Matt’s disappointed. He thinks Obama bombed. Matt is impressed by stats and numbers and McCain did well at citing many of them on his tax plan. Obama, meanwhile offered up more generalized answers. Of course, he also answered the majority of questions.

I, on the other hand, feel that Obama came out on top. His answers, while not fantastic, were clear, enumerated, and dealt with the issues. He certainly had his share of talking points (alternative energy, off-shore drilling, 300 Billion in tax cuts to corporations by McCain), but they paled in comparison to the key word, name-dropping answers that McCain gave.

We’re in the midst of that sad phase of politics in which the candidates run to the center. Of course, everyone’s been saying McCain is just another Bush, but even his stances have shifted from the maverick ones that gained him his name to centrist republican policies for the most part. Matt pointed out that Obama has adopted Hillary’s centrist stance on Iraq, arguing for pulling out at the right time where he once advocated immediate withdrawal, so it’s not as though it’s not happening on both sides.

That would make me sad if it weren’t the way things worked. In the primaries, candidates run to the wings, trying to grab their party with liberal or conservative rhetoric respectively. During the main election, they run back to the middle, trying to grab all the voters who felt alienated by their more extremist views. This often leaves me unable to tell what any given candidate stands for by the time the election rolls around.

The bank panic we’re currently experiencing combined with the incredible unpopularity of Bush means the only thing certain now is that both candidates are running as far away from the current administration as fast as they can. McCain accused Obama of supporting Bush’s bills and Obama accused McCain of supporting the Bush regime.

I was actually surprised by the amount of mud-slinging and name-calling, from McCain’s constant use of the word cronyism (a political issue not seen since O Brother, Where Art Thou?) to Obama’s repeated accusation that McCain’s in bed with Bush. They attacked each other’s plans, McCain claiming Obama will fine small businesses and working parents (an accusation he denied) and Obama claiming McCain will give 300 Billion dollars in tax cuts to corporations (an accusation he ignored).

Overall, it was an unfortunate sight. Obama said early on, “You’re not interested in hearing politicians pointing fingers.” To me, this felt like a call to deal with issues and ignore the partisanship and mud-slinging, but one answer later any hope of that was gone.

In the end, I do think Obama came out on top by a slim margin. He may not have given great answers, but he made a couple of solid points, showed a lot of respect for his audience by actually attempting to address some of the harder issues, and laying out the importance of the tasks at hand when asked. McCain, meanwhile did extremely well when he actually address the issue, especially on domestic issues, but still avoided the questions most of the time. Both sides came off as childish and defensive at times.

After seeing Ben Bernanke, chairman of the Federal Reserve, speak today, I was struck by how confident I was in his abilities despite the negative outlook he gave. Ten minutes later Bush spoke quite positively and left me worried and unsure about our future. Both McCain and Obama are better choices for president than Bush, but neither one is instilling a lot of confidence in me. If the US still exists at the end of the month when I return, I can only hope the election will bring a leader who can save it, cause I certainly have my doubts about its viability.

—

I didn’t get started on my notes until midway through the first question and slowly shifted into good form midway through the 3rd. Early on, I was much more the liberal mouth I am during an argument, but the observations stand.

McCain’s talking points.
Attacks instead of answers.

The second question is what does it mean and yet both candidates are dealing with why they tried to do something and nothing happened.
“You’re not interested in hearing politicians pointing fingers.” Obama’s right.
Brokaw asks the smart question.
Obama outlays general plan for more oversight and a change in culture.
McCain hits his talking points: buy those bad loans! Destroy cronyism in Washington!
1 attack on Obama, 1 compliment to Americans, 1 call to power.
Obama accepts blame and then immediately lays blame on Bush. The deficit is bigger. McCain voted for it.
Healthcare, energy, college affordability, spending cuts, good programs versus bads.
McCain says Washington is broken and he’s a reformer. He’s taken on specil interests.
Sites Fiengold, Lieberman, bipartisanship.
Attacks Obama, brings up records. He’s fought against big spending.
O is voting for big spending. O voted for more spending. O voted for earmarks (planetarium projector).
M has plan for reforms. “Get Middle Americans working again.”
Energy Independence - drilling off-shore. “Stop sending 700B overseas.”

Highest priority? Healthcare, Energy, Social Security/Medicare
M can work on all 3 at once. We can’t give same benefit as today. “I have a clear record of reaching across the aisle.”
Nuclear powerplants = new jobs. New power is possible. 700B is in the hands of terrorists!?!?
We have to do them all at once. They’re national security issues?
Obama says prioritize: Energy is first. Bad for personal budget and national security. Iraq is benefitting.
15 B over 10 years Energy Independence from Mid-East Oil.
Healthcare is two. Makes business less effective.
Education is three.
Records. Earmarks. Wants to go line by line (quote) and eliminate programs that don’t work.
McCain’s 300B tax cut (continuation of Bush) give to big companies.
Make sure cuts working for the common man.

