Stumbling through the dark hotel room and into the cold bathroom, I felt myself step into something sticky. Turning on the blinding bathroom lights, I saw what it was: beer and lots of it. There were bottles lined up around the tub, the sink and even the baseboard! I blinked the sleep from my mind, trying to recall the previous evening. I remember buying feta cheese. I remember searching for soft pretzels. I remember falling asleep when my head hit the pillow.
Where did this beer come from?
Tiptoeing softly across the rough hotel carpet, I bent over to examine LD. He lay passed out; prune-y fingers from sitting in the tub for hours, an alcohol-induced smile spread across his lips. Shaking my head, I slipped back underneath the covers. He had enjoyed the beer that Berlin so eagerly offered.

While sitting in the lobby, later that morning and partaking in the free internet, we faced a serious dilemma: whether to inform my mother from across the Atlantic that her beloved camcorder was slightly unavailable or wait. We opted to send an electronic message her way:

'Hey Mom- we're going to the Christmas Market in Nuremberg instead of Erfurt, like you suggested and your camcorder is gone. Love you!'

The train ride to Nuremberg was a great deal slower then we had anticipated. Not only we were moving at a snail pace, but it was rather crowded for a German train; part of the journey we sat on our luggage, elbow to stroller with Deutsche kinder.

We arrived in the Medieval town as light was failing. Maps everywhere directed us to the Christmas City.

As a small child, every Christmas my mother or grandmother would purchase us Christmas coloring books containing pictures of snug medieval towns draped in snow, with smoke rising from chimneys and colorful decorations. I remember my Christmases in that warm glow, smelling of cinnamon and clove, crackling fires and the sounds of Christmas carols. Walking through Christkindlesmarkt brought the memories of Christmases past back into view. Maybe it was the warm pretzel in one hand or the mug of Gluhwein in the other, but it was hard not to want every Christmas to be like this. No commercialization but rather homemade delights, no rush to finish a Christmas gift list at the mall just small stalls filled to the brim with handmade toys.

Nuremberg showcased the marvel of Christmas.

We awoke early, after a restful night sleep in a clean hotel. Let me repeat the most important part again: hotel. One cannot truly grasp the meaning until you've felt grimy shower tile under your feet, slept with your bed against the door because there was no lock or dried your hair in the kitchen where your hostess made herself eggs.

Another amazing feature was the continental breakfast. This is probably the last time you'll hear a statement about breakfast here, I probably dislike breakfast more then anyone you'll ever meet. This aside, the assortment was my type of breakfast: turkey breast, cheese, small rolls, yogurt and cranberry juice. While thoroughly enjoying my breakfast sandwich, I smiled to myself as I watched a bus pull up outside the window of the Holiday Inn Express. My feet will be glad for public transportation.

What an enjoyable city to sight-see in. We hit all the main tourist attractions and made sure to see a few off the beaten path, as well. The Reichstag was our first destination. We waited in line for almost half an hour and filed slowly in groups of ten into the building. Inside, we were ushered through metal detectors. Not surprisingly, LD was pulled aside for his bike lock (which they believed to be a gun lock, yesh). After our little incident, we were piled into an elevator and whisked to the top floor: an indoor/outdoor roof, covered partially in glass with amazing views of Berlin.

Much to the dismay of my feet, the city was easily navigated on foot and beautifully decorated for Christmas. We happened upon a Christmas market, richly decorated and filled with the smells of Weihnachten: roasting chestnuts, cinnamon and sausage.


Berlin was home. In all the traveling we had done, I never felt more comfortable then in Berlin. It felt like Pennsylvania. If I were placed in the center of Aldi's in Berlin and in the center of Aldi's at home, I wouldn't know the difference until someone spoke to me. In stating this, I am not dismissing the history that seeps from Berlin's pores; I just felt as though Berlin welcomed me with open arms and a pint of beer.

What sets us apart?

How does one strive and fulfill, while others fail?

Do we have the same desires, yet lack the ability to experience them?

What is the 'right' way and the wrong?