Looking for Freedom in Berlin

 

I start my epic journey by train to Berlin today. Three trains will take me over about nine hours from St Pancras station. Will you join me? OK, los geht's.

It was back in 1989 that the legendary David Hasselhoff was hoisted on a crane above the Berlin crowds to sing his song "Looking For Freedom" whereby the the wall, and indeed the whole Iron Curtain and Soviet empire crumbled before him, such was the power of his presence and the magic of his Chrismas light encrusted leather jacket. Anybody who offers an alternative reason for the collapse of the Soviet world is not to be trusted. I'm prepared to die on this hill.

 

 

The commemoration of this event is not actually why I'm travelling to Berlin, the real reason is a bit more personal.

I've been stuck in my house like a recluse for the past few years, largely in a mental prison of my own making, and now I'm keen to switch things up a bit. This journey is not so much about where I'm going or what I'm going to do when I get there, it's simply about breaking out. That, and my obsession with Germany, and the fact I've been learning German for some time now. I might as well attempt to use it.

I'm travelling solo, on the train. Madness you'd think, and you'd probably be right. But I've watched solo travelling Youtubers, and I've seen Michael Portillo on trains so I have ridiculous ideas in my head about the romance of train travel, plus I hate flying, almost as much as B.A. Baracus.

The first mistake I made was booking the Eurostar for seven o'clock in the morning - a half past five check-in with no thought as to how I was going to get to St Pancras station that early on a Monday morning. Consequently, I was forced to stay at the Premier Inn St Pancras the night before. This was a living hell. The room had no windows that I was able to open and the air conditioning was extremely noisy but didn't work at all, and I was not able to turn it off. I managed to get about four hours of sleep before I got up at four thirty and walked to the station.

It has to be said that St Pancras is quite an impressive station. It must be the largest I've ever been to. Built around what I think is a magnificent Victorian hotel, it's like a shopping mall with trains.

Easily 90% of the staff here are not native Brits, not even white. Africans seem to be the main group providing security as usual, checking passports and milling about with lanyards doing nothing in particular. I'm not inclined to be happy about being watched or inspected by a bunch of people that we found in loincloths, killing each other with spears and cooking each other in pots just a couple of hundred years ago. Of course, they aren't all providing security and checking bags and passports. Some of them are serving overpriced and underwhelming coffee in Pret, which I'm sure that dozy bint on Question Time is mightily relieved about.

The station is packed, and Pret has six lines of queue—four for ordering and two waiting for your order. The Indian girl who serves me is pleasant enough, but just going through the motions, and has a look in her eyes that says "Just kill me now". I can't blame her, serving endless lines of stressed passengers for eight hours a day must be extremely demoralising. As a white person, I can't help but feel the occasional bit of empathy. It would be doing both her and us a favour if she were deported.

After that hellish experience, I get on the train which departs seven minutes late. I'm lucky in that I'm sat next to a smartly dressed African man with terrible breath and a wind problem. I had hoped he might get off or move when we stopped at Lille, but no. Anyway, the train speeds through the English, then French and Belgian countryside at an incredible pace. The speed of the train is another first for me. I don't know how fast it's going, but this Badger has never travelled over land this fast before. As I look out of the window I notice the differing styles of electricity pylon in the different countries. I'm sure that is a fascinating subject for someone, just not me.

Roughly two hours later and now seventeen minutes late, the train pulls into Brussels, home of the sprout. I think that the Belgian contribution to the British Christmas dinner is significant. Even our sprouts are foreign, you see. And if that's not a good reason to let in infinite Africans then I don't know what is. Maybe there is no good reason at all.

I don't have much time in Brussels, just enough to get a coffee and go to the toilet before catching my connecting train, this time to Cologne. It's all rather stressful. Brussels Midi station has plenty of facilities but there's a bit too much French being spoken for my liking. I make my way to the toilets only to find that they cost one Euro, which I don't have. After about five minutes of wandering around, I managed to find a toilet voucher machine that accepts cards.

I would normally skip over the details of my trip to the toilet but this will be important later. I went into one of the cubicles and the guy in the next cubicle started sneezing. He must have sneezed about thirty to forty times, and you just know that he never covered his mouth and nose. I'm going to get a cold now, aren't I? I might have mentioned before that I'm paranoid about germs and getting ill, and so God's little joke is to have me followed around constantly by sick people coughing and sneezing in my direction. Everywhere I go people are trying to infect me with whatever they've got, and the Beligians are no exception.

After grabbing a coffee, I catch my connecting train, this time to Cologne, where I just have time for another toilet break, and to purchase a double cheeseburger from McDonald's. Don't hate me, I needed something quick, cheap, warm and tasty. Desperate times and all that. Once that was eaten, I ventured outside for a quick cigarette before I boarded my final train to Berlin. Outside the train station are an assortment of homeless Germans and refugees milling about causing a nuisance, begging and making the place very unpleasant, but more on Cologne later.

So I then boarded the longest part of my journey, about four and a half hours from Cologne to Berlin. The train is packed but at least I'm surrounded by very little diversity on the train. I'm sat next to a German lady who predictably has a cold.

