Two emails from Ben last night, received not long after checking into our hotel in Berlin (same hotel, same room as last time) cleared up my angst, and it was with a new spring to my step that I set off with Jean-Marc around ten-thirty in the evening to go for a drink in the Mitte neighborhood. We got out of the subway at Alexanderplatz, a colossal, soulless, wind-swept square. I can only imagine how cold and cruel this square must feel in the Winter. It was the former East Berlin's commercial hub, and it's so large that we had to stumble around in it for quite some time before we could find the street we are looking for.

Our destination was Karl Marx Allee, a road wide enough to let a jumbo jet land on it with room to spare; it was used for military parades in the heyday of the GDR - an unlikely spot for a gay club.

In fact, the club itself seemed unlikely. I'd bet it had been used as a club in the communist days - it was probably a vaguely hip place to go. In any event, it clearly hasn't been renovated since. Imagine a 70s high-school lit only by low-wattage red lamps. I believe Berliners like their clubs to have a makeshift, underground feel to them; none of the glitz you'll find in American clubs.

We hung around in the lobby for a while, bemusedly watching the odd mix of people arrive: some of them were quite chic; others looked like their wardrobe and hairdo was stuck in an East-Berlin time-warp. After a while, we went downstairs to the main dance floor. I was vastly enjoying the place for some reason, and I hoped Jean-Marc would too. But unfortunately not, so we agreed to leave. On the way upstairs we noticed there was a performance taking place: a black American soul singer with her band (called Soulfire). It was unexpectedly good stuff, and the good-natured, friendly, down-to-earth crowd grooved along to the soft, sexy music. We left directly after the end of their first set, and took a taxi home. Berlin is an odd city: on the drive home, clear across the middle of the city, absolutely nothing to look at of interest, unlike virtually any other well-known capital city. It's attractions are widely scattered, and are mostly not nice to look at. It's the people, and the thriving cultural life, in my opinion, which make Berlin a city worth visiting.

In the morning, after another good night's sleep, we took the subway to Berlin's showplace street, Unter den Linden. Of course, the first thing you see is the Brandenburg Gate (none of my photos of it came out well unfortunately - that is to say that I was in all of them and none of them were flattering). We walked under it to the park that leads to the Reichstag, a hugely impressive building. Then we went the other way, past the unbuilt American Embassy to the under-construction Holocaust Memorial. Even unfinished, I can see the potential the memorial has to be a moving experience; I tried to let myself be moved by it, but I guess the event itself was so huge it's difficult to encompass in a moment's experience.

In front of the Reichstag

The Reichstag

The walls of the Reichstag have much homoerotic imagery

The Holocaust Memorial

A few minutes later, back on Unter den Linden, we passed the Russian Embassy. I wondered why flowers were strewn on the sidewalk outside. Then Jean-Marc said, "Oh, the children" (referring to the recent school massacre by terrorists in Russia), and suddenly and completely mystifyingly a wave of intense emotion swept over me at the public recognition of the loss of such innocents. I had to fall behind Jean-Marc for a moment so that he wouldn't see me crying.

Flowers in front of the Russian Embassy

We turned down Friedrichstrasse, heading for Checkpoint Charlie, and doing some shopping on this classy street full of luxury shopping malls (even one for cars). Checkpoint Charlie itself was, predictably, underwhelming. I felt it was one of those places you visit so you can say you've seen it.

Checkpoint Charlie

I was in a wonderful mood. I'd slept well the night before, and I was thoroughly enjoying being in a fascinating, modern city. After Prague, with the unfriendly inihabitants, and the incessant tourist-trap hawking, the jovial, earthly, down-to-earth Berliners and their orderly, well-run city were just what I needed.

I wanted to have lunch at Starbucks, so Jean-Marc split at this point (I'm hazarding that Starbucks isn't as appealing to Jean-Marc as it is to me). I sat outside with a grilled sandwich, a slice of cheesecake, and a decaf, enjoying the cool air, and the feeling of freedom of being a tourist in a new city.

Outside Starbucks

The Konzerthaus (symphony hall) in the Gendarmenmarkt. I tweaked it a bit and it came out looking like a drawing. The Gendarmenmarkt is a huge square not far from Checkpoint Charlie, with not only the symphony hall, but also two, seemingly identical, rather stunning churches.

I took the subway back to Schoenfeld (the neighborhood of our hotel) and bought a card for Ben from Bruno's, the extraordinary gay media store. And I finally visited the Bauhaus Archive, the legacy of the famous academy of the arts established in the early 20th century. The museum is fairly small, and contains a good representative mix of objects, furniture, paintings, scale models of buildings and graphics.

The Bauhaus

The rest of day was devoted to shopping along Kurfurstendamm (where the famous ruined church is - see pic below) and sidestreets. I bought a couple of tank-tops at KaDeWe, the Berlin department store of note, and spent ninety minutes in a wonderful store for club-clothing, called Planet, helped by the co-owner, the delightful Wera (pronounced Vera); she's also a musician and a clothes designer. In between trying things on, we chatted about the Berlin cultural and artistic scene compared to California. She's had her store now for twenty years, so she's seen a lot of changes. Apparently back in the days of separation, young people flocked to Berlin since it meant they needn't serve in the military, and this is one of the main reasons why the place was a cauldron for creative activity. Things have changed many times since the Wall came down, but Berlin housing is still incredibly cheap, and this is pushing a new wave of young artists ahead.

The ruined Kaiser Willhelm Gedachtniskirsche

Anyway, I ended up buying two pairs of pants, one tamer than the other. The "tamer" pair are low-hanging pants made out of some kind of vinyl/plastic mix. You can open up the sides of the pants from waist to knee with a zipper to reveal a ventilation mesh, and also, incidentally, reveal that you're not wearing underwear. So that is the tamer of the two pairs of pants.

The second pair of pants fairly screams "made in Berlin": extremely low-hanging, with, instead of a normal fly, two fly-zippers either side of the crotch. Evenly spaced across the entire front and back of the pants, from waist to ankle, are fully functional zippers: about twenty of them. When you unzip them, the material underneath expands the pants leg a little. Not very practical unless you suddenly develop elephantitis while clubbing, but they're the main talking point of the pants apart from the extraordinarly low waist (will Ben ever let me wear them?)

They're easily the most expensive legwear I've ever bought, so I had a little leverage, which I used to arrange to have the designer meet me at the same store tomorrow to fit me for a shirt suitable to be worn with the pants. I may also get a custom-made belt. I'm well aware that I'm going into debt on these items, and I justify it with the honest explanation that I've never really splurged much on extravagant clothing; and I might as well make the most of the very limited (oh, how I'm aware of it) time when I can go to clubs and still look great.

For our last evening in Berlin, we took the subway all the way across to the Eastern sector, North of Mitte, to Prenzlauer Berg, another so-called gay neighborhood. In reality, it's not at all a gay neighborhood, but instead a residential area with several fairly sleepy (on this Monday night at least) widely-separated, tree-lined streets populated with chic bars, boutiques and restaurants, a few of which happen to be gay. A very pleasant neighborhood, reminding me of the quieter streets around Dupont Circle in Washington D.C.

It proved a good choice: we settled on a California fusion restaurant called Drei, and the last dinner of our journey together was excellent. Indeed it's the last real dinner of my trip since tomorrow night (that is Tuesday) we're flying to Paris and the morning after I leave for San Francisco.