Day 21 – Jutta’s Early Years Part 3

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Wilhelm Linnenkohl

Wilhelm Andreas Linnenkohl as a baby. He was born on the 9th of August 1891 in the small village of Stötterlingen.

Wilhelm Linnenkohl

As Wilhelm grew up, he would wear a Kasack from time to time, as would his son Friedhelm one day. Boys at this time did not wear pants as they were still wearing diapers, and it was easier to change them with this type of clothing.

Wilhelm Linnenkohl

Nothing is known about Wilhelm from this time.

Wilhelm Linnenkohl

Wilhelm was a student in Hannover circa 1910.

Wilhelm Linnenkohl

Over on the right in the front row, second, from the guy on the corner, is Wilhelm Andreas Linnenkohl, and on his right, which is our left, is Uncle Fritz Schwacke. This photo was taken most likely in Hannover while Wilhelm and Fritz were in veterinarian studies.

Wilhelm Linnenkohl

Close-up detail of Uncle Fritz and Wilhelm, the two seated gentlemen on the left. Uncle Fritz was married to Jutta’s godmother, Annamarie.

Helene Linnenkohl nee Vespermann in Germany

Helene “Lenchen” Vespermann getting an education for young ladies in Goslar, Germany. This type of advanced study was to give her a better education than Volksschule. While everyone went to Volksschule, not everyone could afford this type of learning for social advancement and a place in proper society.

Helene Linnenkohl nee Vespermann in Germany

Helene “Lenchen” is the hottie on the right, and the other three women were likely fellow students at the school in Goslar. To the best of Jutta’s recollection, this would have been the ladies putting on a small performance.

Helene Linnenkohl nee Vespermann in Germany

Helene “Lenchen” wearing clothes that would have been indicative of someone in the upper-middle class.

Helene "Lenchen" Linnenkohl nee Vespermann with her brother Friedrich Vespermann in Germany

Helene with her older brother Friedrich Vespermann.

Friedrich Vespermann on the far right.

Friedrich Vespermann on the right during World War I in Germany

Friedrich Vespermann, on the right, was a soldier in World War I, which was also the war he died in. Lenchen lost two brothers to war and one brother to diphtheria.

Otto Linnenkohl father of Wilhelm Linnenkohl in Quedlinburg, Germany 1929

Otto Linnenkohl, father of Wilhelm, in 1929, just a year or two before he passed away.

In January 1923, Wilhelm Linnenkohl, son of Otto and Louise Linnenkohl, married Helene “Lenchen” Vespermann, daughter of Heinrich and Frida Vespermann. The Linnenkohl family was originally from Quedlinburg, while the Vespermanns came from the Hannover area. By 1925, Friedhelm was born, and ten years later, Jutta.

Wilhelm died on the 24th of July 1959 (Jutta isn’t exactly certain of this), and her mother, Lenchen, passed away in the early 1980s.

Day 21 – Jutta’s Early Years Part 2

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Friedhelm Linnenkohl in family BMW in 1927

After cataloging a number of Jutta’s earliest photos, I turned to my mother-in-law to go through some old albums of those I couldn’t identify. This next part of Day 21 focuses on her older brother, who was born Friedrich-Wilhelm Georg Linnenkohl but went by Friedhelm.

This is Friedhelm, at only two years old, getting a taste of the family BMW with Mom.

Friedhelm was born on the 23rd of September 1925 and lived a very short life of just 19 years due to war. This photo of Helene “Lenchen” was taken in the garden at their home in Niederndodeleben before moving to Magdeburg. Prior to Friedhelm being born, Lenchen and Wilhelm lived in Schnarsleben, which proved to be too small for Lenchen who was originally from Hannover. The area around Magdeburg is full of small hamlets with names ending in leben.

Friedhelm Linnenkohl in 1929 Magdeburg, Germany

Then, two years later, he resigned himself to learning to drive his very own tricycle. This wasn’t just any tricycle this was a bike with a Klingel (bicycle bell), and if Jutta had ever saved something that would have been important to me, it would have been that Klingel.

Friedhelm Linnenkohl in 1929 Magdeburg, Germany

There’s nothing like walking through someone’s life that ended so early with his sister. It’s a strange thought that this boy, who was barely a young man, could theoretically be sitting here with us today at 96 years of age. Friedhelm is technically not wearing a dress (although that was not uncommon for toddlers); it was called a Kasack, which Jutta also says is similar to the old Russian military uniform and was also fashionable in the United States in the 1900s. It was referred to as a “Russian blouse.”

Friedhelm Linnenkohl with Frida Vespermann in Magdeberg, Germany 1932

Grandma Frida Vespermann and Friedhelm Linnenkohl in Magdeburg, Germany, in an early color photo. Once again, you can see the old Rauchtisch or smoking table. The urn-looking thing on the table is a Rauchverzehrer or “smoke dispeller,” an electrical appliance intended to help clear the air of tobacco smoke.

Friedhelm Linnenkohl in 1932 for his birthday Magdeburg, Germany

By his 7th birthday, he’s celebrating with friends seen here in 1932. These small hats were popular in the German holiday of Fasching or Fastnacht, which is a Catholic holiday of fasting before Easter. Fasching can also be referred to as Carnival.

Friedhelm, Jutta, Helene, and Augusta in Germany

Friedhelm with his new sister Jutta, his mom Lenchen, and Aunt Auguste Brünig from Wilhelm’s side of the family (one of the aunts who contributed their name to one of Jutta’s many first names). Auguste was from Hamburg, Germany, but also lived in Tanzania, Africa, where her husband ran a farm. After the English took Tanzania following World War I, Auguste and her husband were taken to India as prisoners.

Those German forest squirrels were well-trained to crawl on humans who had nuts in their hands. Friedhelm was in the Harz Mountains in Landheim with his schoolmates, a school hostel in the country for English speakers, when he had an encounter with a half-blind dog that knocked him down and gave him a concussion. Jutta, Lenchen, and Wilhelm made a special visit to make sure that Friedhelm was okay.

Friedhelm Linnenkohl and Jutta Linnenkohl in Magdeburg, Germany

While there are many photos of Friedhelm with his sister, what is never seen is a girlfriend nor may have there ever been one.

Friedhelm Linnenkohl in 1943 or 1944 as a member of the German Army

The entire time I’m learning about his younger years in Magdeburg and that his aspiration was to become a physician, I’m astonished by the crass willingness to throw lives away for a land grab that included the nefarious need to purge society of diversity. In chasing such a horrific banality, generations of people from all walks of life lost lives, property, loved ones, futures, culture, wealth, and all that is the most fundamental to what we’d call a good life.

