Day 17 – Jetzt In Frankfurt

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Every morning, I wake up and either chat with Caroline or just call her, as I know it’s about 9:00 p.m. in AZ, and she’ll be home. The desk I’m sitting at with a handful of my change strewn about was once the desk of Hanns’ father, Christian Engelhardt. I believe there’s a good chance I’ll be the last person ever using it as it’s heavy and not in the best condition, but there is a lot of history to it and I’m happy to be putting it to use.

What we don’t see is as important as what we do see. I hadn’t noticed the candy dispenser at the eye level of kids in my last photo yesterday, but Caroline did. I don’t believe I ever saw the crews that wash sections of tram tracks, but I have now. The other night, there was a truck with lights and cameras underneath it that was examining the tracks it was driving over, and this morning a crew is power washing the various elements that make up the entry and exit of the subway. The two guys cleaning this tiny corner of Frankfurt are about my age, and after about 30 minutes, they move on to their next assignment.

At some time overnight, a crew moved down Bergerstrasse, where the open-air market takes place, and cleaned that area too. Last night walking up that street, evidence of the festivities earlier was strewn about, but by 7:00 a.m., the place was clean once again. I often see cleanup crews dressed in orange moving down streets with their long whisk broom pushing trash to the street that another crew will come along with their street cleaner to suck up. Sure, you’ll see graffiti nearly everywhere you look, but the environment is kept clean. Regarding pet waste, most people who own dogs are great about cleaning up after them. For how many of those four-legged creatures walk these streets of Germany, you see very little in the way of poop for people to step into. Though I’d bet a Euro that most Germans would say there’s still much too much poop around. I invite them to our apartment complex, where on any given day, there’s more poop distributed between the buildings than I see walking 10 miles a day on these streets of Frankfurt.

Another nice two-and-a-half-hour breakfast start of the day, now with another blog entry behind me. As I looked outside to begin the next part of the day, I had my first pang of anxiety that I’d be leaving all of this. There’s no doubt at all that I want to return to Caroline sooner rather than later, but I’ve often dreamed about just such a trip to another country where I could move from coffee shop to coffee shop, writing something that was longer in form and if I were lucky, part of a book I might want to publish. Instead, due to my family responsibilities, my day is dictated by schedules that are not solely my own. With that, I’m not able to fall into the flow I’d otherwise like to. So my compromise is that I write this travel diary in order for Caroline to share the day with me; hmm, have I written exactly that in the last week?

We all tell stories, with most of them lost to the passage of time. Some things persist, but so often, they are objects without context. Of the stories that survive, they are the histories of those that make history. The common person is lost in the anonymity that so many of us have existed, perished, and were simply forgotten; how could we possibly carry around so much information about the infinite details that would pile up if we recorded such things?

This then might ask the question, “Why are you doing this, John?” My answer is easy: it’s because this has never been done before in such detail. “How will it survive you?” That is the more difficult question to answer, but I hope to carve some time out of my life to put what I consider the more important things into a series of printed books that I can donate to a university library. Short of that, maybe this will survive intact on Archive.org, but who really knows? If it turns out that I’ve been on a fool’s errand, I will not have been the first nor the last.

Something I might like to investigate while I still have a sense of control over my mind is to ask an anthropologist what I am missing in this long multi-year narrative. On the other hand, what fun would this be if I were following a formula that would bring this into some kind of textbook of details? Opinions, attempted humor, fun, sorrow, discovery, and the mundane intermingle in this hodgepodge of musings where I hardly understand the thread that holds them together. Maybe there are not supposed to be threads but only the chaotic unfolding of one day to the next, with the narrator describing random bits that somehow made sense to the mind, sharing what it thought relevant.

Caroline’s maternal grandmother, Helene Linnenkohl nee Vespermann, was born on 16 November 1894. This photo is from 1959, when Helene would have been about 65 years old.

I didn’t have all day to lay out over 1,000 postcards Jutta saved over the years, but this would have to do. After she bought a postcard, it went into the void, and apparently, they were never sent to anyone.

Before the age of digital images, I didn’t bother to always keep notes about travels, and Jutta’s first two visits to America have always been a question mark in our memories. Well, due to my mother-in-law keeping everything, I came across these two things she saved that offered me help. Her first visit to America was in June 1996, and her second visit was in October and November 1997. Now, all I need to do is go through Jutta’s photo albums we made for her of those visits, and I can put a timeline back together of when we did what.

