Coming To Your Christmas

Caleb and Jessica Aldridge, Caroline Wise and John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

If we were to celebrate this annual American ritual of Christmas, this would be the image that would have accompanied our Christmas cards. On the left are Caleb and Jessica Aldridge, our son-in-law and daughter/stepdaughter, who were returning to California from a two-week cross-country road trip that took them over to Florida. Due to circumstances related to Caleb’s naval service and being stationed abroad combined with the natural forces of life that take people here and there, we’d not seen him in about ten years, and while they were only able to spend a few hours with us, it was a great reunion, and we hope it won’t require another ten years before the four of us get together again. The funny thing is, this photo almost didn’t happen as we were all so happy to see each other and talk about their big adventure that I forgot to take a photo of the happy, possibly weird, and maybe a bit dysfunctional family. Caroline and I ran back downstairs after them to pull them from their car as they were heading out and insisted on showing the world our happiness.

Seriously, We Leave Frankfurt Tomorrow!

Brötchen from Café Dillenburg in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Brötchen from Café Dillenburg in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Brötchen from Café Dillenburg in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Brötchen from Café Dillenburg in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Brötchen from Café Dillenburg in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Caroline Wise, Jutta Engelhardt, and Stephanie Engelhardt in Frankfurt, Germany

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?

Bad Soden tram stop near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Currywurst in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

Klaus Engelhardt on 3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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?”

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

3 Burgen Weg in Königstein im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Kronberg im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Kronberg im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Kronberg im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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.”

Kronberg im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

Kronberg im Taunus near Frankfurt, Germany

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

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Ginnheim tram stop in Frankfurt, Germany

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

Zeilweg tram stop in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Are We Gone Yet? Nope, This is Frankfurt

Heddernheim in Frankfurt, Germany

Good morning to the dawn, and hello to the light of day. Thank you for welcoming us into another waking moment where we can consider how we might use our time to wander into the most amazing lives we’ll ever know.

Heddernheim in Frankfurt, Germany

And here comes the sun to shine on Café Dillenburg where we are fetching our daily bread and entertaining the idea that we could bring some of their Brötchen home with us, and I’m not only talking about this home away from home at Haus Engelhardt. With our morning meal bagged up, we raced back to Blauwiesenweg, where the butter and all variety of jams will join a pot of coffee for the greatest breakfast ever experienced. Unless you know the real pleasures of echtes Deutsches Brot, you cannot relate to my endorsement of this fascination and luxury to be had when munching on fresh Brötchen with homemade jams.

Frankfurt, Germany

No time to spare as we have things to do and people to see. The vacation within the vacation continues, while the vacation from vacation(s) will have to wait until Saturday night after we land and all of Sunday before Caroline steps back into work and I get busy trying to knock out a bunch of blog posts. Having only about 36 hours of recuperation sounds dire and likely difficult considering our age, but that’ll be nothing a lot of coffee can’t conquer.

Frankfurt, Germany

Who schedules these itineraries? It’s already 9:45 as we near the corner where Lebenshaus sits across from the Main River; our first date of the day is expecting us any minute.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Guten Morgen, Frau Engelhardt. Hello, Mr. Wise. With the formalities out of the way and Jutta finished with her breakfast, we offer the briefest of visits as we are meeting someone at the Hauptbahnhof in less than an hour, but we’ll be back later.

Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Yo dude, how’s God?

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

Check the background; God is everywhere.

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

I wonder, too, about how many times I’ve shared a photo from right here at Römer, but today, I’m trying something new; later, I’ll share another photo of Römerberg but from a different angle.

Subway station in Frankfurt, Germany

While this might look like a decoration in the floor of something or other, it’s actually a 1000-year-old rod of gold that was buried by a Valkyrie and is said to provide eternal life to all those who lick it to taste the flavor of Valhalla that it connects to. I swear.

Hauptbahnhof in Frankfurt, Germany

Seems I might have misread this sign in the past. A dozen years ago, Caroline and I were visiting the Montreal Basilica, and I thought this sign (displayed without the Psst message) was a signal to parents that it was okay for children to pick their noses, but seeing the sign like this changes the meaning significantly. I thought about correcting that old post, but I’ve decided to leave it as proof that for once in my 60 years, I’m owning one of my mistakes.

