Not that Berlin was boring! All the punk rock kids hang out in the east; Neukölln is the Mission, only everyone's Turkish, with the occasional plucky blue-haired gal carrying her cello on her back past the bakeries and coffee ships and fruit stands and sidewalk shoe displays. Kreuzberg, meanwhile, is where you get the good authentic pizza, if by "authentic" you mean "made by actual Italians who put horse meat on the toppings menu." In conclusion, bless the U-Bahn.
Now I’m in Oxford. The university press bookstore was closed, but I ran into my American friends on the street. I haven’t been here since I was nine, but it seems to be roughly the same genus of city as Cambridge. I remember that one.