There's not much to do except look out of the window. The German countryside is very pleasant, the electricity pylons are different. God, I'm bored now and just want to reach my destination. It's already been a long day. I buy a cup of coffee from the speisewagen. At this point, I'm being kept alive only by caffeine and sugar. I notice that everyone around me is whispering. I look up and see that we are in a quiet zone. I don't think I've seen one of these quiet zones on a train in Britain, and if we did nobody would respect it. The Germans however love rules.

Eventually, at around six o'clock I arrived at Berlin Hauptbahnhof. The place is modern and huge, over about three levels. It takes me about ten minutes to get my bearings and work out where I need to be. I'm trying to get to Potsdamer Platz but I'm slightly disorientated and confused after such a long journey. I manage to get to the Brandenburg Gate which is nearby at least and so I have a look at that before making my way to the hotel.

I've just about had enough of the day now and want to get some dinner and go to bed. Luckily I've already figured out what I'm going to eat and once checked in I make my way around the corner to Burgermeister where I have, and I know this is a bold claim, the best burger I've ever eaten. And with that, I'm done for the day. Goodnight.

I've only got one full day in Berlin so I'm going to get an early start. After breakfast at the hotel, I venture out just before nine in the morning. It's raining persistently, that fine rain that soaks you through, as they say.

To be honest with only a day to spend I'm going to have a quick look at some of the sights, and since the weather is so bad I won't be lingering. What can I say? Brandenburg Gate - check. The Reichstag - check, though they are having some work done at the front and it's fenced off so I can't get that close, then it's the cathedral which is surprisingly impressive. Soaked through, I make my way back to the hotel for a change of clothes and a rest before heading back out again.

 

I had a walk round the Mall of Berlin but started to feel very hot so went outside and found a cafe for coffee and a bit of cake. It was then that I felt my throat starting to burn. And here it is, the start of a cold. I fucking knew it! I brought ibuprofen with me so I take some of that and hope for the best.

After a couple of hours rest at the hotel, I venture out for some dinner, a pizza and a beer. I'm now feeling really very ill and have a sense of dread about the journey home tomorrow.

 

So the morning comes and I have to leave early, six am in order to have any chance of making my train connections.

I make my way via the U-Bahn to Berlin Hbf to catch the Deutsche Bahn to Cologne. It turns up half an hour late. The train is packed and by now I'm coughing and blowing my nose constantly. I'm in survival mode, I feel like death warmed up and just need to get home. It's my daughter's birthday tomorrow and I've promised her I'll be back, and I've had enough of Germany, the rain, my cold, the unfamiliarity of it all. The train is packed, it's a living hell.

Four and a half hours later I'm in Cologne again, and now we have to talk about the absolute state of it. Of course, it would be remiss of me not to mention that Cologne was the site not so long ago of mass sexual assault by Merkel's refugees on German women. I'm sure you all remember this.

It's the second time I've been here. The first I was struck by the refugees and homeless people milling about outside the station causing a nuisance. This time is worse. I just have time to get a coffee, purchase some double strength ibuprofen and paracetamol from the apotheke and grab a bit of McDonald's again (I'm sorry).

There's a massive, presumably homeless German guy harassing diners in McD's. He's going around getting in people's faces, he's removed by the one security guy, he looks like a Syrian or Iraqi. Whatever the case there appears to be this one security guard looking after the whole station.

Outside where I go to down my coffee and take these pills I've bought there is a black woman screaming and shouting because I think she's been stealing a begging at the cafe outside. Everyone averts their eyes and carries on like it's not happening.

I go inside and the big German guy is now in the DB information office causing trouble. The police seem to have completely abandoned the place. It's chaos, highly unpleasant and like Berlin it's a place I will never return to if I can help it.

I can't find what platform my train in departing from so I ask at the information office. It turns out that because of some construction work my train is leaving from the next station - Messe/Deutz, so I have to make my way there. It's just the other side of the Hohenzollern Bridge, which features some nice statues of Kaiser Wilhelm. I board the train at this obscure station. It's packed again and the worst part is that it's either been diverted via Dusseldorf, turning a two-hour journey into four. But it gets worse. By the time the train rolls into Brussels, it's an hour late so I've been on this train for something like five hours, I feel like shit and I've missed my connection to the Eurostar to London.

Any idea you had about the reliability and punctuality of German trains is utter bollocks.

I'm not the only one who has missed the Eurostar to London because of DB's failings. There must be a hundred people here in the same position, which makes me feel a bit better. Thankfully they get us all on the next train at no extra cost.

So I get on the train for the penultimate part of my journey. The train is packed, we're like sardines in here and I'm blowing my nose constantly. I've gone through a whole roll of toilet paper that I nocked from the hotel this morning. Everyone on this train must hate me.

There's not much to say about this journey, I've nearly made it, I'm longing for my bed.

I'm so relieved to reach St Pancras station. I know where I'm going, on the Victoria line to Victoria where I can get the Southern service back to the south coast. I quickly make my way there and get yet another coffee from the station which I'm hoping will keep me alive long enough to get home. I've not had a cup of tea for about three days now and I've never wanted one as much as I do now.

The train is on time and not too busy. It's an hour-and-a-half journey, and I'm nearly out of toilet paper for my nose.

Anyway, I made it back home at quarter past twelve, so an eighteen-hour journey with man flu.

Never again. I have no idea what I was thinking going on the train. I have no idea what the entire journey was all about. I'm so glad to be home, there's no place like it.