Welcome to Ikea

Monica and I spent the whole train ride to Berlin reading Guidebooks. She made a list of twenty museums she wanted to see. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't want to see any museums, so I just helped whittle the list down.
"Monica," I said in French, "Have you ever even seen Kathy Kowelwitz work?"
"No, but the description seemed interesting."
"Monica, she has one famous work. That mother with her dead child."
"Oh," she said, "That's not at the musem, that's at the Neue Wache."
We talked at length about whether to see the Pergamon Alter. "I'd rather not pay six euros to see some old greek sculpture. It's not even that important. The only reason you see it is to say you've seen it."
"Oh, I've already seen it."
"Then it's settled," I said.
We got into Berlin, took the U-Bahn to the hostel, checked in and rented a lock.
"I can hold onto the key," Monica offered.
"No," I said, taking it, "I'll just put it in my money belt." I put it in my money belt, in the locker and locked it.
As we left, Monica asked where the key was. "Oh," I said.
"You have to tell them," she said, "They're going to think we're stupid Americans."
That became the theme for the week- avoid looking like stupid Americans.
We went to a museum of contemporary art. I spent an hour in the gift shop while Monica stared at the art. I can't look at art- I just walk through it. (It doesn't help that I can't read German."
When the museum closed at 10, monica and I walked down a street for a long time looking for something to eat.
"We could go to Burger King," I offered.
"You're joking, right?" she said.
"No," I said.
She stopped and folded her arms.
"Let's just keep walking in the direction of Burger King."
"Have you ever had Doner?" Monica asked. She ordered two falafel donner, one in a wrap, the other one in a pita-like-but-crispier bread. We sat on the sidewalk tables eating, drinking the rest of our sparkling apple juice.
Then we ate gelato, it wasn't as good.
We walked back to the hostel.
"So what do you think of Germany so far?" she asked in French.
"I think it's exactly like being at Ikea."
"How can you say that!" Monica said, in English, "That's so ignorant. How can you compare this country to something so capitalist!"
"Don't you understand?" I said, "Everything looks exactly the same, in exactly the same typeface but I can't understand what it means."
"But don't say it's like Ikea!" Monica said, "The signs aren't even in Sweedish!"
Monica would know, she has her gmail in it.
The rest of the weekend is just a blur of museums and Doner and skyping from the hostel bar. Monica left and I went down to Munich where it was very cold and I stayed in a giant tent.