Friedhelm died in Poland on the 29th of August, 1944.

Day 21 – Jutta’s Early Years Part 1

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My mother-in-law, Jutta Engelhardt, was born Jutta Frieda Luise Auguste Linnenkohl. At least, that is what her birth certificate says. According to this photo album inscription, the intended name was Frida Luise Auguste Annemarie Jutta Linnenkohl, but for some reason, Jutta’s father, Wilhelm, got this wrong. I suppose with so many names, Annemarie just slipped his mind. He also made a mistake with Jutta’s birthday. She was born in 1935, not 1936, in Magdeburg, Germany. Regarding all these names, Frida is Jutta’s grandmother, Louise and Augusta are both Wilhelm’s sisters and Jutta’s aunts, and finally, Annemarie was Jutta’s godmother.

During these past 21 days, I’ve been staying at her old apartment, I’ve been trying to bring order to the many things Jutta collected over the previous 85 years. Among her possessions are hundreds of old photos, some with information about who is in them and when they were taken, while others are images of people and places I can’t identify. Over the next couple of days, I will be sitting down with Jutta to see what we can figure out. The images in this post were easy as there was a photo album dedicated to her first five years. These are only some of the photos, hopefully enough to tell a story.

An innocent baby who was born unable to comprehend that the country she was brought into would be tossed into one of the greatest turmoils in recorded history. In the years I’ve known her, Jutta has often struggled to smile, but this is evidence that deep in her nature is the ability to do just that.

On the left is Jutta’s maternal grandmother, Frida Vespermann; behind her is her brother Friedhelm, born Friedrich Wilhelm Georg, and behind him, their mother, Helene Linnenkohl in Magdeburg around the end of 1935. Frida was born 28th of April 1870 and passed away just before Christmas on 23 December 1938. Jutta’s brother Friedhelm was about ten years old in this photo; he was born on 23rd September 1925.

This is the second-floor flat owned by the Linnenkohl family in Magdeburg. Jutta is being held by her mother, Helene, with brother Friedhelm looking on in the Herrenzimmer (Gentleman’s room).

This photo from 20 August 1936 was taken in the Linnenkohl’s garden. From left clockwise is Friedhelm, Jutta’s father Wilhelm, grandmother Frida, Helene, and, of course, Jutta. Wilhelm was born 9th of August 1891 in Stötterlingen but grew up in Quedlinburg.

Jutta in her crib. Dated 1936.

Summer 1937 in Bad Oeynhausen, visiting grandmother Frida Vespermann and Jutta with a toy she remembers fondly. She shared with me that the swan’s head moved back and forth when you pulled it.

Friedhelm, Jutta, and their mother, Helene Linnenkohl, in August 1937, sat with a professional photographer to make a portrait to give to Wilhelm. Jutta just remembered that her father referred to Helene as “Lenchen,” which was the name everyone used for her.

Important to note in this family photo is the cabinet you can see on the left and the small round table next to it. Jutta owns these to this day, and they both sit in her room. By the way, the small round table was called a Rauchtisch or “smoking table.”

Jutta Engelhardt nee Linnenkohl in Frankfurt, Germany 2021

Here’s Jutta 85 years later with the same cabinet, smoking table, and the chair she’s sitting in was her father’s writing chair.

The date on the photo says 1939, so Jutta is probably approaching her 4th birthday in this photo. Back in the day, her hair-do was all the rage, a Hahnenkamm or “cockscomb,” a sort of faux-hawk for girls.

Summer 1939 in Braunlage in Harz east of Magdeburg. Friedhelm is in back, Jutta in the middle, and Wilhelm is on the oars wearing knickerbockers.

In late 1939, Wilhelm was in uniform. Not only did he serve Germany during the war, but he also served in World War I. He was trained as a veterinarian and served in the military as an Officer in Reserve, taking care of the many military horses left in service. Some families might not want to acknowledge a dark spot in their history, but obviously, millions of Germans were part of a cause that ultimately proved ruinous.

In early 1940, Friedhelm is seen here for his confirmation posing with Jutta. Jutta still remembers paving his path with flowers as he returned home after receiving the sacrament.

Very late 1941 and probably the last photo of Jutta with her now 16-year-old brother. Friedhelm died fighting in World War II in Poland on the 29th of August 1944. Helene never forgave Wilhelm for allowing Friedhelm to forge his birth year in order to join the Wehrmacht.

Day 20 – A Long Walk Along The Nidda

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Konstablerwache in Frankfurt, Germany

Waking at four in the morning is for the birds, and maybe that’s who woke me. As much as I tried to return to much-needed slumber, I couldn’t fight it any longer and, after about 45 minutes called Caroline to tell her goodnight and she could say good morning to me. After a bit of editing, a shower, finishing yesterday’s brief amount of writing, and it was time to get on the train. The U4 only gets me to Konstablerwache. Emerging from the underground it was abundantly obvious that this square had been party central last night; trash was strewn everywhere and blowing in the breeze. On Zeil, it was strangely quiet, with maybe half a dozen other people out here this morning.

Subway platform in Frankfurt, Germany

Back downstairs at Hauptwache, where I can catch the U1, U3, or U8 lines to Zeilweg in Heddernheim and the place is empty. Mind you, it’s not particularly early, but this is very strange and drives home that the club scene is currently not a thing. Under normal circumstances, those who spent the night in clubs across Frankfurt would be heading home right now. I remember those days well when leaving the nightlife at 6:00 a.m.; you’d run into shock that it was daylight and that others seemed to be starting a day just as the party was ending.

