Daybreak shone on the capital, and Berliners woke for productive days. Sunshine filled our hotel room (apartment), and a gentle breeze rustled the curtains. Despite being mid-November, Berlin's daytime temperature reached a warmth of 53-degrees Fahrenheit, and nighttime air cooled to 43. Whenever Lewis and I travel beyond New York, we cherish opportunities to sleep with our bedroom window open. Despite our hotel's adjacency to a thoroughfare, the traffic was calm and quiet (unlike American drivers). Listen to my video of it...
No aggravated car horns, thumping stereos, never-ending sirens, or drag-racing screeches. One morning, a sanitation truck appeared in the plaza to assemble piles of autumn leaves. Aside from a temporary mild beeping, it was unheard. *Please use this link to hear the never-ending noise in NYC...
Equally remarkable was the fact that the Metro drove on elevated tracks into the hotel's building, yet we never heard it or felt a vibration.
That is impossible anywhere in NYC's five boroughs. Even if those subways are underground, their unclean screeching wheels and brakes echo up through the air vents in the pavement. Below is my photo of the modern Metro station that adjoined the hotel's building.
Now, listen to the MTA subways in NYC that boisterously rumble and rattle—24 hours per day—on outdated infrastructure and cause noise pollution for thousands of overtaxed residents, school students, and restaurant customers...
Even when the trains are idle in the elevated stations, their crappy engines emit noise...
It's like a third-world city.
The Metro station was for the U-Bahn, which forms useful loops in the city-center and branches outward.
Relishing the short walk from the hotel lobby into the Metro station, we were impressed with its motion-censored escalators. To be eco-friendly and save electricity, all stations are equipped with them. That is smart. Whenever you ride the Metro, you must validate your ticket in yellow machines. Beware that they are located in various places—not always on the train platform.
There are no turnstiles or gates. Lewis' customers from Berlin told him that the Metro relies on the "honor code" of honesty. That seemed to be true. During our entire trip of day-and-night usage, nobody checked to ensure that passengers paid to travel on the Metro. We validated our tickets anyway.
The station is named for the German-born Jewish pianist and composer: Felix Mendelssohn, who was nicknamed the "Mozart of the nineteenth century". Everyone knows his Wedding March and Scottish Symphony. In 1840, Friedrich Wilhelm IV ascended the Prussian throne and chose him to develop Berlin into a cultural mecca. After that, Mendelssohn resided in London.
When the Soviets erected the Berlin Wall in 1961, it bisected the area where the station is. The station was rebuilt in 1998. We appreciated its skylit brightness and cleanliness.
Does your local Metro/subway platform look as clean as this?
The tracks were clean and void of rubbish.
Perplexingly, that is something that NYC's overpaid/oversized Metropolitan Transit Authority claims is impossible in NYC. Seen below, the first image is of the "prestigious" Fifth Avenue station. The others are from various stations.
It's like a third-world country... but with first-world prices. I began my blog in 2012 and described NYC's subway as decrepit. 10 years later, it remains unchanged! That filth never occurred in Berlin. We never saw Berlin's transit workers, but somebody kept the transit system tidy.
We merely waited three minutes, and a train sped into the station to greet us.
It was also a relief to our ears to use modern equipment that moved quietly. NYC's corrupt transit system allows its trains to deteriorate so their brakes squeak as if fingernails scratched on chalkboards. Hear it in these videos...
Zooming along without delays was miraculous to us because we never experience such speed or technological efficiency in our own (more expensive) country. There was never an instance when a train was delayed due to "train traffic ahead" or "another train passing in front from another route to share the tunnel". Those things reoccur every day in NYC.
To support its bicycle culture, Berlin's Metro permits bikes in special sections. (Unsurprisingly, NYC doesn't).
Disastrously, it has badly-designed signage. Seen below, one train had a detailed map that indicated that riders must switch trains at Gleisdreieck to have a train that stopped at Kurfurstendamm. But our train lacked a detailed sign, so we got on and didn't know that it wouldn't stop there.
Next, we encountered a station where the signs were above a staircase (seen below), so we presumed that they directed us to trains via the stairs.
No. In truth, the trains were straight ahead, and the reverse direction was accessed by the stairs. Thus, we got on the wrong train and went in the opposite direction.
In sequence, our next mishap was approaching a platform and seeing a sign for the U3 route that we needed. Seen below, the placement of that sign implies that riders should proceed to the stairs behind it.
Wrong. Stupidly, the sign that proves which train will use that platform is hidden BEHIND the column—and only posted on one side of the column!
Evidently, imbeciles are employed for Berlin's Metro!
Therefore, Lewis and I got on the wrong train AGAIN! We had no way to know that it was the U9 and not the U3. Unlike NYC's subway, Berlin's Metro trains do not have identification signs along their windows. If the train is already in the station and you get on, you won't know which train you're on. Nothing identifies it from the inside, unless it's a train with digital screens. But half the trains lack them. Most trains have their routes visible on their fronts. But if you miss seeing the front of the train, you won't know that you're entering the wrong train. Maybe Berlin expects everyone to figure things out for themselves. For tourists (German and foreign), it is aggravating to be easily misdirected onto the wrong trains.
Making things worse, Metro stations do not have transit workers or police. There is nobody to answer questions. Since Google Maps is useless in Germany, we felt stranded until I found an English-speaking German to help us. (Even NYC's decrepit system has employees in booths at every station. They're often crude and slow to help you, but they are there). Later, our hotel manager explained that Berlin saves money by not paying for transit workers to be at its stations. It hopes that visitors will know to press the yellow buttons on Information Signs, if they want help. We prefer England, Japan, and Italy's systems, where transit workers are in booths and on platforms to assist customers.
We eventually emerged at Hohenzollernplatz Station. Named for the noble House of Hohenzollern that ruled German lands from 1415 until 1918, the station was designed by Wilhelm Leitgebel in 1913. Thanks to his Art Nouveau/Modernist work on the city's stations, they are impressive architectural sites.
It is very pretty station that was restored after wartime damage. Compare it to a typical subway station in Manhattan, which never experienced wartime damage but is mistreated by uncaring tax-paid authorities...
Hohenzollernplatz is located within the residential Wilmersdorf neighborhood.
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The Nelson Mandela International School is there, as well as a prominent mosque.
One of the city's Red-Light Districts is nearby. Prostitution is legal in Germany, including brothels, public solicitations, and advertisements. Historically, the sex industry was never illegal in Germanic lands, and sex workers were honored as upstanding professionals. Only when the King of Spain became the Holy Roman Emperor did persecution exist, because he was devoutly obedient of the Roman Catholic Church. Imperial Germany regulated prostitutes, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire was snootily envious of Berlin's liberal attitude about sexual freedom. Even the Nazis systemized urban brothels. In Berlin, there are 2,500 male prostitutes. Typically, sex workers appear in public squares and outside of adult entertainment stores or wellness spas. Berlin has sex hotels; some are "hetero-friendly" but gay.
