This week, that month

December 4th, Munich
Early snow has come and almost gone. While the streets are all clear, the vast English gardens are still covered in dirty white freckles. The three squares of Karlsplatz, Odeonsplatz and Mariensplatz form a Bermuda triangle of sorts, captivating locals and tourists alike with their charms. The holiday season is on – shops and stalls in Marienplatz are bedecked with holly and lights, the young and the old skate to peppy music on the rink at Karlsplatz, the ubiquitous European street artist makes his puppet dance to the tune of Yellow Lemon Tree, and Munich rids me of a feeling of dislike for Germans and Germany born out of movies like Life is Beautiful.

December 5th, Innsbruck
Alpine Zoo, Tirol is a 20 minute walk uphill from the west bank of River Inn. The snow covered hills higher up are barely visible through the clouds. A hill stream with clear, cold water trickles past purposefully on ground covered with leaves from the autumn gone by. The zoo is home to all kinds of fascinating creatures, from the big brown bear to the small harvest mouse, from exotic wild cats to common domestic cattle, from the blasé reindeer to the awesome but pitiable European wolf.

1400 hrs. Shere-e-Punjab is run by a middle-aged couple from where else but Punjab. Both the man and the lady are as large about the waist as they are frosty. The wall is adorned with not less than thirty pictures of the couple posing grimly with actors from Bollywood, Mollywood, and other Indianwoods, either on location in Austria or at the restaurant. But the food served more than makes up for the lack of civilities and pleasantries

December 6th, Vienna
No snow even in Vienna but it drizzles bitingly cold, rendering woollen gloves soggy and useless. Vienna is another capital with art, architecture and museums galore. I walk around all afternoon, covered head to toe in black, striving to keep my hands warm and taking in the city as best as I can on a wet day like this. No Before Sunrise happening, but how can you lose your spirits in an alien land? It may be commonplace, and you may risk creating parallel cities that exist only in the mind, but if it doesn’t look novel and beautiful now, then when will it ever?

December 7th, Titisee
Lake Titisee lies to the south-east of Freiburg in the Black Forest region of Germany. Outside the Titisee station, snow floats down in specks too small to be called flakes. The roads are clear of snow which has been shovelled into untidy little heaps at regular intervals. Ducks numbering in dozens wade over hungrily to the edge of the Lake towards an old woman. The walk around the lake is 6 km long, provides several new wallpapers and finishes just beyond the youth hostel which is set in the most scenic of locations but offers only a bunch of 10 year olds for company for the night.

December 10th, Berlin
Dusk at 1630 hours. The grounds of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp have nary a light but the gloomy darkness is just the perfect setting to go around the place. Four hours later, the streets disappear quickly underfoot as siblings J and C lead the way and K and Chan follow. A motley crowd of about twenty-five English speakers from 5 continents gathers around at Hackescher Markt for Insider Tour's second show. K is quick to make introductions; Chan just watches from a distance. Soon Nate starts with his opening spiel and off the group goes to the first pub for the night. The deal is simple: hang your coats, buy your poison, and 'get to know' 'interersting people', all in 45 minutes with free shots on the house.

Chan is almost hysterical with silent laughter: what's a guy who neither drinks nor speaks doing on a Berlin pub-crawl? Nevertheless he lives in the moment and slips roles from awkward observer to earnest conversationalist. Apart from a minor overdose of Aussie high spirits, things are definitely looking up. Pub Number 2 is reached by walking across Oranienburger Strasse, as C talks to a Croatian girl and her Yankee friend. K, J, the Croatian and other unexplored entities hit the small dance floor while her brother keeps C busy with talk about Indian women wearing bindis and Croatian tennis players kicking ass. South African John soon joins the party and speaks of Sachin's 35th completed just a few hours ago. More interesting company beckons but Chan bides his time - the night is young and the crawl is a five hour thing: four pubs and a club. Time's up again, coats are grabbed, and Chan and John make for the exit speaking, of all the dumb things in the world, about Pietermaritzburg and Gandhi, about Johannesburg and Zaheer's first over.

To go straight or right? That is the question and a diagonally striped sweater points the way. But crossing the road leads to a gang from Berlin Walks. Chan retraces, John reconnoitres, but Nate and the group are nowhere to be seen. Frustration gives way to anger, desperation and resignation in quick succession as the young Berlin night dies a sudden death, like a flower bud crushed before it could bloom.