1st Net Question: What sacrifices will you ask for?
M says programs. Reexamining agencies and bureaucracies: defense spending, defense contracts (submarine)
Earmarks (overhead projector). Some good programs will need to go.
Spending freeze: except for defense, veterans affairs and a few other programs.
Full transparencies. “Earmarks”
Back to multitasking. Work together. People without health insurance shouldn’t need to wait.
O quotes 9/11. We came together and worked together. Bush did some smart things at the beginning.
He said “go out and shop.” That was an opportunity missed.
America needs to deal with these issues in and out of government.
Energy: increased oil production, off-shore drilling. clean-coal tech.
Personal responsibility. fuel efficiency in America. Educational programs that will help people learn how to save energy on a personal level.
Help people beyond the military deal with these problems.
Discussion:
O: Washington needs to set an example. We can’t run up debts. “Earmarks” 18B of our budget. McCain’s tax cuts = 700K for CEOs that’s not sharing the burden. We must all share the burden.
Everyone needs to make sacrifices. McCain uses a hatchet, I use a scalpel.
M: Jello to the wall (Obama’s cuts are elusive and false). Compares O to Hoover.
700K jobs gone. 300K small business jobs created (silver lining).
O’s tax increases will raise taxes on small business.
M is not in favor of raising tax rates. Cuts tax exemption for children. Builds windows for middle class. No raising taxes.

2nd Net Question: A date certain to fix Medicare and Social Security?
O: Entitlements. Can’t guarantee two years. We can;t fix those until we understand the rest of the tax laws.
“I want to provide a tax cut for 95% of Americans. If you make less than 1/4 million dollars a year, you will not see your taxes go up. If you make 200K or less, you will see them go down.”
Majority of small business will see them go down. 50% tax bonus. (McCain smiling).
300B to big business, 100B to CEO from McCain.
Get the tax policies right for the middle class. If, then we can deal with Medicare and Social Security.
M: It’s not hard to fix Social Security. It’s been done before. (Reagan and Tipp O’Neil)
Obama hasn’t taken on his party. I have.
Medicare is tougher. It’s complex. Have a commission. Come up with suggestions. Too many lobbyists.
O has voted 94 tims to raise taxes or against tax cuts. He never once fought to cuts taxes.
Look at the records. “Our best days are ahead of us.”

How will you make sure congress moves fast in relation to environment and ?
M: Big issue, children and grandchildren. I disagreed with Bush. I traveled. Kept discussion open.
Nuclear Power. Safe, clean. Military subs.
Obama is into “clean energy.” It’s not enough. (missed a bunch, thanks Matt)
We are the best producers.
O: It’s a challenge and opportunity. New energy economy can create jobs.
We need to invest. Computer allegory. This is a national security energy.
We need to invest in Nuclear power as one component. We need to look at the rest.
For 30 years, congress has done nothing. He’s been there 26 years. Voted 23 times against alt fuels.
We have 3% of oil reserves and use 20% of oil. Can’t drill our way out. Can’t fix it with fossil fuels.
We need alternatives. We can sell innovation
M: Fund it governmentally and turn it over to the private sector.
Bush made bad bill, Obama voted for it, McCain voted against.
I vote against the bad bills.
Oil drilling is a way to bridge the gap. “National Security issue.”
Supply and demand. We have to drill off shore.
Nuclear power: Obama has voted for storage of nuclear fuel.

Healthcare a commodity?
O: Big issue. Breaking budgets. Premiums doubled. Copayments/deductables go up. Small business can’t handle it.
Moral commitment and economic imperative.
If you have it, keep it if you want. We will work to lower your premiums. Invest in prevention and IT.
If you don’t have it, you can get federal insurance with senators and congressman.
McCain says tax credit. Tax those credits at the same time. Block States from helping with mamograms and maternity.
US Chamber of Commerce says that plan will cause health care to unravel.
M: Costs and copayments go up. We need to do everything necessary. Health records online, community health centers, walk-in clinics, impose efficiencies.
Differences between us: Government. Mandates.
Obama will fine small business; will fine working parents if they can’t provide coverage.
5K$ tax credit (refundable) good across state lines.
Do the math: 95% will have increased funds for insurance and to shop around.
Everyone will be covered except for high priced cosmetic surgery like hair transplants.
Small business and working parents want insurance, 5K credit is a start.
Discussion: Privilege, right or responsibility?
M: It’s a responsibility. Gov mandates make me nervous, but it’s my responsibility. It’s small business responsibility.
Nervous by Obama. He’s never mentioned how much his fine is.
O: Even the bankrupt should be covered. Mom died of cancer at 53.
Keep the good plans, lowered premiums.
Small businesses won’t have mandate, but 50% tax credit.
Children should have coverage (cheap and easy).
McCain voted against child health care bill.
Gov should crack down on insurance companies, make sure they’re not lying.
If we go state by state, they’ll go where it’s best for them. Everyone will be in Arizona.
No protection for the public.
McCain wants deregulation.

