Day 13 – Eat Write Repeat

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

We have closed

What things and stuff are here and there? There are the usual things such as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There is the threat of rain and the need to deal with stuff at my mother-in-law’s.

It’s Sunday, and while you’d hardly know it if I didn’t explicitly share it, I’ve been writing quite a bit this morning. It was during a three-hour breakfast during the course of which I had three pieces of bread, two Vollkornbrötchen (whole wheat roll plus seeds), and one croissant. For that, my blood sugar will suffer because I already know that my step count will be greatly reduced today. After breakfast, a nap seemed in order; it felt much needed as I’d not been sleeping a lot.

Then it occurred to me that maybe this would be a day without photos. For a dozen days, I was striving to capture enough visual information that anyone making a virtual visit with me on this journey into Germany would hopefully enjoy a somewhat interesting walk alongside of me.

More time passes before I have to leave again for lunch, and though I have my camera with me, I’m not inclined to use it. There are things that have been recorded to digital film today, but they are destined for other purposes. As for lunch, maybe you can guess? Handkäse mit Musik, which sits in front of me this very moment with a Schnitzel with grüne Sosse on its way. Looking to the sky, I hope I can finish my meal before the rain starts falling across this neighborhood. However, the promised rain never arrived, which makes planning stuff difficult, such as the barbecue I was supposed to have with Olaf and Sylvia this evening.

This is the first time in my life that I have eaten Handkäse so frequently. My initial thought was that this cheese was originating from the same manufacturer no matter where I ate; I was wrong. Food uniformity is taken for granted in America, but here in Germany, do not expect all Schnitzels to be cut and prepared the same way. There is a diversity to how most things are prepared; for example, fresh bread and Brötchen vary from bakery to bakery, while grilled potatoes are not mostly minor variations on a theme but have a character that will likely influence if you like a particular restaurant or not.

Something that’s not different between restaurants is the stench of cigarette smoke in your immediate proximity. If you are sitting outside, which we are all doing for the rest of this day before the rules change tomorrow, you’ll be wrapped in the ugly smell of other’s exhaled smoke. While smoking has ended at train stations, it’s still a regular thing where we eat.

I’d like to work on a task I started before lunch, but maybe I should go see Jutta. On the other hand, Caroline will make her weekly call to her mom after the dinner hour here in Germany and keep her company for a couple of hours. With that in mind, I think I’ll allow myself to remain in the neighborhood, accept the failure of not getting my 10,000 steps, and just enjoy a day off.

Arriving back at Saalburgstrasse, I find four people in Jutta’s apartment: Stephanie, Klaus, a man named Stephan, and a young lady who was not introduced. The apartment was being shown to potential renters, but this was the first I learned of it. So much for returning to writing or photos as I shuffled about opening and closing windows for each prospective renter because the street noise was so loud it might frighten off renters. Between visitors, I made slow progress, but the disruptions were unsettling. With that action over, I finally found a moment of peace to talk with Caroline, and before I knew it, dinner was calling.

I tend to eat too fast when I eat alone, but am I not contradicting myself when I say that I needed nearly 3 hours to eat breakfast this morning? Well, maybe it’s just dinner, as this is the meal that I’m most aware that I’m eating alone. Everyone else here is at least two people with many tables seating 4 to 6 friends and family while I just wolf down my meal and pull out my anti-social computer to write about my misery. Funny, but eating out by myself in America doesn’t come with a fraction of this tension. Is it me missing Caroline, or is it the genuine enthusiasm that those around me appear to be enjoying? Part of the equation has to be that I know Germans are out not only to satisfy the needs of a meal, personal laziness, or bragging rights about being at a hip new spot but are here to spend hours drinking apple wine and just chilling out in good company.

Eat, write, repeat, and repeat again. Wish Thomas Mann a happy birthday. Retire for the night. This was my day without visual hints.

Day 12 – Boris In Heidelberg

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Up at 5:30 to catch a train at 6:56 to Heidelberg, and still, I was nearly late. Why Germany, are the trains less frequent on weekends? I know the answer it’s because Germans are moving slowly, and before anything else, they’ll have a late breakfast. If I lived here, that would be seared into my head, but I reach the weekend, and it might as well be Monday, and I’d think for retirees, it would be much the same. I’m on my train, in my seat, and ready to go with minutes to spare.

The ICE to Mannheim, where I’ll switch trains to Heidelberg Hauptbahnhof, arrived down south much faster than I thought it would. Sure, I knew how many minutes it would take, but time, in my perception, operates at a different level. Ten minutes after arriving at my first stop, I was on another train and should have connected with a third, but decided that I could use the steps. Plus, it was a 20-minute wait for the next train, and Google was telling me it would be only a 28-minute walk to Boris’s.

It was only yesterday that I decided I’d alter my plans and visit this old friend I’d not seen in 27 years because he gave me a heads-up that he’d be in the hospital from the 8th until the 23rd. I had known he’d be out of town for part of my visit, but I didn’t know why today, I learned that he was heading to Mannheim for surgery that was going to remove his cancerous bladder. I had to see him as soon as possible.

I was hoping to finish writing yesterday’s blog entry on the way down, but I ended up working on it later this day as with so many photos, I was going to need to keep on squawking about what that stuff was, because in less than two years I’ll be 60, and I’d imagine that I’ll need all the help I can get to remember such things in my old age.

I walked down Main Street in Heidelberg, imagining which German restaurant I’d eat lunch at, and occasionally, I felt that I could remember the look of things as I strolled along. I kept looking for the castle that I knew was somewhere on my right, but it turned out that it was further on than I could remember. Thinking I’d walk back mostly along the Neckar River, I didn’t bother taking a left for a short walk over there, but oops, I didn’t expect I’d get out of Heidelberg so late that I’d take the Old City train stop to save the half an hour walking back.

Heidelberg is in the German state of Baden-Württemberg just south of Hessen, so food is definitely on my mind, especially because a couple of years ago, I finally tried cooking from the Thuringia region and I’m now interested in trying the local cuisines from all 16 states found in Germany. Besides my culinary curiosity, I’m also equally intrigued about who Boris has become over the intervening quarter century.

Arriving at Boris’s front door, I was all smiles as I was astonished that this was the exact same place I’d last visited him. It feels so rare that anyone should live at an address for more than 30 years that I’m left a bit speechless. In front of a table loaded with food (Boris had made us breakfast), it took us forever to sit down and finally eat. While social media has kept us loosely connected, we’ve not exchanged a lot there, so we had some serious ground to cover, and of course, that would have to be politics and manipulation/management of information for the masses.

Some things never change, such as this sign over Boris’s toilet, though he informs me it is, in fact, a new one. All the same, I remember something quite similar from my visits years before. It always struck me as peculiar this idea of men sitting down to pee, but then again, I’m not sticking around to clean the toilet or wash the floor, so I suppose I need to respect these wishes.

This apartment contains a series of time capsules that document the period from 1976 to 1999. I think the shift in the collection of artifacts must have begun with the arrival of the internet when much of what was to be referenced was now in digital format. Similar to Torsten Kuehne is the sense of the space serving a purpose as a home beyond what I see in the US. These are places to find oneself and share with visitors a part of your character that is removed from pure consumption of perfection, these abodes are magical dwellings where living takes place, not just existence.

