An Olympic snowman.

On the first day of snow this year—which was last Saturday, to be quite precise—I decided to see Berlin’s Olympiastadion for the very first time in my life. It was strange to see it there, lying still in the outskirts of this buzzy town, covered in light snow, not much seems to have changed since 1936, the Olympians of that year are all gone, Jesse Owens being the best of them all, teaching the Third Reich a lesson by being decorated with four gold medals, each one unquestionable proof that Hitler (like so many others… ) was wrong about white supremacy. The architecture of the place, however, is flawless, puristic art deco at its best, flanked by lithic, never ageing athletes. I went home smiling, a young girl’s little snowman in front of the gigantic, sky scraping gate, had put my mind at ease.

Berlin’s high toned places.

On a very cold winter morning, an icy cold one, one might say, as minus six degrees Celsius is rather frosty, almost Siberian a temperature, I decided to go to town. As Brandenburg Gate is near to Friedrichstrasse and Dussmann’s, my CD supplier de choix, I later went for a touristic stroll, I hadn’t been there in months, and when some very stylish people with a lot of Louis Vuitton luggage left the Hotel Adlon right in front of it and took a taxi, presumably to the one airport that works in this town of non-working airports, I saw some people take photos of them. They must have been famous, although I have no idea who they were. Not a clue. As I was nicely dressed in my Dsquared jacket with that giant black fur collar that gives me a somewhat Russian nobility expression, a modern version of Prince Bolkonsky, at least that’s what I like to tell myself, I decided to linger around in front of the famous hotel, as if I would wait for my personal assistant with my luggage, imaginary huge black Goyard trunks, and to give people the oppurtunity to take pictures of me. But nobody did. I would rather have been arrested for loitering with intent…

As good as it gets.

I really wanted to show you Berlin on a sunny day, alas, Berlin and I weren’t blessed with a blue sky. So, once again, I give you Berlin on a cloudy day. That way, at least, the elegant greys and beiges of the town are pointedly marked and wonderfully emphasised. Enjoy!

Berlin in winter.

It’s cold, obviously. You see, the nearer you get to Russia, the colder it gets. And I’m not referring to the post-communistic and neo-capitalistic allure of Putin’s empire, just to Siberia’s increasing proximity. And it’s windy, too, although I don’t have a geographical (or political) explanation at hand for that. It’s definitely not a comfy town to visit, but the Berliner Schnauze will make up for it: Berliners are all very grounded, and everybody grounded is to be trusted, aren’t they? Just make sure to wear woolen socks when visiting.

Castles in the air.

I guess, when you’re a king, you won’t ever have to built a single castle in the air, instead you might even built them out of thin air. Just for fun, for a laugh, ha-ha-ha. To be fair, Frederick the Great built some of them, like the Neue Palais, for other reasons, for real statesmanly reasons like entertaining other kings or have a ball with diplomats, ambassadors, and such, but Sans Souci, he did built for nothing but pleasure. In winter, the joyfulness of it all might be less visible, but the architectural finesse of the ensemble is to be experienced at its very best.

Royal Wrappings.

In the 1700s, when Frederick the Great was in charge of Prussia, chinoiserie was in style. And so he had his splendid little tea house outside Potsdam’s Sans Souci palace built à la chinoise, in rigourous splendour as well as in rational opulence; he was into arts, but he was also a very Prussian Prussian. He lived in the age of showing off, but he also knew that a crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in. The golden statues of romanticized Chinese noblemen having tea outside the little pavilion are part of the showing off side of things and therefore purely ornamental, and as such they require even more attention than any other tea guest, no matter how high their level of maintenance might be. In winter, they get all wrapped up, to protect them from the cold, from the ice and snow of the severe winters in Eastern Germany.

A summer’s day in Berlin.

I can’t remember a day with temperatures below 30 degrees Celsius, these last weeks. Actually, 34 degrees now seem quite agreable to me, it only starts to get really painfully hot once 38 degrees are reached, when the city is running a high fever so to speak, but when it’s still below body temperature, it’s no big deal, wear thin linen shorts—linen is such a smart invention, who ever came up with it deserves a medal, or two—and never leave the shade. But once you do, because let’s face it, everybody has to leave one’s comfort zone every once in a while, make it worth your while—just walk slowly and go see some great places. Berlin’s Mitte is not only any hipster’s natural habitat but has also some very nice places to offer, a little bit out of this world, an air of serene tranquility you won’t find everywhere, least of all on the Champs Elysées.