Berlin Alexanderplatz Station, 1990

The Wall falls, tensions rise. East meets West in an underground battle of youths: Neo-Nazis versus anti-fascists.

We’re waiting for the subway train after touring East Berlin, using up the currency while it’s still valid. I’ve just moved here, and I don’t speak German. My boyfriend shows me around and does most of the talking.

Shooting a look over his shoulder, he ushers me towards the end of the platform. I too look and see a gang of teens over by the stairs.

“We passed them earlier,” he says.

It’s my coloured hair and ripped tights that are getting their attention.

He grabs my hand. “Come on.”

We slip into the empty carriage before the doors slide shut. But the train idles.

“Scheisse,” he says. “Hurry up!”

They burst into the carriage, engulfing the space. Striding down the aisle, they surround us. A boy shoves a baseball bat under my chin. My hand, with a mind of its own, swipes it away. The bat is the colour of the German flag. Its wielder is very young.

The bright platform gives way to the dark tunnel. A heated discussion ensues.

My boyfriend shrugs, shakes his head. “Touristin aus Amerika.”

Batboy smirks. “Texas,” he drawls, in a thick German accent. The others laugh.

“Los Angeles,” I state.

Eyes widen. Postures ease. I’ve transformed from enemy to exotic creature. I smile at one, feeling like a traitor. They talk and laugh loudly until the train pulls in and they disembark.

We sigh!