On that note, Boris and I went out for a walk, but first a drive up the mountain on the other side of the Neckar River. We are visiting Heiligenberg.

High up on the mountain is the Thingstätte, built during the Third Reich for the Nazis as part of the Thingspiel movement. Hitler never ended up speaking here, which I’d imagine was a good thing, as I think it would have been blown off the mountain if he had.

Until recently, it was used as a party place for Walpurgis Night. Saint Walpurgis had a feast day held in her honor back in the 8th century that coincides with May Day. To nearly 20,000 bonfire-worshipping revelers, it seemed this was an ideal location to revive the feast day, and with no small amount of drugs and peaceful action, this celebration happened for years without incident until the local authorities decided to shut it down. I like Boris’s explanation of what passed, “The authorities wanted mayhem and violence to give cause to shut down the yearly event as so many people assembling peacefully might give them ideas that personal freedom was something worth cherishing.”

Friedrich von Hirsau, according to this slab, died in 1070, but the internet, which is never wrong, says his death was in 1071.

The Michaels Cloister lays in ruins these days, but back about 1,100 years ago, in 890, this monastery was built to ward off the pagan energy of the dragon spirit as prior to Christianity moving in, the Celts were sitting up here watching the earth from high above and deep below. This is according to Boris, but it sounds plausible to me, so I’m going with it.

The site of the cloister is a beautiful one that seriously kicks at the imagination to fill in the blanks. The buildings fell into ruin over 500 years ago, but enough remains to enchant visitors, such as this overgrown moss-and-lichen-covered cistern.

The longer I’m in Germany and the more I’ve visited over the past years, the more I’d like to know about what life was like, from about 800 to 1,400. It goes without saying I’d like to go further back but the amount of time required to begin understanding any period takes a serious investment in time.

While Boris has been here many a time and has even played a key role during many of the Walpurgis Nights, this is my first time here with not much of the day available to learn more.

Ten’s of thousands have by now walked through this archway, some before modernity and many who came out of curiosity as they sought out a sense of the past that I often find myself searching for in churches and cathedrals.

I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed snail sex; maybe this is the essence of Celtic practices atop the Holy Mountain.

Apparently, if my rudimentary translation skills are functional at all, there is an ancient wall here that has grown over but is still detectable. It was erected 400 years before Christ by Celts to hold back Germanic tribes. What a different time when villages would battle tribes instead of nations attacking other countries. It was this level of warfare that necessitated walled cities such as Frankfurt so many years ago.

Not my favorite photo of me I’ve ever taken, but Boris’s smile was priceless so I had to swallow a bit of pride and go with this one. I probably look more or less like this all the time, but as we are all apt to do, I see things out of place that bother me. I know, who cares? If you should care to understand why Boris has played such an important role in my life, you simply need to look at the theme I list at the top of my blog that spells it out but you will have to decipher the puzzle.

A castle in one form or another has stood here since at least 1214, but more than one was destroyed before another took its place or it was rebuilt. While the castle may look amazing in appearance from the opposite mountain, it is actually in ruin. General Tilly, during the Thirty Years War, took Heidelberg and, a few days later, the castle. I mention this because Caroline and I read this tremendous book about that war, and General Tilly featured prominently. However, while the castle was damaged and only narrowly escaped total destruction during the Thirty Years War, French soldiers dynamited it in 1693 in the course of the War of Grand Alliance (yet another war to read about), and it has been a ruin ever since. Victor Hugo visited in 1840 and fell in love with the city, so much so that he wrote a book titled, “Heidelberg: You would have to live here!” I would have ordered the book as I write this, but I cannot find it in English! Come on, this is the same author who penned Les Misérables…

This deep, as in 180 feet deep “Heathen Hole” is called Heidenloch. Nobody really knows its real purpose, but some have speculated it was a cistern or a well; Boris and I are in agreement that this seems silly as our intuition suggests it was a place from which to watch the evening stars, to note their location in a small, consistent spot so as to be able to interpret the movements of celestial bodies.

Back in Heidelberg, Boris decides to get the first COVID test he’s ever had in order for him to join me for a bite to eat. While he waited to get the test and the 15 minutes before the results were done, I walked over to a bridge to have a look over the Neckar River.

Maybe not as broad and elegant as the massively famous bridge in Prague, this is still a wonderful place to visit that, for the first time during all of my trips down here, is quite empty. Who says there’s not an upside to pandemics?

This is the Heidelberg Castle, not where we were going to have a late lunch, but the place we wanted to eat at closed during mid-day. How, in a city seen by so many tourists, could a restaurant offering regional cooking close for 2 or 3 hours in the middle of the day? Well, Boris knew of another small place he thought might meet our needs, and he was right. For another 90 minutes, we talked about the beauty of life and our precious time here on Earth.

Having talked about as much as two people who’ve not seen each other in so many decades could talk, combined with my knowledge that by late afternoon, Boris found himself exhausted, it was time for us to part ways. Boris walked me to the Old City Train Station I was supposed to arrive at earlier in the day before I’d opted to walk to his place.

On Tuesday, Boris Hiesserer, a.k.a. Pyromania Arts, will enter the hospital where he’ll spend 15 days, as I said above. I wish him all the best and an effective and speedy recovery. Cancer always changes people; I just hope he can escape with a smile, just as I’m doing as I leave Heidelberg.

We are likely doing something close to the speed of light as we careened into a universe of smeared green and yellow; that’s how fast we were going.

My 1st class seating arrangement on the InterCity Express (ICE) back to Frankfurt, the entire car was mine alone.

While I love the incredible ride on these fast trains, I also love watching them speed by at 185 miles per hour.

Back in the city, I walked over to Olaf’s and buzzed his door to see if he’d like to join me for a coffee; he was up for it. Over to the small Imbiss across the street we went. He opted for a Pellegrino with blood orange and I for a coffee to help me keep going. As for the pizza we shared, I don’t think it was all that helpful for wakefulness. Parting company, we agreed that the high chance of rain should push us to delay the barbecue we had planned for Sunday night.

Day 11 – What To Do?

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

I see the moment coming when I have little more to say about what will become routine here in Frankfurt. I’m yet to visit the west side of the city or test how far I can walk along the Main River before I’ll want to catch a train back, so there are options. There are also pending dates with family and friends on the calendar and visits to cities well outside of Frankfurt, but I need to get a few nights of proper sleep so I can wake up at 5:00 a.m. or so in order to get an early start. Then there’s the weather to contend with because if there’s a downpour, there is nowhere to dip into other than underground train stations, but those are not always nearby.

Regarding the weather, this is the one obstacle I’m not really prepared to contend with. Sure, I have my rain jacket and an umbrella, but if I decide to stay in, I have very little to entertain me. I do not have unlimited bandwidth, nor do I even have a kitchen. The forecast shows rain and thunderstorms for the next five days, and I’m paying attention to travel restrictions within the EU. As of early June, a visit to France may not be in the cards. Speaking of weather, places to go, and things to do, I need to get out before the rain starts again.

Finding bakeries are offering tables outside again so that we can sit down and enjoy breakfast is a welcome relief. The tables and chairs had been stacked and locked with cables running through them, letting people know that they were not welcome to sit there, and so that’s just what I’m doing this morning. Not having to grab something to go and eating it underway is far more civilized in addition to allowing me to spend another small part of the day not trapped inside an apartment.