On the Military
M: Strong military needs strong economy. “America is the greatest force for good in the history of the world.”
Peacemakers and peacekeepers. Is military worth bloodshed? Preventing genocide and spread of terrorism proves yes.
We are a nation of good. My record and my judgment can stand by.
Obama was wrong about Iraq; wrong about Georgia. We don’t have time for on the job training, my friend.
O: I don’t understand some things. Iraq versus Al Queda. That was McCain’s judgment.
McCain is a Bush cheerleader. Iraq has put an enormous strain on the troops. Rah Rah troops. and on our budget.
700B dollars in Iraq. Keep going and it’ll rise about 1 trillion.
Iraq has 79 billion surplus. We need our 10B a month.
This is the greatest nation, we are a force of good.
This problem is impressive. We no longer have the resources or the allies to prevent a genocide anymore.
We need to change at the base.
Discussion: Non-national security issues - Rwanda and Congo
O: Moral obligation. If we have the ability, we need to act.
If we stand idlely by, it diminishes us.
It must be part of our interests if it’s possible to help.
We can’t be everywhere, so we need to work with our allies.
Darfur - peace-keeping force is there. We can do a lot, but only if they supply the troops.
M: If we set a date for withdrawal from Iraq, terrorism would’ve won. Obama would’ve declared defeat.
I will bring them home with victory and with honor.
We must do whatever we can, but tempered with our ability to indirectly affect.
We don’t have the capabilities always. Somalia - peacekeepers ended up peacemakers and we failed.
Troops security is top priority… after nation’s security.
We have to say never again, but we need to make sure we don’t EXACERBATE the issue.

Pakistani Sovereignty and Al Queda cells
O: Difficult situation because we made a bad judgment in going into Iraq before Al Queda was dealt with.
If we had taken care of them, they wouldn’t be there. They’re raiding Afghanistan.
We need to reverse course and aim for Al Queda.
The war against terrorism began there and will end there.
Get out of Iraq, put pressure on Afghan, deal with drugs there.
But we must deal with Pakistan. Encourage democracy, expand non-mil aid, insist they deal with Al Queda.
If we have Bin Ladin in our sites, we will act. Biggest Nat Seciruty priority,
M: My hero is Teddy Roosevelt. Obama wants to announce he will attack Pakistan.
If we want support, we need to get them on our side. We can’t announce an attack.
We drove the Russians (Afghan Freedom fighters) out of Afghanistan. Then Al Queda came back.
Get the support of the people. We need to help the Pakistani people.
Coordinate our efforts. Use force with care. “Talk softly and carry a big stick.”
O: If Pakistan is unable or unwilling, we will.
McCain says I want to invade. He called for annihilation of Korea, bomb Iran. Called for attack on Baghdad before Afghanistan was done.
We lost the people of Pakistan because we supported Musharaf’s dictatorship.
M: Not true. I supported the efforts the US needed to do and opposed those it didn’t.
“I was joking with a veteran.” I know how to handle these crisis.
Obama wants to attack Pakistan. I know how to get Bin Laden, but I won’t telegraph my punches.
–Afghanistan? How do you reorganize?
O: Make the Iraqi gov take more responsibility for themselves so we can move troops.
We need more help there. We’re targets. We’ll need to work with the Afghan gov.
M: It’s the same overall strategy. We need to double the size of the army, work close with Pakistan.
We need to keep the same strategy. Obama wants to change and won’t admit he’s wrong.
I have confidence in our current plan. (”Stay the course?”)

Pressure on Russia?
M: We won’t have another cold war. Their behavior is outside the norm.
I warned people about Putin. (KGB?!?) Suppressed liberties. Been aggressive.
Ukraine is in his sights. Wants to rebuild the USSR.
We have to make them understand there are penalties for aggression.
We need to bring international pressures (NATO, G8).
They must understand this is not acceptable.
Use leverage: economic, diplomatic, and others.
Not the cold war.
O: I agree with McCain on much of this.
Moral support is not enough. We need to support Soviet Satellites too.
We need to assist them: financially and economic.
Anticipate. April, I said the situation was unsustainable/unstable.
We haven’t anticipative. We’ve been reactive.
We rushed into Iraq, McCain, Bush, cost us.
We must be more strategic.
Energy is key. Reduce energy consumption, reduce Russia’s money.
D: Russia is evil Empire? Yes or no.
O: not the same, but similar.
M: Maybe. Depends on how we respond. It’s not yes or no.
Energy is big factor. It’s in our interest to protect Georgia and Ukraine as gateways of energy.

