This is how I feel today, Ausfahrt frei halten! Do not block the driveway! We are about to pull out of having parked ourselves in Frankfurt and don’t need to have anyone blocking our way; yes, we do.

This small sign is attached to a large wall, actually a small segment of what remains of the Staufermauer – old city wall. Built around 1180, the sign notes that this section was rebuilt in 1711 after the adjoining Jewish ghetto burned down.

We were on our way to the former location of the Jewish ghetto and a museum that has been dedicated to this part of Frankfurt’s history. This sketch by Peter Becker from 1872 titled “Hinterhäuser in der Judengasse” is part of the depiction and uncovered ruins that had been the small corner of Frankfurt where Jews were segregated over the centuries.

During excavation for a new building, the foundation walls and basements of the old Jewish ghetto were uncovered. It was originally the plan to simply build over them, but protests helped create the situation that the city and builder agreed to build a museum as a memorial to the dark history of Jewish isolationism that occurred not only in this city but in cities across Germany. Many of those people who walked the narrow streets and alleys in this compact, unsanitary ghetto were murdered during World War II.

This model in the Judengasse Museum depicts the cramped quarters Jews were forced to live in. Not only were they living with overcrowding due to the tiny area, but they also had little access to clean water and were often victims of crime and exploitation. In the 1860s there was a lifting of the ban that prohibited their travel. Many Jews tried leaving for what was thought were better lives in other cities, but that would all be crushed 70 years later with the onset of war.

There are a number of artifacts on display that were excavated during the archeological dig that ensued following the decision to protect the ruins of Judengasse. Another display features a few remaining parts of the old synagogue that was destroyed. It starts to become depressing here seeing items that had been handled by people who may have been marched out of their homes and deported, only to be murdered at the hands of people filled with rage and politically motivated hatred.

There are a couple of Mikwe (ritual baths) that were uncovered and are now viewable as part of the museum. Sadness accumulates while looking in and walking upon the stone passages that had once been used by people who unceremoniously were taken away and their memories buried along with their tortured souls. I need to get out of here.

Next to Judengasse is what remains of the Jewish Cemetery. During World War II, it was destroyed but following the war, it was partially restored and set as a memorial to honor those who died here. While walking along the wall, I came upon this marker, noting that Dora Kirchhoff, once a resident of Judengasse died during the war. Kirchhoff is a variation of the spelling of my maternal family name. One other interesting factoid I learned while here, the houses in which Jews lived had symbols on the outside of their homes; this often led to what they would take as their last names. The house with a red shield on it (Rote Schild) became Rothschild – yes, that Rothschild.

The good old Hamburger Royal with Käse – a quarter pounder with cheese can be ordered in Frankfurt on these automated kiosks to save you the time of standing in line. Of course, we ate at McDonald’s in Germany; it’s the Hamburger Royal, after all.

With less than 24 hours to go, we finally get a group picture, even if it’s a little cramped. From left to right: Katharina Engelhardt, Caroline Wise, Jutta Engelhardt, Stephanie and Klaus Engelhardt, and John Wise. Had we had another set of hands in the garden that could have snapped our photo, I would hopefully not loom so large over on the right side, but these self/group photos are a difficult task.

From visiting Jutta, we continued on the 12-train line out to Schwanheim for a visit to one of Christian Engelhardt’s favorite restaurants. He was Caroline’s paternal grandfather, and I needed to know what an old German guy thought was great food, as I have come to know that this man loved food, something he and I have in common.

The place of our pilgrimage is called Frankfurter Hof Seppche. Staying with the theme of trying Frankfurt specialties, we start the meal with händkase, and Caroline opts for another apple wine. I ordered the giant plate of meat with roasted potatoes and mushrooms and loved it. The grüne sosse just seems like the perfect meal for Caroline, and she orders it for the last time during this visit to her home country.

Leaving Seppche, we take notice of their great sign, a Bembel surrounded by a wreath. Back when I lived in Germany, I thought German food was boring. Nothing but boiled flavorless foods, oh, how I was wrong. I suppose I should reevaluate a lot of my perceptions and prejudices I entertained back in my 20s and early 30s, but today, right here, right now, is not the time as I race the clock to finish yet one more blog entry.