This brings me to the question I hear a lot, “Why isn’t Caroline with you?” This is not a vacation, and as much as I was hoping prior to leaving the United States that I could carve out some of that, it just isn’t possible yet. Vacations are times when we move away from routines to assume temporary new ones while we are out traveling. The key, though, is that we are allowed a broad amount of spontaneity, spontaneity that is difficult to come by during a pandemic, as enforced in Germany at least. Some of the inconveniences look awkward to me, such as waiting in line to enter a department or electronics store or maybe even having to make an appointment first. I hope I don’t need an article of clothing or a USB cable while I’m here.

In the last few days, museums started opening for those willing to make a reservation first, and while this is possible due to falling infection numbers, they are going up in Frankfurt again, which could bring new restrictions. How does one vacation under these conditions? So, Caroline is at home, and it is looking less and less likely that maybe I could bring her over before the end of June. When Europe opens for travel, it will be for the people of Europe first, and those travelers will have to provide proof of their vaccination or having had COVID. America is nowhere close to offering our citizens certification of proof. This means that while Europe may want U.S. tourists to return, they will have to resolve the issue of our belligerence regarding the issuing of certification that meets any security requirements against forgery. On the other hand, my CDC card has been accepted everywhere without much friction at all.

There’s nothing like the arrogance of youth and the angst that comes with it to blind a person to the importance of being present in their space and not just their head. I lived in Frankfurt and the surrounding area for ten years and somehow, I missed that the former wall that surrounded the city here had mostly been turned into parks and green areas. Back then, I could have been reading in a cave and been as happy and aware of what was around me as a hermit who spent his life under a bridge.

Now, here I am in the later stages of life, and I kick myself for not being more aware of my surroundings, but maybe I’m fooling myself, and the necessary awareness was there while the mind needed more attention due to neglect suffered early on, inflicted by those who didn’t themselves possess the intelligence to know how to guide a child. Flowers, in this regard, are lucky; they pass on genetics, pollinating insects are naturally drawn to their vibrance, and the human eye takes delight. We, on the other hand, are difficult and messy; we are certainly not flowers in any sense of the idea.

No matter what we build, will people ever construct a building that can cast shadows as beautiful as this display in the park as the sun spills through the leaves? I do admit that stained glass can have an equally appealing nature, but that’s the exception until I find something else to contradict me.

I’ve been walking through Bethmann Park, part of which is a Chinese Garden,  and I already might have to change my mind about human construction, as light traveling through a pagoda does hold a lot of intrigue.

It was just a few days ago that Caroline was serenading me with a ukulele and her sweet voice from so many thousands of miles away with her own rendition of “You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine.” Seeing this put a smile on my face as it felt nicely serendipitous.

Masks, baseball caps, hijabs, branded clothing, makeup, hairstyles, types of clothing, and preferred methods of travel are all masks for the masses. The only difference is which cultural hegemon is dictating what will be stylistically acceptable. Here in Europe, there’s no small uproar regarding Islamic headdresses for women. Some in the West look at it as oppression of women’s free will, and yet when a major bank or corporation dictates that their workers conform to particular styles of uniform, be it shirt and tie or a smock, we’ve deluded ourselves into believing that this is still freedom. Cultural style is fluid; if it weren’t the average peasant would own a single pair of clothes, only the wealthy would be the only ones allowed to wear purple, and strict rules would govern how much hair is to be seen. When we pander to the angry who don’t like what they see, we empower them to ask for more intolerance.

It’s now two minutes past the time that severe thunderstorms were supposed to arrive. I’ll blame their delay on the train service because Deutsche Bahn is probably behind everything that’s broken here in Germany. What’s not broken though, at least from my view, are the plentiful green areas. There’s a serious need for housing in Frankfurt, and yet the green areas have not been sold off to build another billion Euros worth of highrise apartments and shopping. There are areas such as Gallusviertel that have been dramatically renovated due to reclaimed land previously used by the freight train system, and while I’ve not been over there to explore it, I’d wager that quiet green spaces have been included in order to improve the quality of life.

This is in comparison to where I live in Phoenix, Arizona. In the desert, our money-grubbing money lords only see green when it is available in the form of cash. Every bit of desert that can be covered with profit is used. If you want nature, you have your car to jump into and go find it somewhere else. Our neighborhoods are dead zones not meant to be livable unless you consider staying in your backyard and not being able to walk anywhere else, living. Tourism is not happening right now in Germany, and yet the streets are full of people walking around at 11:00 in the morning, seemingly just meandering. There’s time to stop and look at fountains, smell the flowers, or have a beer at a nearby park bench.

My eye is on the sky, looking for the approach of dark clouds so I can make my way over to the Historical Museum of Frankfurt, but I think my stomach is starting to hint at having an early lunch. Meanwhile, my brain is asking, what’s wrong with sitting right here next to the fountain at Bockenheimer Anlage? I’ll tell you what’s wrong: I’m still an American and haven’t deconditioned myself yet to accept that I can just sit here doing next to nothing. I say next to nothing because here I am with my laptop in said lap, and I’m writing, though, at the same time, I’ve been watching a family of swans traverse the pond while nearby birds sing to me. I think my stomach will win this one.

Even at midnight, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the Alte Oper (Old Opera) with so few people here. If you look at many of the photos I’ve already shot on this journey through the pandemic in Germany, you might notice how deserted everything feels.

This is the Paulskirche (St. Paul’s Church). It played host to the 1848 legislative body, which was the first time in German history that government leaders were freely elected.

I have a bad feeling about my choice for lunch here at Haus Wertheym at Romer, but I’m just around the corner from Jutta’s, and so if rain arrives during my meal, I’ll have but a short walk to get out of the potential downpour. I’m having five different sausages on sauerkraut with Bratkartoffeln. I’m also next to the Historical Museum which is open until 6:00, so maybe I’ll make it in there today. Eating out three times a day is becoming tiresome.

Lunch was quite okay while the humidity was becoming oppressive. I’m overhearing conservations about how restaurants will open their dining rooms to those with vaccines or current COVID tests and that outside seating will be open to all this coming Monday. Yet another iteration of normal is on its way.

Another day, another photo of Jutta. That’s the face of someone happy to have just been the recipient of hugs.

The rain started falling, and those earlier forecasts of severe thunderstorms had me on guard, so now was the time to visit the Historical Museum of Frankfurt.

Caroline saw this as I populated this post with photos; she made a few guesses but was wrong about its exact purpose, though she knew what its relative purpose was. So, to correct her, it is not a butthole dilator. But that’s close: it was used for helping a pregnant woman dilate the birth canal while in labor. To be honest, I don’t know why these aren’t sold at sex shops for hanky panky.

The father of a young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart effectively scratched into the window where he and his children were staying in Frankfurt, “Mozart slept here.” If you think this is hard to see, you should have tried finding it among the eight panes of glass that make up the window that was saved. Leopold Mozart carved this using a diamond ring back on 12 August 1763.

There’s no denying among the intelligent that a holocaust happened here in Germany and the surrounding countries that the Nazis occupied. The attempted mass extinction of Jews was the primary aggression, but many, many others were being swept up for the cause of slavery and the “cleansing” of society. A dark chapter for sure, but one I’m happy to see Germany putting on display to acknowledge the savagery.

