It’s another hot night. Though I’m well enough anaesthetised not to notice. Dolores not so much.
She wakes me with a cup of tea. Well, not literally, She doesn’t throw it over me. She puts it on my bedside table and says; “Good morning, Ronald.” It’s a very civilised way to start the day.
I can’t smell any bacon as I enter the breakfast room. That’s always depressing. It’s confirmed when I lift the lid on the warm food: scrambled egg, meatballs and little sausages. I can’t see the disappointment on Alexei’s face. But he manages to hold back the tears.
It’s the same as yesterday. Warm stuff for me, all sorts of bits and bobs for Dolores, warm then fruit for Alexei, glass of apple juice for Andrew.
We’re squeezing in another museum this morning. Well, me and the kids are. Dolores is doing some shopping while we hit the Deutsches Historisches Museum. Which is in the centre of town.
It’s simple enough to get there: U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz then one stop on the S-Bahn to Häckisches Markt. Plus a bit of walking.
The U-Bahn is bearable. But the S-Bahn boiling. Just one stop and we’re broiled. Worse is to come. It’s not a long walk, but much is totally exposed to the sun. We almost finish our supply of drinks in a couple of hundred metres.
“I wouldn’t fancy that job today.” Alexei says, pointing at two men in Mickey Mouse suits. There must be rivers of sweat flowing inside. I wonder how they clean the suits?
The museum feels wonderfully cool. Thank Liebknecht that it’s air conditioned.
We’ve been here before. It’s a really fascinating museum, if you’re into history, which me and both the kids are. Alexei is mostly interested in the weapons. While I like staring at the maps. Not sure what most attracts Andrew’s attention.
We’ve only just about reached WW I, when it’s time to leave. On reflection, maybe we should have skimmed the Middle Ages more. We’re meeting Dolores at the festival at one. And it’s twenty to one now.
The walk to the S-Bahn is even less fun than on the way out. But, as I took no photos on the way in, I need to get a few now.
“Dad, don’t stop to take stupid photos.”
“But, Lexie, I . . .
“. . . need them for your blog. I know. Just hurry up.”
I can’t pass up the chance of snapping the Schloss Palast. Which is nearly finished. A pity that stupid Humboldt box plonked in front of it totally ruins the view of one side. I hope they aren’t going to leave that pile of crap there.
On the platform, we struggle with the ticket machine. It won’t accept my bank pass.
“It must be broken. Try mine.” Andrew suggests. His doesn’t work, either. We try to use a note, but now it’s expecting a card. We have to cancel and go through the whole process again. Great fun in this heat.
Andrew looks like he’s about to faint again. It is uncomfortably hot. I don’t feel that great myself, to be honest.
Naxt time find out what happens when we get to the festival.
German Historical Museum
Deutsches Historisches Museum
Unter den Linden 2,
Tel: +49 30 203040
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