Berlin Trilogy: From Florence to Südkreuz, or when delay takes on a whole new dimension
The first day of a weekend with best German friend — my reflections on trips to the capital of Czechia neighbours, the benefits of being late, and fascination with the richness of diversity.
The journey to Berlin is running late, but I remain calm. I’m sitting on a bench at Prague Florenc Bus Station, staring dreamily into the void. Finally on the move again. After months in Prague, off in search of adventure — whatever that may mean. On my way to a foreign country where I won’t understand the language; much will be new, yet surprisingly easy to grasp.
As a reward for waiting an hour at the station, I’ve been given a seat right at the very front, just behind the driver’s assistant, in the spacious Lion’s Coach bus. Whenever I’m heading to Berlin, I look forward to seeing the pyramid-shaped hills of the České středohoří along the way — one of the few places in our country formed purely by volcanic activity. Like the numerous breasts of Mother Earth, they rise round and full above the flat green landscape. The legendary hill Říp, mount Lovoš near Litoměřice, the lofty Milešovka, the view of the Děčín city, and then tunnel after tunnel. Through the mountain ridges from one country to another.
As we cross into Germany, a sudden downpour breaks out. It’s strong and intense. Just like the patrol of German police officers who search the bus at the border. Fortunately, we all pass the test of our documents. Thanks to this delay, I have time to observe the interesting mix of fellow passengers on board — several Arab girls in burqas, a middle-aged deaf couple in metal outfits, two women with full-body anime tattoos, a charismatic Afroamerican man over two metres tall in a beige summer suit, a group of five Koreans dozing off, and me. And not to forget our laid-back Hungarian drivers, who’ve been chatting away the whole journey. It’s wonderfully liberating — not understanding a single word and just soaking up the energy around me.
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I’m delighted by this diverse mix on the journey to Berlin, and it confirms my expectation that I made the right choice in visiting this fascinating, vibrant destination for a long weekend.
The sky is turning crimson red; it’s a warm summer evening, and the motorway is framed by pine forests. Arriving late on a Friday evening doesn’t really matter at all — it prolongs the anticipation of visiting our western neighbours’ capital, and my craving for the famous Berlin kebab grows exponentially. Along the way, a sense of tranquillity has settled into my pockets, and my German friend Fabian is very fond of that.
Our meet-up at Südkreuz bus station is cheerful, full of smiles and joy of seeing each other again, spiced up with falafel and a halloumi sandwich with peanut sauce and a heap of grilled vegetables. Even after ten o’clock, it’s not getting any colder, and there are several bright flashes on the horizon. We head out into the Fabian’s garden, and before us, like photographs, the shared experiences we’ve had together unfold, emerging from the depths of our memory. I’m falling asleep to the sound of the first raindrops hitting the rooftop windows of the student loft flat, which was once an imposing retirement home.
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