The Allied bombing of Frankfurt destroyed much of the city; the ensuing fires destroyed even more. One family donated to the Historical Museum a lump of glass that was once their dishes which melted in their cupboard during one such firestorm. Strangely enough, a teacup and sugar bowl remained intact, though locked in what remains of their dishes.

Zyklon B, the notorious “Gift” gas used to kill 100’s of thousands if not millions. “Gift” in German is poison, so there’s no cheeky nonsense from me regarding what this was. It was death in a can, and it came from right here in Frankfurt. The name of the company that made this product was Degesch, part of the industrial conglomerate known as I.G. Farben.

This soldier is celebrating Victory in Europe Day on the 8th of May 1945 in front of the I.G. Farben headquarters building. At the end of the war, it became the Command Headquarters of U.S. Forces Europe for the duration of the occupation

This guy stood outside some building on Kaiserstrasse, and if it weren’t for all the time I spent in the redlight district of Frankfurt in front of the Hauptbahnhof, I may have never seen him

I’ll likely be heading back to the Historical Museum of Frankfurt as there’s much to see, and a few hours wasn’t enough to truly see the 2nd and 3rd floor of the new part of the museum, and consequently, I didn’t get to visit the older side of the museum.

The stack of books in the back of the photo represents the German National Library, and the five books standing up is the old I.G. Farben building, now a branch of Goethe University.

I wasn’t a graffiti artist before I left Germany in 1995, but today, I leave my mark on Frankfurt.

Is this the sign that the dreaded severe storm of the century is approaching?

This photo is only here because it represents a distant part of our past from a club we used to visit called the Batschkapp. In front of that club was a smaller bar and music venue. Elfer Club is now located in Sachsenhausen and even if it were open, there’s no chance we’ll ever see a need to visit, but isn’t that the nature of memories that are better left behind us?

In my ongoing journey into Grüne Sosse and Handkäse mit Musik, Caroline directed me down a series of small streets to some places popular with the apple wine crowd, which automatically suggests traditional Frankfurt food. The first place I came to was Frau Rauscher and they made space for me. Five German lads sitting near the entry acted as the welcoming committee and spent about 15 minutes talking with me. While they played their dice game we talked about what brought me here and life during the pandemic.

This is the spitting Frau Rauscher, which Caroline should tell you more about as she asked that I be sure and snap a photo of her, so here’s her contribution: “Rauscher” is the name for apple cider as it is in the process of fermenting into apple wine. Frau Rauscher refers to a legendary drunk female who was known for stealing punters’ drinks and, when challenged, would spit the drink back into people’s faces instead of returning the glass. A popular ballad in the local dialect describes how one day, she was seen with a big bump on her head, and police were called to figure out whether she had knocked her head while drunk or whether her husband had hit her. The fountain was erected in 1961.

I could have a dozen photos of Frankfurt’s skyline before I leave Germany, and I don’t think I’d ever grow tired of enjoying it.

This monument to Caroline and I has been here for a number of years, but who wants to brag that they’ve had a monument built for them in their lifetimes? Yeah, Frankfurt loves us, and we love Frankfurt.

Day 10 – To Kuehne

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Frankfurt, Germany

The streets feel strangely quiet as I head out at 6:30 to fetch breakfast and coffee. What the heck? Eifler Bakery is dark without a sign of life. Oh well, the bakery across the street is open.

Frankfurt, Germany

This place is a self-service spot that I’ve avoided as I couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t violate COVID mitigation rules I may not be aware of. Good thing others are in here so I can take cues from them. With an egg and bacon sandwich and medium coffee, I returned to this peculiarly quiet neighborhood. At this time of day, Caroline is still awake but will soon be asleep. I used the opportunity to not only let her know I was awake and still missing her but also asked if she knew if there was a holiday here in the first week of June on a Thursday. It is the Feast of Corpus Christi in English, but in German, it is Fronleichnam (which, to naughty school children, translates to Happy Cadaver Day). While a day of recognition for Catholics, the Protestants and Lutherans simply enjoy the extra day off.

My day is going to unfold slowly without much to share about Frankfurt or the surrounding area as I’m spending some time with Stephanie here at Jutta’s til 10:15 when I will leave to meet an old friend, but until then, we are sorting things and determining what remains and what joins the dustbin.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

It’s a short 13-minute walk from Saalburgstraße 46 to Friedberger Landstraße 100, where Torsten (To) Kuehne and I are meeting at Lucille Kaffeehaus. By the way, it’s 5 minutes by scooter as I just noticed that as a travel option for where I’m going. Seeing To for the first time in only a couple of years but so much has changed since then. Artists have had to bear the brunt of the economic pain brought on by a pandemic as they usually don’t have anything to fall back on, but here’s To; he looks good, and he’s surviving.

After the briefest of updates of news from the past couple of years and my explaining to To why I’m in Frankfurt, we jumped right into the lost opportunities that we had a glimpse of after the pandemic started. What I’m referring to is when people were singing in appreciation to health care workers, playing music on balconies, and helping each other get through a bizarre moment in human history that was seemingly affecting everyone simultaneously on our Earth. But we blew it; we turned to anger and frustration that our perfect lives were inconvenienced and that somehow the most valuable minutes of our lives were being stolen instead of taking advantage of the opportunity to reevaluate and reinvent some small part of ourselves.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

And now we want everything to return to normal, and maybe that’s just where we are going, which in both our views is unfortunate as we are driving society without a compass of ethics and morality. As human experience has shrunk into milliseconds and tiny screens instead of big ideas, grand vistas, and the embrace of love, we are more hedonistic and frightened of not being able to work out if we have a future.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

A friend of To’s was walking his bike up to the cafe. His name is Stefan and I found him as interesting as so many of the other creative people I’ve met over my years living here and the intervening years when we visit. Stefan works in theater, well he did before the pandemic, and now his future is uncertain and is doubly so due to a generation that has lost touch with historical and intellectual matters. Stefan doesn’t create theater for Pokemon or TikTok, and he has no desire to establish himself as an influencer; he tells stories.

Stories, isn’t that all any artist shares? Within every object, image, and human-created sound is a story distilled from the imagination and experience of the person who has offered to others. The artist will only rarely find a glimpse of what others have tried to take from something as complex as the reorganization of stimuli wrapped in an obtuse package that may or may not resonate with others. Take the image above, To shared with me the work of a photographer, Barbara Klemm, for whom he has tremendous respect. She shot an image of Andy Warhol standing in front of a painting by J. H. Wilhelm Tischbein of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a famous author from Frankfurt. To had the idea to recreate it and reached out to Ms. Klemm, who agreed to shoot the image with To in front of the painting to recreate her famous image. He then reached out to the Städel Museum, who, while they thought it was a great idea, had it loaned to another museum for another two years. So, To recreated the image of himself as Goethe, then he posed as Warhol and set up his camera so he could take the photo himself. Today, I’m holding the postcard inspired by the Tischbein image in front of the image of To in front of To taken by To. And that’s the story of that.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

Self-portrait of the artist To – Torsten Kuehne.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

On my way out of To’s place, I handed him my camera and asked that he snap off a few shots for me so my camera would be given the experience of seeing differently. I suppose it is wrong of me to have automatically put my copyright statement on them as I exported the batch of today’s photos but appropriation and outright theft are the acknowledgment that an artist holds such influence that others want to steal from him. Had only I thought about nabbing his circa 1970s banana seat bicycle in the basement, I could be seeing Frankfurt from a whole new perspective.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

I know what comes at me after Caroline sees this image of To, “See John, To looks great in a “wife-beater” doesn’t he?” Ouch, writing that hurt my fingers that want to be politically correct, as I suppose even the idea of “wife-beater” is probably a dark subject these days. Let me just state here and now that I do not condone beating one’s wife, even if it happens while wearing the appropriate shirt. To make up for this transgression, I’ll share a secret with you, To’s most recent tattoo addition is an image of Wile E. Coyote holding a Help Me sign near his buttcrack, ask me how I know.