I’m away from the chore of sorting and removing and have stopped for lunch. My destination is Jutta’s, where I’ll try to get her to a doctor’s appointment. I say try, as there are a few moving parts to this operation I have to navigate, and as usual, my language skills feel inadequate. I’m sure I can push through this, and afterward, I’ll likely gain another gram of confidence that I’m able to maneuver the linguistic minefield that is German. With my carb-laden lunch out of the way, it’s time to hoof my way across town.

Oh really? Concerts are coming back. The Batschkapp as it exists now is not the Batschkapp of our 20s, and there’s really no interest in seeing the new location, but I do smile when I see their logo.

Some things are just cute.

Well, that took a huge left turn. I got to Lebenshaus, and since I didn’t believe they wouldn’t provide the service in-house that I was supposed to bring Jutta to, I asked, and sure enough, a lady comes by on Mondays to do exactly the procedure Jutta requires, which is a medical pedicure. So, come Monday at 10:00, this will be taken care of in a much more convenient way instead of getting Jutta in and out of a taxi along with her walker or taking trams and then having her walk uphill for 800 meters to the appointment. All I had to do was ask at the front desk, call, and make an appointment. So, while I didn’t have to juggle the movements, I did have to deal with my linguistic deficit and now feel better for having dealt with this in a much more efficient manner.

With that out of the way, Jutta and I celebrated with a walk over to the Main River again, where we planted ourselves for a solid three hours. Ice cream, Coke, and coffee were on the menu, along with Jutta and I doing our best Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets Show. Jutta dismissed the show as silly when her children wanted to watch it, so she had no idea what the reference meant. With a nice breeze and a bench in the shade, we were set up to just take it easy. Somewhere during our enjoying the river and the cast of characters passing by, I think I heard a bit of lament in her voice that she hadn’t spent so much time here in far too many years. I have to wonder if she’s ever been here or only considered it, figuring she’d do it another time.

I love these cargo bikes that people use for moving around children, dogs and going shopping. I’m surprised that they are about $2,000 to $3,000 with an electric assist in the more expensive versions, and yet I see them locked up on the street as though nobody would cut the lock and steal it. Oh yeah, this is Germany (Not Berlin) where the likelihood of theft is far less than the country I hail from.

Watching the clouds is never a bad thing.

After walking back to Lebenshaus with Jutta, I headed over the river to Sachsenhausen to Gaststätte Atschel, another local establishment serving apple wine and regional foods. I can admit that I’ve been mixing things up and moving into culinary territory that doesn’t include Grüne Sosse (green sauce), nor did I order Handkäse mit Musik (hand cheese with onion – the music comes from the combo of cheese and onion as the flatulence toots a little tune). While I’m certain I’ve shared why I’m so enamored with Grüne Sosse, I’ll share again. This Frankfurt specialty is made of precise herbs that I cannot obtain in the United States. These are chopped and mixed with something called Dickmilch, which is a thickened sour milk product.

Worked out that I should go somewhere tomorrow. My first inclination was to hit Munich, but the weather forecast includes a prediction for rain. So I looked northwest toward Koblenz, and the weather looked perfectly inviting. Now, if only the Deutsche Bahn app would let me buy my tickets. Drats, I just remembered that I have a scheduling conflict as I set up a time to take a long walk with Klaus tomorrow in the late afternoon. Maybe I should hit Koblenz on Saturday or be truly daring and just show up at the Hauptbahnhof in the morning after breakfast and get on the next train that arrives somewhere in more than ninety minutes and under two hours?

Day 16 – Routine

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Breakfast at Eifler Bakery in Frankfurt, Germany

The day repeats another as I fall into a routine. Just getting to breakfast can be a task as I find four or five things to write. Finally, I’m hungry enough, and with a lunch date scheduled with Jutta, I better go eat now so I have an appetite when I see her. I’d like to visit a different cafe but this one is the closest to where I’m staying, and it’s a known quantity, so I go back. I sit down to eat, but before I can touch a thing, I’m setting up the computer. Instead of getting right to work on yesterday’s post, I realize I should add something to the day I’m already a few hours into. Then I jump back into yesterday, sip my coffee, and start in on my first Korni-Brötchen. Switching channels back and forth is a type of mental gymnastics that has me wishing to finish the previous day’s blog on that day so I can start fresh the next day, but getting home late and getting up early creates its own dilemma.

