Hello To Berlin
The first grubby postcard from our correspondent in the Zeitgeist Metropolis

Dear Varsity,
People used to arrive in Berlin at Anhalter Bahnhof and be met on the platform by classically glamorous stars like, oh, Marlene Dietrich. Unfortunately Anhalter Bahnhof is now a heap of ruins and Marlene's not much better off. I didn't come to Berlin by train; I came by accident.
It all began in Paris. Cheap travel, fifteen pound bus ticket; my only fifteen pounds. Lived off other people's kebabs mostly. Well, Xavier Buxton and I (labelled 'box office poison' in Cambridge for our Troilus and Cressida') acted in a friend's production of Beckett's Play, raising the all-essential four Euros that can take the strain off any household economy. And we lived in a delightful skip with a tree, three beds, and a fine view of Notre-Dame.
But the smug feeling of sleeping rough wears off around 3 in the morning, when it is bitterly cold. Joe Passmore and I decided to go and suprise-visit this girl we know from Hamburg. So we packed up our trusty cigarette-lighter and a knife, and hitchhiked out. From Paris to Metz with a businessman yelling "Margaret Thatcher kaputt!" From Metz, sixty kilometres' walk with a packet of hobnobs over the border into the Saarland. Friendly hash-dealers put us to bed in their primary school. We took trains, Saarbrüchen-Trier-Koblenz, hallucinated, Cologne Münster, hated each other, Osnabrück-Bremen, HAMBURG. Then we called the girl.
"You're in Hamburg," she said. "How nice for you. I live in Frankfurt-am-Main."
There wasn't much left to say. We got the first car out: a 200mph Turk in flip-flops, who fed us carrots all the way to Berlin. Once here we lived in a little hut we build in the forest. And when it rained, and we lost our lighter and the knife, I had had enough, and went home.
So when I actually came here to start my year abroad, I flew comfortably, glamorously, Easyjet.
Last night, however, I went to 'Mandereley' (as the pile of sticks we lived under was known) again, and dug up the beloved, lost lighter and knife. They both still work.
Ending with a suitable metaphor for something or other,
Ali
Read the second installment here
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