The weather played games again today. It alternated between mild and sunny to blustery and rainy and cold. We remembered an umbrella this time.

The plan was to do Sansoucci in Potsdam, Berlinomat (A Berlin clothing designer showcase), and something else (Can’t remember right now) before 3pm, because Roy needed to pick up the keys for the place he is spending the rest of his trip in. After he picked up his keys we were going to try to get tickets to the Berlin Philharmonic’s performance of Mahler’s 8th.

Potsdam takes about an hour to get to from our Hotel in Mitte. Once we did arrive, it was absolutely huge. Walking from palace to palace (there are something like 5 of them on the grounds) took an enormous amount of time.

After wandering for an hour or so we found a place for lunch where I had an amazing goulash that was packed with buttery chanterelle mushrooms and garnished with gorgeous little hashbrown medallions and an almond cake thing. And a beer. I should mention that I have been pleasantly buzzed the entire time I have been here. You don’t walk out the door without having a 1/2 litre of beer. Which is fine with me.

We continued wandering the grounds of Sansoucci as I pondered what was to stop one from living in Germany full time. There doesn’t seem to be packs of bratty kids running around breaking things and cramming chewing gum into machinery. The adults are polite to eachother on the subway. There are shocking numbers of artistic and historical venues to keep you entertained. Roy said that for him, it was The Rules. It feels like veryone follows The Rules to the letter. And if someone doesn’t The Rules, then everyone around them will make sure they know they are not following them and try to get them back in line. It makes people a bit nosy and self righteous.

I got a taste of The Rules on one our tour of the Orangerie, which in addition to vast halls to keep the orange trees warm during the winter, has guided tours of about 6 guest rooms. The tour guide spoke German to the other three folks and mostly left me to my own devices while I read my little Book For Retarded English Children and shuffled around in my felt slippers (to keep the floor clean, undamaged, or possibly both)… We were in a room with some fantastic wooden furniture that had been heavily inlaid with metals and stones. I bent down to inspect the side of a table (which was not behind a rope, and I was obviously not touching it) and the tour guide immediately snapped into English mode: “Please move away from that, your bag is too large”. Yes I was wearing a messenger bag. And it was in no danger of touching anything. WTF ever.

After the Orangerie, we realized we needed to head back for for Roy to get his keys. He had to pop off the subway to transfer elsewhere while I stayed on and headed back to the hotel. I needed to book my room for London, as my friend Sean isn’t making it back in time to meet me. Internet access is has been grossly expensive. 24 hours costs around 30 euros. Or you can choose to get 1/2 hour for 4.50 euros. I bought a two hour ticket and found my hotel and relaxed a bit.

Roy gave me a call to let me know he had obtained (standing room) tickets, so we arranged a time and place to meet. I left relatively late, because I planned to grab a sausage at the subway station. That sounds gross but it isn’t. Many of the major S- and U-bahn line junction stations have entire malls inside of them, each with a handful of food places. I had an amazing something-wurst (veal) with mustard (and a beer) and wanted one of those. Annoyingly I had my stations mixed up, so the Potsdamer Platz station - near the Philharmonie - was just a station. I headed above ground to find food.

The other main feature of this area is the Sony Center - a freakyhuge complex of buildings, that is very very American mall like at the bottom. I knew I could get something there, but wanted to stay as German as possible until the angels started singing to me. As my stomach was grumbling I found the most beautiful sight of my life: A Dunkin Donuts.

I love Dunkin Donuts. Those of you zombies who have aligned yourselves with the Krispy Kreme can go pound fluffy, airwhipped, tasteless, sugarglazed dough up your hoohoos because Dunkin is where it’s at. I last had a DD about 4 years ago when I had to travel to New Hampshire for business. Before that, the Last Luscious Taste I had was in ‘96 before I left the east cost for good.

Finally, halfway across the world, I got a taste of Dunkin Donuts Butternuty goodness.

After putting myself into a diabetic coma i continued on to the Philharmonie and met Roy. He stuck around all day to try to score actual seats, but no dice. Standing room only. We made sure to get up as quickly as possible so we would have a place to lean. I’ll start with the irritating, then go to the good, then on to the hilarious and evil.

The irritating: There were probably 100 vacant seats throughout the auditorium. And because of The Rules, and needing a ticket to access the particular staircases, they could not be had. Standing room and the nosebleed seats were packed of course. Worse, Mahler’s 8th is a 90 minute piece in two movements. My leg survived fairly well, but it’s not an experience I want try regularly
The good: Super venus, super orchestra, super choirs. Roy described the piece as hard rock decadence of classical music. In addition to full orchestra, there was a choir of about 80 people, an additional boys choir of around 20, an additional brass section that sat way up high in the auditorium, and 8 or 9 soloists. The shorter 1st movement was just there. I didn’t connect with the music, and it was going full tilt boogie with every single musician. Spectacular and hard to listen to. The second movement had some really beautiful moments in it and made it all quite worthwhile.

The hilarious and evil: This ties back in to The Rules again. I was standing at a counter thing immediately behind the last row of nosebleed seats. About 5 minutes into the 1st movement I flipped open the program to check out the soloists bios. A Great Self Important Lumpen Turd (see fig 1 and 2 below, referred to as The GSILT hereafter) in front of me whipped around and glared at me each time I flipped the page. Apparently he has very sensitive hearing.

(Fig. 1 Back view of The GSILT; Fig. 2 Side view of The GSILT)

A few minutes later the woman standing to my left adjusted her arms on the counter and made a slight wisping sound. The GSILT whipped around again a few times and glared. When she did it again, he reached behind him under the counter and grabbed (perhaps her arm, I didn’t see) and shook her, then mouthed something furious and made silent shushing movements with fingers and mouth. She, her partner, and I shared a smile over this silliness.

A few minutes later I flipped my bag over to get access to my cough drops. I did so very quietly but the zipper pull made a teensy jingle. The GSILT whipped around again with a murderous look in his eyes to let me know he was reaching The Limit. He turned back around in his seat and shook his head angrily for about a few moments.

In the second movement, a man sitting a few seats down got into the music. He was following along with a tiny score, and was air-directing from his seat. Every so often he would turn the page, which pissed off The GSILT each time. Finally, The GSILT’s boyfriend reached over and pinched him which seemed to calm him down.

I had a very hard time paying attention to the music, because this guy was making such a fuss in such a hilarious way. I kept imagining The GSILT trying to go to a movie at the Metreon, or ride a bus in San Francisco or something else requiring much greater tolerance. He. Would. Have. Exploded.

We came back to the hotel and I had a steak which put me in good spirits. The bartender was stupid cute. We were molested by some sweet rummy old aussie who wanted to talk politics. In another mood and by myself I might have engaged him, but I wasn’t in the mood to humor him. I kept glaring at the stupidcute waiters who had been babysitting him (and getting him drunk) all night. One of them actually laughed at me with an obvious “He’s your problem now” look. I still couldn’t help tipping 3 euros, which is outrageous in germany.

I got everything packed up (including a suitcase mostly full of dirty clothes) and we went to bed.