Whenever you emerge from a Metro station, be mindful of bicycle paths. Thankfully, Berlin uses separate types of paving stones for pedestrian walkways, bike baths, and curbs. Bike paths are usually red...
...but not always.
As part of its good infrastructure, major intersections have extra "curves" for cyclists to gather on while waiting for their traffic lights to change.
Regarding helpful infrastructure, we noticed that Berlin has public unisex lavatories near Metro stations. To prevent vagrancy, a small payment is required. The facilities look nice.
We don't have public lavatories by subway stations in NYC.
Much of Berlin was obliterated during WWII's aerial bombardment and tank warfare. Mercifully, that district was spared, and its historic structures are preserved. Most of Berlin has a low skyline, which permits the type of sunlight that New Yorkers can only dream of. The streets are filled with handsome buildings and pretty doorways.
Turn the sound on to watch my panoramic video of the area, as nearby church bells announced the time...
It was glorious to hear bells chiming the time! In America, most church bells and historic municipal bell towers are silenced via Noise Ordinance laws because ignorant Americans uncaringly perceive them as a nuisance. Thus, we were elated to hear bells announcing the time in Germany.
New buildings are erected, yet they blend harmoniously with historic ones: similar dimensions and window-spacing.
We arrived at our destination: one of the capital's "breakfast restaurants" named Benedict. It operates an adjoining pastry shop where viennoiseerie, beverages, and pastries are sold. Every morning, everything is baked on-site, and items can be eaten in the restaurant.
Their main requirement for employees is the ability to speak English. Fluency in German is considered a bonus. For employees, they welcome any ethnicity, religion, sexuality, and appearance. Ergo, the place exudes a laidback and hospitable vibe.
A fey young man at the podium flicked back his blonde hair and greeted us by saying "Guten morgen" (Oot-en morgen), which means "Good morning". Over the bar, a neon sign says it, too.
Every time we entered, our noses were welcomed with the scent of oven-fresh baked goods and freshly-ground coffee beans. Benedict is open from 8:00 until 23:00 (most of Europe operates with what Americans call "military time"), seven days a week. It is breathtaking, and the interior is vibrant with incandescent lighting and upbeat music that mixes jazz, Latin beats, and remixed big band songs. As is the European way, every table was adorned with a fresh flower and candle votives.
After getting my fingers gooey from the cake, I went to lavatory to wash them. The vintage-looking facility had tiled floors and aromatic bio-friendly soap that made a luxurious lather. Befitting a top-notch hotel, hand lotion was also dispensed at the sink (to re-moisturize your hands after you wash them). As I said, Berliners have nice things.
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Seen below is the Town Hall, which Google Maps failed to identify or show on its map as a useful landmark.
Paying attention to smaller details on the baseboards and moulding, we admired fanciful hand-painted decorations.
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(You noticed collisions because the industries and authorities were greedy and uncaring so they hastily built dangerous curves and haphazard routes).
Rarely did another city do such a clumsy and uncaring method to construct a subway. Typical of NYC, it only wanted to be quick and cheap, so it erected the trains over the streets—forever shadowing the main roads with an eyesore and forever putting noise pollution at the doorsteps of thousands of home-owners, tenants, schools, and businesses. Not surprisingly, landlords have the audacity to overcharge residents for “the privilege of living near the train”. Barely maintained and below-standard for too many criteria to mention, the elevated subways remain as blights on overtaxed regions. Due to uncaring authorities, they still look like this after a century...
In our earlier years, Lewis and I worked in America's hospitality industry, and—collectively—we know hundreds of employees at hotels, restaurants, catering halls, and convention centers. In the USA, most of them are mistreated, underpaid, deprived of meals/breaks, and overworked. When we saw the employees at Benedict arrive for work and embrace each other tenderly, we were wowed! Those hugs weren't formalities; each one was utterly sincere. (Unlike Americans, European men hug each other without patting their backs because embraces do not challenge their masculinity). When coworkers are happy to greet each other and start a new day of work, it proves that their employer treats them well and fosters a nourishing workplace. Those vibes transmit to the customers.
Resembling an iconic German blonde, our waiter gave us a "table for two" with superb views of the dining room. First and foremost, I explored the pastry shop that connected to the restaurant.
It was full of perfectly-made loaves, banana/nut breads, pastries, tarts, and croissants.
Seen below, that is how every croissant should look. It is rare to find such perfectly-formed layers in the vastness of America's mass-produced-yet-overpriced dough. On two consecutive days, I ate their amazing croissants and savored how the crust broke into perfectly-flaky bits. The "crunch" was a delight, and the buttery consistency was a triumph of the baker's skill.
In the vastness of America's crappy food--made with ignorantly incorrect recipes--most croissants look like this...
Yuck... and the bad American ones cost more than the perfect ones in the capital of Germany.
Lewis eyed a showcase of schnecken.
Famously mentioned by Nathan Lane's gay character in The Birdcage, a schnecken is a German sweet bun.
Usually, it is shaped as a spiral. Lewis bought a few, and my favorite was the pistachio flavor. I was not averse to admiring the handsome baker, either. :-)
Seamlessly, the cost was applied to our bill in the restaurant. We carried them to our table, and enjoyed "people watching". It is a pastime in Europe because many Europeans make their appearances interesting for meals... and a meal is always happening.
Costing $1 less than in NYC, my €3.70 latte (in the capital of Berlin, in a hotel) was a sizable concoction of perfectly-roasted espresso and warmed milk. Instead of disposable paper cups, I liked that it came in a reusable mug; the tactical warmth of earthenware is as pleasant as the aroma/taste. Lewis and I drank wholesome non-GMO milk from German dairy cows, and our stomachs never rumbled as they do when we ingest the over-processed hormone-fed milk from America's corrupt Dairy Industry. Simple things like that were treasured pleasures for us. After growing up in America, we will never take them for granted.
Please enjoy our brief video of the scenery...
Back at our table, another waiter removed our dirty dishes, so we could order breakfast. He had the newest trend in men's haircuts: trimmed sides with a curly top. It resembled this...
On another morning, our waiter (seen below), was from Atlanta, Georgia. He was susceptible to Sex and the City and moved to Manhattan, but he quickly tired of its false promises, high expenses, and low quality of life. He emigrated to Germany and has lived in Berlin for two years. He loves it. We were impressed that he was able to be hired, since Germany abides by the European Union's mandate that employees must be sourced from within the EU before the rest of the world. Evidently, there is hope for Americans.
