I grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country, where the majority of my classmates and teachers had German surnames, and German was a mandatory subject when I was in junior high. The first sentences we learned were to describe the weather. Our teacher would ask us to look out the window, and we would respond in one of three ways: “Die Sonne scheint.” “Es regnet.” “Der Himmel ist grau.”

I’m in Berlin, and der Himmel ist grau. Boy, is it grau. I haven’t seen the sun for two days. Not only is the Himmel grau, but der Boden, covered in dirty snow, is grau also, as are most of die Gebäude, with their scary seventies facades and even worse interiors.

Berlin in January. Whose plan was this? Oh, right: They Who Pay the Bills.

This is my first trip to Berlin in more than twenty years, except then it was my own bright idea to go on a pleasure visit in the dark of winter. It was 1984, when I was doing a junior year abroad in Bremen. The exchange rate for the dollar was about the highest it would ever be, about 4 marks to the greenback. A few friends and I decided to hitchhike to West Berlin. This involved several rides to the East German border, and then finding a Westerner who could take us all the way from the border to West Berlin. We made one pit stop in East Germany to get gas and grab a bite to eat. We were terrified by the guards who checked our passports and fascinated at the thought of being in a Communist country.

It was a relief to get to West Berlin. Because of the high exchange rate, we were able to afford a very nice pension on the Kurfurstendamm. We spent a two days seeing the sights and two nights visiting bars and clubs in the extremely frigid December weather. Then we decided to visit East Berlin.

I believe we crossed the border via the subway, not at Checkpoint Charlie. I was disappointed, because I wanted to see the place where my German professor had escaped from East Berlin, walking through the checkpoint dressed in a U.S. Army uniform that his girlfriend had smuggled in to him. We had to purchase a visa, or some other kind of travel document, and exchange a certain amount of money for East German marks before we crossed.

We emerged on the other side of the Wall to a ghost town. It was Sunday, and the city was deserted. We walked through the empty streets, looking for something to do. We came across the famed Unter den Linden and strolled down it for awhile, until we approached the Brandenburg Gate from the Eastern side. A fence stopped us well before we got to the Gate. You would have had to jump the fence to make a run for the Wall. We pretended to take photos of one another so we could capture the surroundings, fearful that the police would emerge and confiscate our film.

We walked around for awhile, looking for entertainment, but there was nothing to do. The money we had been forced to exchange (which we would not be able to change back) was burning holes in our pockets, but we couldn’t buy any souvenirs: there were no stores. We went to a cafe to pass the time and spend some money. The waitress was not friendly. No one tried to chat with us or practice their English, as they often did in other cities. We ordered coffee and pastries. “No pastries.” OK, some soup. “No soup.” Sandwiches? Fries? Anything on the menu? No, no, no.

Of anything, that made the biggest impression on me: there was nothing to spend our money on. That might seem like a typical American consumerist response, but I think it went a bit deeper than that. Imagine a government so screwed up that they actively prevented people from contributing to the economy! It was hard to conceive of a regime that so vigorously thwarted actions in its own best interest.

Yesterday, I walked from my hotel up to Unter den Linden and then down the same route, approaching the gate from the east. The route is still obstructed, but by a large construction zone, not by a wall. Walking around the construction, I could go through the gate on foot, moving from east to west, a trip that would have gotten me shot twenty years ago. I arrived at the gate about the same time as a large contingent of protesters, doctors complaining about low pay and bureacracy in the state health care system.

I was floored: An organized protest, in a part of the city where the locals under East German rule would not have ventured without official business. And when I tried to warm my toes in a cafe, I had to walk half a mile before I found one that was not overrun with the crowd.

Seeing this contrast, it’s hard for me to believe that there are people out there who are so blase about government interference in private lives that they would overlook unsanctioned eavesdropping on the American people, or aid and abet China in censoring speech. If you don’t see the problem in this, please arrange some time in a country where the government abridges personal freedoms. It’s no longer 1984, but you can still find such places. Stay a nice long time, and then tell me if you still think wiretapping without warrants is still a good idea. January is such a nice time to travel.