Caroline had this nutty idea that I should collage the first five photos of this post into a single shot. Is she crazy or what? We are quickly approaching the final 24 hours of our time in Europe this year, and while we’ll be eating Brötchen for breakfast tomorrow, too, I can’t know if I’ll have time to spare to lovingly photograph the final German rolls of our trip.

While at Café Dillenburg fetching breakfast, we put in an order for tomorrow’s Brötchen, some of which will be traveling home with us. Why hadn’t we thought of this on previous visits? Once home, we’ll toss them into the freezer and likely forget about them until they are freezer-burned, but no matter because they are echte Deutsche Brötchen (real German rolls), and if you don’t know what that can mean, you haven’t indulged yourself and learned how to appreciate something that is like nowhere else.

Pictured are the five types of Brötchen we are taking home, two of each. Sadly, I can’t now tell you what each is anymore, but I do know we have a mix of potato, carrot, rye, spelt, and whole-grain rolls. The choices were based on a sampling of the no fewer than a dozen types they carry at Café Dillenburg (formerly known as Brot & Freunde). While there are only twelve or so varieties on weekdays, the weekends can see as many as nineteen on offer.

Okay, I’ve got this one; it is a potato Brötchen with sesame and poppy seeds. Guide for eating my favorite rolls: cut in half and then slice width-wise, creating four equal quarters. Slather a heart-stopping amount of butter on a quarter; don’t pay attention to the German example where you can hardly tell they’ve smeared anything on the bread. Then, using a separate spoon, take the perfect amount of homemade vanilla-apricot jam (it’s important to stay away from all other jams) and be judicious as you don’t want to put the entire jar on a single quarter, else you might have to turn to a plum, rhubarb, or orange marmalade that will ruin the Brötchen experience. Someone like Caroline would likely beg to differ, but she’s a noob compared to her gourmet husband, who seriously knows everything better than everyone else.

I know why Caroline suggested the collage; she could have never guessed that I could write so much about the beloved Brötchen, and even if I had run out of meaningful banter, having the full-size photo of each allows me to indulge in the fantasy of the Brötchen being right in front of me here in America where I’m absolutely deprived of real bread. Don’t try telling me that Dave’s Killer Bread is pretty good; else, I’ll present you with another gold floor decoration you can lick, as you are obviously gullible enough to believe anything.

Guten Morgen Frau Engelhardt! I followed along with Caroline and Stephanie to Lebenshaus before bringing Jutta over to Cafe Einstein for a mid-morning treat and to say goodbye because tomorrow, we really do fly away, even if you started thinking we were going to be here forever after so many blog posts from Europe. Mom and her two daughters will spend a bit more time over their coffees after I leave before they, too, will say their goodbyes. From here, Caroline and Stephanie will have a sisters’ day out in Mainz. Caroline might add another blog entry about their adventure in the future.

This old lady, closer to the end of her life than the beginning, is all about love. This idea was nearly lost on her as she drifted near the pit of relative unhappiness (abject acceptance) right up to the age of retirement. Sadly, my mother-in-law, in her first decades on earth, only knew a kind of sterile, cold, matter-of-fact type of love. Today, she enjoys laughter that comes from within instead of a superficial, perfunctory chuckle that fails the authenticity test.

We are keenly aware that each visit with Jutta could be the last, and I believe that Caroline, Jutta, and I are okay with that; Stephanie, I’m not so sure of. I’m fairly certain that my sister-in-law will experience profound loss at Jutta’s passing as something feels unresolved, but I’m not at ease to inquire as I think I’d risk opening an avenue of hurt.

And so we’ll share a hug and offer hope for another brief visit in the morning, but time is short in those brief hours before we fly and so my goodbye for another year or two has to be memorable as I take in her smile. I have to wonder how many goodbyes are shared between people after they’ve accepted the limited time remaining for one of them though that limitation effectively hovers over all of us?

Klaus wasn’t with us this morning as he had to attend a conference call for work. While the women had their own ideas, Klaus had made plans that had him and me meeting up at Hauptwache so we could catch a train to Bad Soden. From there, we’d board a bus over to Königstein im Taunus, not too far outside of Frankfurt.

We were heading into the mountains to experience the best currywurst known to humankind while the plain white Kaiserbrötchen should be considered a travesty to the German culinary experience and banned in Europe.

