Challenge #31: Visit a different country for the weekend

Finally, I understand the concept of a 'mini-break'.

I first discovered this term while reading 'Bridget Jones' Diary', a novel I always bring out whenever I feel that my life needs some improvement. I figure that if Bridget can do it, then so can I. She's completely hopeless, after all. So I translate that to mean that there must be hope for all of us.

Bridget is obsessed with the idea of going on a mini-break with her version of Mr Wickham, Daniel. She claims that a mini-break must mean true love.

With this in mind, I booked flights to visit my friends while they were in Berlin. I figured that if Bridget could view a mini-break as a sign of true love, then so could I. Who said true love couldn't mean true friendship?

During what was not my wisest hour, I decided to forgo the usual rush from work on a Friday afternoon (and save the $20 for a hostel bed) and leave on Saturday morning. Early. I mean, really early. When you book a flight for 6:30am you forget the fact that you actually have to be there BEFORE that time.

So, on the morning in question, I got up at 3:30am to catch my 4am train to Gatwick Airport. The advantage of this ungodly hour is... Well, none. The sun hasn't come up and you feel like you're walking through a fog, only that fog is in your head. Although my total exhaustion from having 4 hours sleep did mean I crashed out on the plane. Thank god for window seats.

I was excited as my plane touched down in Berlin. Not only was I revisiting a city I adore - with its soul-destroying, yet fascinating, history, and its cool culture - but I was going to see my favourite married couple for the first time in 16 months. I love that 'I can't believe this is happening' feeling I frequently get while living in London. Those moments where you feel proud of yourself for getting off your bum and actually making something incredible happen in your otherwise run-of-the-mill life. Most of Europe gives me that feeling.

Berlin did not disappoint, not that I expected it to. I had already fallen for it a year previously, so I felt like I was returning to an old friend. As I tried to figure out which bus to take to get to my hostel, the kindly German bus driver wrote instructions for me on my page, while talking to me in German.

I noticed very quickly why I love Berlin: People smile there. I love London, it's my home, but people look at you strangely if you smile at them, so no one bothers. In Berlin, people seemed so much more relaxed and friendly. And this is a city that was divided by opposing political ideologies pretty much yesterday in the grand scheme of history. I immediately felt relaxed and safe in Berlin's graffiti covered streets.

Graffiti doesn't necessarily have to make sense, right? Maybe there's some
deep meaning here...

One of the bittersweet upsides to living away from family and friends is the moments when you actually get to see them. You appreciate every single second, and you are constantly reminded of why you love them. My weekend with the Bolligs was no different. We laughed, we reminisced and we swapped Europe stories. These are the moments that life is all about. Falling in love with your friends all over again.

Does this really need a caption?

TV Tower. Meh.

We roamed the Berlin streets and had a closer look at the Reichstag. I wanted to go in, as I missed it last time, but found you had to book two days in advance. So, we continued our wanderings around the city, taking in the Brandenburg Gate and the famous TV tower.

We had tickets to the ballet and I enjoyed watching the incredible skill that it requires. Although, to be frank, I spent most of the time whispering comments about the male dancers' crotches. When it finished they took so many bows I thought I was going to miss my flight - the following night.

Me and a segment of the wall. I managed to restrain myself
from buying one of the 'pieces' on sale...

The Sunday was spent wandering around again, taking in The Wall, the Jewish Memorial and the Topography of Terror. Berlin manages to present its terrible, horrific past in such a precise and honest manner. There is no shying away from the truth. They present it and admit it happened. I found my respect for the German people growing and growing.

To finish my weekend in Berlin, I did what I went there to do: I had a kebab. There is nothing quite like a Berlin kebab. If you don't believe me, go there and try one. Preferably from a booth in the middle of one of the boulevards, like the one that leads up to the Brandenburg Gate.

The best kebab in the world. Seriously.

After a weekend of friendship, history, ballet, kebabs and smiling, I left my friends on a train platform and retraced my steps back. Airport, plane, airport, immigration, train, home. I collapsed on my bed, knowing I had completed another challenge and knowing that I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

But not on a 6:30am flight.

Challenge #1: Read Great Expectations

I always approach classic literature with a hint of skepticism, like I'm waiting for this world famous author to screw up somehow. I'm not really sure where this comes from, perhaps it's fear. Fear that I won't understand, that it will go over my head and I will be left feeling powerless under the weight of literary genius.

This feeling continues, even though I am constantly proven wrong. Every classic I've read has made me realise why it's a classic (well, except for The Great Gatsby, but maybe I was just too young for that one). I guess those literature professors (or whoever deems these novels to be classics) know what they're talking about.

That being said, I did find Great Expectations a hard slog, although I'm still figuring out why. It wasn't the language - I enjoyed his writing style and that time-traveller feeling you get from reading from the past. The story is captivating, the characters well-developed (I particularly loved Wemmick, with his constant desire to keep his work life and private life separate. And the fact that his father is just referred to as 'The Aged'). I think my major problem was a modern day conundrum: I watched the modern TV version first.

I made a classic blunder, although who can really resist anything on the BBC?? In fact, watching the TV mini-series inspired me to read the classic in the first place. But it ruined the mystery of the novel. I knew what was going to happen to Pip, Estella and dear Joe. The secret behind Pip's Great Expectations and his delusion that Estella was intended for him was no secret for me. That was why I found it so hard to pull the novel closer to me, to get into that excited reading-frenzy that great novels cause. Where you waste away hours in another world and when you emerge you're slightly surprised that the characters aren't standing in front of you. I already knew what was going to happen. All the suspense was spent before I even read the first page.

Still, I guess that doesn't matter as the end result is the same: I have finished reading Great Expectations. I can cross another classic off my list. I am acquainted with Mr Dickens and I find him quite satisfying, thank you very much. He can remain in the classic category, as far as I'm concerned.