Torsten "To" Kuehne in Frankfurt, Germany

The Polaroid of To is the To I met about 30 years ago. I give this man a lot of credit for being an authentic and idealistic human being. His range of experience is wide and maybe extreme to others who live in tiny boxes and are afraid to encounter the full spectrum of life, but it’s just To looking at the details that are always before us that he has an eye for. I can’t say I’ve known To to be foolish, and while luck hasn’t always been smiling upon him, he’s been calculating enough to avoid the worst life has to offer. Today, he’s spending some of his daylight hours coaching students to be confident and creative. Some would call this being a teacher but To doesn’t attempt to alienate those he has charge over but asks them to offer something real from inside themselves. For that effort, he read me a letter some of his students recently wrote him that was deeply heartfelt, along with a bottle of whiskey they gifted him that sits near the front door we entered through.

Turkish Food in Frankfurt, Germany

Earlier, when Stefan ran into To, and I was introduced to him, it turned out that we both lived on Gluckstrasse, he in address 13, Caroline and I in #8. Why To shared that I was eating grüne Sosse almost every day, I don’t know but he was aghast. Not seriously or anything, but he found it hard to imagine someone liking it so much. So, I asked him to recommend a place he seriously enjoyed, and he told me of Sümela Turkish Restaurant. I got out of To’s at 3:00 p.m. and walked over to this place as it wasn’t far from where we were, but it doesn’t open until 4:00. I sat there and wrote until they opened and then feasted on this mixed grill plate. Feasting already implies eating an exquisite meal, and so I hope it can go without saying just how much I enjoyed it.

Frankfurt, Germany

Yesterday, I mentioned this ad campaign asking Frankfurters (not the hot dog ones) when they wanted to return to normal activities such as travel and dancing. This is the other poster I was referring to, with DJ Ata doing his part in motivating people to help end the pandemic in Germany. I wish I knew how to get hold of him to say hi.

Frankfurt, Germany

Thunder is heard in the distance, but for a few more minutes, I believe I had the last remaining blue sky shining over my head; that’s what optimism brings you.

Frankfurt, Germany

Here in the rain, after being in Germany for ten days and witnessing the rapid transitions regarding the pandemic, the restrictions still in effect bite harder in the rain. I’ve been rapidly transitioning into remembering my existence here, and while the rain was an inconvenience last week, I now remember how when the rain came, it didn’t matter as every bar, cafe, and restaurant was hopping with steamy, loud, and exuberant revelers who moved the party indoors. Jackets and umbrellas were stacked thick near the entrance, and the sound of glasses filled the room with the many voices speaking nearly as many languages. With the heavy thunderstorm this late day, nobody gets to squeeze into an already crowded room because though the population who have had a recent COVID test or has been vaccinated with both shots with at least two weeks since their last one can get a table outside, we are not allowed to sit together indoors yet. So, business must come to an absolute standstill. The streets are as empty as they are at 5:00 in the morning, and the voices going by my windows fall silent.

Day 9 – A Day With Jutta In Frankfurt

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In the campaign to persuade Germans to wear masks, there is an ad campaign that asks questions such as the one above, “Do you want to visit foreign countries again?” And the answer is, “Then you must wear a mask.” Another does the same regarding going out to clubs where DJ Ata asks you to wear your mask and get COVID under control. In the last weeks, as Germany gradually opens up, there are benefits that come with constant testing or being vaccinated because people can shop in stores in which they are otherwise not allowed, and they get to sit down outside at restaurants. Once infection numbers go down, more of those restrictions will go away, but the government has them now in place to help manage behaviors. This is important as Germans have a much more limited supply of vaccines compared to America, so vaccinations are moving a bit slow. Should Germany get to a point where there are people who want to avoid the vaccine due to some kooky conspiracy theater, all they need do is lower the acceptable number of new infections and restrict people from entering anything other than the grocery store without negative test results or vaccine. From what I’ve heard, no one really likes the swab up the nose.

Seventy pounds is what my eyes measure of Spargel (white asparagus), and it’s in this photo as it’s my second Wednesday in Germany and over where my mother-in-law used to live; it’s one of the two weekly, open-air markets on Bergerstrasse.

As I’m here measuring things, I feel it’s time for an update regarding my personal statistics. Over the previous eight days, I’ve walked 74 miles, climbed 168 floors, and written 23,000 words about my time in Frankfurt as well as my visits to Wiesbaden, Marburg, and Gelnhausen. The regimen I’ve set for myself has become a little taxing with trying to have an adequate number of photos that I feel best represent the activities of my waking wandering hours. This, combined with my desire to not fall behind in writing about these impressions, which are now averaging nearly 3,000 words a day, makes for some sacrificing of adequate sleep. While I don’t want to fall down from exhaustion, I also want to use my time to the best of my ability so this opportunity is fully recognized.

It took Jutta and me a good while to finally leave her room because I was sharing some of the photos of my time in Germany so far. There’s a lot of reminiscing that goes on as my mother-in-law loves basking in her fondest memories and taking special note of how surprised she’s been that she and I should get along so amazingly well. More than once, she’s conveyed the nervousness she had when we used to embark on our mother-in-law/son-in-law road trips that saw us exploring some corner of the western U.S. without her daughter. Today I smiled with her that this was exactly what we’re doing again today, only this time on a smaller scale. Just around the corner from Römer and across the street from the Main River is where Jutta lives now, so the walk to our destination is not a long one.

We are going for lunch at Zum Standesämtchen for some traditional Frankfurt food. With a table in the shade, Jutta comments on how long it’s been since she last ate here. She and I both forgot that her reading glasses were in my bag, so I ended up reading the menu to her. I didn’t get far as I started with the special, and by the time I got to the fourth item, she had her heart set on ordering the white asparagus (Spargel) with boiled ham and boiled salted potatoes, but it was the asparagus that is the star of this entree. Seeing how I’m stuck in the creature of habit mode right now, it was back to Schnitzel with grüne Sosse. Our meal would not have been complete without a starter of Handkäse mit Musik (hand cheese service with a relish made from onion, cumin seed, oil, and vinegar). And then there was the matter of my mother-in-law and her love affair with a cold Coke; she had two with her sumptuous meal, almost a full liter’s worth, which, as it went in, would have to get out.

In this photo above, I can see Jutta across all the years I’ve known her. Even here in her 86th year, I can sense the little girl yearning to have fun behind those eyes. How do I offer her enough hugs and my time to let her know how much she means to me?

