There's something strangely beguiling about Berlin. She's the proud woman with every strike against her, whose vibrant smile and contagious joie de vivre light up a room, even though her eyes hint at the hardships she's faced. If you care enough to look.
There's a pulse, an energy in this town that you feel the moment you step onto the pavement. A restless undercurrent of excitement and unknowns; a city under reconstruction the likes my generation has never seen. Yes, we watched the flickering footage on TV as the walls came down, mystified at the silent tears streaming down others' faces. But the momentousness of this era in history only reaches its full, spine-tingling impact once here.
It will be 20 years this fall since the Berlin Wall was opened. In 20 more, there will be even fewer tangible remnants of this time. Only the memories etched on people's faces, the series of powerful memorials and the 1.4 km stretch of the wall, the East Side Gallery: the longest remaining section still standing to mark a brutal period of time.
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