I've always claimed that it's not just the foreign lands but the travel writers that make my job interesting. (Even now, when my contacts with both have been reduced.)

Working on a column about street food, I e-mailed Alan Behr - my trusty German hand - about currywurst and its relationship to Berlin. This is what I got back:

Currywust: quite a Berlin thing, in the main. You get it everywhere else, but it's the signature sausage of Berlin. The best stand for it about which I'm aware--and darn, I didn't check it out this time--is one painted in the international gay colors, on the Wittenberglatz, in Berlin. (Assuming it's still there.)

I couldn't see Annette this time because, 2 days before our scheduled dinner, her father suddenly returned to Berlin, after 4 yrs in Sri Lanka as a Buddhist monk.

While I was in Berlin, the Philharmonic burned 4 days after I saw a concert there, and the Dalai Lama and I were so close to each other at the Adlon Hotel, I think at one point we shared a bath.

Berlin's eastern part has now absolutely exceeded the old West Berlin as the place to visit. In fact, in over a week, I only spent a brief bit of time in the former West Berlin.

In the old days, I'd send an article to you about it. I feel like I'm that East German writer in The Lives of Others, silenced by the state police.