding anniversary so I suggested that if they didn't mind me being there too, we could have a celebratory drink together. We folded up the middle bunk and turned mine into a sitting place. She and husband got out their juice bottle full of Campari while I got out my kefir bottle full of wine (which makes it sound like I usually travel with secret alcohol but actually this was the serendipitous first time) and we merrily drank our way to Katowice, where the complicit guard came and unlocked the bunk just in time for our new compartment mate.

I've spent the day walking round Berlin, climbing up to the cathedral cupola for a view of the city (underwhelming), going to the excellent Gemäldegalerie to consort with Rembrandt et al, walking past the Bundestag and visiting this place. I was impressed to overhear a British history teacher pointing out to his class how central this is and asking them to imagine the British putting up a memorial in the centre of London to commemorate those killed and abused by colonialism.

The last time I came here, I didn't go to the exhibition underground. This time I did.

Onward again tomorrow.

Black and white in colour 187

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