Took a peek this morning at that €24 breakfast. Sure, if you like 17 cheeses, a range of sliced meats, four varieties of croissant and brownies for breakfast. Sadly the bacon was horrific (more fat than bacon, marinaded in its own grease, left on the side long enough to cool and congeal), their scrambled egg is basically mashed omelette and the coffee machine can only do coffee that fills just over half the cup – cunningly designed to stop you just making two in the same cup.

Although when I went back for a second cup it was entirely broken so maybe it could’ve been worse.

After mixing up car, aeroplane and train yesterday, today I opted for a bus. With no roof on. Forecast promised ‘rain’ but hey, if you want to see a city.. I went for the two day ticket as it cost an extra 4 euro and covers West and East Berlin. Curiously there are two different routes and they do broadly conform to those decade old delineations.

It did indeed rain; I felt at least four drops on my arms. Enough for the lady sat behind me to proclaim, “Oh! It’s raining!” and scurry to the rear of the upper deck which was under cover.

The bus tour I’ve signed up to provides little earbuds you can plug into the seat in front for a tour commentary. Controls let you change the volume and also the language; this means you can see via the LED panel the language to which other passengers are listening. A lady sat in front of me had her commentary in English, but was turning to chat continually to the lady in the seat next to her, whose commentary was in Yiddish.

The tour commentary is very dry and matter of fact, and only comes on occasionally. The Germans are delightfully honest and open about their history, but also manage to distance themselves from it. This is where the GDR did this, here is where during World War 2 that happened, on this site the National Socialist Party burned 2000 books.

It’s better than the equivalent tour in Ireland, which is just a litany of “Here is where the English did this, there is where the English hung [the murdering Irish traitor], on this street the English were naughty”. At least the Germans take some responsibility.

Berlin is full of that responsibility. Memorials to the Jews, memorials to those killed by the policy of euthanasia, various building remnants left standing to remind people of how terrible war is. More interesting is the scar running through the city that used to be the Berlin Wall. Barely still present it’s remembered across the city, fragments still standing, wall panels in peoples gardens, a constant presence on the psyche of the city.

Across much of the wall’s location a simple row of cobbles marks its former presence. This continues for miles, frequently crossing streets, cutting through private properties and joining neatly with multiple remaining sections of the wall. While I really like that I do wonder at the emotional impact on the city; the wall has finally now been gone for longer than it was up.

I spent around five hours on the two bus tours today. They’re “hop on, hop off” but the East tour bus took so long to arrive I didn’t dare get off again in case I had another long wait for the next. Switching between the two tours took place by Alexanderplatz, formerly East Berlin, before that considered the city centre, now just a pitiful paradise of crass commercial interests. East Germany collapsed and the global brands moved in; I’m not sure TK Maxx is the unified future East Germans had been anticipating.

Some bits still look familiar.

I met an American lady on the bus, from Connecticut, in Germany for a friend’s wedding. After travelling to Frankfurt for that she understandably thought she’d better see a little more before heading home, and I met her on her second day in Berlin. Poor thing seemed to be suffering a serious culture shock but lost any chance of sympathy when she mentioned how much she’d enjoyed her exploration yesterday of Checkpoint Charlie.

Lunch was late, and at the type of cafe where working blue collar men eat – and take their empty plates back inside and on to the counter. I followed their example after eating.

Well, I’m in Germany. It’s mandatory. Last one this week though, I promise. After all, not much time left and I still haven’t had a schnitzel.

The bus tours included many former wall locations, the shiny new central railway station, various statues and buildings by this bloke or that, the political district (which includes an incongruous shiny new hat for the Reichstag. Sorry Germany, the British architect you got in let you down there) and around a dozen embassies.

They were interesting. Very different styles of building, very different levels of protection (none at all for the Italians, armed police for the Turks), rather different looking levels of investment. The Japanese had a nice subdued presence, the Saudis had a very ornate but elegant Islamic patterned building, the Italians a tasteless pink. Where they really all differed though were the fences. Your average embassy has a tall sturdy fence with spikes at the top. They all had one (except, again, the Italians) but none of them were remotely the same. I’ve never encountered so many fence designs, almost all of them quite unique and providing the height & spikes features in different and original ways. I may need to return tomorrow and get photographs.

All that sitting around on a bus meant I didn’t do much walking today. At least, I didn’t feel I did. The step meter tells me I did walk 6km so I guess I did deserve the treat when I got off the bus:

The nearest tour bus stop to my hotel happens to be a mere 200 yards from the Caffè e Gelato. It had to happen.

Back in the hotel early today. Left knee still isn’t functioning, I’m having to go up and down the stairs in the bus one at a time, which means my bad knee (i.e. not the left knee) is actually doing all the work at the moment. This doesn’t bode well.

Same hotel, same nice chap with a beard doing the concierge thing. I bought my bus ticket from him, it cost me €4 less than buying it on the bus. It’s nice when that happens. He had the daily newspapers on the shelf behind him.

Oh FFS Germany, don’t tell us we’re going to have to teach you again!