With bulging biceps, a bartender delivered our cocktails: each cost only €6.30. (NYC hotels charge at least $18 per drink). Lewis' involved gin, orange, and Creme de Casis, and mine included gin, grapefruit, and rosemary. They were great.
Our appetizer cost €5.50 for three Rosti: perfectly-browned potato pancakes with sour cream. They were served on an vintage piece of porcelain.
At Benedict, every meal comes with unlimited bread; those sliced loaves and rolls are baked in their kitchen. Waiters offer to wrap-up uneaten rolls for customers to take home. Getting an oven-fresh bun for breakfast is awesome!
Seen below, Lewis ate their signature recipe, costing €19: Eggs Benedict with avocado, sriracha mayonnaise, and tomato salsa.
I chose the €20 "Farmhouse Breakfast from Tuscany". Indeed, it reminded me of our meals in Tuscany. It was made of seasonal mushrooms, garden-fresh spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, garlic paste, oregano sautéed with spicy Italian sausage, and red wine reduction. It was layered on a plateful of roasted potatoes, poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce.
Seen above, the butter was churned by Gut von Holstein, which famously makes North German butter and cheese.
In 1992, the company was formed by independent medium-sized dairies in Schleswig-Holstein.
They guarantee kind treatment of their cows and certify that their products are lactose-free and made without genetic engineering.
All around us, the restaurant "hummed" with activity and bustled with content customers.
After breakfast, we rode the Metro's U7 route northward. I must admit our fascination with Berlin's pretty subway stations.
Wrought-iron railings are a rarity, so we paused to admire the craftsmanship. As seen below, many stations are equipped with flower shops and respectable cafes. Those are indicative of the society's values. :-)
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Coming from New York's dilapidation, it was a treat to use a functional elevator in the subway!
In overpriced NYC, decades pass, and thousands of lawsuits occur against the city and the transit authority for their lack of handicap accessibility... yet nothing improves. Despite the year being 2022, 90% of the stations lack elevators. Watch this video to see what passengers must endure if they have carts or baby carriages...
We exited at Richard Wagner Platz, which is named for that German composer who is famous for his epic operas. Seen above, its yellow Byzantine tile mosaics were designed in 1906 by Alfred Grenander.
We were in the Borough of Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, which was formed in 2001. It was named for Sophia Charlotte of Hanover, who became the Electress of Brandenburg in 1688 and the Queen Consort of Prussia in 1701. This is its coat of arms.
Seen below is the Town Hall, which Google Maps failed to identify or show on its map as a useful landmark.
Unlike London, Nagoya, Beijing, or Rome, Berlin's tourist attractions lack street signs to direct visitors in the correct directions to find them. I suppose that Berlin expects everyone to figure it out for themselves. But, since many castles and museums require a pre-scheduled time-slot to enter them, it is stressful for visitors when they can't arrive punctually. Berlin's administrators are morons.
Thanks to my scrutiny of maps before our trip, I knew to walk northwest. Soon, we saw the regal dome of Charlottenburg Palace towering over the landscape. That was our destination, and we only had a few minutes to hurry for our timed entry. Doing online research before our trip, Lewis chose the palace as our first historic site to explore in Berlin. It is the only Baroque-era structure to survive World War Two.
Outside of the palace, a Christmas Market was being constructed. Many markets were already set-up in Berlin and they had their lights on at night, but those misgivings lured hapless tourists who eventually realized that they were not operational. (Fortuitously, the one marketplace that was open was near our hotel, and I'll show it to you soon).
That one featured a gigantic "Christmas Pyramid". Usually sized to fit on a table, they are wooden gizmos with candles on three levels, like a pyramid. Heat from the candles turns the propeller at the top, and that spins the figurines within it. Such craftiness is nifty.
When illuminated at night, it will look like this...
Incidentally, Christmas trees originated in Germany. To learn about them, please use this link...
*To see a pictorial version of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, please use this link...
The palace is supervised by the Prussian Palaces & Gardens Foundation of Berlin-Brandenburg.
Tickets for the palace and its East Wing cost €17 each. As Lewis and I approached the baroque structure, we observed two eye-catching statues in athletic poses above the gateposts.
They are Borghese swordsmen, based on originals made in ancient Greece in 100 BC and found in 1611 at the ruins of the seaside pleasure palace built by (gay) Emperor Nero.
After duly admiring their lifelike qualities, Lewis posed for a photo in one of the guardhouses.
In both photos below, you'll notice that the palace is adorned with gilt, from cupola to fenceposts: gold crowns on the cupola's windows, a gold clock, and gold medallions on the gates.
Seen above, the original building was designed by Queen Charlotte. Seen below, she had an uncanny resemblance to her maternal aunt: the lesbian Queen Anne of Great Britain. (In 1714, her mother and her aunt died within weeks of each other. Clearly, those sisters were closely-connected despite miles and nations between them).
Charlotte was born in Iburg Castle, and her father was the local prince-bishop. A few years later, he succeeded his brother as the local duke. In 1692, the Holy Roman Emperor (and King of Hungary & Bohemia) rewarded him with the job of Prince-Elector of Hanover. He moved his family to Herrenhausen Palace, which mimicked Versailles. Despite WWII bombings, it is preserved, as seen below...
Charlotte lived with Princess Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate—who became the sister-in-law of France's King Louis IV (the megalomaniac who built Versailles) by marrying his gay brother. (Lewis and I are watching the Netflix series, Versailles, and recently saw that part).
Charlotte's oldest brother became King George I of Great Britain in 1714 and started its Hanoverian dynasty. Her mother brought her to the Kingdom of France as a possible bride for Louis XIV, after his Spanish wife died. Then, her mother offered her to the crown-prince. Those plans failed. Inevitably, Charlotte became acquainted with rulership and luxury. In 1684, at the age of 16, she was compelled into an "arranged marriage" with Friedrich (Frederick) I of the Duchy of Prussia, who belonged to the House of Hohenzollern.
In 1701, Prussia became its own kingdom, which included Brandenburg, and she became its first queen.
Her husband was devoted to her and bypassed his courtly mistresses. Coming from a cultural hotspot that was surpassed only by the French royal court, she brought artistic enterprises to Berlin. She stopped the Hanoverish snobbery of her own entourage against the militaristic Prussians, and she loosened Prussia's penny-pinching economics that only prioritized its soldierly regime. Like a beacon of entertainment, she brought music, frivolity, and artistry to the Prussian population.
As the new king, her husband gladly outmaneuvered his father's opinion that he was wimpy and only intellectual. (Later, the same things occurred to King Frederick the Great from his father). Leading an "absolute monarchy", the royal pair educated the rustic Prussians. It was a success. (The same thing happened when King George I brought Hanoverian pleasures to England).
