Berlin and Bob Dylan

It is my habit to frequent jazz bars in every city I visit, to check out the scene. This led me to Jazz in the park in Singapore where the bliss of merlot lying on the grass and listening to ponnudorai and jesting with the guy with a hukkah and the flirty american guy who insisted on carrying my bottle, just because ladies shouldn't carry wine bottles or plastic glasses to drink it in, has so far been nonpareil and led to some surprisingly good jazz in Hanoi apart from where it all started... in Atlanta.

Occasionally, an idiot concierge (though this happens v vvvv rarely, and only when I haven't had time to search on the interweb) directs you to a neighbourhood pub where you have local talent singing German pop. You wince and then suddenly a German folksy-rock (yes, they exist) singer starts singing Dylan in German and despite it being surreal you feel its a message that all is not wrong with the world and your uncontrollable rage at idiot concierge subsides gradually, and you *still* don't know what the guy was singing, but its ok, because it was Dylan.