Israeli war? Support them or UN Security approval?
M: We would not wait for UN approval. Russia and China would be opstacles.
Iran is a threat to the Mid-East. If Iran gets nukes, they all will.
We need to put pressure on Iranians with sanctions.
Join with allies. Should discourage them.
At the end of the day, we can never allow a second holocaust.
O: We can’t let them get nukes. Threat to Israel and boon to terrorism.
I will do everything to prevent. Military actions will always be an option.
We can’t let the UN delay us. We need to prevent it if possible.
If we can work more effectively diplomatically, reduce energy reliance to lower money, we can change their options.
We should have the right to deliver a message. It may not work, but that approach is a better outcome.
Bush didn’t talk and it didn’t work.

Net Q3: What don’t you know and how will you learn it?
O: The nature of the challenges are immense. It’s never the challenges that you expect.
I wouldn’t be standing here with opportunity. Single mom, grandparents and scholarships gave me chances.
Despite all that, I went to best schools and succeed. Can we pass on this dream?
The dream diminished. We need fundamental change.
A new direction.
M: I don’t know what will happen. Challenges are unprecedented. Americans are hurting.
New countries will rise. I served. single parent family (father gone), I know what it’s like to fight.
I know support. I beleive in the greatness of this country.
I’ve always put my country first.

The moon rises over the old city in Prague.
For more loony pictures of Prague, click here.

Growing up, veal paprikash was one of my favorite foods. My grandparents used to make it once every visit. My grandfather traces his roots back to Czechoslovakia, now the Czech Republic and Slovakia thanks to the velvet revolution. For him, the dish wasn’t just delicious; it was a piece of history.

I could never say no to veal paprikash, no matter how poorly treated the calves seem to be. Even when I gave up red meat for five years, I made my only exception for the delicacy of my childhood. It’s true that my stand against red meat was primarily because I didn’t care for the flavor-a taste I’ve since returned to-with just a dash of desire for a more healthy lifestyle-a want I’ve long since abandoned-but  I couldn’t resist the dripping stew served over traditional eastern European bread dumplings.

“There isn’t any Czech food,” the boy says to one of his classmates. “You go to Prague and get German, Hungarian, Romanian, but no Czech. They have no food of their own.” I seethe at the statement.

Of course there’s Czech food. At the very least, there’s Czech food in the same way that Baklava is Turkish, Greek, and Middle Eastern. Any one of those cultures can claim it. Burgers are an American thing, but burgers are also a German thing. And they’re both similar and different. Everywhere I go, I find foods in variants. The meatballs in Munich were as delicious as the meatballs in Italy, simply different. Tom Yam soup in Thailand is just another variant on pho from Korea or ramen from Japan. Bread is bread and noodles are noodles and it’s true no matter where you go. To claim that a culture doesn’t have its own food simply because it plays on a regional theme is absurd and insulting.

The boy’s tour group is laying waste to the train, every cabin overflowing with loudmouthed German teens headed on a class trip to Prague. For half the train ride, Matt and I had perched on foldout seats in the middle of our car. Only after Dresden were we able to slip inside. Even here, in the comfort of a quiet cabin, I can hear them. It’s enough to drive a man mad.

Every few minutes, I step outside the cabin, walk down the packed aisle to the bathroom and squeeze my nose into another sheet of toilet paper. The cold I picked up in Munich is on its way out. Mentally, I feel better than I have in several days. My body’s winning the war, but it doesn’t show on the outside. My nose is running more, my throat is sorer, and it’s all because the gunk in my system is being ousted.

The countryside is beautiful. I simply can’t get over the autumn colors in this part of the world. It’s a taste of New England that I haven’t had in years, having only visited home in summer, spring or winter. It’s soothing and I can feel homesickness like I haven’t had since grade school welling up.

Eventually the glory of autumn is replaced by the urban sprawl that makes up the edges of Prague. The former communist state certainly influenced the area, its drab architecture lining the tracks the last few miles on our approach. It’s not the image of Prague I expected.

The station we arrive at isn’t the main central station. It’s off toward the edge of town, several subway rides from where we’re staying and just about everything of note. The escalators to the train give me vertigo, the posters on the wall perpendicular to the steep grade of the handrail further exacerbating the feeling.

It’s raining lightly as we step out onto the street. A large red and white railing lines the edge of the sidewalk preventing people from jaywalking. We head down toward where the hotel is supposed to be, but within fifteen minutes, we’re lost. I pop into another hotel to ask directions despite Matt’s assertion that we’re fine and he doesn’t mind walking. I’m definitely the woman in this relationship.