There was no chance I was going to let Jutta try navigating a steep spiral staircase to the basement at Zum Standesämtchen to use the facility, I’m here to spend fun time with her, not recovery time from a broken anything. So I needed to find a nearby facility that could accommodate her; I was in luck with a coffee shop just across the way.

While not a scorching day like in Phoenix, Arizona, it’s still a hot and humid afternoon here. I asked Jutta to push her walker over to this old drinking fountain so she could splash some cold water on her arms and face. As I expected, she daintily splashed water on her arms and almost managed to get eight or nine drops on her face. I remedied this with a good handful splashed on her face and another handful down the back of her shirt. Was this mean? Not if you judged by her laughter.

Back across the square, it was time for dessert and coffee, and just in time to join us was Jutta’s granddaughter Katharina (not to be confused with Caroline). I point this out as Jutta often calls Katharina by her aunt’s name (and vice versa). The three of us all found our favorite treat and chatted for an hour before walking Jutta back to Lebenshaus, her assisted living facility. From there, Katharina and I headed over to the river for a walk along its banks.

Can there ever be enough musicians playing for the public? I don’t believe so, as I think we are lucky to have so many people dispersed across a city practicing their craft while maybe also collecting a few Euros for doing so. When I first encountered buskers (street musicians), I thought it was a form of begging, and maybe sometimes it is, but I now tend to believe that it’s simply musicians wanting a good reason to keep their craft alive and well. The box or plate for offering donations is simply there because there are those of us who want to share our appreciation for the serenade.

Along this walk next to the Main, Katharina and I talked of Jutta, Caroline, horses, photography, and life at university. We also had to stop from time to time for her to play Pokemon; I suppose this is the situation with many people her age nowadays.

My treasures were found in real life among the shadows, spots of diffused sunlight, the sound of birds, and light shimmering off the surface of the river. Then there’s one of my all-time favorite sounds, the ring of bicycle bells. New to the soundtrack of Frankfurt are the scooters, but what is missing is the sound that accompanies throngs of tourists who are using taxis, shooting photos, and tour guides trying to corral their charges. But I wasn’t here to indulge my senses for these aesthetic charms; I was out here to share a moment with my niece.

Our walk east terminated at an Indian restaurant where we could sit down and have something cold to drink. It wasn’t long before Katharina would have to head to a train stop for her hour-long trip back to Darmstadt, where she was studying. Lokalbahnhof was the nearest station, about a kilometer or so away. Ten minutes after we arrived, she was gone, and I returned to walking along the Main.

Here I am, moving into the golden hour at nearly 8:00 p.m. While this building isn’t all that interesting, it takes on a much more impressive appearance as its red bricks glow against a deep blue sky, sporting clouds that begin to look like the wings of this tower.

You’ve probably noticed by now that I enjoy using the sun and its reflection to push the exposure time to levels that allow the image I capture to begin moving into silhouette territory or emphasize the golden quality of sunlight as I underexpose a photo for dramatic effect, such as in the next image. The building on the right is the European Central Bank.

I’m becoming addicted to the energy that is Frankfurt. With COVID quickly losing its grip on the city and the weather turning nice, people are outside celebrating life. There is no aggression or underlying tension. The passion for enjoying the day is vibrant while the pandemic is temporarily pushed aside.

On my walk home I passed a dozen people dancing at Römer while Colombian music blared to their enthusiastic flair with dresses flying. This was all in the cause of bringing awareness to rising violence in Colombia. I can’t say I know of the issue, but it was great to see their passion pulling people in.

From the river to Zeil over to Konstablerwache and then Bornheim Mitte, as the sun set over Frankfurt and it edged closer to 10:00 p.m., there were still thousands of people on the streets drinking, eating pizza, meeting with friends, and this was all happening on a Wednesday night. Sometimes, I just love Frankfurt.

Day 8 – Gelnhausen

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Frankfurt, Germany

I would be the first to admit that I often write about the mundane, and I’m okay with that because while I’m working my way through everyday occurrences that maybe shouldn’t warrant my scrutiny, I often discover something or other worth remembering. While I’m writing, though, most everything feels mundane. Take the following.

Waking in Germany here at the edge of summer is difficult under the circumstances to which I’m still adjusting. Here is my question: why does it feel so difficult to wake up in the morning all of a sudden? Well, I figured it out. Light and sound are not congruous with what my brain is expecting during these hours. It’s well after dark when I drift off to sleep, but knowing it’ll be light far earlier than I want to wake up, I close the window shades. Anyone who’s been to Germany knows that the external window shades block all light and turn your living space into eternal night if you so desire. So, around the time my body has had enough sleep, the morning noises have already grown louder, but it’s still pitch black in my room. I check my Fitbit and see that I should get going, so I jump up and open the shades: bright daylight floods in. There is no slow transition from night to day; it’s a light switch action that screams violently at me to WAKE UP! All of a sudden, I appreciate my 26 years living in Arizona, rising with the sun from spring to early fall.

The next bit of the mundane is the racket I heard this morning, which sounded like early morning construction. Turns out, it was the men who were picking up the garbage cans. In Jutta’s old apartment building, the trash cans are out back. There is no space for them in the front of the building. So, at 6:30, the trash collectors enter the building, go up a few stairs, through the building, down a few stairs, and into the rear courtyard. They grab the cans; Frankfurt collects regular, paper, compostable, and recyclable trash, which all have their own cans. Those often heavy plastic cans that serve anywhere from 4 or 5 tenants to nearly a dozen have to be dragged upstairs, through the building, and downstairs over to the curb. The collection truck is working behind the men and comes by a few minutes later with two other workers, one driving and the other pushing the cans to the machine that picks them up to empty them into their vehicle. Following these guys is another worker who puts the cans away, dragging them upstairs, through the building, downstairs, and back to where they belong. The five-man team is in constant motion.

Finally, I can now get moving to my first destination of the day: Gelnhausen, or something that might distract me on the way. Like Grand Canyon boatman Bruce Keller shared with us almost a dozen years ago, “Indecision is the key to flexibility.” Those are great words to live by.

Just when I think I’m about to step out the door and jump into my next adventure, I start thinking about how much I miss Caroline. At nearly 8:00 in the morning here, it’s 11:00 p.m. back home, where Caroline has gone to sleep. She has to wake at 4:30 to beat the heat of the Arizona sun to take a longer walk. And so, while I’m ready to go about my day, I don’t get to take her with me, so to speak. She does a lot for me from 10,000 kilometers away, as there are many things going on behind the scenes here that are not written about. She’s my enthusiastic coach, encouraging me to push through.

In seven hours, Caroline will be well awake and already stepping out for her walk in the still almost cool desert air. She’ll have reached out to let me know she’s awake, and then we’ll wait a short while until she’s gotten going before we start the next eight-hour block of chatting, talking, and nudging one another with hugs and smiles. By the time I go to sleep, she’s usually able to see the photos that I’m posting here, and by my afternoon, the writing has been long finished and is ready for her critical eyes as she edits the entry before publishing it for me.

While she and I can communicate for about 10 hours a day, there are 14 hours when one or the other of us is asleep, and we must not compromise that. When I’m at home, we spend the first three hours and the last five hours of the day together, Monday through Friday. Over the course of the nine hours apart, we reach out in chat, smiling at each other and sharing reassurances of our love, such as Caroline’s favorite (and admittedly very cute) emoticon, the smile-inducing avocado love.