You know how I shared yesterday about meeting that 77-year-old lady today at Eifler Bakery? Well, that happened, but you already knew that. And now that I’m done with yesterday, I can fully move into this day. Time for the 2-mile (3.2km) walk from Bornheim-Mitte to Dom/Römer.

Open-Air Market on Bergerstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

Seeing this is an entry about routine; here I am again at the Wednesday open-air street market in Bornheim-Mitte. As I sat at the bakery, the traffic going by into the market was markedly heavier than the number of pedestrians here on any other given day. I certainly understand the appeal of these pop-up markets and wish something like this existed in the United States, and no, this is not like a farmers market in Arizona that has haphazard collections of (mostly non-food) vendors with no certainty about who might show up. So, without the ability to count on consistency, how would someone be able to predictably shop for what they need on a week-to-week basis?

Bicycle Bell in Frankfurt, Germany

My nemesis the bike bell. It stalks me, mocking me as I walk by, daring me to give it a ring. With me passing thousands of bikes a day locked to all manner of things, a kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder yanks at my better sense, begging me to ring the bell to hear its tone. I do my best to avoid this behavior when others are near as it startles them into thinking a bike is approaching. But some of the bells are so persuasive I give them a little push or snap, and their “Klingel” offers me a small delight that is simultaneously a guilty pleasure. If only you knew what I know.

Tram Stop on Bergerstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

From one U-Bahn stop to the next, I eschew getting on board to make a quick race across town as I never know what I might discover, although I do enjoy the people-watching on the train, too.

Dead Coyote in Phoenix, Arizona

Last weekend, Caroline mentioned an encounter she had had with a dead and somewhat odoriferous coyote she passed on her morning walk. I texted back, “Photo or it didn’t happen,” and of course, she had one ready because she’s Caroline!

Dead Bird in Frankfurt, Germany

So I present her with a recently deceased bird from the streets of Frankfurt, Germany, because I love her.

Balloons on Zeil in Frankfurt, Germany

So now I know that 100 balloons are not enough to take someone aloft. Every day I walk on Zeil between Konstablerwache and Hauptwache I see at least two vendors selling these colorful, shiny balloons that inevitably coerce many a parent into putting one into the hands of their children.

Museum für Moderne Kunst in Frankfurt, Germany

Back on May 28th, my 4th day in Germany, I presented readers with the front of this building without identifying it. This is the backside of that same building known as the Museum für Moderne Kunst. The “S” in Kunst is silent and means Art.

Random shop in Frankfurt, Germany

I don’t really know what this shop is for as it’s all over the place; it might even be an art project from the coffee shop next door. What drew my attention first was the “Beuys will be Beuys” t-shirt in the window, which has the same design that you see at the top center of the image. Then there’s the “No! I won’t do that,” and maybe my favorite of them that I should have focused on is in the top left and hard to read. It says, “Du Dumme Sau,” which translates to, “You dumb sow,” and features the image of Klaus Kinski, who famously unleashed these words.

Lebenshaus St. Leonhard in Frankfurt, Germany

Finally, over Zeil, I arrive at Lebenshaus near Römer. Fill out the visitation form, visit the men’s room to wash my hands as part of the visitor’s protocol, and put on my FFP2 mask, as other masks are not allowed. Walk up the two flights of stairs and over to room number 207, where Jutta stays. Some small talk and in a minute or two, we are on our way to lunch. I’ve tried finding another restaurant Jutta might enjoy, but I don’t like the others in the area, so we are stuck with Zum Standesämtchen. Behind this choice is Jutta’s ability to walk distances in an amount of time comfortable to her, with us being able to get back to her living facility should we not find a ground-floor restroom she can maneuver into.

Jutta Engelhardt in Frankfurt, Germany

Our indulgent lunch clocks in at nearly three hours before I bring Jutta back to the place she cannot remember and has previously been lost trying to find after venturing out. Getting away from this corner of the city in the afternoon, I have limited opportunities of what I might make of the rest of the day. Looking for a coffee shop where I might sit down and write a bit seems like a good idea, but nothing talks to me until I see the street leading to Kleinmarkthalle. Some fresh fruit sounds appealing.

My other visits to this old market were in and out just like everyone else, but today, I can sit by the back wall, and so that’s just what I’m doing. I finish my strawberries and now wish for a coffee, but the heat and humidity are trying to convince me to stay put and enjoy the occasional breeze that wafts through. It’s only now, sitting here without my mask, that I essentially feel normal but realize that the sounds that should be echoing in this cavernous space are a fraction of what my memory says they should be.

