When I was a kid, my parents had some friends living in Göttingen so we went to visit so I could improve my German. One fine summer afternoon we visited the Harz mountains and the blueberries were extraordinary. I was stepping on sundews, came across a tiny Russian cemetery under the trees with "unbekannt" written on every crosses. Then the forest stopped and we saw it. It was like a long serpent running across the hills. It was The Wall. The blueberry trail kept on oozing till the barbed wires and yonder so I followed it. I could hear the cries of my mum behind while looking at the guys in the watchtowers. Sorry not sorry mom, it's near the thin red line that the fruits taste the best. 30 years later I can still speak German after the third pint, and I keep a great fondness about the freezing German winters, German cars and the crows on frozen lakes that know no borders.