Just started a family trip to Berlin, then Norway and Denmark. For us, Berlin is as much a visit to a familiar city and friends as it is a tourist visit. My daughter thinks of it as her second home, and we’ll be meeting up with my son and his host family, as well as my daughter’s old host family (who she genuinely sees as family, and they her) this afternoon. We’ll be seeing some things we haven’t seen, and some that we have. But today, we woke up early (our first morning, so our bio clocks are still adjusting). We are staying in Mitte. We got up and greeted the day with coffee and pastries - breakfast for three for 6.75 euros. Then, we walked around the hood in the Saturday morning quiet. We all love just being in a city. Not just the landmarks, but just being in the place itself. And on our wander, we stumbled across a treasure. A story of Berlin, 1945, in three photos. Since I was a kid, I’ve loved visiting cemeteries. They tell the story of the people, which necessarily includes a narrative of place; we are where we live, and die. We came across an open gate, leading into a green courtyard, mulberry trees dripping with ripe fruit. The Dorotheenstadt and Friedrichswerder Parishes Cemetery. My daughter came across a crypt, still bearing the pockmarks of shrapnel and bullets from the Battle of Berlin. Stone provided good cover for a German soldier. Or a Soviet soldier. In the din of battle, who’s to tell the difference? A mass grave of civilians who did not survive the battle, including entire families. The city - their city - fell around them. And along the back wall, the grave of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a martyr of conscience, killed by the regime in its waning days...resisting till the end, in the name of love and the Gospel. The dead still speak, if we listen. And we definitely need to listen. It was a beautiful and cool place. It’s also the final resting place of Hegel and Bertol Brecht. Now we’re back at our hotel for a moment, waiting on my son and his family to arrive. It’s their first trip to Berlin (they are native German, but lifelong westerners). After lunch, they want to head to the Brandenburg Tor. And why not? It’s damned cool, and I won’t mind seeing it again. Oh, I also should have taken pics of dinner last night. Sweet lord. The tastes of German summer - cucumber soup, sautéed chanterelles in tomato cream sauce, fresh bread, schnitzel, kaesespatzle (the best I’ve ever had) and a cold house Pilsner from the 20s-era pub down the street. I didn’t take pics. We just ate and enjoyed.