curse.
“So much for not being recognized round here,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s go!” He pulled me to my feet, past the counters and behind the tills, and we boldly left the bakery through the kitchen. “Years of practice,” he whispered to me as we muttered excuses to the kitchen staff.
We emerged in a little alley and randomly turned right, and right again. Mercifully, we ended up on the Ku’damm once more and were just able to see a little conflagration of photographers outside the bakery.
“Damn,” Dan muttered. “And off we go.”
He turned around and we walked briskly the other way, then stepped swiftly onto some escalators descending to a U-Bahn station.
“Where to now?” I questioned him when we were traveling safely—and at least temporarily incognito—on one of the cute little underground trains.
Dan flicked through his book. “We should really take in the Wall and the Reichstag …” he offered, but added reluctantly, “but I don’t fancy that today. How’s about…” He held up his children’s guide book at a page saying, Alexanderplatz and TV Tower.
I nodded agreeably. It was his trip after all, and this looked quite exciting.
Once at Alexanderplatz , we discovered that we had about an hour’s wait ahead before we could go on the forty-nine second elevator ride up the TV Tower. So we took a stroll, admiring the glorious old station building that was Bahnhof Alexanderplatz , trying to work out how the amazing world time clock functioned, and finally buying a helping of sausage and chips from one of the nearby stalls.
We sat down on a bench on the north side of Alexanderplatz to eat our Currywurst mit Pommes .
“This is great,” Dan said once more with a huge grin.
Afterwards, we went up the TV tower, and once there, Dan got it into his head that he wanted to sit in the revolving restaurant. Somehow, he secured a table, and we installed ourselves in the bar for pre-dinner cocktails. The drinks were fizzy and deadly sweet, and mine went straight to my head. Dan was unperturbed, his eyes fixed on the vista of Berlin stretching below us and all around.
“Isn’t this amazing?” he kept enthusing.
We lingered in the bar for a couple of hours, enjoying each other’s company and ordering drinks and snacks as the mood took us. When we were well and truly stuffed, Dan suggested taking a tram ride round the former Eastern sector, just for the heck of it, and I happily obliged.
At ten p.m., I begged to go back to the hotel. My eyes felt gritty and my feet were hot and heavy, a sure sign that they had done too much traveling. They wanted a rest. I wanted a rest. And a bed. And preferably a bath before that.
Dan didn’t seem to mind. He told me that he was thinking of checking out the hotel bar, or of grabbing an early night, too. Yeah, right. I left him to it.
Safely ensconced in my suite, I drew a lovely hot bath and submerged myself in fragrant luxury bubbles.
Lovely.
My poor mistreated feet tingled in the warm water, their muscles finally relaxing. I nearly fell asleep, feeling content as the cat with her cream, and I let my mind wander at random. Images of the past weeks flashed before my inner eye like constellations in a kaleidoscope but suddenly, a picture stuck. The moment of locking eyes with Steve.
I analyzed every second and wallowed in the memory. “Steve…” I whispered through a handful of bubbles. “I hope you’re out there waiting for me.” I blew hard and the bubbles dispersed, describing pretty arches in the air before settling on the walls and water like freshly fallen snow.
Thinking of snow… “I hope I don’t have to wait until the Christmas concert to see you again.” The thought filled me with panic, and I squashed it hard. It wouldn’t be that long, surely.
But how and when would we next meet?
Probably at a choir rehearsal after the summer break. That would mean waiting another ten weeks. I would be there really early. I would probably
“So much for not being recognized round here,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s go!” He pulled me to my feet, past the counters and behind the tills, and we boldly left the bakery through the kitchen. “Years of practice,” he whispered to me as we muttered excuses to the kitchen staff.
We emerged in a little alley and randomly turned right, and right again. Mercifully, we ended up on the Ku’damm once more and were just able to see a little conflagration of photographers outside the bakery.
“Damn,” Dan muttered. “And off we go.”
He turned around and we walked briskly the other way, then stepped swiftly onto some escalators descending to a U-Bahn station.
“Where to now?” I questioned him when we were traveling safely—and at least temporarily incognito—on one of the cute little underground trains.
Dan flicked through his book. “We should really take in the Wall and the Reichstag …” he offered, but added reluctantly, “but I don’t fancy that today. How’s about…” He held up his children’s guide book at a page saying, Alexanderplatz and TV Tower.
I nodded agreeably. It was his trip after all, and this looked quite exciting.
Once at Alexanderplatz , we discovered that we had about an hour’s wait ahead before we could go on the forty-nine second elevator ride up the TV Tower. So we took a stroll, admiring the glorious old station building that was Bahnhof Alexanderplatz , trying to work out how the amazing world time clock functioned, and finally buying a helping of sausage and chips from one of the nearby stalls.
We sat down on a bench on the north side of Alexanderplatz to eat our Currywurst mit Pommes .
“This is great,” Dan said once more with a huge grin.
Afterwards, we went up the TV tower, and once there, Dan got it into his head that he wanted to sit in the revolving restaurant. Somehow, he secured a table, and we installed ourselves in the bar for pre-dinner cocktails. The drinks were fizzy and deadly sweet, and mine went straight to my head. Dan was unperturbed, his eyes fixed on the vista of Berlin stretching below us and all around.
“Isn’t this amazing?” he kept enthusing.
We lingered in the bar for a couple of hours, enjoying each other’s company and ordering drinks and snacks as the mood took us. When we were well and truly stuffed, Dan suggested taking a tram ride round the former Eastern sector, just for the heck of it, and I happily obliged.
At ten p.m., I begged to go back to the hotel. My eyes felt gritty and my feet were hot and heavy, a sure sign that they had done too much traveling. They wanted a rest. I wanted a rest. And a bed. And preferably a bath before that.
Dan didn’t seem to mind. He told me that he was thinking of checking out the hotel bar, or of grabbing an early night, too. Yeah, right. I left him to it.
Safely ensconced in my suite, I drew a lovely hot bath and submerged myself in fragrant luxury bubbles.
Lovely.
My poor mistreated feet tingled in the warm water, their muscles finally relaxing. I nearly fell asleep, feeling content as the cat with her cream, and I let my mind wander at random. Images of the past weeks flashed before my inner eye like constellations in a kaleidoscope but suddenly, a picture stuck. The moment of locking eyes with Steve.
I analyzed every second and wallowed in the memory. “Steve…” I whispered through a handful of bubbles. “I hope you’re out there waiting for me.” I blew hard and the bubbles dispersed, describing pretty arches in the air before settling on the walls and water like freshly fallen snow.
Thinking of snow… “I hope I don’t have to wait until the Christmas concert to see you again.” The thought filled me with panic, and I squashed it hard. It wouldn’t be that long, surely.
But how and when would we next meet?
Probably at a choir rehearsal after the summer break. That would mean waiting another ten weeks. I would be there really early. I would probably
Similar Books