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

Speaking of sounds, while at the end of lunch as we were paying our bill, we spoke with our Greek waiter about how different things have been. He misses the tourists who were about all the places at Römer ever served. So, while they have customers, it’s hard enough to sustain the vendors here with high rents due to being in such an important historic district. But that’s beside the point, what I was aiming to share is that you are hearing the tiniest of fractions of voices from other lands. Last night, I spoke with two African ladies from Ghana, and on our way over to lunch, Jutta offered best wishes to a Thai lady who’d just gotten married, but these are the exceptions these days. Missing is the roar of a hundred languages filtering above the noise.

And then Caroline awakes and we have our first conversation of the day. Just as on other calls, one of us always seems a bit tired, probably because this call happens just after she wakes, while our next call in about eight hours is when I’ll be trying to go to sleep.

Kleinmarkthalle in Frankfurt, Germany

I took a coffee outside Kleinmarkthalle and sat on the wall next to where the Cuban fellow had been playing his clarinet for a few extra Euros. It’s shaded on this hot and humid day when the sun has returned. Next to me was a lady packing her bag onto the side of her bike, and my curiosity got the best of me. What I saw wasn’t extraordinary; it is, in fact, quite common, but I never bother talking (intruding) into the comings and goings of people just doing normal stuff like shopping. Today, I couldn’t help myself. I explained how infrequently it is that I see people older than about 55 riding bikes in America and asked if wasn’t too rude to ask her age. She gladly obliged me while stepping onto her bicycle and told me she was 74. Just minutes later, another lady, this one with pure white hair was asked the same question; she is 77 years of age. Finally, I asked a man his age. He couldn’t remember but said he was born in 1946, so he’s about 75. He also shared that if he drove, it would take him 30 minutes to get home from Kleinmarkthalle while on his bike; he’d be there in 15 minutes, but he added, “Riding on these streets at any age is stupid.”

If you are wondering if I only chose older people to ask this question, you would be wrong. Maybe it’s the demographic that shops at this old Frankfurt landmark, or maybe it’s because so many younger people are walking, taking trains, or are on one of the thousands of scooters scattered across the city.

Bergerstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

Back to Bergerstrasse and one of the better murals I’ve enjoyed passing. If it looks familiar, that’s because these cute blobs or “city ghosts” are the work of Spot, who also drew Caroline’s favorite mural on Burgstrasse.

Bergerstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

In my next incarnation, I might create a blog about nothing but doors of the world.

Bergerstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

Will I ever be satisfied that I’ve captured enough views of Frankfurt that, should I need to refresh my memory at a future date of my time here, I can put together enough fragments that it will all come rushing back to me?

Saalburgstrasse in Frankfurt, Germany

Packed up more stuff from Jutta that will be returned to the earth tomorrow. Working with Caroline to figure out if any of the flatware with some silver content has any value, which she will have to figure out from America, which is as ridiculous as it sounds, seeing there are people here who should be able to do this but are claiming no knowledge of how to find metal buyers in Frankfurt. With ten days left until the painter arrives, things are looking great to have the apartment empty. About to drop off some more clothes to the Red Cross donation box down the street, and then I’ll fetch some easy dinner. If all goes well, I’ll be back in an hour, work on the photos I already selected and be asleep well before the midnight hour.

Döneria in Frankfurt, Germany

The crew at the Döneria had a good laugh seeing me here for three days in a row. When my Döner with double meat and double chili pepper was handed off to me, one of the guys said, “See you tomorrow.” I’ve become a regular, and my routine is well on its way to being established.

Day 15 – I’ll Probably Do Something Or Other

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There are no fixed plans for the day, though there are things that will certainly be done. I’ll discover what I’m going to do as I fall into them. Now that yesterday’s writing chores are finished, I can go on with experiencing this Tuesday, June 8th, 2021.

Putting things in their place and sorting others so they may be where they need to be. Emotions and artifacts, the past and the present, all have their purpose in time, but like moments in time, they tick by, and everything moves forward. Our work is to resolve our needs to be present and learn what’s important due to the ephemeral nature of lives that are always in a state of change.

I’m feeling a sense of conflict regarding what I thought I might be doing in Germany and what I find myself doing. While I understood that my mother-in-law would enjoy my time with her, I thought I could manage with her seeing four or five times a week. Knowing that I’ll be gone in a few weeks, I feel that I’m cheating her if I don’t afford her every moment I can, as July and August might prove quite lonely for her as visitation is reduced to once a week when Stephanie makes time for her mother. The hope is that Caroline and I will be back around the middle of September, but now I’m re-evaluating our need for part of that visit to be split between vacation and family time or if we should give it all to family.

