Potsdam
May 7, 2011
Distance Traveled today: 30
Distance So Far: 9964
[NOTE: Since I was on a bicycle all day and my camera is big, heavy, fragile and expensive, I had to leave it behind. So no actual photos of Potsam, very sorry about this. It is a beautiful place and I encourage you to look it up.]
Full day excursion to the palace-strewn town of Potsdam. First time I’ve been on a bicycle in seventeen years, believe it or not.
The very last time I was ever on a bicycle was in May lf 1994, at the closing ceremonies of the very first California AIDS Ride. I had just bicycled my way from San Francisco to Los Angeles, which was the only physically impressive thing that I’ve ever done in my life.
I loved the event, loved that I had done every mile on my own, and returned to work as a non-riding volunteer for nine more rides. But the experience also cured me, permanently, of cycling.
After my tumble on the Segway on Tuesday I was a tiny bit apprehensive, but I did fine. No falling.
Potsdam is beautiful, and of course wildly historical. We got to stand in the very room and see the very table where Truman, Stalin and Churchill hammered out the disposition of Europe, and particularly of Germany, at the end of the War.
I also had the opportunity to be a tiny bit patriotic early in the day. The way the tour worked is that we all met at the Fat Tire Bike headquarters, got our bikes, and then hauled them on to the commuter train to Potsdam. There was a nice family of Kiwis in the tour group, and after we arrived at the leafy retreat some fifteen miles out of Berlin, he reported that the train carriage they had been on had been populated by a group of unruly skinheads. “They were singing illegal songs, ” Kiwi Dad said.
“Songs can be ‘illegal’”? I asked, knowing full well exactly where this was going.
“Here in Germany they can.” Clearly he was talking about Nazi songs.
I am an asshole, so I continued. “So . . Germany doesn’t have freedom of speech, then.”
“Well, not on this subject.”
I replied, without a trace of haughtiness, “Well, I come from a country where even unpopular speech is protected.”
“Oh, yeah, what country?”
“The United States of America.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, right, how about that radio DJ who lost his job.”
“You mean Don Imus? First, he’s rich and immediately got another job so don’t worry about him. Second, he was fired by the private company he worked for. Free Speech means the government cannot censor you.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good point.”
OWNED!!!
USA: 1, New Zealand: 0.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not interested in supporting the singing of Nazi songs on public trains. But I think it’s a mistake that Germany makes the swastika and other Nazi stuff literally illegal. If we only protect the speech we like, then speech isn’t free.
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It’s my last day in Berlin. I’ve enjoyed my time in this beautiful but ragged city. I think my favorite aspect of the city is its spectacular public transportation system. I have been without a car in Los Angeles since last summer, and I have to tell you that, except for commuting to and from downtown during rush hour, it SUCKS to not have a car in LA. But it would totally be possible here in Berlin. Between the trams, buses, subways, and commuter trains, you can get where you need to go, and get there quickly and easily. I’ve been jetting around the city like a native.
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Also a good day, kid-wise. I’m usually no good with kids. My only play is video games, and that opens the door for me sometimes, but not always. For some reason, however, the kids on today’s tour found me unendingly fascinating.
At two different points in the tour, a diferent kid latched onto me. While we were tooling around Potsdam on the bikes, 10-year old New Zealander William (or Wilhelm, as I insisted on calling him) reminded me, almost painfully, of myself at his age. A real motormouth know-it-all. Obviously a voracious reader, already well-versed in history (you could tell this by the questions he asked during the tourguide’s various spiels).
He was one of those “Didja know?!” kids. Every thirty seconds there would be a new “Didja know?!” I tormented my father and other adults with this syndrome for a few years, so it was pretty esy to be tolerant. The only disturbing thing was that he informed me that his parents didn’t let him play video games. I’m sure there is a Family Services type agency in Holland where they are living that I can contact.
On the train ride back, young Adam, four going on five, wouldn’t budge an inch from me. His family was in Berlin while his Dad worked on a film. They were a nice foursome from The Valley. Adam showed off a birthday gift – a tiny cheetah. I told him that on a recent birthday of my own, I’d seen a real cheetah at the San Diego Wild Animal Park. Of course as a fellow Californian, he’d been there also. Then he proceeded to ruthlessly quiz me on my feeble German vocabulary. I realized I actually knew more German words than I thought I knew, as I had to keep pulling them out of my head. “What othe rwords do you know?!” he’d demand immediately after I’d produce a translated word. The next day was his fifth birthday, and he was to spend it with his sister and parents at the Olympia Stadium, where there was to be a big medieval jousting tournament. Pretty cool birthday, I said.
People Who Are Better With Kids Than Me
- Everyone
People Who Are Worse With Kids Than Me
- Medea
- Bing Crosby
- Susan Smith
