Paris — There was nothing through most of that grey, chilly Thursday to suggest that it would come to symbolise one of the great transitions of the 20th century. Even when the delirious crowds surged through the Berlin Wall shortly before midnight on Nov. 9, 1989, it was not because of any momentous decision or heroic feat; it was because of a bad translation, a confused border guard and a natural longing for a better life.

That is not to say that the event history has declared as the moment when the Cold War ended came out of the blue. From the time Gorbachev came to power in 1985 proclaiming change, the Soviet bloc had been in turmoil. The pace quickened dramatically in the summer of 1989: Hungary ceased enforcing its stretch of the Iron Curtain, opening a fissure through which East Germans began to head west in droves. Pressures mounted daily on the Communist old guard in East Berlin. East Germans were marching in ever greater numbers through the streets, and their battle cry had changed from “Wir sind das Volk” — “we are the people,” a demand for reform — to “Wir sind Ein Volk” — “we are one people,” a demand for reunification.

But there was nothing on that Thursday morning that said, “This is the day.” I was in East Berlin that grey November day, and the tension was palpable as embattled East German leaders struggled for survival, desperately trying to stem the exodus to the West and the clamour for change. We were told that they would announce a major loosening of travel restrictions. Their calculation was that if East Germans did not feel so imprisoned in the East, they would not be so desperate to flee to the West. Günter Schabowski, a member of the Politburo, was designated to announce the new regulations at a news conference in the late afternoon. I had no way of filing to the paper from East Berlin, so even before he finished I rushed back to get through Checkpoint Charlie ahead of the mob of newsmen. As midnight approached, I was writing away in my room at the Kempinski Hotel in West Berlin when there came a knock on the door. It was Victor Homola, my translator from East Berlin.

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