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Last day on earth save editor1/6/2023 In the black earth at my feet the stones were engraved Unbekannter, Unbekannte, Unbekannt. ![]() Later in the Grunewald, the dense urban forest which hugs the city’s western fringe, I’d linger until I spotted myself – with notebook in hand – bow my head in the forest cemetery. Along Friedrichstraße I’d watch myself – over thirty by 1989 and losing my hair - run between East German ministries, applying for travel permits for a country that might no longer exist (none of the bureaucrats knew for sure). At night on Savignyplatz I would catch sight of myself, four years older, cycling home in the summer rain, soaked to the skin, my companion and I throwing off our clothes as we rode: shirts in the Tiergarten, skirt in the Spree. If I waited long enough at Bahnhof Zoo, the old West Berlin central railway station, I would see myself aged nineteen fall from the Hoek van Holland train and into waiting arms. Over the years I have visited so often that today, if the notion took me, I could find my younger self in almost any corner of the city. ![]() ![]() In my lifetime I have known three Berlins: West Berlin where I made movies with David Bowie, East Berlin where I researched my first book the UK top ten Stalin’s Nose, and now the unified capital. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below.
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