Gorki Park

Kaufhaus des Westerns provided me with a Regenschirm, double automatic and undoubtedly the essence of German quality. Sheltered by its canopy, walking the streets towards Prenzlauer Berg, I stumble upon a post-soviet cafe serving "Intelligentsia" and "Proletariat"; salted cucumbers, white cabbage and bacon accompanied by the compulsory vodka.


Ironic references sufficient to create a reality of its own; the underwhelming experience of finding a Starbucks inside the Fernsehturm at Alexanderplatz. With every rediscovery, the German capital grows, recent extensions to its psychogeography include Humboldthain and even more of Kreuzberg.

Making notes in my Moleskine. Embarrassing to realize that a brand has been tailored precisely to over-inflated intellectuals like myself, that no one escapes mass consumerism. Yet, compared to Lonely Planet, I like that Moleskine quotes Aldous Huxley:

"For every traveller who has a taste of his own, the only useful guidebook will be the one which he himself has written"