Hanns Zischler on a city that grew so rapidly, was destroyed and rebuilt more often than any other. About accidents, architectural secrets, about reluctant strollers and the invasion of Grunewald by a herd of wild boars. For over forty years, Hanns Zischler has been moving almost exclusively on foot, by bicycle, or via the S-Bahn through Berlin. It’s no wonder that he has developed a unique perspective on the city and its history. One observation stands out: The city, which was once built on sand and swamp, has always been characterized by a certain mix of expansionist hunger, megalomania, and a penchant for self-destruction. How else can one describe it when almost all existing Baroque ensembles along Unter den Linden fall victim to the plans of architect Schinkel? Or the office partnership of Hitler/Speer and the Germania Plan: Had the war not intervened, their demolition plans would have wreaked havoc just as severely. Hanns Zischler takes his readers into a lesser-known Berlin as he intertwines his walks with those of urban geographer Friedrich Leyden, poet Gertrud Kolmar, and passport forger Oskar Huth, uncovering a lost Berlin through the records of these three city wanderers. He makes the spirit and history of the city tangible as he hikes up Teufelsberg in Grunewald, where one only needs to dig lightly to uncover shards, zinc sheets, and bricks – remnants of Berlin's tenement houses. Who knows that an even greater secret lies within the depths of Teufelsberg?.