Back on streetcar number 12 for our return to Frankfurt. How long before our next visit? I hope it’s not another 18 years.

Seventy-two hours to go before we depart on our return to America. Time is short. What hasn’t been done by now won’t be. That isn’t to say there is nothing to do. We won’t sit still twiddling our fingers. Matter of fact, we would have headed north tomorrow to Köln (Cologne) and then over to Venlo, Holland, but a cold rain has set in over central Europe, so we’ll hang out and keep Jutta company. During the early day today though, we have some chores. First up was buying a guitar case for a guitar owned by Caroline’s grandfather. Having the car today instead of taking the train creates huge delays, as finding parking is never easy if there isn’t a nearby parking garage. By the time we get to Bergerstrasse, we’re both super hungry. On the way to pick up a sandwich through the Saturday open-air market, I spotted these strange-looking berries that I wasn’t sure if they were raspberries or strawberries. Turns out they are an old-fashioned type of strawberry not cultivated for mass consumption anymore. Maybe they’ll make a comeback with their incredible flavor, which is not 100% strawberry. But they are expensive at $6.00 for two small handfuls of the super sweet-tasting berries.

Weeks ago, I wrote of my being enamored with pork-belly sandwiches, with only a couple more opportunities to delight in them; this was my choice for breakfast today. During this time, I’ve nearly become friends with one of the ladies who works here at Erich Zeiss Metzgerai (butcher). While I fetched my meal, Caroline was back over at Bäckerei Kamp (bakery) getting a full-grain dark bread sandwich with brie, cucumber, lettuce, and lingonberries, also a favorite of ours. She also picked up a couple of slices of strawberry cake that we were taking to share with Jutta.

Having found a great parking spot, we were loath to leave it. Instead, we dipped into the U-Bahn tunnel to catch a train. We were also testing the idea that instead of taking streetcar #12 all the way to southwest Frankfurt, maybe it was quicker to take the subway part of the way and then pick up the streetcar. The verdict is out as it felt about the same, nor do we have any empirical proof that could sway the jury.

Jutta’s certainly feeling much better; her first question for us upon our arrival was asking if we’d like to take a walk outside. She hadn’t realized that the temperature had dropped into the cold and that it was currently raining. Instead, we walked over to the dining room of the rehab center and grabbed a pot of coffee and some forks as we sat down to chat over some yummy strawberry cake.

For the next hours, we bounced around the conversation and shared details of yesterday’s trip to Strasbourg, France while Jutta recalled her visits. While she’s been so very happy to see, she’s also encouraged us to get out and see a few things; we obliged her with those trips to Wattenmear, Denmark, Lübeck, Magdeburg, Lünaburg, Dresden, Eisenach, Bautzen, Görlitz, Poland, and Prague. Before we know it, time has flown out the window, and we have to get moving to finish the remaining chores. We bid Jutta adieu and walked back to the train stop without the duffel we intended to pick up, though we didn’t realize that until just before arriving back at Jutta’s apartment. Part of our intentions today was to test pack; without that bag, we’ll have to postpone. So it goes.

After packing up what we could at Jutta’s into plastic bags and putting the guitar in its new case, it was after 6:00, and we were getting hungry. Thought about stopping on the way back to Stephanie and Klaus’s but decided on one last return to the Lahme Esel restaurant. Good thing we didn’t go directly there because after asking the Engelhardt’s if they’d like to join us, a call was made for table availability, where we found out that there was nothing until 9:00. Okay then, a late dinner it is. Caroline opted for the Grüne Sosse, and I took the meat fantasy plate. My dinner was the Bäcker-Schaufel or Bakers Shovel, and a shovel of food it was. Two pieces of pork steak, rump steak, hamburger steak, sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, mushrooms, and a salad. I have to say it again: twenty years ago I thought traditional German food was kind of boring, but when this trip ends I’ll be doing my fair share of missing this style of cooking as my opinion has changed greatly. Oh, how I love German food.