Walking in the Tiergarten in early May is to be stepping in the footsteps of the most romantic of social theoreticians: Les flaneurs. Walkers, "..whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban text they write without being able to read it. The paths that correspond in this intertwining, unrecognized poems in which each body is an element signed by many others, elude legibility" (de Certeau). It is also a veritable feast of greens and sweet smells for a child of the countryside that has lost her heart to the city, and a bit of a sadistic joke for one inflicted with hay fever.
The confusion of sense and feeling, brought about by aimless wandering in the city, may be called a "poetic and mythic experience of space," if I trust the theory, and ends up, aber hallo, in the street named after the guy who wrote the Critique of Judgment.
*Tiergarten is not the best place to make observations, like those great walkers of the past, about other people's fashion sense. Some Berliners like to rid themselves publicly of their clothes once they see a patch of grass and a pond.