This is the view out of the bedroom window on Saalburgstrasse 46, where I’m staying in Frankfurt, Germany, also known as Jutta’s apartment. The last few days, this view has been dark and wet due to the rain, but here we are starting a day in beautiful sunlight. Oh, and it’s Saturday, which in Frankfurt means everyone will be out.

Okay, where is everyone? It’s not like I left a few minutes after I took that previous photo, as I had some writing chores to tend to, namely yesterday’s blog post. While I write here and there over the course of the day, some things aren’t written until I decide what photos will be posted.

Ah, this is where everyone is. Well, not everyone who is someone, but a lot of those who are planning on being part of everyone. Huh? Crowds are lining up for their free COVID tests so they can go shopping, eat at outside tables, and otherwise find their social life. Once they have their results, provided they are negative, they’ll go line up to get in stores. Grocery stores don’t require negative tests, but almost everything else does. These test centers seem to be everywhere, from empty shops to tents, and again, I’d like to reiterate that this version of free is without any cost other than the patience to wait.

Guess what mistake I made while considering Anal Fantasy VII – Remake? I didn’t scan the QR code to see where it takes me, but do I really want to end up with some Goat.se-inspired images? Well, I guess I don’t mind because next time I walk by, I’ll be sure to bring up my phone, and if something gripping is found, I’ll share it.

I suppose this is as good a place to report on the fact that while I’ve spent five days in Frankfurt and a short while in Wiesbaden, I’ve not been able to find a single homeless encampment yet. As I criss-cross the city, I’m always on the lookout for obvious signs of homeless people, and although I’m confronted with beggars every day, I’ve not seen a single shopping cart of belongings, a car stuffed to the roof with what someone has left, a tent or makeshift shelter crafted from whatever trash can be scrounged from the area.

You have to remember that Frankfurt is like America’s New York City and Berlin like San Francisco, and yet, from my trip to Berlin two years ago or this visit to Frankfurt during a pandemic, there are no homeless shelters or, worse, homeless camps. This isn’t to say that I’ve not seen people who appear to be homeless based on certain physical aspects such as hygiene and clothing, but the visual signs planted across a city, such as in the United States, those I’ve not found yet.

This old jail has been abandoned for more than ten years, according to a couple of guys nearby who also told me that new condos are supposed to replace it, but nothing else could be found about its usage or origins. Strange that I only found one other photo on the internet of it.

Back when I was living here in Frankfurt, I felt that the markets were a kind of festive celebration of food and socializing as people came out to celebrate the sun and good weather. These open-air markets are experiential explorations on the way to culinary enlightenment, allowing shoppers to sample things that might not be at their local grocery. While out here at the public square, a glass of wine and some hot food likely help erase the blues that can be a part of a city that is often cold and wet and, in winter, has short days and long evenings. Maybe my relationship with food has an unhealthy, obsessive quality, and I need to idealize life around our gastronomical adventures, but it is such a large part of our existence that I think it deserves a pedestal.

This photo is for Caroline to share with her boss; she’ll understand the humor.

I’m sitting on Töngesgasse while Stephanie talks with Jutta. Prior to this, we were in an amazing vinegar shop called Frankfurter Fass, where at normal times, I’d be able to sample their offerings, but we are not in normal times. This is only a fraction of the vinegar they have on hand and doesn’t include the olive oils and liquors.

It took Stephanie and I a good long while to reach Jutta’s as Stephanie first grabbed some lunch, and we talked for a while. and then we walked on and took another break to talk some more. Finally, we arrived at a happy mother-in-law smiling at the sight of the two of us showing up at her door together. For the next three hours, we talked; well, we did take a few minutes to explain and then showed her some cat videos, you know, those ones with cucumbers, and then we shared Denver The Guilty Dog with her, too. The small egg custard sweet Stephanie gave to Jutta and I, didn’t carry me very long, and shortly before 6:00, I told the ladies I had to go eat because I had found a restaurant on Römer that was not only open but was serving German food. Not just any German food either; I needed Grüne Sosse, and that’s exactly what I had.

I was able to get a table under the awnings on the left at Zum Standesämtchen. I might have to mix things up sooner or later, but right now, I’m far away from growing tired of this Frankfurt special green sauce (Grüne Sosse) and Handkäse mit Musik. While I’ve described it before, I’ll share again: Handkäse (Hand Cheese) is called such because it’s formed by hand as opposed to scraping a cheese-like substance from between people’s fingers.

What do potatoes and bread have to do with this photo? Other than everything in Germany being built by people who live on these German staples, it was my consumption of these forbidden food items that, for me, the diabetic, requires immediate exercise to exorcise the demons of carb-rich, sugar-creating molecules that want to kill me. Walking helps keep them at bay, while people-watching has its own benefits, though I can’t make a claim of just how that helps me.

Then there’s the part of Frankfurt I love, the diversity. Sadly, most of the ethnic groups are just that, grouping. Rarely and usually only among young people do I see mixed ethnicities chatting and hanging out. Like America, Germany needs immigrants to fill the jobs that young Germans don’t want, but sadly, these new growing communities among their ranks are viewed with dismay and suspicion.

The cutest women here are experimenting with fashion, trying to find their own style. They are eclectic and often unique in their own way. How that’s squashed out of them is a function of this culture that I don’t understand. Is it their job requirements, their parents, or some genetic programming that quickly kills their curiosity? Of course, I can only compare this with my wife, who has managed to keep alive her sense of not meeting anyone else’s requirements but her own. With clothes from Sweden, Germany, America, Japan, India, and Croatia, she blends things with her old standards that also allow her a laziness that would see her also happy in a Gopnik style: Adidas and sunflower seeds, it’s a Slav thing.

Conformity by playing age roles here in Germany as opposed to America where, as people age, they try their hardest to play the role of appearing perpetually younger. On one side is the tragedy of people giving up the semblance of originality, and on the other are those who appear silly as they give up their middle-aged appearance for a more youthful version. [Photo of Turkish Gopniks]

After just five days back in Germany and for the first time in 26 years, I’m walking around studying Frankfurt with an eye towards examining what life is like here now. I mentioned earlier that older people are playing roles; when I arrived back in 1985, those who are currently 70 were only 34, and I saw them all around me every day. At concerts, restaurants, grocery stores, and generally out and about, they were not wearing such practical clothing. Like all of my generalizations, this is not a rule, but it is a thing. Maybe they are just trying to fit in with their elderly peers.

My day on the streets of Frankfurt is about done with the continuing effects of jet lag still being felt. I need to make a note to myself to return to the end of Zeil, not far from the old jail, as there are three restaurants next to one another that are extremely popular with the Turkish crowd, the wealthy Turks or at least those that appear so on a Saturday night.

This reminds me that I wanted to share one other observation about life in Frankfurt today: there’s nowhere to go out and party. This hasn’t stopped people’s need to socialize and, if lucky, find someone of potential romantic interest to talk with, so to that end, they are out en masse in the main shopping area here known as Zeil. From the packed Turkish restaurants near Konstablerwache to the square at Hauptwache, thousands of mostly young people meandered about. I was wondering if this was normal here every Saturday now or if this is a response to not being able to go clubbing later and staying out all night.

Well, I’m not looking for a club, nor a bar, just a bed and a good night of rest so I can get going in the morning to visit Worms.