The buildings here are glorious. Each and every one seems indicative of a different era, a different style. Unlike the war ravaged cities of Germany where only a few classic structures survived, Prague seems untouched and glorious. Even in New Prague, the district we’re staying in, far from the old world antiquities that draw tourists to the city, the streets feel older and more walked than any place I’ve been.

When we finally track down the Albert Hotel, we find that we’ve been given a lovely suite. To be honest, it seems more like an apartment complex than a hotel. With Krista (who we met in Munich) supposed to meet us and it already late, we duck down the street to a local pub and get some fantastic Czech dumplings for dinner. The night clerk at the hotel called in sick, so we stick a note to the door and Matt opens the window, hoping that Krista will call up to have us let her in. By 3 AM, we give up.

I’m still battling the last remnants of illness the following day as I begin researching temples for Yom Kippur. Between me not being 100% and Krista still being missing in action, I figure its better to stick around the hotel and take in Prague in all its glory our last two days instead.

Most of the day, Matt plays Open Transport Tycoon on my laptop while I lap up CNN Europe, the only English language channel on TV. In the early evening, Matt takes a walk and gets some ramen and canned soup for dinner.

Tonight, we’re staying up for the presidential debate. It goes on at 3 AM. Tomorrow, I will attend Yom Kippur Services. Hopefully, Krista will show up somewhere in there, but I can’t say I’m optimistic.

There were lots of things I saw in Berlin that were worth seeing. Still, the one thing that stuck with me was the East Side Gallery. This post won’t have any commentary or interesting notes. Instead, the artwork of the East Side Gallery stands beautifully alone. There are multiple pages after the cut, but not every picture I took is posted here. Enjoy!

]]> http://worldwide.aceharmon.com/ace-harmon/2008/494/feed http://worldwide.aceharmon.com/ace-harmon/2008/488 http://worldwide.aceharmon.com/ace-harmon/2008/488#comments Sun, 05 Oct 2008 22:00:28 +0000 Ace Harmon http://worldwide.aceharmon.com/?p=488

A German eagle, symbol of the fatherland, sits defaced in backlash against the Third Reich in Berlin.
For more uberpolitical photos of Germany, click here.

“I’m being straight with you and-this is important so pay attention-if you had any other parents, they’d be telling you little lies that would eventually add up to your complete mental breakdown at the age of 8 or so. Trust me. You do not want this to happen.” My son is staring back at me, a small pool of drool cupped in the corner of his slack-jawed mouth. I’m not sure he’s understood every word I’ve just said, but given his high vocabulary for a one-year-old, I’m not worried about it. “Now, do you remember what I’m teaching you today?”

“Poddy twaining,” he says in that utterly cute way that will become annoying if he keeps it up past the age 4.

“No. We’ve been over this. Use the right words.”

“Sfinktuh contwol.”

“That’s right!” I’m beaming. “Sphincter control! Now, all the parents would telling you this is potty training. But no one calls it a potty unless they’re talking to a baby.”

“I’m a baby!” he yells, a smile on your face.

“Yes, yes you are. But I don’t want our relationship to be built on lies. Do you?” He’s got that deer in headlights look. I try to psychically impose the correct answer with my stare.

“No?” His answer is tentative, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and move on. After all, we’re only four minutes from dropping the boys off at training lake.

“That’s right. So, where were we?”

“Sfinktuh contwol!”

“Yes! Sphincter control. What you’re learning today isn’t potty training. All over the world there are lots of different kinds of toilet and bathroom, and not all of them have potties. So what we’re doing here is giving you control of your sphincter. From here on out, you will only poop when you want. Cool?”

“Yah!” He’s getting into it. I’m McArthur. I’m Eisenhower. I’m Sergeant Slaughter. He’ll be excited about this for weeks.

“Damn skippy! All those times you’ve peed your pants or wet your bed are history. No more diapers. No more bedpads. You’ll be your own man.”

“I’m a baby…” He doesn’t seem as sure of himself this time.

“Ok, fine. You’ll be your own baby. You ready to get started?”

“Yah!”

“Great. I love that enthusiasm. But we’re not done with the introduction.” He looks a little sad. “Don’t worry,” I reassure him, “soon. Before we can start, I want you to know why we’re calling it… what are we calling it?”

“Sfinktuh contwol!”

“Yes! See, a sphincter is a hole. But it’s not just any hole. It’s one that opens and closes. Like the pupil in your eye is technically a sphincter.”

“I don’t think it is,” says Matt, breaking my momentum. “You should probably look it up.”

My kid’s now staring at him. I’ve lost my groove. My thunder’s gone. My face is scrunched up like raisin. And now I’m awake.