Subway posters from Frankfurt, Germany

I’ve shared these placards plastering the walls in the subway before, and I will continue to have at least one photo of the same from all subsequent visits to Germany too. The differences between the cultures of Frankfurt and Phoenix couldn’t be more strikingly made obvious by what is shown right here. I’ll translate some of the things going on over the next weeks here, but consider that this small sample of posters is not in any way fully representative of all events. For the real eggheads, a Theodor Adorno lecture is happening over the course of 3 days. Oh, other eggheads won’t feel left out as literary talks, along with dialogs about medicine, are on the horizon. Talking not your thing? How about an opera performed in eight rooms? My guess is that this is about social distancing, not the opera, but the way it’s being presented. Finally, maybe you are interested in one of the many open-air events centered around drag shows, cabaret, dance, performance art, and more – or you could learn about urban gardening. And Phoenix? Oh sure, we’ll have some poorly attended music events here and there, but community-level participative performances and talks about literature, medicine, and philosophy, well, that’s for nerdy Germans.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

Shortly after 8:00, I arrived in Heddernheim at the Engelhardt’s. With a quick breakfast of some rolls, butter, and jam, Klaus and I were soon out the door for a walk along the Nidda River in the direction of Bad Vilbel.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

Just how it worked out that the high temperature for the day was only going to be 72 degrees (22c) is an act of the weather angels smiling down on those of us out to enjoy a nice Sunday walk or ride along this small, slow-moving river.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

I’ve never seen a thistle I didn’t like, and one that is under the sun is all the better.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

Sandwiched between the villages surrounding Frankfurt are small woodlands, rented garden allotments called Schrebergarten, farms growing sugar beets, various grains, and corn, and many miles of trails that criss-cross the landscape, allowing those out for some recreation to travel different pathways all the time.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

The idea was to go at least as far as Bad Vilbel, and as long as the landscape looks like this, I think I could walk right through Fulda, into Erfurt, and all the way to Leipzig. Google is showing me that the path would be 331 kilometers long (205 miles), requiring 68 hours of walking or about 16 days with my current endurance.

As I’m considering this, I have this great idea for Germany, and Europe for that matter. Just as Elon Musk is building a network of charging stations across the United States for his Tesla brand, how about you Europeans build out a network of e-bike charging stations so people like my wife and I can pedal our way into multi-week adventures through the lesser-visited areas of your lands.

NOTE: A kind reader just shared this link with me in a comment, and I felt like it should go right here. He pointed out that there is a service/website that caters to cyclists pedaling across Germany called BettundBike or Bed & Bike. Campsites, hotels, apartments, and various hosts cater to those traveling by bicycle. Click here to visit Bettundbike.com.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

Maybe three hours down the trail, we stop at a small riverside cafe for a bratwurst and water. We’ve been walking about 7 miles (11km) by now and are less than half a mile from Bad Vilbel with a good chance we’ll go further as the day is perfect for this walk. While there’ve been mostly bicycles out here, there are a good amount of walkers too, but only two photographers, Klaus and John.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

We can’t see horses and not strike up a conversation about Katharina. That’s right, Katharina, we also think of you while out and about in the world and hope that you, too, think of us.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

These are not just photos of more of the same, although I wouldn’t fault you for thinking just that. For me, they are motivational reminders that the train, car, or taxi is not always needed to get places in Europe, especially if you have time. Although, what does all the time in the world matter if you don’t have your health to be able to explore such wonderful options? If I can walk 14 miles (22km) today at 58 years old, I hope to be able to walk at least 10 miles (16km) on this kind of journey when I’m 68.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

Rewilding the rivers is an ongoing process in Germany, but one that’s been being taken seriously for at least a couple of decades now. As more lands and waterways are brought back to their natural states, more recreational opportunities open up, inviting us to walk in this restored nature or enjoy a slow moment rowing down a river.

On the Nidda River in the Frankfurt area of Germany

We’re not very fast, but that’s likely attributable to our stopping to listen to frogs, read about bats, watch a heron fishing for breakfast, or try to figure out the crops growing along the way, all the while taking photos of all we can.

This attractive, mostly glass building next to the Nidda River in Bad Vilbel houses a replica of the Oceanus Mosaic that was once a part of a thermal bath in this city. Today, the original is on display in a museum in Darmstadt, but the next photo will give you an idea of what I looked at this afternoon.

Bad Vilbel, Germany

This was not easy to photograph, and while I’m not exactly happy with how the three photos I assembled turned out, it was the best I was going to do; without having a drone, I could hover overhead to take the image from that perspective. The provenance of the mosaic is Roman; they created it here in Bad Vilbel back in the 2nd century.

Bad Vilbel, Germany

The lone spawning flower in a sea of red flowers.

Dortelweil, Germany

We walked and walked until there was nowhere else to go, and where was this nowhere I refer to? Dortelweil, Germany.

Klaus Engelhardt in Dortelweil, Germany

It took us a few minutes before we ran into someone who could tell us where we might find a place to sit down for a coffee, water, and snack. We ended up at Cafe Rupf for just that and it was had in the shade too. The break was certainly needed by this time and that the train only came through every 30 minutes was just fine with us as we were not in a hurry. Our 3:30 train was canceled due to some technical difficulties somewhere on the route; we laughed while others cursed. I thought I’d pull out the notebook and write, but instead, Klaus and I continued to chat until, at 4:00, our train pulled in.

Rather abruptly, we were all of a sudden at Eschersheim, where Klaus was leaving the train, and I was staying on until Hauptbahnhof (Frankfurt Main Station). Instead of getting off where I thought I would, I saw that I could stay on to Konstablerwache, putting me right where I needed to be for the tram to Bornheim-Mitte. The more I thought about it though, I started thinking about how tired I was and that I’d have to go out for dinner later, so maybe I should tend to that early?

At the end of the line at Frankfurt Süd, I left the S6 train for the walk to Schweitzerstrasse. Adolph Wagner’s was my choice for dinner; Caroline and I last ate there years ago. This path of least resistance offered hope that I could crash early tonight.

I’ve now eaten Grüne Soße at Adolf Wagner, Fichtekranzi, Speisekammer, Blauer Bock, Apfelwein Solzer, Malepartus, Hauptwache Cafe, Gaststatte Atschel, Frau Rauscher, Leib & Seele, and the Engelhardt’s and I think I’m forgetting one or two. This leaves only Ebbelwoi Unser, Klosterhof, and Zum Lahmen Esel for me to visit during this visit to Germany.

Day 19 – Go Nowhere Day

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So, I didn’t exactly go nowhere as I dove deep into my imagination to finish yesterday’s blog entry, and then there were those essentials like eating that required me to leave the apartment. But don’t let me fool you if I sidetrack this blog post and fill it with lies that somehow I had a grand adventure all the same. Though, let’s be honest, writing as much as I did today and editing what I wrote yesterday was exactly what I might expect from a grand adventure, so excuse my contradictions.

