“Sometimes, places don’t matter as much as the people who brought you there”, I’m thinking to myself while I’m on my way to the mountain peak. Coffee is on my mind.
Berlin, 11.30 p.m. I am standing in a long queue with a friend, waiting to buy food – very special food, obviously. 40 meters and 100 heads ahead, we can identify a food stall with a big sign saying “Mustafas Gemüsekebap”. “It usually takes up to two hours, but it’s worth it” my friend says, smiling. I’m looking at him, doubtfully – my stomach is already growling.