I left Le Mans to take another plane, this time from Paris to Berlin. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled taking off, the boarding gate was changed and the plane took off twenty minutes late. This wasn’t, however, the most interesting flight of my trip.My first impression of Germany was that the Germans aren’t excessively clever, organised or welcoming. How is it possible that, in the train station of the airport — where scores of people show up every half an hour — there’s only five ticket machines, which, to top it off, don’t accept a card as common as a VISA. And there were no ticket or information offices.
In the end, I joined my friend thanks to the directions he had given me. What he told me that night can be summarised as: Berlin is ugly. Apparently, the war destroyed the most beautiful parts and the new buildings were ugly just because. There are, nonetheless, small oases of beauty that a friend who lives there can show you.
Caring about my culinary education, he took me out for German-style pork and deer. We also had dinner in a Polish restaurant because they are neighbours and I hadn’t eaten Polish food for years, since that visit to a friend in Warsaw almost a lustrum ago.
City planning was included in my education as well. There seems to be a height restriction law for buildings in Berlin, which pleases both my likings in aesthetics and inner poise. I was told that during a film-like scene on the roof watching the sun set.