This is the first-ever photo of Klaus and me together. Klaus is my brother-in-law, and he’s also a solid guy who’s been absolutely key in helping Jutta make her ten trips to the United States from 1996 to 2013. Since 2013, when my mother-in-law broke her hip, he and my sister-in-law Stephanie have hosted us in their home on every visit we’ve made. As a matter of fact, Klaus is the second reason I’m in Germany at the beginning of summer, and Jutta is the first reason. You see, Klaus has shouldered a lot of responsibility in caring for family, managing the main family assets, and helping Katharina as she moves through university. Klaus had to deal with his own mother’s belongings after she passed back in 2013, and now he’s been dealing with many of the details regarding Jutta’s effects, and I felt if I could be of any help, I’d make it happen to be here.

Klaus and I have never really taken the time to get to know one another, but this trip has given us a small window to learn a little more about where each other is coming from. Today, he and I not only took care of more of Jutta’s history that she can no longer keep with her, but we went shopping and just talked about stuff.

The first stop on our morning adventure was over at the Bornheim-Mitte open-air market, Saturday version. Before we could shop for a thing, Klaus needed breakfast, so we hit a small cafe that had just one table open; it was now ours. Sitting down for a bite to eat and some coffee seems simple but after more than 25 years of being brothers-in-law, this was only the second time we’ve done this. The first time was just a couple of weeks ago. We were at this market to pick up fruit and some veggies while other things required a proper grocery.

REWE grocery store was where he went next. On my first visit just a few days prior I was astonished that such a beautiful large building could be built right here in the middle of a residential neighborhood. I wondered what could have been torn out or was there a grocery store here before? Klaus clarified things by letting me know that this had at one time been a depot for some of the trams that make their way over the streets of Frankfurt. Ah, now I can see the railyard influence I was oblivious to a minute before.

Yeah, I told you about Dick Milk in a previous post as being key to Grüne Sosse; well, here it is so you know I’m not joking about such a serious subject. Just how many men have to be milked to collect such amounts boggles the imagination.

I tripped, and I don’t mean yesterday’s visits to those churches. I’m talking about all of the eggs in this store sitting on the shelf. What’s so peculiar about that, you ask? The shelf is NOT a refrigerated shelf; these eggs could just be on your countertop. Klaus pointed out that they will be fine there until the 19th, a week away, then they need to be refrigerated and are good until the 25th. I told him how, in America, if eggs were left out for more than 30 minutes, most of us would probably throw them away. Relating this to Caroline, she informed her occasionally doltish husband that it’s because our eggs are washed because Americans are squeamish about blemishes that might be on the egg in the form of chicken poop or blood. Because Germans don’t wash their eggs, they have a protective coating that they are laid with that keeps them fresh. I swear that, at times, I feel like an idiot.

There’s really nothing special about this display of cheeses sure, they are all for grilling, as grilled cheeses are popular in Germany and, I’m sure, elsewhere, but it’s a small reminder to me that food should rotate in and out of our lives instead of relying on staples we eat for a lifetime.

Keeping with the theme of variations of products we grow accustomed to, look at these bratwursts. At first blush, you may not realize it, but these are not your ordinary grilling brats. A couple of them are just kinda weird, but I’ve not tried them, so who knows? On the far left are Grüne Sosse brats, and towards the right are Handkasewursts; the wild ones are wild boar, the ones from Wetterau take influence from a region north of Frankfurt, while the package with a sheep on it that says Lamm is lamb.

This image is a torturous reminder of what might have been our favorite stoner food when Caroline and I lived in Frankfurt: veggie fingers. Like fish sticks, except with veggies and no longer with cheese, because their veganness demands no animal products are used to make these, I’m sure that after a couple of bong rips, these Gemüsestäbchen would still be ace!

These are posted only to make Caroline pine about one of her favorite food items ever: rhubarb. When we moved to America and discovered Prairie Home Companion, Caroline found her anthem in Bebob-a-Rebop Rhubarb Pie, and finally, the protest songs lost their place in her heart.

The early 80s called Caroline and wanted their protest songs back after I divulged her loyalty to rhubarb instead of the scene, and here they are being handed off to the official state agency that handles those things no longer relevant, thus also removing a cultural threat to the future. Goodbye Bots.

Klaus and I visited a couple of used record shops to see if anyone wanted Jutta’s record collection. The first shop only collected guitar music with the requirement that “Your parents had to hate it.” This nice enough guy suggested we try around the corner because that shop specializes in classical and jazz. We explained the situation and were invited to take his dolly so we could load up the two large boxes of records and bring them back easier. Seriously, who does that in America? Anyway, he took all the records after checking out the titles to be sure there wasn’t a million-dollar record among them. Again, this kind of honesty is amazing to me.

At this very moment, I started writing about today, Day 19, here on the 12th of June, 2021. It is now just after 8:00 p.m. and I’m once again hungry and must take myself out of here to find what will only get more difficult to acquire as the night goes on. But be it delusion or euphoria, I feel in the flow of goofing around in front of the screen and keyboard that are recording me. That, though, has to be contended with as I do not operate on joy alone.

When I finally went out for dinner, Bergerstrasse was packed, and impossible to find a table, so I gave up. The Italian joint where I ate a lunch of Carbonara the other day wasn’t very interesting either, that left Blauen Bock at the corners of Neebstrasse and Saalburgstrasse. I had avoided this on a previous visit to Germany as I walked into their dining room, and the place was so thick with cigarette smoke I would never believe they could serve a good meal, but for a drink, it was probably a place worth visiting. I don’t drink. Anyway, here I am, and food is starting to arrive, beginning with Handkäse mit Musik because, of course just that, and after this appetizer, Grüne Sosse with extra Dick milk.

Day 18 – Travel Day

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See this happy face? It’s a mask of naivety. About to leave for the day, I’ve got my laptop slung over my shoulder, my camera is obviously in my left hand, the ablutions are finished, and I’m excited to be on a rail trip that will take me on a new adventure to places I’ve never been. I’ll take lots of photos and, hopefully, an adequate amount of notes to minimize what I’ll be dealing with later this day and tomorrow morning. Well, here I am a day later (no, not in the photo; that really was me getting ready to leave on Friday morning), and I’m confronted with 63 photos and over 2,700 words pasted in between the images and there are still 43 photos that don’t have a word below them. What this suggests is that while I’ll likely pare some images, I probably will have about 4,300 to roughly 6,000 more words to add. Do you really have time for some seven to nine thousand words, even just scrolling past them?

I’m WARNING  you now: skip this blog post unless you are interested in more self-indulgent blathering from an undisciplined, narcissistic cultural sycophant.

Late Edit: While I didn’t cut a single image from this post, it is at a much more palatable word count of just under 6,000 of them pesky things. 

