Berlin, the unredemeed

Cousin London came to Paris one day, sharing her worries about cousin Berlin's misdoings. She complained about Berlin being a perpetual teen, oblivious to the current economical needs, still insisting in pursuing art studies. Paris agreed, partly, as she knows that love for art and culture in general is a must, if one wishes to be a good Parisian. That and the love for a myriad of cheese types and wine, of course. Also, she can't simply accept so easily that Cousin London is right.

The conversation continued. Berlin had countless time to straighten itself over, the roaring 90's are past behind us, and she's no longer bipolar! But she doesn't grow up, she's like an island surrounded by the reproving looks of her neighbours. She could be so much more, much more ambitious. Although, not too much! One needs to be careful when it comes to her, a jocose London remarked. Paris knows it can't outstand London's wit: even with the dullest weather of the three, foggy London has an unclouded sense of humor, London said once. It's just the reality, that Berlin can accept unproblematically. Paris resumes the conversation. Berlin is a work in progress, it's the German side that most of us don't know. Germany has two sides London, it’s either the highly-polished works of Beethoven, Schiller or the darkness of Schönberg and Kafka's work. I think Berlin is more Kafkaesque, chaotic however controlled as it still is Germany. Goethe even said that... London knows it shouldn't have allowed Paris to speak, she has a tendency to ramble for hours and hours, specially when she's smoking in one of her downtown cafes. But, once in a while, poor ol' London sidetracks a bit and lets her longtime acquaintance dissert on her own. Nonetheless, London starts to get nervous. she fears her daily pint in Fulham will be forfeited. London tries to break Paris' line of thought. Paris, have you seen the new Prada collection? Paris was horrified, almost speechless, and so London picked up on where Paris had left. Just to summarise, although I'm enjoying this delightful conversation very much, we both believe Berlin could grow up right? Maybe we can schedule an intervention party. Still shaking, Paris nodded.

As they left the cafe and took a short walk around the neighbourhood, they saw Berlin wandering around Montmartre on her own. She carried a disdainful look, almost scornful, towards the artists working there. London and Paris hurriedly tried to catch up with her. Berlin, Berlin! What do they want from me? Do they think I am a sellout like them? Hi Berlin, how are you? Fine. Why are you here?, Paris asked. Oh, Bonn sent me here to see if I can find some novel idea for the refashioning of East Berlin, especially near the East Side Gallery. I'm hating this, is this supposed to be good? Where's the spontaneity? Alas, where's the interest in working here? How can you say that!? Montmartre is THE art district of Europe. Its stairs are world famous, its views over Paris are the best and you also have Sacré Coeur up there, high, greeting every passerby. It's graceful, charming, quintessentialy Parisian, Paris argues with a loving look and rosy cheek. Nah, I prefer my city. Are you guys staying here or what? I can't handle all this cuteness, orderliness. Plus, this is full of tourists! How can you even see a thing Paris?! You old-timers are crazy. I'm heading to Amsterdam. But, weren't you supposed to stay here and report your results to Bonn?! asked the incredulous London. Well, life is short, and we can't abide to the rules all the time. I tell that to my Bavarian familly but they just don't listen. Well, guess you are staying more so bye folks! Carpe diem!

Both flabbergasted, London managed to say: Wow, that was certainly intense. And London parted on her way too, leaving a visibly offended Paris behind, sobbing softly.