First, Charlotte hired an architect named Johann Nering to build an outstanding royal residence on the Spree River, west of the Berlin palace. Its formal gardens and forests mimicked Versailles. Playfully, she named it Lustenburg because lust means "pleasure" in German, and burg means "town". In that masculine-favored era, it was unusual for a queen consort to be able to build her own palace. (After her death at the age of 36, it was renamed Charlottenburg Palace to honor her). It was finished in 1699.
Living independently from her husband (similar to Frederick the Great and his wife), she maintained her own royal court at her palace. The king rarely visited. They only spent time in Berlin for elaborate ceremonies. She preferred to travel between Lustenburg and Berlin via a pleasure yacht.
*Interestingly, there is a prominent community in New Jersey, USA, named King of Prussia. It got its name from an inn built there in 1719 that tried to appeal to Prussian workers and soldiers. Typical in America's culture of overdevelopment, the inn was relocated for the expansion of a highway, and it was left stranded (and abandoned) in the middle of the traffic median for 30 years.
Using the palace's main entrance, we realized that the employees didn't speak English. That was unexpected and inconvenient, but our e-tickets were self-explanatory. Our tickets entitled us to use a portable audio guide—spoken in English. Following other visitors, Lewis and I began our self-guided tour in the oldest rooms, which are the smallest.
That is one of Charlotte's harpsichords. As a fan of China's culture, she had it painted with dancing Chinese women.
The Red Braid Room featured exquisite gold braiding on crimson damask-patterned silk.
Please enjoy Lewis' video of the chamber...
Three years after "completing" the palace, the queen decided to expand it, so it equalled Prussia's enlarged mightiness.
Her husband was busy making alliances and mercantile partnerships, and those successes enriched the treasury. I photographed this portrait in the palace; it embodies that tactic.
Her architects studied palaces in Italy and France and added two L-shaped wings to her residence. Seen below, the ceiling frescoes were likely inspired by palazzos in Florence.
Seen above the handles for window shutters were shaped like miniature hands. Seen below, the legs of chairs were full of Baroque flourishes.
Seen below, Charlotte was an enthusiast for floral gardens, so she ordered artisans to create three-dimensional flowers on the ceiling. They are beautiful!
Unlike other European monarchs and popes who presumed that the universe revolved around them, King Frederick I was openminded and curious about other cultures. He was fond of Chinese art and culture, and his collection of porcelain from China (expensive and rare due to its distance via ocean-going sail-powered ships) grew until it needed its own room, named the Porcelain Cabinet! Shelves and niches contain 2,700 pieces! (In that era, a cabinet was a specialized room to display things).
Please enjoy Lewis' video of its remarkable splendor...
As you saw, the craftsmen did their best to replicate Chinese facial features, but when they tried to add Chinese dragons, theirs merely resembled European ones.
Please enjoy Lewis' panoramic video of the impressive room...
From there, we entered the triple-height palastkapelle (palace chapel), which was the last addition commissioned by Queen Charlotte. She died before its completion.
Next, we found ourselves in an entrance hall with a staircase that wrapped around its walls. Lewis remarked that the bannister was low, yet it was beautifully patterned with wrought iron and gilded crowns.
Seen above, Lewis posed beside an urn from the Napoleonic "First Empire" era (in the UK, it's named the Regency Period).
Below, he studied the metalwork on one of the Kaiser's helmets. Spiked helmets were iconic in Prussia, Germany, the Kingdom of Bavaria, the Kingdom of Romania, the Austrian Empire, and Imperial Russia. They were adopted in Argentina, Colombia, Chile, Mexico, Portugal, Norway, and Venezuela.
They are still used by the army in Chile...
...Columbia...
...and the Kingdom of Sweden.
Seen below, the Germans called their emperor a kaiser (and Russians called theirs a czar), based on the famous ancient Roman emperor named Caesar.
The round gallery displayed a variety of paintings to demonstrate the breadth of imperial German influence, and its ancestors were painted in medieval garb to add legitimacy.
Seen below, the final Kaiser posed with a helmet that featured a bird on his head. We might look askance at that absurdity for a military uniform (making the helmets heavy and harder to make, while creating an easy target), but the mascot of Germany was important to the staunchly unwavering Army Command.
Interestingly, the royal anthem of Prussia was based on the melody of England's God Save the King, which was composed in 1744 as the national anthem of Great Britain. Prussia's version was titled Heil dir im Siegerkranz. When the German Empire was formed in 1871, it used that song as its national anthem until 1918. Ironically, while Britain and Germany battled in World War One, they both sang their opposing anthems to the same melody!
After the monarchy was abolished, the Crown Jewels, regalia, and the actual crowns disappeared via plundering. Only one pair of the empress' earrings were on display. Just as China's warlord, Chiang Kai Shek, raided imperial tombs to fund his escapades, German revolutionaries used imperial treasures to create a new nation. The only things that remain are antique Swords of State and the royal scepter.
From an oval room, we admired views of the geometric gardens, which were created in 1697 by Simeon Godeau. That is the best view of them; when you stand in them, you cannot appreciate their geometric patterns.
When the king died in 1713, his son became King Friedrich Wilhelm (Frederick William) I. He maintained the property but didn't add much. He died in 1740, and his son was the hugely-successful gay king named Frederick the Great. He erected the East Wing. A gigantic portrait features him astride his stallion during one of his many successful battles.
Lewis and I followed the path of our self-guided tour and went to the East Wing that he created.
The exterior blends with the simpler motif of Charlotte's, but the interiors are richly imbued with wood-carving, painting, gilding, mirrors, and sculptures. It was our favorite: elegant yet not overdone. It exuded classiness and vibrancy without the brashness of Versailles or St. Petersburg.
Above is a portrait of Frederick the Great. Below is his younger sister, Anna Amalia. Both siblings were musically-inclined, but they kept it as a "shared secret" because their monstrous father hated it as "decadent". Their father dragged Anna across the floor by her hair, if she upset him; he wanted his women to be submissive and have children.
Seen below, the painting depicts a suggestively "hand on breasts" gesture, while a grinning man seems to lift his shirt at another woman who looks at him dreamily.
In a silver-and-white chamber, I ogled a grandiose grandfather clock. It had the most-intricate silversmith craftsmanship that I ever saw on a timepiece!
Lewis timed that photo to include the reflection of the man who walked by. Here are close-up images of the clock.
Seen below, the White Room was used as a Throne Room and a banquet hall. That type of space-saving double usage reminded us of Frederiksborg Castle in Denmark.
*Please use this link to see that astounding Danish castle...
Seen below, our favorite was a rococo-style ballroom named the Golden Gallery. This exudes Frederick the Great's (gay) style! Graceful, elegant, fanciful, and not overdone. Its length of 138-feet accommodates many dancers.
Please enjoy my video of our transition through the urbane rooms...
One of the exquisite chandeliers was lowered, so we could admire its angular crystal components that reflect light.
