Many people have been using their downtime from the pandemic to tackle long-delayed projects like sort through closets. After years of accumulating, the clothes have become packed to the point of being barely extractable. You have to fight to pull out that blouse and when you do manage to free it from the morass, it bears the imprint of the buttons from the neighboring jacket. Little by little, the clothing has gotten swallowed up in the quicksand of overabundance, sometimes disappearing for years.
Berlin is so packed with history, it’s more a matter of what to leave out than what to include when you’re visiting. The Prussian empire, with Frederick the Great as its leading man; the Nazis, whose leading man needs no mention; or the Cold War that split Berlin in two? Over four days, we discovered several interesting tidbits about each of these epochs.
What a nice little festival, I thought. Little boats with lit candles inside, sailing peacefully across the lake through the darkness. Children singing against the backdrop of the picturesque Blutenburg Castle. It was St. Martin’s, a popular fall festival.
Summer is over. Germany is like Camelot – at least regarding
the punctuality of the weather, not so much the bursting into song – so on
September 1st it cooled off right on schedule. But here in Munich,
there’s another sure way to recognize that fall has arrived. From one day
to the next, men exchange their Bermuda shorts for Lederhosen, women
doff their jeans for Dirndls –
it’s Oktoberfest time!
I’m strolling through the festival grounds
with my high school friend Susan and her husband Bill, who were looking forward
to seeing the beer tents. That is, until I tell them about something far more
intriguing than a bunch of drunks and a brass band covered by cloth on stilts.