My bed is warm, but the hostel is cold. I can feel it on my hand and face, both hanging out from my blanket. I don’t want to get up. After Munich, this is what I’ve been reduced to. Our wanderings in the rain have ravaged my immune system. For the second time this trip-only the second time in six months-I’m sick.

For dinner last night we made soup in the communal kitchen at the hostel. I downed cup after cup of green tea, hoping it would amount to my quick recovery. Today, though, I feel worse than ever. It’s not helped by my imagination’s rendering of Matt’s derision.

The room I’m in is a classroom. It’s rather obvious. The entire building feels like a converted school. From the outside it looks like church, mottled stone walls arching menacingly over the small alley below. Reception and the breakfast hall might’ve been the church itself, or perhaps it was merely an auditorium. Whatever the case, these are hardly cozy rooms.

I was supposed to have the bed closest to the radiator-they assigned beds, going so far as to tell us “only take the bed number your given”-but when I got there, it had been taken. Rather than make a fuss, we just slid down a bed, putting us closer to middle of the room and further from the radiator and window above it. The boy-and I say that we the greatest degree of hate and contempt-currently sleeping in that bed was too hot and opened the window. It’s freezing now and I despise him for it.

Matt’s already gone from the room. I catch up to him at breakfast after pausing in the bathroom to divest myself of a metric assload of phlegm and snot. Breakfast officially ended 20 minutes ago, but I promise to scarf my food and they let me in. For 8€ they better.

Our first stop is Potsdamer Platz. As we leave the subway, we’re greeted by part of the Berlin wall. A large yellow peace sign has been scrawled over a hundred times by people telling me they were here… in the last year. I understand that this may have been a pilgrimage and I understand the urge to commemorate it, but why do people have to deface a piece of history to do so? To the right is a line of pieces of the wall, each equally marred. Interspersed are plaques talking about the history of the wall and the various other memorials to its crumbling.

A man in an East German uniform with an oversized German flag sits on one side offering East German passport stamps. He’ll even stamp your real passport just as if you’d been there. I wish I’d had my passport with me. Then again, who knows what passport control reentering the US would say.

My feet dangled over the edge of my parents’ bed as I watched them replay the videos over and over. I could see the euphoria in the people. I could feel their joy and hate radiating off the screen in a million little waves, waves of flags and fists flying into the air in victory. All the hairs on my prepubescent body stood on end though I knew I wasn’t close enough to the screen for it to be the result of static. I watched the wall tumble piece by piece, blow by blow there in the bedroom in Boston, not truly understanding what was happening. In a few days I’d hear rumblings of it at school, but no one really cared; we had fourth grade to deal with. It wasn’t for a few years that the importance of the moment began to sink in, when the Soviet Union crumbled just like the wall, when my Russian and Ukrainian and Tajikistani and Georgian and Uzbek friends suddenly weren’t Soviets any more. The Berlin wall would never be put back together, but its importance had only just been built in my mind, destruction begetting destruction culminating in an odd synthesis of experience and idea.

Standing in front of these cement chunks, being able to reach out and run my fingers over their scarred faces, solidified this understanding.

Here, right here, people stood and trembled, wondering if they’d see their family on the other side ever again. Here, in this spot, people glanced back and forth, waiting for the opportune moment to duck across and find themselves in a place they could expect to eat at every meal. Here, before these grey slabs of distance, people dreamed of having access to the same lives their friends and brothers and countrymen enjoyed a mere pittance of meters away. And here, people reached across a deadly chasm for hope and didn’t make it.

The images of the wall falling are iconic. It’s the penultimate symbol of the end of the communist threat (the ultimate being China’s subtle use and ironic domination of capitalism). And to stand before it carries a weight I never expected.

Cinching my Tibetan coat around me and flipping my hood up, I study each segment, reading the panels in between. The Berlin Wall Memorial isn’t just restricted to this installment. Outside the Markisches Museum lie 10 pieces of the wall. There’s more at Bernauer Straße, Checkpoint Charlie, and in the Tiergarten, as well as a large and awesome installment known as the East Side Gallery. I decide it’s my mission while in Berlin, sick or not, to see as much of the Berlin Wall as possible.

Across the street are a series of white tents. Nobody’s manning them currently, but the sun is barely up as it glints off the massive skyscrapers in this area. As we wander through the buildings, we see a performance of blue man group rehearsing outside the theatre featuring their show currently. None of the men on stage are in makeup.

“I wonder which of them are blue men,” Matt says.

“I suspect it’s just the backup band. My bass teacher in high school was asked to be  a blue man but turned it down. He said that they required him to play in the backup band for a year or two before getting chance to don the makeup and go onstage.”

“The guy in the middle looks like he’d be a blue man,” he says scowling at me, referring to the drummer with the giant dreads.