It reminded me of my grandparents' sterling silver utensils: a pattern named Grand Baroque!
Please enjoy Lewis' panoramic video of the room's splendor...
The man who styled those rooms seems like someone whom Lewis and I would easily commiserate with. Two generations later, King Friedrich Wilhelm III and Queen Luise relished their time in the East Wing.
In 1804, France's Emperor Napoleon conquered Prussia and set up his headquarters in the palace. After that megalomanic was expelled, two more generations of Prussian monarchs lived there. Then, Prussia became the biggest part of a united Germany, which was reclassified as an empire.
The palace was used for social functions until the Nazi Party usurped control of Germany. As a result of their WWII, it was badly damaged during retaliatory warfare. After extensive renovation, it was used by the German President from 2004 until 2006.
Overall, we had an amazing visit! Exiting, we returned to the forecourt.
Unfortunately, we started to encounter Berlin's stupid habit of hiring museum employees who can't speak English. [Capitals of nations are places where people from other countries gather: international executives, foreign diplomats, tourists, emigres, expatriates, immigrants, and exchange-students. Nearly all of Europe uses the English language as a common denominator (lingua franca) between nationalities. When in Europe, you often see tourism assurances like this...
So, it is mind-boggling why Berlin's authorities fill their museum's and touristy castles with employees who cannot communicate. That is imbecilic, and you will see more of it].
The castle is a major tourist attraction, so we asked a docent how to find the Gift Shop. She didn't understand English and merely walked away from us. That was rude. We saw a flag attached to one part of the building that said "Gift Shop". As we got closer, we saw a smaller flag in the ground that also said "Gift Shop". We entered but discovered that the shop was empty and not functioning. Nobody was there... except other perplexed tourists. It was dusty and looked as if it had been empty for a few months. Why did they keep signs/flags outside, if the shop was vacant? It was another dumb signage error in Germany.
Feeling thirsty, we recalled seeing a cafe on the map, which was housed in the Orangery. I tried using my iPhone, but Google Maps would not load correctly.
So, we returned to the East Wing and asked a docent if there was a place where we could buy refreshments? He didn't seem to understand—despite my hand-gestures of "drinking something". I asked about the Orangery Cafe, and I specifically repeated the word "cafe". Nodding his head, he directed me to go across the entire complex. From the edge of the East Wing, we walked for several minutes to get there. But it was closed for the season! How could a museum employee NOT know that?! That moron wasted our time. From the west part of the grounds, we had to retrace all our steps to return to the edge of the East Wing, so we could access the rear gardens.
(Stupidly, signs on the grounds imply that you cannot access the gardens from the west side of the palace, where the Orangery is). Since the gardens are a public park, we think that having only one entrance is bizarre. Nevertheless, the baroque-styled formal gardens were pretty to see.
Visiting them in autumn prevented us from seeing their grandeur because they consist mainly of flowerbeds. The gardens lack evergreens, except for an occasional topiary.
Mostly, we saw the lawn. The gardens lack statuary, garden ornaments, water rills, or rock formations. The tree allées were handsome.
Beyond that, the natural woodsy landscape can be explored. But since the estate borders against the river on two sides, you must return the way that you came in.
Just as we started to savor the peacefulness, my iPhone malfunctioned (that gets worse each year, as new models of iPhones are produced), and it suddenly died. I could not restart it. I remembered the battery level being at 49%, so I didn't understand why it died?
Since Lewis' faulty coverage with T-mobile remains unfixed and unusable outside of the USA (his only option is to cancel his plan and register again—at a higher rate), we couldn't use his iPhone for the internet. We navigated our way out of the palace compound and crossed the street to a cafe on the corner. It was named Back Time.
After searching, I sat the ONLY table with an electric socket near it, and I charged my phone for 20 minutes. During that time, we ordered two espressos. Despite being across the street from the area's biggest tourist site, the cafe did not accept credit/debit cards. It only accepted cash payments. (At least, they gave complimentary cookies with our espressos).
Lewis napped while my overpriced phone recharged. When it had enough power to reactivate, I did some diagnostics. With anger, I realized that whenever I used Google Maps, Google was preoccupied stealing data from me: location tracking, advertising promotions, watching what my interests were, and trying to suggest businesses near me that paid (bribed) them. So, while it failed to make its maps function, it was mainly focused on stealing data about me—and that usage drained my phone's battery! That is what Americans endure.
Thereafter, I blocked Google's access to my data, and I ensured that my iPhone always operated on Low Battery Mode, so it minimized behind-the-scenes activities. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I woke Lewis and we left.
Fortunately, Berlin's historic cobblestone streets are picturesque. They were refreshing.
We rode the U7 Metro south and exited at Wilmersdorfer Strabe Station. Since that U-Bahn station is not connected to the adjacent S-Bahn station (named Charlottenburg Station), we had to ascend to the street, cross the street, and enter the next station. Such a clumsy lack of connections is typical of what we endure in America. Maybe it's a holdover from America's Occupation in that part of Berlin?
Extending to all the suburbs, the S-Bahn is used as a commuter rail network, but four of its major lines run parallel in the city-center. So, you can use any of them to travel east/west within central Berlin. We rode east.
Seen above, we passed through the sunlit Central Station. We got off at Friedrichstrabe Station with the intention of changing to a southbound train into central Berlin to have lunch. Unfortunately, despite being a major transit hub, that station suffers from bad signage. Lewis and I followed a sign towards the U-Bahn U6 route, which went north/south. We arrived on a platform as a train was going to leave, so we quickly got on. It was an older train that lacked video screens. By the time I looked at the map on the ceiling and realized that it was an S1 train for the wrong north/south route, the train left the station. I cursed the fact that trains have outward-facing signs in every window that say "Video Monitored Train", yet they don't apply the same effort to put signs that indicate which train it is.
At the next station, we got off, went to the other side of the station, and got on the next train to go back to where we started. But due to a "track renovation" the train bypassed Friedrichstrabe, and we had to go to the next station—to turn around again. It reminded us of what New Yorkers endure on NYC's pathetic subway. I tried to activate Google Maps, but it didn't reveal my location or the station that I stood in! Back at Friedrichstrabe Station, we quizzically looked for any indication to where the U6 was? We examined the entire length of the platform. Finally, Lewis saw a small sign—hung high above a staircase—that indicated (the important information) that those trains were accessed by going upstairs. By that time, Lewis was flustered and didn't want to try finding a restaurant for lunch; he preferred to continue to Museum Island and take advantage of the remaining daylight.
Despite its reputation for superior engineering, we were perplexed about why Germany maintains elevated Metro routes.
