Walls

I parked my scooter and went into the transit hut. I had to declare how much money I had and also to buy ten us dollars in East German marks as a kind of visitors fee. East Berlin was not anything like West. There was none of the neon, advertising everywhere, modern buildings, hubbub, streaming traffic or lively crowds. There was more bombed out blocks than on the west side. Many buildings still were riddled with bullet holes. The city gave an impression of drabness, severity, seriousness, oldness and in need of paint.

One was free to drive around at random anywhere one wished. I took a circuit along the wall to view it from the eastern side. Visiting stores off the beaten track in sections of the city seemingly unvisited by tourists, the shop owners and customers were somewhat dour, mostly older people, seemingly old fashioned, not necessarily friendly and reserved.

Around four in the afternoon I decided to return to the West and found my way back to Check Point Charlie. I parked. Guards were opening peoples trunks, examining the interiors of cars and poking wheeled mirrors with long handles underneath vehicles. I went into the check-through hutch. It was a medium size room painted a military drab olive green, with a counter on one side, chairs along the other and fairly crowded with people. They were waiting for their passports to be returned after they had been collected at the counter and slipped into a slot in the wall. I watched my passport disappear through the slit and sat down to wait. Most of the people had their passports returned and departed, until I was almost the only one left.

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