Speaking barely enough German to get by is one thing, but when it comes to reading German, I’m at a serious disadvantage as I can’t gesticulate wildly and talk louder to a machine. So, did I buy the right pass for my train journey that said it was good for five people? No idea, but when the ticket control officer comes around, I might learn the details of what this is, and hopefully not a hard lesson.

If I have the correct ticket, and even if I don’t, I’m going to Wetzlar, and from there, I’ll decide if I’m going west to Limburg or east to Fulda. What I am certain of is that in Giessen, I need to change trains to the RE99 in the direction of the Siegen Hauptbahnhof. I was about to look up what sights can be seen in Siegen, but this train doesn’t have wifi, yet. So I checked on my phone and thought Siegen might hold promise, but then I thought about what state it might be in; my “Hessen” ticket certainly doesn’t cover North Rhine-Westphalia, so check Siegen off the list.

Well, my ticket is correct and incorrect as it isn’t valid until 9:00 a.m., but after that, I’m good. I was advised to hang out in Giessen until 9:00 and then jump on my train to Wetzlar as the next control officer might not be so friendly and could fine me 60 Euros for the mistake. I have to wonder why the RMV app would offer me an invalid option when I was trying to buy a ticket for a 7:19 a.m. departure and why doesn’t the app have an English option anyway. Looking at the town of Giessen via Google, I might just go ahead and risk the fine. We just passed through Friedberg, where Elvis Presley was stationed during the Cold War from 1958 to 1960.

Well, the Giessen main train station looks nice enough, as well as an early 20th-century factory might look.

Crossing the bridge from the train station to the city was this sticker reminding me that there’s a lot of truth behind my selective ignorance of how animals live such short lives before they become my dinner. Regarding the characterization of the people who raise and slaughter animals on my behalf, we are all complicit as we want our dead animal parts put on our plates for the lowest possible cost, and so we bring in hungry immigrants to do our bidding. While Caroline and I buy much of our meat from ethically sourced producers and pay the premium, we are not above guilt. If you think the sticker is rude, think about how the animals might feel about being the recipients of our desires.

The signs to nowhere (supposedly the city center) brought me here. I thought I could spruce things up by capturing some greenery and flowers in the foreground so what lies ahead isn’t so grim in appearance.

No time to investigate the innards of the house of our Lord. If God is going to speak to me this day, it will have to be from a distance.

Could this be God making itself known to me? This bull-slug with amputated legs and a mummy-wrapped corpse holding a sphere is about as religious a thing as I’ve ever witnessed without the assistance of powerful drugs. I think it materialized here on its metal spike just for me; God sure operates in peculiar ways.

Giessen, well, I’ll never need to come back here. It feels like a town that sprung up after World War II, that or it was bombed into oblivion and never rebuilt a historical center. Pure function and no character can only mean one thing in Germany: this city was built for blue-collar workers.

Jeez, got turned around and missed my first train. Now I’m on a train leaving from track 9 that’s supposed to stop in Wetzlar, but with the overhead sign saying Koblenz, I have to admit I’m not sure where I’m going. The worst that can happen is I’m fined those 60 Euros for the transgression of needing to navigate in an area not accustomed to foreign visitors as signage is not for the international crowd.

Yay, the overhead sign says next stop, Wetzlar. Just dawned on me that my phone is down to 75% of charge already and that I should carry something to charge it while I’m outside of Frankfurt.

Arrived in Wetzlar without incident and started following the signs saying “Altstadt” or Old Town. I learned something about the region today as I heard water and followed the sound/ I’m on a river. The Lahn River connects Marburg, Giessen, Wetzlar, and Limburg on its way to the Rhein, along with many more small villages along the route.

It’s pretty enough as I approach this half-timbered old town center, and it’s quiet enough not to disturb the living or dead. I should stop for a coffee, but any minute, this bridge might be busy as people start to go about their day.

It would seem to me that by 10:00 on a Friday, the townspeople would be out and about by now; maybe they wake late?

I should have stopped at my first opportunity for coffee at the bridge, but I was certain there’d be other cafes at such a quaint stop along the river. I was wrong. Could it be that when tourism was at its height, city centers became undesirable places to live and that some seriously high number of dwellings here are part of the Airbnb network instead of being used as residences?

The shops are still here, but were they ever for locals? Does someone who lives in Wetzlar really want an expensive cutting board noting Goethe’s short time spent living in this village?

Like Martin Luther, it’s easy to get the impression Goethe stayed everywhere in Germany. Back on the 10th of May, 1772, Goethe, then a young law student traveled here to Wetzlar, which was then the “Capital of Law.” He took a fancy to the daughter of a member of the Teutonic Knights, her name was Charlotte Buff. Learning “that he could hope for nothing but friendship” from Charlotte, he left Wetzlar on the 11th of September, walking along the Lahn River towards the Rhein. Back in Frankfurt, Goethe learned that a friend had taken his own life in the very apartment in Wetzlar where Goethe had been living. These two moments in his life were pivotal and led to the writing of The Sorrows Of Young Werther.

So, here I am in a nice cool spot as it warms up out there. This cool spot is, of course, a church that also affords me the chance to jot some “whatevers” down. Those first whatevers end up being yawns; the coffee beckons, but first, I’ll search for redemption.

Why have I never realized that the church is like a car and the bible its user manual? With the church, you are traveling to a destination such as heaven or hell. Will you find salvation when you enter the church, or is your tank empty? Should you not know your way around the intricate workings of the church, pick up the bible, and it will tell you where to find the headlights, the radio, and windshield wipers so you can see better the direction you are heading. Once you are in the house of worship, you have a chauffeur and tour guide in the form of a member of the clergy.

Back when the church played a much more important role in people’s lives, this was the vehicle that took the parishioners on exotic journeys so they might encounter God, if not here, then in the afterlife. Today, we offer alms in the form of money we pass on to those at airlines, hotels, restaurants, museums, and other places that draw in travelers. Now that God is dead (after we killed him), we can see God not in the church but in how we try to bring grace into our own lives when we turn to the online catalog of consumption and decorate ourselves with the adornments that demonstrate our holiness. We have become the altar, and those less wealthy than I can pray at my feet.

Music is no longer just provided by a massive church organ on Sundays; I have my Rockford Fosgate P300-12 Punch 300 Watt Powered Loaded 12-Inch Subwoofer in the mobile chapel I drive through your neighborhood at night or pull up behind you and vibrate your car too with the sounds of a thumping canticle. This is not meant to annoy anyone; it’s just that I’m a modern religious person, and you are old and intolerant as you’ve not changed with the times. Besides, the reverb in my car is tight, have you heard the horrible echo in one of these old cathedrals?