They are ugly blemishes on their communities. Most countries avoid them and put trains underground. Throughout all of Europe, Germany is one of only five nations that use them. Unsurprisingly, the nation with the most is the USA. (It wanted to rapidly and cheaply funnel workers to its cities, so it uncaringly built train trestles over its own communities). Germany's postwar transit blemishes might be results of American values, which looked like this in Manhattan...
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(You noticed collisions because the industries and authorities were greedy and uncaring so they hastily built dangerous curves and haphazard routes).
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That is pathetic. Instead of improving it, NYC is busy using steel and cement to greedily build more skyscrapers for profit...
Sadly, such uncaring infrastructure is seen in America's inferior highways...
Perhaps as a consequence, postwar Berlin is plagued with a similar blight, as seen below...
Despite being Berlin's major tourist destination, Museum Island lacks U-Bahn or S-Bahn stations, except for the "limited use" U5 route. So, our train zoomed over a bridge across the Spree River and deposited us at Hackescher Markt Station.
Hacke's Square was planned in 1750 by King Frederick the Great and named for the "town major" who oversaw it: Hans von Hacke. Von Hacke was an army captain and commander of the gendarmerie (military police) for Frederick's father, and he helped Prussia defeat Austria in both Silesian Wars: capturing Prague and winning millions of reparation dollars from Austria and Saxony. Frederick promoted the 40-year-old as his Royal Adjutant General: a significant figure in the king's circle who also supervised the royal courts at Berlin and Potsdam. Frederick ennobled him as an earl (graf).
Tram routes pick up passengers there, but the trams do not enter Museum Island. Google Maps would not identify any tram stops in the vicinity, and the first three that I checked did not go in the direction that we wanted... so we walked.
We admire communities that smartly use trams, so please enjoy my video of it...
Lewis led me across a bridge named Friedrichsbrucke. The sun was low in the sky, and its rays bathed the stone buildings on the riverfront with warm light. It was beautiful. Similar to Florence, London, and Paris—but unlike New York City—Berlin's bridges do not charge tolls... and they are void of traffic congestion. Unlike NYC, they are pleasurably used by citizens as places to gather.
The island is part of Berlin's original layout from the 1200s.
During the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648), the Kingdom of Sweden occupied and ransacked it. Berlin's population dwindled to 6,000. In 1640, Frederick William, the Elector of Brandenburg (whose statue was outside of Charlottenburg Palace) fortified Berlin as a walled city. Throughout his half-century reign, his improvements earned him the sobriquet "The Great Elector". He decreed tolerance of various religions and his edicts welcomed foreign craftsmen. Under his leadership, Prussia's army was the ideal standard for Europe in 1668.
On our way to the Neus Museum of Ancient Art, we paused at the Kolonnadenhof and observed bullet-holes in the masonry. Those are remnants from WWII, when Nazi troops defied the victorious Allied forces.
Those holes and ricochet marks resulted from the battles seen below....
Many historic places retain them as a part of local history... and a lesson of what not to do.
Other memorials for WWII are the "stumble stones" that Lewis noticed in the pavement throughout the capital. Years ago, we noticed them in Amsterdam, and they exist throughout Europe to honor fallen souls who suffered from the Nazis.
Looking across some boxwood hedges, we saw a bronze statue of a nude woman. It is a replica of "The Archer" that stands in Poland. The original was made by a Berliner named Ferdinand Lepcke in 1908. After being exhibited in Berlin, it was bought by a Polish-Jewish banker.
We were duly impressed with the classic architecture around us. In the three photos below: the Alte Nationalgalerie, the 19th-century Berlin Dome (Cathedral), and the Humboldt Forum (museum).
The cathedral was captivating. Initially, the sacred site contained the chapel for Berlin's first castle. It evolved from Catholic to Lutheran, during the 1539 Reformation. That's when the House of Hohenzollern began using it as their crypt. The consecrated land now holds this Baroque Revival cathedral, built in 1894. The dome soars 381-feet. Kaiser Wilhelm II was the Supreme Governor of the Church of Prussia, and he wanted it to rival the Vatican.
Germany has a long dislike of Catholicism. During the violent Christianization of Europe, the Catholic Church tried to impose its religion on Germans and convert them, but it was rebuffed until the 1300s. Famously intolerant of other religions, the Church sent missionaries to destroy polytheistic icons. They fraudulently stated that since they weren't punished by the ancient German deities, it proved that the Christian god was stronger. Later, when the faith of Germans wavered, the papacy invented the prestigious-sounding Holy Roman Empire, which was neither holy nor Roman. Against its own doctrine, the Roman Catholic Church became a major secular power, and its ecclesiastical lords ruled swathes of (tax-free) territory. Instead of helping the poor or local dioceses, funds/donations were funneled to Rome, where the papacy squandered them. Disgusted with that exploitation, debauchery, and profiteering, Germany's magistrates, monarch, and peasants sided with their leading priest: Martin Luther. In 1517, he publicized his Ninety-five Theses to protest. (Arriving from England, King Henry VIII witnessed Luther's teachings, and he used it when he broke away from the Catholics to form the Church of England). The Protestant religion is named for that protest. Nowadays, Catholicism has 27.2% of the population but loses membership annually. Nearly half of Germany's population has no religion. Buddhism has the third-largest group of believers.
From there, we had a pretty view of a museum that resembles the former emperor's palace, which we visited on another day.
We tried to enter the Neues Museum to buy admission tickets...
... but the guard—who barely spoke English—said that we had to wait outside until someone came out to let us in. That was odd.
He scanned the e-tickets of other visitors, and we waited. After a few minutes, another guard came out and escorted us inside to the Ticket Counter. That whole process was idiotic; we could've simply entered and walked to the counter by ourselves.
The man selling tickets spoke fluent English. He tried to offer us a Three-Day Museum Pass, but it was Saturday and we had out-of-town plans for Sunday and the museums are all closed on Mondays... so we declined it. He offered an All-Day Museum Pass that saved us money if we intended to visit more than one museum. We bought two of those. We proceeded into the first gallery. Abruptly, a docent uttered something in German and gestured at my cross-body bag. I assumed that he wanted me to wear it over my stomach, as we were requested to do at Charlottenburg Palace. So, I did. In the next room, a docent approached me and gruffly told me to put my "personal bag"—and my jacket—in the lockers by the entrance. My bag was slim, so it seemed like a troublesome inconvenience. Furthermore, Lewis wore a cross-body bag, but the man didn't care about it. Nevertheless, Lewis and I follow the rules wherever we travel, so I waited in the queue to use the free Coat Check, and an attendant stored my things and gave me a token to reclaim it with.
That wasted 10 minutes. We explored the labyrinthine museum, and a highlight was the "Berlin Gold Hat". Resembling a phallic shape, the gold-plated hat was hammered together during the Late Bronze Age to be worn by each chieftain. Able to be seen from far away, it is 2.5-feet high.