Just kidding, we are out for a hike on the 3 Burgenweg, which ideally would have been a 13.5 kilometers (8.4 miles) hike, but we dawdled. Phew, good to get that out of the way, but what would one expect when two guys armed with cameras hit the trail on a warm, blue-sky day? Klaus assured me that this is a well-marked trail due to the hiking club that maintains the signage. Well, that might have been an overstatement.

The evidence of suboptimal route marking is seen right here: Our hike was supposed to lead us right over to the Burgruine Königstein (Königstein Castle Ruin), which is the first part of the “3 Castles Trail” we are hiking today. We decided to forego that castle at this time and catch it at the end of the loop since we had no idea that we would leave the trail in Kronberg to make our dinner reservations at a favorite Portuguese restaurant of Klaus and Stephanie.

Okay then, off to Castle Falkenstein, which sounded a bit like Castle Frankenstein to me, though I already knew that Frankenstein is over near Darmstadt.

I tried my best to Photoshop the haze out of this three-image panorama, but this is as good as I got. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a clearer image of the city I called home for so many years from such a distance as today. Off to the right, we could see the planes taking off at the Frankfurt Airport while in the background, about 55 kilometers (35 miles) away, is what I believe to be the Odenwald mountain range.

And before we knew it, we were at the foot of Castle Falkenstein.

I think Klaus and I were both surprised that the ruins were open, and not only that…

…the tower was also open, offering us this view of the northeast corner of Königstein.

This is the most un-hospital-looking hospital I’ve ever seen.

Eat these and have a reason to visit the un-hospital-looking hospital.

Thanks, Klaus, for picking a perfect day and a perfect trail through the Taunus Mountains.

Maybe because it was only Friday afternoon and not the weekend, but we only encountered a few people, mostly on other trails that bisected our own.

This was a huge surprise seeing that nobody would fault one for thinking that all Jewish cemeteries in Germany were wiped off the face of the earth during the Nazi reign, but then you come across one and can only scratch your head and wonder, “How did this survive?”

Following Klaus, as he handles the guidance responsibilities, absolves me of anything more than being present. What an awesome gift on our last day in Germany. No thinking, just wandering.

This is Bürgelplatte, which appears to be all that remains of what might have been a small castle a long time ago.

It’s a shame that when I was in my 20s, I thought nightlife was the best life for me and that these places surrounding Frankfurt were for old people. Well, here I am now, an old person proving younger me right.

I wonder where this giant boulder came from. Is it a glacial erratic, or was it unearthed? I don’t believe it fell off a formerly high cliff landing here before erosion wore away the mountain. I tried learning something about it, but while others have photographed it, I can find no explanation for the mystery boulder.

We’ve reached Kronberg Castle, which is closing in just a few minutes. No matter, as we need a bite to eat and something to drink before catching a train back to Frankfurt to join Caroline and Stephanie for dinner.

In the mid-1980s, after arriving in Germany with the U.S. Army, I spent my first six months wandering the Rhein-Main area of Hessen and went to countless villages via anonymous train stops that I kept no record of. I have no recollection if I’ve ever visited the castle herein Kronberg but I want to return with Caroline now that I’ve stopped here.

These are the Drei Ritter (Three Knights) at Friedrich Ebert Straße in Kronberg. The characters above represent debauchery, and the words below translate to, “Your advice is far too late.”

This is St. Johann Church, and it’s Protestant, so I can just forget about entering on a Friday.

Gasthaus Adler has a menu that talks to me, it even screams at me to return for its Austrian-influenced eats.

How I managed to snag this photo from a moving train will always be a surprise, as they so rarely work out. Klaus and I were on our way to Tasquinha da Jacinta to sample some Portuguese cooking at one of Klaus and Stephanie’s favorite restaurants in the Frankfurt area. Sorry, there are no photos of us or our meals but it was so nice to relax and do nothing that I took advantage of the moment to just hang out. Dinner was great, though you’ll wait a good long time for service since the place is popular, packed, and only open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Passing through the Ginnheim tram stop, look closely; this is a self-portrait.

If only the day were over! We need to knock out the majority of our packing so we can avoid as much stress in the morning as possible. Talk about using every single moment of vacation to remain busier than we ever are at home: this was quite the endurance test. For all intents and purposes, vacation is over.