And the cost of even building a church anymore will never happen again, who can afford it? Take, for example, that an apartment in Frankfurt, Germany, costs about €7,000 per square meter to purchase (or about $850 a square foot in American prices, which would equate to the average home costing about $2 million). Now consider how many massively technical and artistic skills are needed to build a church; you’d have to consider spending at least €15,000 per square meter, add golden altars and ornate paintings, sculptures, and stained glass, and soon you are looking at a quick 2.44 billion Euros to build something about the size of Notre Dame or about $3 billion in U.S. currency. I have to admit I’m wondering why Mark Zuckerberg or Jeff Bezos aren’t building their own personal temples to wealth seeing they can earn this much money in anywhere from 10 days to a month or so. Ah, to be a God and listen to the choir of cash registers singing the eternal song of riches.

But money can’t buy time or replace the history of humanity. The old church doors that have been passed through across the ages have allowed people access to a shared culture and the carrying on of traditions. From there, people make their small contribution to each successive generation, offering a wealth that only accrues interest when others benefit from the knowledge that rose out of the desire to improve one’s place on Earth. But first, we must pass through the door.

Maybe an earlier Elon Musk lived in one of these houses; we don’t know his name today, nor do we care as the souls that occupied these spaces are meaningless to us in the here and now other than the possibility they survived war, famine, and plague which allowed us to replace them hundreds of years later.

Our compass points forward, but the arrow of time is merciless. Where our journeys take us and what we glean from these moments will say little of where we traveled today, but they can volumes to future generations who might listen to the story shared on the pages of a bible not yet written.

And then the Lord said, let there be a Greek restaurant with good shade to meet your needs and keep you in comfort. And so it was done. My servant turned water into coffee and manifested tiny bubbles to the water brought to sustain me. Asked if I’d like the Lamb of God, I agreed that the mixed grill plate would be the perfect Eucharist but asked if that came with sacramental bread. Assured I was having a full service brought to my table, I was ready to fall into prayer. Blasphemy, you say? Sure, and Jesus walked on water.

This village offers little to read where things are. Is it dead because there’s no tourism? Do the locals work away from the Altstadt, or is it being depopulated? I have seen a good amount of empty houses, abandoned shells of houses, and places that appear no longer in use but viable. I wonder, at what density of tourists do they drop some kind of energetic vibrance into a place, livening it up in such a way that makes things more exciting? Maybe that’s exactly it, when a place is packed full of people, we struggle to see all things as we move with the flow. By competing to grab the perfect spot that satisfies our sense of the aesthetic, we do not have time to linger in thoughts that ask, what next?

Hah, how does that apply to a mind searching for words when its pathways appear deserted, too? Do I need more words stuffed into this head or more images? This then has me asking myself if being sleepy is the mental equivalent of heading into the night instead of the dawn.

So, was it the coffee that brought wakefulness, the meal, or the combo? True, I’d only had a small salami sandwich on a roll before leaving Frankfurt, and it is mid-day, so maybe that first bite and clocking in my first five miles before 11:00 played a role? I’ll continue to explore this old town center for a bit longer and then flip the coin if I head to Limburg or Fulda. Writing that I already answered the coin flip, I’m going to Limburg, so I explore more of the Lahn River area before heading to other places.

Walking along back towards the bridge when a yarn store jumps out at me. I’m at Stricklaedchen, and they are open. I said to the shop keeper, “Meine Frau alle meine socken machen, ich suchen wolle von Deutschland” she responded, “Schön, hier ist Sockenwolle aus Deutschland.” What more needed to be said? But before I could choose one, she recommended a colorway from Hundertwasser, and well, that was all the convincing I needed. So, either Caroline or I will one day wear a pair of socks with the yarn I bought in Wetzlar, Germany, inspired by Friedensreich Regentag Dunkelbunt Hundertwasser.

Other than maybe more photos from the Lahn River, I needed nothing else, so along the riverbank, I strolled on the shady side as far as I could before turning towards the train station. As I allowed my eyes to take in the beauty of these natural settings with the goose family also out for a stroll, I thought maybe this could be my Giverny, and whereas Monet painted with various pigments, I would paint this with words, if only I had the time to linger.

This being a very small town, trains are not all that frequently pulling through. The one I wanted heading northwest was 21 minutes away when I sat down, and so I set to note-taking of my impressions. Obviously, this is not the kind of writing I’d like to be dealing with. Instead, I believe I might be in need of another coffee to fuel my impressionistic sensibilities.

I should point out that the Lahn River is used recreationally with small boats, rafts, and some going in for a swim. Where there are small rapids or falls that are too shallow to navigate, there are side chutes with walkways to pull a kayak or sculling boat along a wheeled ramp that makes pulling it easier while the boater walks next to it over a boardwalk.

Quick change of plans as I disembark the train in Weilburg for a quick walk up to the castle. No time for coffee, but water had to be found as the combo of relatively hot weather with humidity I’m unaccustomed to is still taking time to adapt to, a kind of weather jet lag I’m struggling with. I was in a hurry because the trains move through these out-of-the-way locations so infrequently that I knew I’d better catch the next train heading to Limburg. That departure was scheduled for 70 minutes after I pulled into town.

Okay, I’ve seen the palace, and now I can leave. Just kidding, even if I were late, I’d just go with the flow and let my interest dictate the time.

How deceptive is the practice of sharing just the images that might inspire someone else to see the inherent beauty of a place that any other photographer is also trying to offer others? Maybe all springtime visits to Germany should require travelers to spend a solid month over here so they too might know the amazing days in addition to the cold, wet ones that are inevitable.

Even if this castle were open to visitors (it’s not), I wouldn’t have time to investigate further today, nor would I really want to, as if I like a place, there should be something left unseen that draws Caroline and me back.

When Caroline saw this image, she blurted out that she already knew it as she had a postcard of it when she was younger. I forgot to ask if she had it because she liked the image or if she had visited as a child, as Jutta would load up the girls in their Renault 4 and tour various places in Germany and France.

This is the oldest house in Weilburg, built back in 1576; I’d live in it.

How’d I already get back here? Nothing like a bunch of curved short streets and alleys to ensure that you don’t really know where you are. Had I a fully charged phone, I could have followed where I was on a map and would have known better how long it would take me to get to a point and if I’d reached the furthest corner of the old city center. No time to backtrack; must keep going forward.