Lewis and I were eager to see the museum's prized item: the painted wooden head of Egyptian Queen Nefertiti. It is 2,000+ years old! The museum advertises it profusely.
However, the museum lacked signage and didn't seem to have any priority to steer visitors to that artifact. It reminded us of our convoluted visit to the Vatican's Papal Palace Museum, where people are deterred from seeing the Sistine Chapel too soon. We got lost. Unable to find the stairs, we waited for an elevator. It was the slowest elevator that we ever waited for. By the time it arrived, there was a crowd around us, and we overheard other people complaining that they couldn't locate the stairs either.
We finally found the wooden head. Photos were prohibited, but I found an image online to show you...
Recently, new data caused Egyptologists to speculate that Nefertiti was the mother of the pharaoh (emperor) named Tutankhamun. A few months ago, Lewis and I visited the ancestral home of the British earl who unearthed King Tut's tomb. To see that, please use this link:
We didn't like anything else in the vast museum because most of its space was full of uninteresting stuff: fragments of bones, an assortment of iron nails, a collection of iron hammers, replicas of prehistoric humans, the reconstructed corner of an Egyptian room, and particles of parchment. Most of the museum was underwhelming and not worth the entrance fee.
While waiting for the elevator again, I searched online to see which of the cafes on Museum Island were good. All of the online reviews warned people to avoid the cafes due to bad service and low-quality food; they all received 1 or 2 stars out of 5. That's horrendous. I began to realize that Berlin's advertising and promotions for Museum Island were similar to NYC's efforts to funnel tourists to Times Square: taking money for only a few interesting things.
A major problem with Museum Island is that the museums are interconnected underground—without adequate signage—and visitors unknowingly wander across their borders. That happened to us.
There were no doors, no markings, and no signposts on the floor. Suddenly, we found ourselves in another lobby! We asked a docent where the Coat Check was, but she didn't speak English. I showed her my token, and that helped. However, I arrived at the wrong Coat Check because we were in a different building. That probably happens to many visitors who suddenly realize that they are somewhere else and need to retrieve their baggage from another facility. Allowing for such easy misguidance is stupid. For a culture that supposedly values efficiency, Berlin truly makes it easy to get misdirected!
Quickly, we tried to retrace our steps. Hollering in German, a guard indicated that we hadn't retrieved our things from the Coat Check. I hollered back that we needed to go to the Neues Museum. He didn't help us; he turned away. We proceeded. Turning a corner, we encountered a uniformed woman who wanted to scan our tickets to re-enter. She didn't speak English. We tried to explain that we only wanted to retrieve my coat and bag. I showed her my token. Instead, she prohibited us from entering because Lewis was wearing his cross-body bag. She gestured that he was required to put it in their Coat Check. Getting impatient, Lewis tried to explain that we were merely returning to the museum where we started. "Nein! Nein!" she exclaimed (No! No!). Other customers wanted to get past us. Feeling exasperated, Lewis tried explaining slower, but she merely shook her head with closed eyes. That was purely unhelpful without any effort to try to understand us.
Seeing a uniformed man who seemed to look at us with amusement, I "zeroed in" on him and approached him with a directness that made him lose his smile. Finally, we had someone who partially spoke English. Maintaining my temper and civility, I explained what happened. He implied that it happens often to visitors. No, he did not help us to go past the grumpy woman. Instead, he told us to go upstairs, exit his museum, walk across the pavement, and re-enter the Neues Museum. We did, and a fat woman who didn't speak English scanned out e-tickets to let us back inside.
Wanting to be rid of those museum employees, I retrieved my possessions and we tried to exit. But that same fat woman tried to stop us by saying that we were required to keep our bags in the Coat Check. I was flabbergasted that she didn't recognize us from two minutes prior! I tried to explain that we merely wanted to leave. She began to protest and prevent us. I was fed up. I shouted at her, "We are leaving!" The intensity of anger in my eyes actually startled her, and she shut her mouth. The ignorant woman seemed frozen, and we passed her. Lewis and I were disgusted with the crude level of customer service at Berlin's UNESCO Heritage Site.
Lewis noticed the German Historical Museum, housed in a reconstituted palace. You might naturally presume that the entrance is in the front. It is not.
Due to bad signage and a lack of entrances, we walked around two sides of the building to find the entrance.
Alas, the guard said that their museum was excluded from the Museum Pass. Using my iPhone, I checked the Museum Pass website to see which museums were included. Stupidly, it merely listed the names of participating museums, but it didn't describe which was which. A list of names is not helpful to foreign visitors if they can't decipher what each one involves! Lewis wanted to forgo any further use of the Museum Pass, but I endeavored to see one more museum—to actually use the value of the pass.
We walked back to the Alte Nationalgalerie.
But it also demanded that bags and coats be stored in lockers, and the line to enter was so long that it extended outside and wrapped around the staircase. Unlike what we experienced in Italy and England, there was no signage to indicate if that line was for ticket-holders or not, and there weren't any employees to ask. I agreed with Lewis that we shouldn't waste any more time on Museum Island; if the others were as barren and convoluted as the Neues Museum, it was best to avoid them.
Instead, I decided that we could find a store that sold traditional German clothes. Alas, my online searches were fruitless. Apparently, Berliners don't wear/sell those items of their heritage. Only one store existed, Trachten Angermaier, and it was a five-minute walk north of Alexanderplatz. We went to the U-Bahn U5 station to go north to that plaza. Sadly, the northbound side of the platform was under construction. Everybody was compelled to use the other side. That was the ONLY time that we saw a transit worker in a Metro station. I asked him how to get to my destination? Speaking in English, he told me to ignore the train that was arriving and take the next one. I thanked him. Lewis and I watched that train go north into the tunnel. Minutes later, a train came out of that tunnel, going south. That didn't make sense to us, but we got on. The train continued south to the next station. Most people stayed on. Suddenly, the train reversed and brought us back to where we started. There were no announcements in English for what was happening. We were confused, but we stayed on. Then, the train went north and stopped at Rotes Rathaus Station. It would not proceed further to Alexanderplatz.
Most people exited, and we noticed that foreigners were unsure what to do. By then, we felt exhausted and merely wanted to get back to our hotel. Not wanting to use the unclear Metro system, Lewis hailed a taxi. Riding to our hotel, my mind calmed and I realized that the train was probably a shuttle that took passengers between three stations where they were expected to use other trains to continue. Why didn't the transit worker explain that to me? That was unhelpful, thoughtless, and unprofessional of him. That was actually worse than what NYC provides. (At least we saw a close-up view of the TV Tower before entering our cab).
*People can pay to dine or view the city from the top of the tower, but we refrain from doing things like that, and you can understand why by using this link:
https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2018/10/wasting-time-for-silly-view.html
If you hail a cab on the street and tell the driver that you want Kurzstrecke, it means that you’re only traveling within 2 kilometers and will get a discounted fare. That is nice. Every community should do that.
