So I accompanied Jung (sp?) and Izabela (sp!) to a photograpy exhibit at the Martin-Gropius-Bau. Iyabela and Jung are artsy-fartsy-wierdos, so we saw Man Ray and a Chaldej exhibit of WWII and the USSR. Ray isn´t my thing, but the Chaldej was amaying. It included some photo of Hallisches Ufer, which is about 50 feet from our hotel. It had the same effect as the videos of New Orleans the day after Katrina-such an empty scene that you can´t quite wrap your mind around it.

anyway, we had to put our bags in the cloakroom, and we only took one number for the 3 of us, since we came together. Somewhere between the naked woman sketches and the magnetic chess set display (Yes, that was Ray), we realiyed that we would all be leaving separately. So Iyabvela and I went to the cloakroom to get our bags separated out. After drumming her fingers through our (attempt at an) explanation, the bag  lady heaved a sigh so heavy it blew my hair back and painstakingly hiked the 10 feet to Peg 34. She put each bag i nits own cubby hole and, with a glare normally reserved for felons who plead “not guilty”, handed us the new numbers.

Then, Izabela did the unthinkable: “Wait, which number is the dark green one?” So Frau Taschendam (That´s Mrs. Bag Lady to you) embarked once again on her epic trek (it´s not like she couldn´t use the exercise), calling over her shoulder, “I alreadz showed you that!” Number 28, she glares. “Danke!” we reply. She glares.

It´s ok, though–I´d be bitter, too, if my life purpose were hanging purses on pegs.

After that little adventure, I went book hunting. The first store didn´t have much in the way of Books That Cost LEss Than A Year´s Wages, so I went to a department store with a huge book section. The objective: to find a good GERMAN book. In the store, I spent hours drooling over Bill Bryson, George Orwell, Jodi Picoult, Edward Rutherfurd, J.K. Rowling…did the German literary tradition die with Hesse? No. I eventually found my book: The Wall (Die Wand, for those of you who care). The back reads:

A woman wakes up one morning in a mountain lodge and finds tht she is trapped inside an invisible wall, behind which no life exists… No life except hers, it seems.

Anyway, I´ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, I am nursing Izabel, who has caught a cold and, as such, has dedicated her life to drinking all the tea in Berlin. She has, in fact, consumed no less than 9 cups since breakfast.

And still, Frau Taschendam glares and glares.