Enough has been said in my previous blog posts about my refamiliarizing myself with Frankfurt, so maybe I’m giving that a break though there’s a lot I’ve not done yet and might warrant some sharing, such as a visit to the Gallus area, Palmengarten, and some museums. Though I may not share much on that side of things doesn’t mean I’m not deeply engaged. When my senses were tuned to dropping into Germany, they are now focused on what it means to eliminate many of the traces of our lives and what ends up being important as a life heads for the exit.

So much of what’s in my mind feels like nascent fleeting sparks of potential where I can’t even see the light but sense that it’s there, kind of a quantum inspiration I hope to discover.

Am I still shocked to see cigarette vending machines on the street? I suppose I am, as they’ve been gone from America for so long now I can’t remember when streetside smokes were last available or if they ever were. But what’s really shocking is that a pack of Marlboro is just under $10. While this price is about 50% more than what Americans pay, there is no shortage of smokers; I’d venture a guess that there are comparatively far more smokers in Germany than in the U.S.

So while children could buy cigarettes on the street and the alcohol laws are pretty lax, for example, In Germany, there are three drinking ages: 13 – minors are allowed to consume beer or wine with their parents or legal guardians. Age 16 – minors are allowed to consume beer or wine without their parents or legal guardian. At 18 – adults are allowed to consume distilled alcohol. There is no dialogue currently going on about legalizing marijuana, while in America, recreational weed is starting to be available in more and more places. One problem with legal weed in Europe would be the population density as the smell would infiltrate everything, and while Germans have accepted cigarette smoke in their presence, I’m not sure how the pungent smell of grass would go over.

I had written something totally other that was meant for this image of the train tracks that just end here while about 100 feet away on the other side, the track begins, an old line no longer in use with the rest of the track already removed. That text was sliced out of here and saved in another document that is still being hammered out. In that potential post are my observations about Jutta and how someone born ten years before the end of World War II in Germany experiences adolescence in a devastated post-war environment trying to navigate a derailed national identity. Returning to momentum after you’ve been brought to a full stop requires figuring out new paths. So there, while I won’t share the entirety of my thoughts over there, I’ve not simply baited and dropped you off.

I’m experiencing a Germany that is unique at this time; everything is mine. Being vaccinated and a foreigner, while strict travel restrictions are still in place, offers me some benefits such as always being able to get a table in an uncrowded cafe, the churches, and museums are still empty, with many people working from home the trains are never filled to capacity. I don’t wait to take photos as there are no tourists jockeying for the same view. This is offering me a perspective on Germany that will likely be unique in my lifetime.

Compare this to America, where people across the country and within their own states are traveling everywhere right now. It seems to me that the only Germans who want to visit big German cities are those who live rurally; otherwise, the German people want to visit other countries to escape what they must perceive to be a lack of striking differences within their borders aside from those who travel to the German Alps and up to the Wattenmeer, the two exceptions. So Germany is mine, though my time to poke my head into all the places I might want to visit is limited.

This says everything you ever need to know about the differences between Germany and America.

Tunnels, like life, go places, but you cannot see the destination. As you enter, you are shrouded in darkness (ignorance), but along the way, you harness light (knowledge) to illuminate the way. When you arrive you might integrate with those on the other side and make bonds, discover another culture, and leave better off than you were before (wisdom). Sadly, most never seem to enter the tunnel and are happy to stay within the confines of what they know.

I’m already in a new day, on the other side of the glass, up the stairs. What I mean to say is that I look at this image from another day while also trying to write the first paragraph for Day 16 before a nice 77-year-old lady strikes up a conversation. We speak about her daughter’s love of America and her mother’s American boyfriend after the war, while she recommends Oberursel as a nice place to live should we retire here. But that’s tomorrow, and I shouldn’t be writing about the future while trying to maintain the illusion of being in the here and now about Day 15.

A walk away from Saalburgstrasse took me to Saalburgallee and over to Eissporthalle before I turned into Ostpark for a walk towards the Main River and an encounter with Skatepark Osthafen, full of skaters too!