Life happening between places is one of the first things that struck me here in the early hours of being back in Germany. How easy it is from afar to forget about the relative intimacy that exists in a society otherwise considered cold and distant. The reminder was inspired by a young romantic couple we passed on the street last night on our walk back from dinner. In those two, I could see Caroline and me nearly 35 years ago. All these years later, as it was back then, it’s not uncommon to see romance unfolding in public, whereas in the U.S., dating often happens in cars and behind closed doors at a distance and out of view. For those who don’t know, there’s a generalization that Germans can appear aloof because they are not busy greeting each other with empty good-morning greetings and less than honest questions asking how one’s day is going as we practice in America. Germans simply do away with the vacuous exchange, opting instead to focus on themselves and those who are important to them.

Under these beautiful blue skies, our walk over the Nidda River took Caroline and me through the same neighborhood that delivers us to Speisekammer, but this morning, we are looking for an ATM because there are places in Germany where cash is the only way to deal with getting what we want. As for this photo, I’ve never passed a Litfaßsäule (advertising column) that I didn’t love, and this one is as good as any other to share. The utility of these columns cannot be understated because, even in local neighborhoods, they are a quick and easy way to be updated on what cultural events are taking place. Compare this to Arizona, where I have to watch TV, read the local newspaper, or visit specific websites to learn what’s happening around town.

My familiarity with this curve in the road is forever engrained as to the left from here on Maybachstraße, where the old nightclub known as Batschkapp used to be. After watching the Pixies perform there, I ran into Caroline Engelhardt for the dozenth time, and we started a longer talk that resulted in her missing her train, me giving her a ride home, and the rest is history, as they say.

Living in America, it’s a habit to look for a thing that is nearby, and that’s what we did regarding the ATM instead of looking for one near the place we’d be stopping at for breakfast. It turns out that there was another branch of the same bank two doors down from Rockenbäcker at Weißer Stein where we were going. Who ever heard of being able to walk between ATMs outside half a dozen American cities such as New York, San Francisco, or Seattle?

As for breakfast, we had four different types of rolls that included a slight miscommunication as Caroline only wanted one of the small rye rolls (brötchen), but we got three, two butters, two packets of jam, and two coffees for about $9.50. Because we can’t easily buy brötchen in the States, I’ll substitute the bread choice with a few croissants and two drip coffees, which, without tip, will cost no less than $20. One has to wonder why our prices are so inflated, and please don’t blame it on politics, as Joe Biden doesn’t personally dictate what small businesses charge for baked goods. Caroline noted that seemingly none of the places we visit in Germany are playing music; this will be something we’ll need to pay attention to if we are to verify that as fact. So, how was everything? In a German word, Luxus.

The subway, aside from familiarity and convenience, is an elixir for the senses where we are delivered with little friction to destinations, allowing experiences to form and take shape. We meet others, are brought to events, shopping, sightseeing, or visit friends and family at the other end. A riot of scents is also readily available, from the funky to the obscene and the beautiful and curious. The parade of perfumes can entice our noses or, when laid on too heavily, repulse them. Once a tram enters the underground world, we encounter the damp earth smells mixed with sweat, fruit stands, bakeries, cigarettes, alcohol, trash, and everything else that creates the particular odors that define subways.

From out of Hauptwache we have to head south towards the Main River over Römerberg, the seat of Frankfurt’s city government. We are on our way to one of the most important reasons we came to Germany: visiting my mother-in-law, Caroline’s mom, a.k.a. Jutta.

Maybe 47 or even 48 years ago, Caroline painted this horse that her mom has treasured for all of the intervening years, and while she’d like assistance in hanging it on her wall, we happened to forget our picture-hanging tools and equipment back home in Phoenix.

After a short while, our niece Katharina shows up and it’s time for the ladies to head out for lunch. My absence is intentional as the conversation becomes fragmented, with everyone making concessions for my poor Deutsche Sprache by speaking English. So, with a photo to note the moment, they’ll go their way, and I mine. While they situate themselves down the river at the Wewe Cafe, I have other plans.

My primary goal, if the jetlag allows it, is to get some writing in, but first, I’m aiming for the tram to Bornheim Mitte to visit Döneria, my present favorite Turkish sandwich. However, with Frankfurt under a construction explosion, the line to get me to the area requires Schienenersatzverkehr (rail replacement travel), which feels too convoluted to my groggy mind, so I’ll fend for something near Zeil. Nazar Döner & Grill has some good reviews, so that’s where I went. The Döner is not as good, but considering this is my first in two years, it’s damn good enough. On the plus side, there’s a nice breeze through the open storefront, helping relieve the heat and humidity I’m suffering from.