Without the traffic jams that are inherent on America's roads, the driver sped easily to Potsdamer Platz, and I photographed the silhouette of its three well-known skyscrapers.
When we entered the hotel, it was almost evening, so we snacked on our food from KaDeWe and sipped more of the German prince's wine. We showered (gratitude for those Happy Buddha soaps to cheer us up), wore our bathrobes, and loved the sensation of the heated floor. After watching a charming German TV series, we took a nap to recharge.
One triumph of our aggravating afternoon was discovering that the U-Bahn's U6 route connected to the U2, which departed from our hotel. Once again, I tried using Google Maps to see the transfers, so we could get to Stadtmitte Station. When I "pinpointed" the U2 route, it highlighted the route to show all of the stops...
... but when I pinpointed my destination, it did nothing.
Both images imply that the U2 route does NOT go to Stadtmitte (which it DOES). That is pathetically inaccurate and unhelpful. However, when I "hovered" my indicator over Stadtmitte, Google Maps finally revealed that the U2 actually stopped there.
That unnecessary/convoluted process is impermissible from a billion-dollar conglomerate that is capable of doing better.
As we left the hotel, a clerk asked about our dinner plans. Since we are American, he probably assumed that we intended to eat hamburgers. (Hamburgers are named for Germany's City of Hamburg, and frankfurters [hot dogs] are named for the City of Frankfurt). I proudly described my online research for traditional German recipes that helped us choose a Bavarian eatery named Maximillians. He said that it was one of the best Bavarian ones in the capital.
A Metro train crossed the canal and took us north, and we anticipated a hearty meal to restore our spirits.
Finally, we arrived at Maximillians Restaurant. As Germany’s largest state, Bavaria was previously its own kingdom, and it remains famous for its cuisine and fairytale castles. (For one hundred years, the Kingdom of Bavaria's anthem was also sung to the British melody of God Save the King).
Maximillian was always a popular name in Bavaria, used by its Dukes, Prince-Electors, and Kings...
The restaurant is furnished with wood and looks homey.
The servers at Maximillians wear classic German uniforms. (I'm not certain where they buy them, since the city has a lack of stores that sell them).
After walking seven miles during the day, we had big appetites. We began our dinner with beetroot "dumplings" with freshly-made burrata cheese. The flavors were flawless.
*Let me explain a difference about the word "dumpling". Asian dumplings look like this...
Full of succulence, they resemble Italian ravioli: a filling wrapped in pasta.
However, German and Eastern European dumplings are balls of dense bread (dough) soaked in broth. Sometimes, they are made of potatoes, yet all of ours in Germany were balls of bread.
They are "heavy" and can easily fill your stomachs before you finish the rest of your meal. Furthermore, most "traditional German" entrees are served with more dumplings].
Next, I ordered two boiled bratwursts (made of veal), which were accompanied by a warm/soft pretzel. The chefs makes their own pretzels, and ours was fresh from the oven.
Our meal included pickles, which I love. Sadly, America's "processed food" industry finds ways to contaminate everything, so typical pickles are genetically modified, dyed to have color, and made in India with artificial flavors and calcium chloride.
For my main course, I ate roasted pork loin that was slathered with a hearty gravy... with two dense dumplings. I was given a pitcher of extra gravy, which I used. Lewis ordered a roast chicken with root vegetables, and it came with a huge baked potato, topped with a lot of sour cream and chives.
Perusing their extensive beer menu, I opted for a locally-made pilsner. Seen above, Lewis drank their version of a Moscow Mule, which was served in the appropriate copper mug. Beer is part of Germany's cultural heritage, and I like trying local specialities.
*To see when we toured the world-renown Guinness Brewery exhibition, please use this link:
No, we did not eat wiener schnitzel, but it is a classic German recipe: breaded beef cutlets that are pan-fried. In the USA, the recipe was renamed as “chicken-fried steak”, which is an uneducated way of saying that the meat is prepared similar to making fried chicken. (In America, sounding uneducated with bad grammar is popular). The renaming might be indicative of America’s longstanding racism against Germans, beginning in the 1850s. It corresponds with ongoing racism that discriminates against Asians, Indians, Arabs, Jews, Native Americans, African Americans, and Latin Americans.
With his shapely legs ensconced in calf-warmers made of yarn, our waiter was Indonesian. He spoke German slightly better than he spoke English.
Germany has a tipping culture at bars, restaurants, and coffeeshops. However, tips are small because hospitality workers are paid a livable wage and receive Universal Healthcare (unlike the USA). Service fees and VAT are included in the menu prices throughout Germany. When paying, it is customary to “round up”, so you apply that extra amount as the gratuity. If your experience was very good, add 5-10% as a tip (whereas American servers always expect 18-25%, regardless of how they treat you). In Germany, service is graded by its speed, and not by how friendly the person was. (Sadly, in the USA, if servers are chatty or courteous to customers, it’s usually because they are trawling for tips. Their pleasantries are phony and forced. In Germany, if you receive courtesy, it is genuine).
At Maximillians, the food was satisfying, and that was the most important aspect. Our meal cost €84.00. Too full to eat dessert, we decided to enjoy the mild temperature and walk back to our hotel.
*Ironically, an old church in our NYC neighborhood has stained glass windows made by a Bavarian company that King Ludwig decreed a Royal Warrant to. To see them, please use this link:
We always felt safe walking through Berlin at night. In their own big cities, Americans are apprehensive (some are petrified) to walk after sundown. Despite having overpaid and duplicitous police squads, Americans' fears are like living in a third-world country. Berliners enjoy the nighttime tranquility of their city, and we did, too.
In fact, as Germany's largest city, Berlin had 38 murders in 2022. (NYC suffered 433). The only times that we encountered homeless beggars were three times on the Metro at night. (Their unclean stench was nauseating, but at least they didn't harass people. They didn't seem like the mentally-deranged ones that inhabit the NYC subways—who scream at nothing, speak gibberish, and shriek at people who don't give them money). Many Berliners walk at night, so even the narrow alleys were used by other pedestrians: well-behaved teenagers, elderly couples, groups of men going to play games, and coworkers commiserating after their jobs ended. Mercifully, Google Maps functioned accurately, and we meandered to the hotel without incident.
For dessert, we noshed on the chocolate truffles from Switzerland.
While eating one, I marveled at its multi-level creation! That is thoughtful quality. A base of marzipan was covered with a piece of fudge, topped with a mound of dark chocolate, topped with vanilla cream, and the entire truffle was dipped in milk chocolate. Wow!
That provided another night of "sweet dreams", as we cuddled under the soft blanket. Ha ha!
Ciao for now! Please join us for the next part...
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