The first bridge I crossed is called Honsellbrücke, and this bridge, which picks up where the other leaves off, is called Osthafenbrücke. I’m now on the south side of the Main River with a good idea of where I’m going compared to when I started this walk, not knowing exactly which direction I was traveling. After living in Phoenix, Arizona, for so long, it sounds strange not to know which way I’m going as I live in a grid with roads that only go east/west and north/south. While there are landmarks in Frankfurt that could act as markers of direction, they are difficult to see on the streets of a city where you are surrounded by four- and five-story buildings.

Just as I’m repetitive in my words, I can be repetitive with my use of images too, especially when we are talking about this view of the Frankfurt skyline I’m so enchanted by.

Speaking of enchanting, these are Bembel, earthenware jugs used for serving apple wine, and are a sight and taste that delights Caroline. You should be able to guess by now what I’m about to do.

I’m taking a dinner pause after my long nine-mile (15km) walk around Frankfurt. I’d like to leave the following details to the margin, but I’ve been waiting for Fichtekränzi Restaurant to open, and now I’m here. It, like so many other restaurants that didn’t feel they could maintain their reputation and quality of food with take-out only, closed eight months ago and just reopened this week. Strangely, I’m the only person sitting inside; admittedly it’s beautiful out, but even the patio isn’t full yet. Before the pandemic, I dare you to try to get a table in less than 15 to 30 minutes.

I’m not sure that the two-mile walk back to where I’m staying is going to be possible; I’m tired here at 10:30 p.m.

My tram stop is at Dom/Römer, where the U4 will have me delivered in minutes, but of course, there’s time for a photo or two.

The words Deutsches Reich are what caught my eye; I had to take a second look to see the date 1910 and Drei Mark below, letting me know that these floor decorations were based on an old coin, not Nazis.

Minutes later, I’m onboard and zipping across town. Being in a hurry to get anywhere is a disappointment as there’s so much to take in when moving at a snail-like pace. Time to find tomorrow and be done with today.

Day 14 – Shelter

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Rain, rain, and more rain. I could run outside under the shelter of my umbrella and fetch something to eat, or I could sit here in this mostly empty apartment with the window open, listening to the rain, wishing I could have something to eat. The rain didn’t use to present such a problem back when we used to live here, but we’d have had food on hand, and if we knew it was supposed to rain in the morning, we could go to the store the day before to pick up a package of croissants. I don’t have that luxury today as I’m practicing minimalism and trying to make the best of it.

While I’m sheltered from the weather, I stare out the open window, looking for a break in the downpour, but the water just continues to fall from the sky. Checking the radar, I can predict that this storm cell should be passing in the next 15 minutes or so. Until then, I’m forced to contend with my bible (I mean my laptop) in seclusion, although this limitation creates a small amount of resentment. I sit in front of this computer day and night when I’m not on the move and have nothing else to turn to as I’m here without wife, books, synthesizer, car, or the basic amenities one might enjoy in the place they live. All I have is this screen and the wide-open window looking out on the street so I can judge how heavy the rain is; that’s it. I’m starting to get the idea I would not have made a good monk living in a monastery.

At last, I brave the great outdoors of a wet Frankfurt after learning that the storm would be here to stay through 10:00 p.m. At the bakery, I was reminded that today is the day that those of us vaccinated or recently tested for COVID are allowed to sit indoors. After these two weeks of standing outside and then sitting outside, we are now moving quickly to the old normal. Here I am, seated in a dry, warm dining area, connected to free WIFI instead of my hotspot, with access to a toilet should I need it, and I’m feeling like a fully participating member of society. Is this my reward for following the rules?

Maybe an American reading this might think, “But John, you’ve had this in America for some time now.” The difference is that I didn’t want to go to restaurants in the United States due to the angry belligerence of a vocal minority who wanted to flaunt any safety protocols. Here in Germany, the adherence to respecting others offers a sense of shared sacrifice and the protection of a dense population with vulnerable people among them. Hopefully, the next step is no more border controls that question what my purpose is in entering another country.

Funny how we all desire shelter from freezing, wet, and hot weather. We’ll voluntarily wear the clothes best suited for the environment and utilize transportation that best meets our needs. We seek out food that satisfies our hunger and strive for work that guarantees some small part of our happiness and allows us to protect ourselves in our homes. But then a pandemic strikes, and it can only have come from the evil intention of those who want to control us and steal our rights as though they also might want us to voluntarily live in homes with locked doors and windows where we pay rent, mortgages, and property taxes to wealthy landowners and banks, wear clothes that shame us for having sex organs, garments made by exploited immigrants in faraway countries, and have to buy food from an agricultural-industrial complex that serves the elites with trillions in profit. But supposedly, this one thing, the mask, was the final straw that made the charade transparent and the intentions to defraud us of liberty so very obvious to the well-informed who watched information of questionable source material unfold on the internet that offered us a Grand Truth. Whatever truth you’ve found on YouTube, keep it to yourself as I find mine in my immediate reality, the books I’ve read that span history covering science, philosophy, and sociology, and from my sense of fitting into nature as best I can.