My brain is wrestling with me as my will and need to adapt to the change in time zones asks that I remain in the moment while typically, at this time over on our side of the earth, it’s 3:00 in the morning, and I’m sound asleep. I’m out of sync with my normal routine. I think I need to relinquish control of the desire to write and accept that I’ll spend the next hours wandering around and taking in the sights, such as this band of Hare Krishna parading by. For a moment, I’m back in Los Angeles circa 1972, and I’m either dreaming or hallucinating in my exhaustion. They’ll set up further south of where I’m planted, and from the distance, their clanging bells will continue to resonate up the street.

On and off over the past nearly 40 years, I’ve walked between Hauptwache and Römer countless times, and yet I’ve never stopped here next to St. Paul’s Church on Paulplatz to check out the Einheitsdenkmal (Monument to German Unity) that’s sat here since 1907. And yet, the xylophone player I listened to playing the Titanic Theme Song for the maybe dozenth time has already become a Frankfurt fixture in my memory

I’ve finally taken the time to learn about this graffiti motif we always enjoy seeing when in Frankfurt, they are City Ghosts and were created by Frankfurt artist Philipp A. Schäfer.

During the time I was reintroducing myself to the streets of the city, I easily passed a thousand people, and not once did I encounter a single person wearing yoga pants, though that would change on subsequent days. The point is, they are not that ubiquitous, by a long shot, compared to how common they are in the U.S. During the same time, I saw four sight-impaired people using white canes to negotiate their way ahead and failed to spot a single article of clothing demonstrating allegiance to a university or school sports team. One Tupac and a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt were the only band loyalty displays, while dozens of women wearing headscarves were noted.

I’d like to consider that American cultural influence is waning, but a couple of hours of observation in a single city do not indicate empirical proof, just bias confirmation.

Following my fog-of-jetlag observations while wandering, I met up again with Caroline and Katharina to find a coffee, and we ended up at Streuselbar on Fressgasse. If you like cookie dough, this crumbly stuff found on various German baked goods and cobblers in America will be something right up your alley; at least they had coffee. As far as our conversation with our niece, we spoke of those awkward kinds of young adult things that need not be shared on blogs. After our early practice of “Fika,” about which you will learn more in a few days, we were back at Lebenshaus visiting with Jutta to say goodnight before she joined the others for dinner.

This post’s title references Déjà Vu as so much of this day is nearly a carbon copy of other first days in Frankfurt, though this one included nearly 90 degrees of heat combined with 50% humidity, allowing our clothes to have 90% more body-sticking power.

While I wish for insights and some deeper thinking, the nature of long-distance traveling around the globe means there’s a chance one falls into the intellectual doldrums, and that’s exactly where I landed.

I’ve been looking into these eyes and at this face nearly every day during the intervening 12485 days since I fell in love with Caroline in the summer of 1989, and even today, when I see her, I still smile at this woman, even when it’s a photograph.

Dinner was at Apfelweinwirtschaft Fichtekränzi, a.k.a. Apple Wine Restaurant Spruce Wreath somehow, the English translation doesn’t sound as cool as Fichtekränzi as it’s known here locally. Open since 1849; the place is named after the wreath of braided spruce branches that traditionally signaled visitors that a restaurant featured apple wine, a favorite in the area. The outdoor patio, its location in Sachsenhausen, the traditional German food, and especially the grüne Soße all work to lend this little place the kind of attractive nature that has drawn us back again and again over the years.

A funny thing happened on the way to the tram stop: we encountered a magic vending machine where sausages were the primary product. While pork and beef steaks, along with eggs, are also available for those middle-of-the-night cravings, it is the nearly two dozen types of bratwurst that reign supreme. This luxury of German carnivory delights is courtesy of The Worscht Designer. Worscht is Frankfurt dialect for Wurst (sausage).

Today starts with me needing to pay homage to Master Jam Maker Klaus Engelhardt and his concoction of absolute perfection, the mighty apricot vanilla jam. If I didn’t take time to recognize this contribution that helps craft a perfect vacation for me, I’d be doing a disservice to how much this golden sweetness on my morning Brötchen shapes the day going forward. Sure, I love Grüne Soße (Frankfurt Green Sauce), and Spaghetti Eis is a delight, but apricot/vanilla jam is my Kryptonite. When a jar of this homemade wonder is brought to the table, Klaus knows by now to set it down near me, and while there are five other flavors nearby, it is this one that is exclusively found on my breakfast rolls. Knowing my love of it, he even sent us a jar last year but we’ve not opened it as what possible American bread could ever be worthy of this magnificence? Praise unto Klaus the Master Jam Maker of Frankfurt.

