A velotaxi to the Hotel Adlon

A velotaxi in front of the Hotel Adlon.

When I pulled up in front of the Hotel Adlon in a velotaxi, which is rather like a bullet-shaped rickshaw powered by a bicyclist, the young doorman in the burgundy long-coat with black lapels and gold epaulets, didn’t quite know how to greet me since there was no door to open, no trunk from which to disgorge luggage. Just little ol’ me.

“Can I help you, Herr?” he said, in that rich Germanic way that is code for “Am I supposed to believe that you are a guest at the famous Hotel Adlon?”

“No, I’m fine, danke!” I told him, which is English code for, “Yes, you silly prick, I am a guest here.”

I strode up the steps and through the revolving doors while the doorman just watched.