Berlin

Fatma, long haired, big glasses and a flowing white shirt, comes and sits down next to me and tells me that I must stop taking photos of his night flea market because some of the people there are very private. I apologise and promise to send him the photos when I can, so he can vet them for private people. A number of wrongs turns and a dash of misinformation had almost thwarted my trip to this hall, in the south of the city, but its worth it. Das SO36 Nachtflohmarkt is a monthly gathering of people with stuff they don't want and people who want to look at it. Not much in the way of trading seems to go on, but the music is cool, the venue is warm and I can talk to Lola the little bulldog who is sitting on the stage, recuperating after a trip to the vet. Speaking of doctors, this market is also the home of Dr. Hartz, who dispenses free social advice to a large number of patients who earnestly talk with him for lengthy periods. I thought it would be fun to try but when I see the waiting lists and the apparent seriousness with which the process is being conducted, I decide against it.

Just outside on the doorstep of the market I pay a visit to the lady who sells surprises. I buy two of the brightly wrapped parcels. One shows Fidel Castro with a caption that is a pun on the word for crossroads. I won't tell you what was inside.