As we continue on, we pass LegoLand. Unfortunately, it’s mostly underground, be we are able to enjoy a giant Albert Einstein with vampire teeth and a 12 foot Lego giraffe.

Just outside the Tiergarten is a memorial to the mentally handicapped killed in the holocaust. The massive stone grey bus has multiple locations, with two of the buses actually traveling and the third permanently installed here. It’s another aspect of the tragedy I was previously unaware of. The gray busses are meant to represent the actual buses that took these people to the camps. The plaque nearby offers the obscured meaning of the monument.

Between Dachau and this, I’m terribly torn. The art evokes an emotional response that’s proper: horror, shame, guilt, sadness. Yet, what’s more important than the emotional response is understanding what it is we’re mourning. One of my college professors once said that going to a museum is an odd experience because if you watch the people, they look at the art and then look at the plaque. You can never tell which actually offers the meaning. One cannot truly function without the other, the image and the knowledge tied in such a manner that it becomes a perfect dialectic.

The Tiergarten is massive. Matt tells me that it’s the former hunting grounds of the royal family. Today, it’s a beautiful park that is like several Central Parks stitched together. The autumn colors are overwhelming and people are out in force enjoying them, biker, strollers, and prams twining together in that perfect Sunday afternoon feel.

As we exit the park, we cut over to the Victory Column.  At the other end of the road is the Brandenburg Gate, but from here it’s obscured by scaffolding. The road between the two is mostly closed off, with the central area being used for parking. The column itself is a good three or four stories tall, with Winged Victory perched atop, glinting gold in the sun.

Rather than walk the length of the road, we head over to the Reichstaad, Berlin’s seat of government. The huge clear dome offers one of the best views of the city. When we arrive, there’s a line stretching several hundred meters out the door.

“I don’t really want to stand in line, especially if it costs money for a ticket,” I say. Being sick, waiting in the cold isn’t high on my list. In addition, the clouds have started to roll in, the warmth of the sun dissipating in the oncoming showers.

“It probably costs money,” says Matt. He turns from the Reichstaad and looks at me expectantly. I don’t respond. After a few moments of silence, he heads toward the line saying, “Well, I want to go up.”

“I’ll catch up with you back at the hostel, then.”

“You’re not just going to go back, are you?”

“Of course not,” I say with an annoyed smirk. I only have a couple days in Berlin. Sick or not, I don’t plan on wasting them. “I’ll probably wander over and check out the Jewish Museum or something. Then maybe I’ll go back and grab a nap. Later.” I turn and leave.

For the first time since my early morning romp in Jaisalmer, India, I feel good about splitting up and heading my own way. Between our time in Greece and the intense but sporadic bickering, time apart will likely do us good.

I head toward the Brandeburg Gate. There’s a stage set up in front of it, a mediocre poppy jazz band playing to a small crowd. Stands of fried dough and snack foods surround the pathways nearby. The gate itself is blocked from view, commercialized with a Coca-Cola banner. I can’t decide if I should annoyed that such a wonderful piece of history is marred by the strange celebration or amazed at the way they perfectly built around it. In front are a ton of people wandering in for the show. Men in old uniforms are taking pictures with people and stamping passports just like at Potsdamer Platz.

Suddenly it dawns on me. Florian told us that October third was German Unification Day. The celebration must spill over all weekend. I head back through the festivities. A punk kid passes me, a swastika on his jacket circled in red and cross out, the anti-Nazi sentiments clear. He starts yelling at me in German for staring.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was just really impressed with your patch. I think it’s cool.” Suddenly he’s smiling and friendly, apologizing for going off.

The cold is really hitting me now. I wander and wander, passing parks and museum, finding myself completely lost. And suddenly I’m done. I’m in a stupor the entire way back to the hostel, yet when I arrive, I can’t quite fall asleep. I toss and turn, waiting for sleep to take me. Eventually I drift off. Flashing in front of me are images of celebration and terror; scenes of families reunited and hope dashed. As I fight the virus ravaging my system, the one though I’m left with is that for fifty years, Germany was divided by a strange disease. Today it’s united. Today it’s healthy once more.

It is pure happenstance that I’m sleeping across the way from an old man. Across the aisle, he slips his suitcase beneath the bed and pulls out a bottle of Pilsner.

“Smart man,” I say, smiling and nodding at him. I’m still a little bit buzzed from Oktoberfest.

“Just a few sips before bed,” he says. His German accent is heavy, but his speech is clear. “It helps me sleep.”

His name is Christophe Rhine and he’s an amateur violinist. He’s returning to Berlin from a friend’s 70^th birthday party where he played in her honor.

Christophe is 80 years old. He doesn’t look a day past 70. Perhaps it’s good genes. Perhaps it’s a healthy life. Or perhaps, as he contends, it’s the violin.

“Playing with vigor can do a lot,” he says. He doesn’t have to tell me. The evidence seems pretty clear.