In my race against trying to remain current with photos and blog posts, visiting Jutta, sorting her effects, and seeing friends and family, I think I’ve forgotten to blurt out how much I’m always missing Caroline and how much I love her, which is amplified by the fact that I’m in her birth city without her. Everything I see and do is measured through the filter of, “I know that Caroline would love seeing this too.” I don’t believe either of us thinks this is obsessive; we’re simply the best of friends and are thrilled that the other is as enthusiastic about these experiences. So, while my day has shrunk even more because of what I have planned, I thought it important to let her know where my head is as she drifts deeper into sleep.

Train to Gelnhausen, Germany

Sometimes, the obvious things remain unseen for the longest time, and so it was this morning arriving at the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof. I waited to fetch breakfast until reaching the train station and then scanned a number of food stands in the main corridor, looking for what might appeal to me. I grabbed a Laugenbaguette mit Salami und gebackenem Käse (pretzel roll with salami and baked cheese) and walked away from others so I could take down my mask and eat. It was my second or third bite while thinking about the flavors when I smiled, thinking about Caroline and her experiments in the past year to bake Laugenbrot (pretzel bread). These are the flavors with which Caroline and her family, along with most other Germans, have grown up. Whether it’s rye, wholegrain, or pretzel that holds ham, salami, or cheese, these are very common grab-and-go foods but also staples at home. My backward thinking only having come into contact with these in my 20s when in a hurry to get somewhere else, I saw them as a kind of fast food of last resort because time didn’t allow me to go to McDonald’s or Denny’s. Yeah, I was that primitive.

When Caroline tells me that she’d be happy with some coarse rye, butter, and a bit of cheese, I feel like she’s cheating herself from enjoying something big, savory, and hot because, somehow, I’ve been missing a key part of her formative years in Germany. These are the luxuries that reconnect her with the taste of home and were never considered cheap excuses for a meal due to lack of time. Where have my head and idiotic biases been for so long? I must now and forever honor the belegte Brot (German-style sandwich – although this translation does not do this delicacy any justice).

After this moment of personal insight, I walked over to Track 5 from where my train to Gelnhausen was going to depart, except it turned out that it was being moved to Track 4. Well, I wasn’t the only one confused because as I walked up to the door, a couple of guys about my age said in German, “I hope this is the train I need to take,” while I replied, “I hope so too as I’m getting on and will see where I go.” With a laugh, they stepped on after me. The conversation continued as they discussed the situation behind me. I was already seated when they came upstairs and just so happened to sit in my area while much of the train was empty. We started talking.

So, they were talking, and I was trying to listen. Because I spoke just enough German, they thought I had an adequate minimum and started pulling me into the conversation; I had to explain the state of my poor German language skills, and the older guy said that they could speak langsam, slowly. Moving between German and English, we talked and talked, passing right through Hanau without me even noticing until one of them asked if Gelnhausen wasn’t the next stop. I thought this impossible, but sure enough, we’d been on the train for more than 30 minutes and were, in fact, nearing my destination.

Siggy in Gelnhausen, Germany

I got lost in time due to the subject matter Siggy and I were talking about: the love of life. Siggy lost his lower leg in a motorcycle accident when he was 21 and a university student on his way to becoming a teacher. While he taught children with special needs for a while, he found after having children of his own that with his disability pay and his wife’s income (who was also a teacher), he’d prefer being a stay-at-home Hausfrau (housewife – his words). Siggy now lives in assisted living in Idstein and was on his way to Gelnhausen as the doctor who’s treated his leg for more than 30 years practices out here where he used to live.

Waking to sunshine on his balcony, talking with strangers, a life of learning, exploring, and smiling has brought Siggy to being incredibly happy to be alive. He said that when gets up in the morning and feels the pain of putting on his prosthetic leg, he does a little dance. He even got up and showed us the jig he performs to celebrate the new day.

Gelnhausen, Germany

I walked into town with this incredibly friendly older guy and was just amazed that I’d met him this morning. All because I acknowledged a bit of banter instead of just walking by. We parted ways as he turned to his doctor’s office, and he told me that I’d want to walk through the arch over to Untermarkt, which is the interesting part of town. Instead, I took a seat somewhere first and noted my encounter, happy to have met such an optimistic gentleman. Now I can go see what’s in Gelnhausen.

Nothing like having a camera battery showing less than full to remind me that carrying the second battery is not going to weigh me down. Now I have to take photos with great intention instead of sloppily taking hundreds of shots to get a couple of dozen great ones. It feels like I’m shooting film now.

Gelnhausen, Germany

I have to adjust my view of the map as here in Germany because when I zoom into the place I am, I read distances as being much greater than they are. Before I knew it, I had walked all the way around the old town as I hunted for an old Romanisches Haus dating from the 12th century. It turns out that it was right in the square in front of the church as I walked into the old city center. My sense of scale has not adjusted from my perception while in America as if it was a type of jetlag where it takes time to reset your inner compass and ability to read a landscape.

Gelnhausen, Germany

Maybe quaint German villages are a dime a dozen, but that doesn’t diminish how fantastic they are to me every time I step into one I’ve not visited before. Apparently, they are of such little consequence to the average German that it turns out I’ve likely been to more places than a good majority of Germans. This also holds true for our travels in America, where only a few people will ever visit so many locations across the United States as Caroline and I have.

Gelnhausen, Germany

I admit I love being here without tourists as I have many opportunities to snap photos unobscured by throngs of people, but on the other hand, I’m able to run through a village too fast, and people-watching isn’t what it used to be, so I quickly run out of things to do. Maybe I forgot to add that museums and many shops are still closed too so that limits what might be done; then add that Caroline is not here to tell me the history of everything because she knows everything, and it feels like I might be here and gone before I know it.

Gelnhausen, Germany

I could see us living here in this wonderful little house, but the fresh food choices are limited, and so should we one day find ourselves able to live out here, we’d have to consider how to acquire foodstuffs only available in cities the size of Frankfurt.

Marienkirche in Gelnhausen, Germany

At least when I’m in Europe, I feel that I might go to church more frequently than the average American back home because here I am again, sitting in the house of God. The Marienkirche of Gelnhausen has served parishioners since at least 1223 and maybe longer, as this is the first written mention of the church. The town of Gelnhausen itself is hardly older, dating to the year 1170.

Marienkirche in Gelnhausen, Germany

The church is stunningly quiet save for the humidifier that I may have triggered after entering the room housing two tapestries. Not much is known about these pieces of art other than they are dated from the 15th century and may have been used to decorate the altar at some point. Both tapestries depict scenes of the life of Jesus Christ. They were found in storage in 1870 in poor condition and have been restored several times since.

Marienkirche in Gelnhausen, Germany

I’ve taken up a seat in the choir section of the nave and wonder about the provenance of these uncomfortable narrow seats lining the room with their beautiful five windows overhead behind the altar. Still no word from God or a lowly angel, but my stomach talks to me to let me know that at this moment my soul needs food more than my heart needs a spiritual awakening. Being the barbarian I am, I heed the command of the gut and pack up, thus relieving my butt from the cold hardwood pushing the blood into other areas.

