Last week, a kind train driver drove me through the brown and red-leafed centre of Germany while I was eating Swedish meatballs; met Hitler-impersonator Bruno Ganz sitting on a bench in a subway station, looking like a bum; dined on Ramen soup in place that looked like the set of Blade Runner complete with Japanese pop music playing in the background; drove 200 kilometres with public transport to look at house built by the German Kaiser, the Nazis and the Socialist Party and ended up being an extra for the videoshoot of German trobadour Olli Schulz, impersonating a drunk guy hitting on my friend Lisa during an imagined and ever-repeating new year’s party in an old bar in Kreuzberg; and had another train driver drive me back through still brown and red-leafed Germany, in a compartement that looked like an outdated sci-fi set from the 80s.