I was stationed in Berlin on that Thursday evening not quite 20 years ago when some East German bureaucrat, speaking somewhat off the cuff, basically announced that the Wall was open.
I'd been in Berlin since January, 1983, and had seen several things that convinced me that socialism sucks and communism is maybe just a notch or two removed from socialism.
Major Arthur Nicholson was shot and killed in April, 1985, by a trigger-happy Soviet sentry.
The Glienicke bridge, aka "Freedom Bridge" that separates Berlin from Potsdam and hence West Berlin from East Germany, was used to trade spies.
On more than one occasion I saw Soviet officers cruising the streets of West Berlin and even parked outside our kasernes (bases) observing. (That was permitted, to a degree.)
When the Wall came down, everything changed. Berlin is not the same city as it was when it was West Berlin. I miss the old West Berlin, actually, and I'm not convinced that tearing the Wall down was altogether a good thing -- but I say that from a nostalgic and selfish perspective.
My youngest daughter, 23 years old, still lives in Berlin. She bitches and moans about the city, but she won't leave, either.
Ich habe noch einen Koffer in Berlin.