A couple of amusing newspaper boards discovered on a mid-wedding walk in Ditchling. A wedding so perfect incidentally, that it should be the focus of this post and not the irrelevancies of these pics.
Europe plundering Vikings, the muddy yards of pig farms in the Bavarian highlands and the Grand Duke of Weimar have all contributed to an eclectic array of canines pawing the broken bottle confetti strewn streets of Berlin.
Boxer, Rottweiller, German Shepherd, Great Dane, Weimaraner, Doberman, Leonberger, Poodle (dubious, it HAS to be French), Schnauser, Pinscher, even the Hot Dog - all Germanic inventions. The mongrels here are equally impressive. I’m partial to the fact that with many you can distinguish a Leonberger as their long lost, great grandfather - it’s just detectable, like Ben Stiller’s Jewish ancestry.
Below you can find some of the aforementioned and additionally some dogs that have caught my eye during my time in the city so far. All these were captured on the somewhat inept - almost souvenir like rarity of Apple stepping a foot wrong - IPhone camera.
A Dulux dog at the Brewbaker micro-brewery. Which is perfectly located just over the river Spree, a short walk - that includes the Bear bridge - from my offices
Sat opposite this fella' on the U-bahn last night. When he first sat down he looked at me and did a strange two hand finger waggle, as if trying to conjure the beer I was sipping from my grasp. He then stared at various fellow passengers, before releasing a loud puckered kiss into the air, as a Japanese girl rose, as we pulled into her stop. He then promptly fell asleep, briefly awaking, tried to wake himself with cartoon like face slaps, before swiftly resuming a deep nasal slumber.
Fantastic shop in Friedrichstein. Very well laid out and stocked with threads fresher than F-r-eshhh. The T-shirts quickly caught my attention, as did a truly beautiful shirt - mentioned above by a fly swatting Charlotte. The link to the website can be found here.
Berlin Zoo is the biggest and most visited zoo in Europe. With more than 14,000 species, set over 35 hectares, three million visitors meander through the leafy Tiergarten setting each year. Half the price of London zoo, and being confronted with a map of the park on entering, which ticks off the plethora of animals you hope and expect to see, one by one, is a feat rarely achieved on previous zoo visits.
To be welcomed by five Asian elephants at the first enclosure was fantastic. Having already lost my heart to these incredible animals in India, it was wonderful to be reacquainted in such close proximity. There is such serenity about them, and it always delights me how quietly they move for their immense size and flat-footed approach.
Next up was the Great Panda. Bao Bao, lay on his back, content soles of his pads facing skywards, munching bamboo- the Panda's signature move on television- made him feel familiar, like the habits of an old friend. Bao Bao is the oldest Giant Panda in captivity, and is on a permanant visa from China for breeding reasons.
Our eyes brimming with open jawed wonder at seeing a panda within three feet of us, perhaps inexplicably led to us not taking any photos. That, and perhaps the number of perma-tanned Germans, chainsmoking, flashing their cameras through the glass within a foot of Bao Bao's patch framed eyes.
We reached the lions mid-game. One mischievously looking round the corner of his leafy cover, like an excited kid waiting to scare his sister. Seeing lions move is vaguely similar to when you first saw the moonwalk. It looks impossible to move that gracefully, but then you start to see the different stages play out, before being flummoxed all over once more at how it is achieved.
Bears were our next prority. A pair of black bears looking like they were searching for ants greeted us. On seeing black bears I have an almost twitch like tendency to extoil my favourite and perhaps, only fact about them. Although very friendly in comparason to a grizzly, if they do look a little perplexed to see you on a narrow mountain path, just spark your lighter. They are terrified of fire due to the sap from the trees making them exstremely flammable. For some reason they are fully aware of this fact...now you are also.
We also admired a muddy polar bear, and a patrolling brown bear. We saw seals- who really dont look like they are meant to go on land given how awkward it seems for them. They look a little like grandparents who stubbornly refuse to use a chair lift.
I quickly got dressed - my plan to sit on Miche’s balcony, clasping a coffee - the sound from the street made me recollect the elephant scene from The Jungle book. Joining an excited, but sleepy Miche, I watched as first Peru, India, Belgium?, and then, as you can see from the attention it drew from the local Pap, the money shot paraded below us.
Pap attack
After the caffeine started to return my senses, I started to notice that lots of people who passed in the street were gazing up at the obscured windows to the left of us. Whole floats were waving, giggling, blowing kisses and pointing as they passed in their organised traffic jam. Given the exhibitionist nature of my new flatmates, I wasn't entirely shocked by the view that greeted me as I looked up, now standing with fellow bystanders on the pavement.
With beer from the usually overflowing newsagents now encroachiong onto the pavements on makeshift tables too, I was quickly in stride. After sitting on the curb and watching the floats go by, I noticed for the first time the way middle aged Germans dress on holiday as tourists, is actually how they dress on a daily basis.
The girl was a heartbeat from feigning injury
I then met my Danish/French mate Ervin from work. We spent ten amusing minutes watching the heavily intoxicated, and I presume self titled, "King of Fallafel" , attempt to construct a wrap for me, while lurching and stumbling around his kingdom.
Brushing aside suggestions to follow the Electro with the Scandinavians we met, I marched behind the Dub/Ragga/Dancehall float. Ignoring the glaringly obvious Caucasian rhythmic inadequacies when it comes to dancing to reggae and Dance Hall, this white cat shook his booty out of time to African drums for the following five magical hours.
The Purple explosion magical mystery tour. One love to my boi dem Escobar!
The Purple explosion bringing da party
Exhausted from the full afternoon of stomping, we finished the night listening to Electro in a packed West Kreuzberg street; sipping Caiprinhas, feeling groggy, and swaying like the King of Falafel himself.
Gleefully I observed a wealthy looking German family- complete with face lifts and family rings - chatting and flattering over mugs I at first assumed, nievely given its lack of alcohol content-compote (A mix of winter fruits, stewed to liquid and served cold in mugs. It's popular in Poland), but later discovered was in fact Landbier.
I also watched in embarrassment as a clearly sozzled Munich tourist in his sixties, approached the Chinese newlyweds and gave a very German two thumbs up twice. Announcing, "I love Shanghai," and "I love Beijing!"- gesticulating both "I's", with a slap of his portly, pink golf t-shirt swathed chest - before stumbling after his wife to a table.
On returning to the bar to settle up, I admired the letter from JFK that sits proudly at eye-level. It offers his sincerest apologies for not being able to dine at the restaurant, as originally planned on his state visit. I felt sympathy for the president, given the meal I had just delighted over. But, I mused and consoled - although the odds are slim, he might have been returning to Broadway to spend an evening with Marilyn. Swings and roundabouts.