Early during our time in Germany, Caroline visited mystery friend C&#@%$a, and after my wife arrived back in Frankfurt from the place that shall not be named (due to the GDPR a.k.a. General Data Protection Regulation 2016/679, which restricts me from divulging the identity of those I do not have permission to identify), I took a photo of Caroline holding a bag. Inside that bag was this portable spinning wheel from Louet, the Victoria.

We are busy repacking it as it now needs to travel with us back to Phoenix, Arizona, and we can’t be certain it’ll be allowed as a carry-on due to our “Light-Fare” ticket restricting us to travel with 8 kilogram (17.5 pounds) each with no checked bag paid for. We are quickly considering paying to have it travel as a checked bag, but Lufthansa and United have only allocated 75 minutes between connections in Washington D.C., and with a requirement to fetch a bag before moving through customs, we are at risk of missing our connecting flight. This kind of gambling only complicates travel, creating stress that detracts from finishing a vacation in perfection.

With our test packing done, it was time to beat feet down to Römer to collect Jutta and make our way, slowly, over to Zum Standesämtchen one more time for lunch.

There will never be enough time spent with those we’ve grown fond of and as Caroline and I age, our love, respect, and appreciation have matured for her mother, my mother-in-law. Maybe you assume love for one’s family is a natural thing. I don’t believe that. We’ve not chosen our family, and sometimes their or our flaws are so great that it’s easier to put distance between us while some gratuitous ideas of love demand that we find love for our parents, aunts, uncles, various relatives if people were honest, I think they’d also admit this is not a sure thing. As a matter of fact, neither Jutta nor I much appreciated each other in the first years we’d known each other, and while I’ve said as much in a previous blog entry or two, it bears repeating that our relationship these past 20-some-odd years has only grown stronger. I think the same goes for Caroline and her mother as each has seen the other in a new light where they understand one another now quite deeply. Today carries a bit of sadness with it as we must say goodbye for now, but I do hope we’ve shared enough laughs to carry Jutta through until we can return next year.

Lunch was brief, 90 minutes today, maybe the quickest we’ve shared with Jutta this trip. Things had to move fast as we had a 2:30 appointment for a COVID-19 antigen test, which, if it comes back negative,  will allow us to travel to the United States tomorrow. If you think this is the face of pain, you’d be wrong. I’ve seen this face thousands of times, experiencing the ecstasy of pleasure, and I swear this is exactly what it looks like. Warning to Caroline: Edit this out or claim differently, and I’ll just put it back because you know this abrasive swab puncturing your skull and tickling your eyeball was one of the great thrills of this trip to your homeland. — NOT!

Just like Caroline’s face but different, this is Jutta’s face saying, “You better take great care of this beautiful daughter of mine, or else!” You can tell by how effectively she pulls this look of stink eye that she wants me to fully understand my responsibility to love and look after Caroline. Don’t worry, my sweet mother-in-law; I love this daughter of yours with all my heart.

Our time with Jutta today was only a brief four hours, and of course, it’ll never feel like enough, but we need to go. Big big hugs for you, Jutta; it’s always great to see you smile so warmly and listen to you share your appreciation for seeing us.

We retrieved our COVID test results to find we were both negative. With this bit of stress out of the way, we had some time to spare before meeting with Klaus and Stephanie for dinner, and so we wandered between the river, Römer, and uncertainty as we didn’t know where else we could go that would lend itself to any greater sense of having been in Frankfurt so the slow walk nowhere had to suffice. In our indecision to focus on a destination, we found that we could agree on visiting the cathedral, and that’s where we are.

My wife, who’s typically not superstitious in the least, spoke up as I shot this image and asked that it not follow a photo of her and Jutta since it would be weird to have an image about death following the two of them. So, I posted the photo above this one to put space between them. Then, as I think about this again, this is a monument to someone’s life using a skull we associate with death, but that doesn’t change the fact that this display is here in recognition of life.

I can only wonder what her prayer was, but I’m fairly sure she had some thought or other traveling through her mind as she made a donation and lit the candle.

Dinner tonight was at African Queen with Klaus and Stephanie. This place was packed, and rightfully so as the food was terrific. Nothing much else followed as final details needed to be dealt with before our flight tomorrow afternoon. Enough said.