Enough of that and on to something different. The German language is something I can’t adapt to fast enough. I obviously leaned hard on Caroline during the years I lived in Germany and while I could make my way around the country, I made do with this limited resource I had. Today, I’m suffering from this ignorance. My needs and desires are far more nuanced at this time in my life, and I have some fairly strong ideas of how I want things to be. I’m not able to easily bring these wishes across to the person I’m in front of attempting communication, especially when they are performing a service that requires them to move through those of us in line in the most expedient manner possible. So I just have to agree to almost every question and accept whatever the default options are. My rudimentary German also opens me up to others, now testing how far that knowledge of German goes; it’s not very far. As I struggle, some will offer a helping hand by bringing their limited English to the floundering foreigner, but I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable with this equation

“Noch mal einen Kaffee, bitte,” (another coffee please) followed by, “Zum Mitnehmen?” “Nein, fur hier zu trinken” (To go? No, for here). For a language I use on such rare occasions, I’m surprised that I get by, but I want more than that. Caroline will be happy to read these words because should we move back to Germany one day, I’ll need a better proficiency in this language if I’m to get a visa that will allow me to stay longer. Should you wonder why my wife doesn’t teach me German, seeing how she’s German, well, Caroline’s over-analytical mind will answer me with the most common way of saying something in German, and then like someone with Tourette’s, she has to blurt out the other four ways it could be said unless you are in Rhineland-Palatinate where it’s said these two different ways. Okay, she’s not that bad, but you get the idea.

If a vacation is measured by doing what you want when you want, then I live on a permanent vacation, and this trip to Germany is simply a change in geography. Here I am, two Brötchen (btw, Brötchen is the diminutive of Brot, a.k.a. bread), two coffees, and two hours into doing just what I want while the weather does what it wants. I wonder what Jutta’s doing?

I arrived at Lebenshaus and found Jutta in the dining area with her fellow residents, cutting up fruit for a champagne-based fruit punch being prepared for the afternoon’s music appreciation hour. I’ve told my mother-in-law that it’s like she’s living at the Schatzalp on the Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, except she’s not in the mountains of Davos, Switzerland, but right next to the Main River in a valley, close enough. In this kind of sanitorium where shelter is found for those who are growing weak, Jutta has adapted very well to life in her small room, and she’s just incredibly happy to see me so often.

A short visit in the morning that will be followed by a second one in the afternoon after I have lunch should put a nice spin on the day for Jutta. Maybe I can even get her out for a short walk over to the river if the weather continues to improve.

My lunch bears mentioning as it was a strange play on traditional items I’ve been eating for the past couple of weeks. Here at Leib & Seele, I tried their mashup of veal schnitzel stuffed with green sauce herbs, an egg, and Handkäse served with Bratkartoffeln. I found it to be an abomination, but it will sustain me. Continuing with a theme I plan on wearing out, it is as though the hand cheese and egg took refuge in the schnitzel as a way of finding shelter. Yeah, I went there, as why not hammer at the inane for the sake of a groan?

And, of course, I’m inside because I can be. For Germans, it’s been seven months since they could sit in a restaurant, and takeout has been their only option. It is nice outside, and under normal circumstances, I would have gladly sat streetside for the people watching but nothing is yet quite normal. Then, while I’m here considering what I might write next, a song that will become a featured track from my 2021 trip to Germany starts to play. It’s called Save Your Tears by The Weeknd. Why do the cheesy songs in heavy rotation always seem to find my ear is a mystery?

I should drink this espresso and pretend to eat the Apfelstrudel I’m not having, but if I had, I’d certainly need to get out of here for a serious walk to work that off. Should you, too, be growing bored of these food reports, I’m right there with you and realize I need to move on to something, anything else.

QR codes are everywhere and on everything as the pandemic inched us closer to a contactless society. With the opening of restaurants and shops, some QR codes are quickly being removed as menus are put back in customers’ hands, and appointments to enter certain stores are no longer needed.