Wouldn’t you know that I’d get back to the train station 20 minutes early and then the train is going to be 10 minutes late? Once the train showed up, we traveled along the Lahn River in a wooded area, passing through the occasional tunnel. Before I got out of my seat and headed over to the big windows to start taking photographs, I realized how differently short trains ride. Has anyone else noticed this?

Aumenau next to the Lahn River at once looks amazing under billowy white clouds and the deep green of spring giving way to the summer, but somehow, I sense a malicious farmer in their presence ready to use some townspeople as fodder in a situation right out of the Funny Games horror movie franchise.

As we make our way along the Lahn River, we pass Villmar and Runkel. This is Villmar, and while I tried to snap a photo of the castle ruins in Runkel, the sun was in the wrong place, and my window had too much glare on it. My impression of the Lahn River valley and the villages that have taken up a permanent home here is that one day, I’d like for Caroline and me to take the 55-mile / 89-kilometer walk from Wetzlar to Koblenz on the Rhine River just as a young Goethe did so many years ago. Hmmm, could I walk 18 miles / 30 kilometers a day for three days?

Giessen, Wetzlar, Weilburg, and now Limburg. The fourth city for the day is possibly the better way to spend time out of a major destination as its old city center is bigger with more to see, more to eat, more to drink, and more to visit. And the significance of the strawberries? Nothing other than the personal nod to Caroline once again that these Erdbeeren grown in Deutschland are sagenhaft.

As I was looking at the map of the route I took today to get from Giessen to Limburg an der Lahn, I was wondering if any old, similar route from one unknown place to another might produce the same results, so I looked north towards the direction I was supposed to travel out of Giessen this morning. That destination was Siegen, which I can’t remember ever hearing about before. Had my trip started there and headed west, I would have passed through Betzdorg, Wissen, Altenkirchen, and Buchholz. I looked up all four towns and realized that I might be enchanted by all four, and if that’s true, then maybe all 2,060 cities and 11,042 localities are of interest, too. Well, except for Giessen.

Why do I do this to myself? I didn’t even have to admit I found yarn stores; Caroline would have never known I had passed them. Not only did I see them, but I also went inside with my enabling mindset fully engaged. Maybe this is stretching the truth a bit, but only a bit. While I was in that first yarn shop in Wetzlar, Caroline was still asleep, but while I was in Limburg, she was awake, so I stoked the fires of desire by sending her a quick photo of yarns. She perked up, “Is that Wollpalais?” How the hell did she know that so quickly? Has she memorized all the yarn stores in Europe should someone she knows happen to be visiting that town? You don’t think she could remember that? Then you don’t know Caroline. I told her I didn’t find any sock yarn I wanted, “Too bad, look for lace-weight stuff for me.” She liked the blue and brown, so I got her two skeins of that, and I liked the blue, green, and red, and although I didn’t need them, I could hear the little Caroline devil on my shoulder telling me to support small yarn shops like this during the pandemic so I obeyed. Seriously, I could have kept my mouth shut, but maybe I was overcome by love. Hey, do any of you readers know if voodoo dolls could control me in this way?

It was here at the fork in the road that I checked into rehab, and while that might look like some restaurant or pub to you, upstairs is the 12-Step program for yarn-buying enablers who first go through the process of doing what they know they shouldn’t and then drown their guilt in Spaghetti Eis, Rabarberplunder, or Bio-Körni Brötchen mit Butter and Johannisbeerenmarmalade. I feel like a food alcoholic, and the first step is admitting that I have a problem. Is Lent coming up? Maybe I could give up buying yarn, then?

This sign has nothing to do with what I was doing other than I love these signs and will forever be amazed at the German craftsmanship that is able to balance a golden goblet in the center of such a thing. I mean, seriously, how do they do that?

Not much is crooked; this must be modern.

Caroline pointed out after reading the first half of this blog post that while in Giessen, I said something about the Lord having to discuss things with me outside today, and then maybe an hour later, I was in a church after all. In my defense, I explained that I have now realized that my car and I are my church, and I wear my piety in the outward appearance of wealth I’m able to adorn myself with, so going into churches is an exercise not in finding the sanctity of anything holy but a mere visit to an archeological site where I might find evidence of previous souls. Next stop, hunting for evidence at the Cathedral of St George.

Oh, look at all this badass architecture knocked out back in 1180 to 1235 when making things involved quality work that might last for, oh, say, 1,000 years!

Just the other day, I was thinking, “Damned thing that Nietzsche fellow, having garroted God triggering the German hordes to scream into the abyss, ‘Herr Toller Schnurrbart has killed God, can the Jews be far behind?'” And wouldn’t you know it, his idiot sister Elizabeth took that to the bank of the Third Reich and messed things up for a hot minute, but would we have gotten Rammstein without the devastation and cultural reinvention that followed? That’s right, Good comes out of Evil.

I looked in on the statue of the virgin mother; her eyes and ears were bleeding, and her son held his hand over his eyes in shame for what I would write. Little did I know then what they saw in my future, but the sight was so astonishing. I grabbed my camera as quickly as I could, but the photo turned out to look much as it would at any other church. I swear this happened while, at the same time, I hope I won’t be burning in hell for such ugly things that come out of my fingers. Maybe I’m suffering from psychography, and Satan is controlling my hands, which I can’t begin to understand as these appendages are never idle hands spending time in the devil’s workshop, or are they?

Hey Jesus, no joke, are we cool? He stares down at me, “Does this look cool?” So, I guess I might be damned? “You betcha, so why don’t you just take yourself right out of here, buy some yarn and donuts, and drown the sorrows you’ll pretty much be experiencing for ETERNITY!”

Right about now, I’m wondering how smart it was to eat those 2.5 grams of psilocybin with lunch.

I should just enjoy the great outdoors, smell the flowers, check out the half-timber houses, and be happy to enjoy so much of this beautiful German town of Limburg that was started in the year 910 when Louis the Child granted Konrad Kurzbold an estate here.

Nah, I should just go into another church and finish enjoying my shroomy journey into blasphemic digression.

Oh my God, did I really wander into yet another Catholic church?

I stared at the ceiling for maybe 20 minutes, watching the Eye of Providence making googly eyes at the Eye of Horus, all three of them. Sorry for cutting the one on the left off, but I was having issues remembering how to even use my camera. By the way, I was joking about the Magic Mushrooms; I was on 250 μg (microgram) of some clean LSD.

