The Scent of Tea

A pot of English tea steeps in a striped pot on the table before me. By its side, sand slowly pours into the base of a timer stamped “Tee Uhr” on top to let me know when it is ready to consume.

I am in the T-Room, a very comfortable cafe between the neighborhoods of Prenzlauer Berg and Mitte. Run by a fellow from London who used to work construction, it has open for only three months.

Who is Hermann and Who Cares?

My first day here, bleary-eyed from an all night plane trip and jet lag, I had to find my way to Hermannplatz. I had already screwed up in finding the way from the airport to the building where I had rented a room. Frank’s directions were good. I just got off the bus at the wrong place, luggage and all, and then had to figure out how to get to Hagenauer Str. in Prenzlauer Berg. That is not so easy in a strange city in the best of times, but after all the stress of departure, the long flight, and the change of languages and cultures, it is no surprise I made such a mistake.