Christophe is a beautiful man. His eyes sparkle as he speaks to me. There’s a lightness to his step that I didn’t expect and though he asks if I am tired, I am rapt by his story. I have more questions than I will be allowed to ask. It is already past eleven PM and our train was scheduled to leave on the hour.

Though he is German, he grew up not only in Germany, but in Jerusalem, where his father was an official. There, he took violin lessons from a fellow Berliner 20 years his senior by the name of Wolfgang Schocken. At age ten, he returned to Berlin.

Like every musician, Christophe has stopped playing and picked up his instrument multiple times. He’s never played professionally from what I gather, though perhaps he could have. He was a soldier and a prisoner of war during last days of World War II, when he was still but a child in body.

I want him to elaborate. I want him to tell me what it was like, why he fought. His father was a diplomat and worked for the Nazis. Is that why he did too?

I don’t ask. I want to hear the rest of his story. I caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes when he mentioned he was a soldier. I think he knows the question is on the tip of my tongue.

He’s a good man. At least, my judge of character seems to say so. I can’t tell if it’s an apology for his participation in things, or a matter of pride when he says that there is documentation that his father helped Jews escape during the Holocaust.  I prefer to think it’s the latter. He beams as he mentions it, but it’s a small aside to the story.

“And never did I forget my violin teacher from Jerusalem,” he says with smile. The war, the holocaust, the trials of being a soldier, they are all less important than music, learning and his relationship with his teacher.

Fresno State University, which wasn’t always as prestigious as it is now, hosted Christophe for a year or two as he studied. His English is impeccable. His time in the states certainly shows. There’s so much I want to know, but, above all else, I need to hear the end to this story.

Christophe travels much. He goes to Israel. He leaves. Never does he track down his teacher, though forever is the man in his mind.

When he is 60, he goes to a performance of the Berlin Philharmonic. The violist is divine, and, according to the playbill, from Tel Aviv. Christophe goes backstage, complements the performance and inquires about his teacher. The violinist, one of the best Christophe had ever heard, puts his hand on his shoulder and says, “Wolfgang was my teacher too.”

“Who was the violinist?” I ask, interrupting with my first question.

“I don’t remember. It might’ve been Itzak Perlman. It might’ve been someone else. He was one of the greats, I know that.”

I offer Christophe a seat. He’s been standing this entire time, the train rocking back and forth, his beer in his hand. He tries to decline, but I’m young and strong and won’t take no for an answer. Seeing my interest, Matt offers me his seat. He needs to make his bed, he says. I’m too fascinated to say no with any amount of veracity.

The violinist gets up from his dressing room stool and pulls a book off his shelf. The spine of the book reads (in German of course) “The Elements of Teaching the Violin: An Introduction to Instrumental Pedagogy.” The author is none other than Christophe’s lost mentor, Wolfgang Alexander Schocken. The violinist tells him that Schocken moved to Tel Aviv and taught him. He’s there no longer, having moved to the United States, married a nice Jewish girl in Cambridge and found a good life there. Christoph is overwhelmed by this news. I can see the excitement of the news in his eyes even now.

I want to ask him if he contacted his mentor right away, but I choose not to interrupt. It seems he didn’t. I don’t know why. He doesn’t say. Instead, he jumps ahead.

In the mid nineties, Christophe is contacted by an academic by the name of Barbara Von der Lühe. She is studying at Humboldt in Berlin and working on a paper called “Die Musik war unsere Rettung!: Die deutschsprachigen Gründungsmitglieder des Palestine Orchestra” (”The Music was our Salvation!: The German founding members of the Palestine Orchestra”). He tells her his story, the story of Schocken, his teacher and mentor whom he’s never forgotten. Weeks go by. Unbeknownst to him, this reporter has been talking to Schocken. Out of the blue, a letter arrives.

“Dear Christophe,” it reads. “It is a pleasure to know you remember me so fondly. I, too, have not forgotten the little violinist I taught in Jerusalem.” With those words, the relationship is rekindled.

Over the years, Christophe visited his professor in Boston several times. They became fast friends. Schocken died in the mid 90s (96 or 97 Christophe says), but to this day, he has an impact on Christophe. Though he doesn’t say it, I know Christophe is thinking that Schocken had an impact on everyone Christophe has played for. It’s a beautiful thought that floats in his eyes.

It’s late. The train is moving faster. Christophe’s beer is half gone, though he only intended to drink a few sips. It’s bed time for him.

This story of his, that I never in a million years would’ve heard were it not for circumstance and luck, weighs heavy on me. Tomorrow, I will wake up and ask if I can buy him dinner. And perhaps, if I’m lucky, I can record his story. It’s one worth telling and one I’d give nearly anything to hear in full.