Where to begin? Where to begin?

Ok, so it was Saturday in Berlin. And coming off a long transAtlantic flight we didn’t even get out of our hotel room until late, late, late in the morning.

Honestly, I was afraid we had missed everything. But au contraire.

We had no idea.

No sooner had we left the hotel than we discovered anthropological evidence that, indeed, the Gator Nation was everywhere.

Speaking of which, I finally had hard evidence that I am not a dedicated follower of fashion. Plus, I discovered the world’s biggest swizzle stick.

Being a trained observer of the human condition I could not help but observe that Berlin is positively awash in graffiti. Which, of course, is kith and kin to the human condition.

There were good guys and there were bad guys in the Cold War. You decide.

So there was this giant burlap bag, see. And it was all wrapped up with ladders and tables and chairs and stuff and held together with rope. And, somehow, this all had to do with hope. Which is Jake to me because I’m all about hope.

All we are saying is give peace a chance. And people too.

Hey, remember Pigpen from Peanuts? Well, I found his bike.

The circus is coming to town. Or is it already here?

In which we come upon a display in sympathy with the people of Ukraine.

And it is deadly serious stuff.

No sooner did we leave the tribute to Ukraine than we encountered a massive demonstration on behalf of the women of Iran.

Get the message? Even the pretzel guy had to stop and take it all in.

Name two things that are still relevant in Berlin: Clint Eastwood and telephone booths.

Just when you thought that The Donald was civilization’s biggest problem.

Ok, so immediately upon leaving the hotel and setting off in search of some place in which to graze, the town went crazy. Horns were honking. People were screaming. Flags were flying. And I thought: Wait a minute, Georgia hasn’t even won yet!

It turned out that Morocco beat Portugal in futball (eat your heart out Ohio State) and for some reason Berliners identify more with Moroccans than Portuguese. I won’t try to explain it because I still think futball is spelled football.

But there you have it.

Oh, did I mention that the Back Street Boys are making a comeback in Berlin? Go figure.

I usually only say this about GNV. But I love this town.

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