What will be around for some time to come are COVID tests until the population of Europe is vaccinated to the point of herd immunity.

Churches were closed for a time, and then when they did open, they were only there for services. Now, as I walk by the wide-open door of a church in Frankfurt, I feel invited in. Every state and city has its own schedule for reopening, dependent on their infection numbers, so while I was able to visit churches in other cities, their incidence of COVID had already reached manageable numbers. This is the interior of St. Catherine’s Church (St. Katharinenkirche), which I’ve photographed a couple of times already on this trip, but only from the outside.

Walking, walking, and more walking. Added three miles as I walked from Konstablerwache to Westend and Palmengarten. I walk and look, I walk and listen, and as I walk, I realize I’ve missed so much of the city back in the day because I was always on my way somewhere instead of nowhere in particular. So, I walk some more.

Walked into St. Paul’s Church (Paulskirche) for the first time ever and found myself alone. This mural on the ground floor represents the procession of the elected German and Austrian representatives into Paulskirche, who in 1848, presented a Charter of Basic Rights and a Constitution trying to bring a unified Germany into democracy.

As I walked upstairs, the pattern from the chair legs and the cleanliness struck me, but now you know what this abstract image is.

John F. Kennedy spoke here back in June 1963, where he commemorated the “German cradle of democracy.”

During World War II, this church was mostly destroyed. In rebuilding it, the outside remained true to form, but the interior was greatly simplified.

There’s a lot of history shared on the ground floor about the democracy movement that started right here in Frankfurt for Germany, along with the Goethe Prize from the city and the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade.

This dragon guards the Standesamt, which is the German civil registration office responsible for recording births, marriages, and deaths. Unless you’ve studied German history, you probably don’t know that the country of Germany was created in 1871 from the previous collection of German states. The Standesamt was established across the country, taking effect on January 1, 1876.

Hello again, Jutta. Another walk to the river with my mother-in-law, enjoying a short video call with Caroline and a coke. Life is good.

Back to walking with a good amount of extra walking. Walked into the Church of Our Lady (Liebfrauenkirche) and then back to Bornheim-Mitte.

Time for some domestic chores so I can keep this going as I drag my laundry to a nearby laundromat that I hope I can use without too much frustration of getting change and figuring out how the soap goes in and the dryer works. Oh, you think it’s so easy? You’ve never visited a German laundromat. Though I will admit that the last time I did, I probably was mighty stoned.

Longest kilometer walk I’ve taken today, likely due to the sense of dread eating at me as I made my way to the Eco-Express Waschsalon, where I sensed panic awaiting me. The worst thing that was going to happen was that I’d have to Skype Caroline in to decipher what I was brain farting on, but I got through with it, and my stinking clothes are in the washer and presumably getting clean. No matter, they are being spun around in soap and water and will have to be cleaner once they are out. It wasn’t until my clothes were in the washer and I was sitting down that I noticed the British flag on the screen, signifying English instructions were available. Oh well, I’m improving my survivability in Germany this way.

I skipped picking up a Döner kebab on the way as it looked closer on the map, and I thought I might throw in my laundry and then go fetch something easy, but it’s a good way back, so I’ll hope my clothes are done before they close at 10:00, it’s 8:20 right now. I shouldn’t concern myself with my clothes being left alone as already a few people came in, stuffed their things in a machine, and took off. There are other machines where the wash is long done, but no one is here tending to it; maybe they went home for dinner? I’m so negatively conditioned by the American experience that I’m too paranoid to leave my dirty, wet laundry alone as though some underwear sniffer will come and drag all my clothes away.

The laundromat itself is immaculate, unattended, and without a bunch of sketchy freaks in the place. If you’ve ever used a public laundromat in the United States, you know exactly what I mean, and the idea of using them at night should send shivers up your spine. I’m hungry after having walked nearly 7 miles after lunch.

Nice, it’s only 8:35, and my clothes are in the Trockner trocknering. I see Döner in my future. Hmm, four levels of heat; I hope I don’t light my clothes on fire. Three minutes already passed; I’m wondering if I should check it. Four minutes, this might be the proverbial watched pot. The great thing is that my stress level has gone way down.

I was greeted by four smiling and laughing guys at Döneria at the corners of Weidenbornstraße and Seckbacher Landstraße. I thought I was over-posting about food but the Döner sandwich I had was seriously the best of the half dozen or so I’ve enjoyed while here in Germany.

The king of Döners.

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.