Contrary to all my fears, our (Riju and mine) journey to Berlin passed off without any major hitch. Kolkata to Dubai was hassle-free, of course. Three hours transit in the swanky Dubai airport was not so bad either. Duty-free tempted all the shopaholic genes in me, but thoughts of the next 15 days in foreign land on a shoestring budget kept me in check. Nonetheless, Riju wangled a promise to buy him a toy robot on the way back.

Dubai to Munich was mostly spent snoozing. When we landed in Munich, we were caught completely unawares by the daylight-at-9 pm characterestic of Europe. But we had an emigration to clear and a train (two, in fact, the second to Berlin) to catch and couldn't wonder long at the disconcerting sunlight.

Taking a quick glance at the worn paper with common German phrases written on it, I plunged into Germany. To my pleasant surprise, I saw that I can actually make do with the Queen's language, aided suitably with appropriate gestures.

The journey from the airport to the main station (Hauptbahnhof) was mostly incident-free, except an unexpected change of trains due to some problem on the tracks. A good samaritan helped me get on the right train thereafter. Here, let me add that I found Germans a friendly and helpful people. Definitely politer than the Parisians and Londoners. As I struggled with a heavy suitcase up a staircase (Riju having developed a sudden and temporary fear of the escalator), people actually carried it up for me, without so much as a sweat. They were always willing to help me find my way to some place or the other, always signing off with a smile. And they didn't mind that I could not speak a word of German except "Danke".

Catching the train to Berlin proved to be tougher. The train was scheduled at 11.55 pm. At a platform far from the main station. We squatted on our suitcase and watched as various other trains came and went and platforms around us emptied. At 11.30, I began to panic. For, there was no trace of our train yet. And the few Deutsch Bahn (kinda like Indian Railways) officials around at that hour simply shrugged when I mentioned the train number. The DB office was closed. I frantically raced, with Riju in toe, to the platforms at the other extreme which still had trains waiting.

For the umpteenth time, I showed the printout of my Internet ticket to a train conductor. He pointed to a train waiting in a completely different platform than was mentioned in the ticket. [Dhiman, more experienced in German ways, told me later that platform numbers are changed at the drop of a hat in Germany.] We got on to the train, got our ticket punched (was majorly scared that the Net version will not be accepted), and settled down for the long overnight journey ahead.

Lovely train. Very punctual. Clean loos. Noisy restaurant car next door. That was because of all the French and Italian fans drinking themselves silly on way to the finals.