BERLIN — When I lived in Germany I found much to admire. I’d been dragged to Berlin from Paris in 1998 and within a couple of months found myself at dinner with the foreign minister in one of the new Italian joints springing up in Mitte and with the chancellor in his Grunewald residence.
The contrast between the Bundesrepublik’s openness and the arms-length formality of France was giddying. Berlin’s disjointed flux was a tonic after the gilded perfection of the French capital.
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