Stop talking to me, you baby bastards. For a minute, I thought the organ pipes were the fangs of Satan or a dragon, maybe even my mother-in-law. She has fangs, you know?

Do you want the truth? Can you even handle the truth? I had to make some things up because I’ve visited so many churches by now and have learned nothing in those explorations, besides the fact that some great artists have poured entire lifetimes into them, that to offer more oohs and aahs would have just been more of the same where you witness me being enthralled by such magnificence.

I’m writing some of this at Cafe Will, the oldest cafe in Limburg which was established in 1880 or nearly a thousand years after Louis the Child exercised a lot of power for a person of his age. But now for something completely different (I often wonder how many people hear John Cleese of Monty Python every time they read that phrase?)

Oat milk is the alternative milk of choice here in Germany at the moment, or so it seems, so I have an oat milk latte along with a large glass of sparkling water. Sadly, the cafe closes in 15 minutes so I’ll have had a half-hour to sit and consider my next steps. Caroline offered some long-distance help with finding my train schedule and a restaurant, too; I’m going to be dining here in Limburg. The place is called Burgkellar, just up the hill on Fischmarkt. I’d been hoping to leap into one more city today with a jaunt over to Fulda for dinner, but it’s a two-and-a-half-hour train ride, so that’s out of the question.

Dinner number 18 in Germany, and once again, I’m alone. If you think I have Caroline nearby on the internet, I put the phone in airplane mode to conserve battery as it is holding my train ticket. I can’t afford to have the battery die, and after such a long day, there’s that possibility. With that said, sitting in old town Limburg next to these old half-timbered houses and listening to all my neighbors speaking German, I’m certainly having an entertaining experience.

Shadows are starting to lengthen, and the day is cooling. I like the idea, after running around so much today, of taking a nice long break and moving slowly. Time to eat.

My server just let me know that during normal times, this area is full, and getting a table here at Burgkeller isn’t always easy. With Germans not being in the habit of vacationing in their own country, this must be especially tough, especially compared to America, where the need to get out has created a situation where even if Caroline and I wanted to visit Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon, those places are in such high demand that they are sold out for the better part of the rest of the year.

At least from my perspective here late in the day, I find Limburg very liveable. Of course, things like grocery shopping and open-air markets have to remain unknown to me, and the rest of Limburg surrounding the Altstadt appears to be quite a large place. Lacking on first blush is frequent rail service; while a train to Frankfurt comes through once an hour and on occasion twice, this is certainly not a travel hub, even if it’s a destination.

Oh, you bet I could see Caroline in a nice Dirndl, especially one that is as modest and cute as this one. The entire ensemble is a relatively pricey €500 or $600 U.S., but when you consider that these are handmade clothes using fabrics that are unique, you might be able to see that this isn’t too much at all.

Speaking of Caroline, if I could have her on live-cam the whole time I’m here, I’d keep that channel open so I could just pick up my phone and say hi to her smiling face so often she’d cut me off as she’d get nothing else done. The longer I’m gone, the greater the length we are going to emphatically share our love of each other and how we miss one another. If I could plant a hug in this blog that would somehow reach further out than my pining at her on the phone and in chat, I’d be adding that right about now.

Vacationing, this is something I should start considering right now as when I get home I’d like and I’m sure Caroline would also like to spend some quality time together. We were just up on the California coast from Monterey to Cambria for nearly ten days last month and in November, we did have a quite long vacation up in Oregon, so where to go? We had to pass on going white water rafting in Idaho on July 4th as we couldn’t anticipate how things would work out with such a fast turnaround of me coming back from Germany and then driving a day and a half to Idaho to start such an adventure in the possible throws of jet lag. Now that doesn’t feel so impossible.

Move out of your expectations. Find the order in chaos and embrace the things that challenge your sense of normal, as routine is a tyranny to the over-stimulated mind of people consuming trash. We must break out and turn off the shit so we might find some flow allowing us to flush the toilets of our minds.

So, who was on shrooms or acid when these figures on the House of the Seven Deadly Sins were made? Actually, I think the creator of these simply had an effective methodology for not letting their mind get too backed up with the excrement deposited by society and knew how to have fun.

I’m on the train returning to Frankfurt refreshed, even though I ran out of steam in Limburg. I wasn’t even willing to wait for the 20:19 to the city and opted for the 19:50 to Giessen, hoping I’d hop on a train there that might get me back sooner. There are a lot of photos I shot today that need to be gone over, color-corrected, and other stuff, so I can pull things together tomorrow. Such is the process of trying to maintain these daily blog entries.

Just had a great dumb idea where I start importing the photos now, thus saving me time later tonight, but while that happens, I cannot take any photos as the memory card is tied up. Having taken a lot more photos than usual, this will take some time, but maybe that’s a good thing, as I’ll have fewer photos to contend with. If you are reading this far along of the drivel that has spilled from me, you are probably already thinking, “Hey John, you could have posted fewer photos so I wouldn’t have to scroll past so damn much to see this entry and get to the next.”

So, however many photos I end up posting, you should know that I shot more than 380 to get the ones I deemed worthy. Hmm, I am just wondering if I should do the same with my words and, after writing 3,000 or so, should select the best 300 and post those?

How nice it is to be on a train, effortlessly gliding down a track with no responsibility other than to keep on my mask. My day pass for the state of Hessen has been well worth the $40 it cost. I do want to stop at every scenic sight and snap off a photo, but the train travels where neither cars nor bikes can go, so even if I were traveling by other means, I’d not even see these views, and if I were on an autobahn, there’d be no stopping whatsoever.

Cows are grazing, farms are glowing, and the Lahn is there on my left with nary a ripple. I’m lulled by the bucolic nature we are gliding through and only wish to experience it all by foot though I’m afraid it would be like sitting in the church waiting for the voice of God to speak with me as I gaze upon the landscape waiting for a message that offers a new take on enlightenment.

We just passed through Dudenhofen without stopping and waiting at the track I saw between six and eight young ladies dressed for going out. It was impossible to know if they were waiting for the train that goes directly to Frankfurt or if they might be on their way to Limburg (highly unlikely) or maybe Koblenz. I have no idea about those cities’ nightlives, but I do know that in Frankfurt, even here at the tail-end (hopefully) of the pandemic, things are far more lively than sleepy old Dudenhofen, especially if you have access to a good dose of LSD, or Magic Mushrooms.