First off, I hope that’s how “Germany” is spelt in German. Now, for the story:

I was sixteen and travelling with a group of friends and classmates through Europe, a school-sponsored exchange. In Berlin, our guide took us all around Berlin informing us of the extensive history, especially of the World War II era. Checkpoint Charlie was a stop on our itinerary. A few of us were already worn-out and sick of being shepharded around like a flock of Canadian geese. Inside the museum, I decided to lose a few people and take in the photographs, displays, and artwork on a more personal, intimate level. As it turns out, a young Dutch guy caught my eye and I immediately lost train of thought and concentration in my self-taught History lesson. Just the two of us ended up staring at the same painting for quite some time on a wall out of the main area. We eventually got to talking and touring the whole museum together. I learned he was travelling through Germany with his father and would be in town for a few days (as was I only staying a short time). Conversations about our very different countries and childhoods ensued and before I knew it, my “flock” was preparing to leave. I didn’t know if I’d see him again but all reason and worry flew out the museum doors as we left the group back inside and tried to rush our goodbyes in the somewhat privacy of downtown Berlin. It was the most passionate, whirlwind round of kisses I had experienced.

To this day, we keep in touch. He came to out to Vancouver to visit me for two weeks in the summer of 2005, but by that time our fling had burnt out. Instead, I spent the two weeks showing him around Vancouver and Whistler. A great friendship rose from the ashes. And I’ve yet to cash in on my Tour de Holland.