Marienkirche in Gelnhausen, Germany

There’s poetry in allowing these old pieces of art painted on the walls of the church to fade over time, as this is exactly what is happening to your and my life; we are forever fading. At one time, our image is strong and vibrant, but with the passing days, others will start to see past us or not see us at all as we no longer possess that spark of vibrancy that draws the eye and imagination of others. Our shadows and what remains of what was, is the story that helps establish the foundation for others trying to decipher who we were and what secrets may be lost to the passage of time.

Marienkirche in Gelnhausen, Germany

When the light of our star shines brightest upon us, we see the glory in the illumination of what was previously dark, and details previously unseen are brought into sharp focus. Maybe many objects of art hold a special place in our imaginations as those that we protect never age; they never appear to grow older and always show us the same image we saw yesterday. They are the youth we saw in ourselves and help satisfy our own desire for immortality. Within the fetish, the souvenir, the memento, or any object we hold dear, we can celebrate that this thing will survive us and that others can recognize that we’ve been here through the symbol. It is as though Jesus was kept alive in many people’s hearts because of his image and the cross being passed on to so many generations. The same goes for Mohammed through the poetry of the Koran or for Hinduism, with images and prayers for the many deities. In our art, we find eternal life.

Gelnhausen, Germany

I’m at Ristorante Delizia and have ordered grilled squid on a stack of carrots and broccoli, as well as mineral water. There are only four tables sitting here on this beautiful sunny day, such is the impact of tourism being discouraged, but by the look of the pamphlets being read at an adjacent table, I’d surmise that tourism is on its way back, slowly but surely.

Waiting for my lunch, which promises to be a while as this is Germany, I check on my train back to Frankfurt. I’m guessing I’ll get back around 3:00, which hopefully allows me a few minutes to drop in on Jutta and then get over to Heddernheim for Klaus and me to take a walk along the Nidda River later this afternoon. Actually, sharing this right now, I’m just stalling from falling into writing anything else as I’m now watching the clock waiting for Caroline to send hellos.

Fifteen minutes late, she obviously hit the snooze button. With an adequate amount of love exchanged, I had the dessert to my wonderful meal and made my way back to the train station for my 45-minute ride back. I watched four different high-speed trains zip through just a few feet away from where I was standing. I hope I have the opportunity during this visit to Germany to get on board one of the ICE trains to Munich or Paris; either or both would do.

Sometimes, when you think about what’s being managed as freight, commuters, and inter-city high-speed trains all share the same tracks, you should be rightfully amazed at what the engineers are handling. With commuter trains traveling slower with frequent stops, some trains cut down the time between cities by making fewer stops but using the same track, effectively traveling at a different speed, and then the high-speed ICE trains traveling two and three times faster than everyone else who has to be out of the way of these speeding giants and it seems like a logistics nightmare. Deutsche Bahn, the  German train service, and all of the regional agencies must know at every moment where every train is across Germany and all the trains that will be crossing borders today.

Frankfurt, Germany

Consider all of that and how incredibly extensive the network is that must operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week so that when you hear a German complaining about their poor train service, one has to laugh out loud. You’ll hear their bellicose natures rise up when a train is a few minutes late or if some scheduling snafu means they get hung up on a track 20 minutes from their destination, and all of a sudden, the whole system is failing, and the government is to blame. I guess when you can’t get upset about mass shootings, you have to go for the next best thing: late trains that should operate perfectly all the time. I don’t believe this thinking takes into consideration the other thousand or more trains operating that very moment on some of the 41,315 kilometers (25,672 miles) that criss-cross every single corner of this land. Maybe the idea of efficiency is a bit of an OCD problem in Germany.

Once we are over the Main River and finished pulling into the Hauptbahnhof, I’m going to pay a quick visit to Jutta before my final date of the day.

Frankfurt, Germany

It really is unbelievable to me that an hour with my mother-in-law doesn’t feel like a week; it went by in 10 minutes. I told her a bit about my sumptuous meal in Gelnhausen and the visit to Marienkirche, promising to share some photos with her tomorrow. My plan is to arrive around 10:00, go for a walk, and then try to ruin her appetite for lunch by going for ice cream. If, during my time with Jutta, I can get her to laugh, I feel like I’ve added to her quality of life.

After a quick walk over to Hauptwache past a control point where policemen were sternly telling people to get their masks on, I was on train line U1 direction Ginnheim that stops at Zeilweg, where I get off to go meet Klaus, my brother-in-law. Looks like I’ll only be about 5 minutes late.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

Klaus and I had agreed the day before to take a walk along the Nidda River near his and Stephanie’s place in Heddernheim. Other than fish and ducks, I didn’t know there was any other wildlife in this small river. As it was swimming to this shore, I thought it was a beaver, but Klaus told me that they were nutria. I’ve seen Louisiana nutria before, but those are massive; these guys are adults and a bit smaller than the American beaver. From the way it approaches me, I get the impression that these are, in effect, water squirrels; somebody (or many bodies) is feeding them.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

I told Klaus that maybe my great attraction to water and these reflections is that we don’t have this luxury in Phoenix, Arizona. Oh sure, we have a man-made short stretch of lake in a former river bed with rains now sequestered behind a dam well upstream, but natural, year-round flowing water in our corner of the Arizona desert does not exist.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

Take advantage of what lies before you, as the path is not the same everywhere. The exquisite beauty of light falling through these trees can be seen nowhere else on earth other than right here next to the Nidda on this particular day, which will never occur again. As enchanting as this is, there’s another path through the desert that people are neglecting to appreciate as they move blindly through what they believe they’ve already seen and are familiar enough with to take for granted. This cynicism is of no consequence to nature, nor does it matter to our fellow humans as they are not living our lives. To fail to see what we are looking at is to fail to use our senses to rediscover where the magic all around us is.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

Should you look at this image and see all that is right-side up and upside down, that is light and dark, that is a thousand shades of green, you will have never seen anything like this before in your lifetime. Only I was fortunate enough to be present for this moment in the long passage of eternity and the life so far from our planet to capture and share this with others. It’s not just a photo, it is the life you do not see because our vision is often too myopic to understand the infinity of what we might be able to perceive.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

Proof that German trees are inventoried, numbered, and fully managed. Wild forests are rare or maybe even non-existent.

On The Nidda River in Frankfurt, Germany

We’d walked over 5 miles before we were again near the neighborhood where Klaus and Stephanie live. I asked if Speisekammer restaurant had reopened yet, so Klaus looked it up and thought they were open. At a fork in the road, he asked if we should walk by to verify this, as I’ve found other restaurants that claim to be open but are still closed due to COVID restrictions.

They were open. The next part of the story is a bit sketchy, but it worked for us, so we went with it. A server approached, telling us we needed full vaccination proof or proof of a negative COVID test from the past 24 to 72 hours, depending on which test you took. I already had my passport in my hand and was presenting my CDC vaccination card as he was telling us this in German. I’d already told Klaus to only speak English to this guy and pretend not to be German. As the server figured out my card, he asked if that’s what we both had. I assured him it was and we were sat. Klaus was astonished nearly to hysterical laughter that this had worked, and for the first time in months, he was able to sit down in a restaurant and enjoy a night off from cooking.

You should know by now my routine, Handkäse mit Musik and Schnitzel with grüne Soße. With nearly 28,000 steps or 13 miles (20 kilometers) walked today, I was wrecked after this perfect meal and end to a great day, so instead of working on photos before going to sleep, I had to let that go and fall into bed.