Claudia and Caroline Wise at the Hauptbahnhof in Frankfurt, Germany

It was just a year ago that this mystery woman on the left (I already know the one on the right) was this elusive figure from the Cologne, Germany, area the world had never seen. Today, I’m unmasking her: she is Claudia, the Brünnhilde of fiber arts, kumihimo, and tablet weaving, to be exact. Last year, Caroline traveled north to see her in person for the first time; today, Claudia traveled south so these two could meet again. How they have anything to discuss is beyond me as they chat on a near-daily basis, making the most of the time between Caroline going to sleep and Claudia’s waking to punctuate some rare time Claudia seems to find between performing her super-human; I think Nietzsche called it “Ubermenschian,” feats of fiber knowledge distillery that could only have emerged from mythology.

Caroline Wise's foot and her friend Claudia in Frankfurt, Germany

I think jealousy is in order here because consider this: Caroline loves me and makes me socks. Claudia has knitted a pair of socks for Caroline that she’s modeling right here, and while blurred, I think it’s obvious that Claudia is looking lovingly at this “wedding banded sock” pattern that I think the women were hoping I wouldn’t notice.

After allowing Claudia to buy us lunch because who doesn’t need a free meal after what we just spent in Scandinavia, I stormed off in a jealous huff of rage to drown my sorrows.

Frankfurt, Germany

At first, I considered throwing myself on the subway tracks, but this poster looking for leads of a corpse found in the Spandau forest back in 1988 kind of depressed me. Those haunting, hollow eyes made me realize that death wasn’t an option for me. But ice cream was.

Spaghetti Eis at Eis Christina in Nordend Frankfurt, Germany

The race against time unwinding is on with only 48 hours left before we step out of Europe to return home to the U.S. I’d opened a small window of two hours where I’d attempt to plumb some inspiration to write, but the limitation feels harrowing as my inclination is to shove the intensity of the previous month onto the page in as many words that I can wring out of my hand. I didn’t anticipate that the location I’d chosen to find my wit would be as busy as I found it, but it was a beautiful late summer day at the most popular ice cream shop in Frankfurt. I should have moved to a coffee shop, but minutes are precious when the clock cannot be paused.

Life is like this bowl of ice cream, refreshing and sweet, but it’s melting and will go away. I have a choice not to finish every drop and allow the remainder to be carried off, but who would allow a second or a drop to not be savored?

For 34 years, I’ve been returning to this corner at Wielandstrasse and Eckenheimer Landstrasse in Frankfurt’s north end. I lived nearby for six years and took everything other than my relationship with Caroline for granted as it was all just normal life of no special importance. Only in retrospect have I gained the perspective that the years of our 20s contribute greatly to our romantic notions and nostalgia for the world we were exploring as it lingers into the years. We were defining and shaping the people who would enter the next decade excited or bored, satisfied or angry, challenged or defeated.

Frankfurt, Germany

I see a couple of elderly ladies well into their 80s at an adjacent table while seemingly mirror images from their past; two young ladies about 21 years old are seated at the table on their other side. The young women have no idea yet that their future selves are already forming inside them and that what is so intensely important to them on this day will lose all importance before they know it. The rapid advancement and intrusion of technology and an ever-present media have torn the fabric between generations into irreparable shreds where the groups are nearly alien to each other. There is no regard for the elderly, who are bulldozed into giving up their bearings and made to feel incompetent, while youth have no time for studied reflection or even self-study before having to respond to the next wave of electronic stimulation.

When do we arrive at the place where we start to gather the knowledge that will best serve us? Are we collectively fooled into believing that the essentials are found in clothes, hair products, a favorite sports franchise, the band we currently love, or the subject blowing up on viral media? To be a composite of media contrivances is a cruel joke on the masses who feast upon anything other than the bitter questions of what it might mean to exist.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s no suggestion that any particular area of study is going to deliver a hint of enlightenment or happiness. Likewise, only the idiot would fall for what’s being fed to society. For the sake of transparency, I, too, have played the idiot, and to an extent and on occasion still do. But, I also have some inkling that I must struggle in the word soup of my mind and ask myself: is this good enough? Have I been wasting my precious attention?

The line at the ice cream shop snaked around the corner as a kind of proof that we gravitate towards the sweet, and rarely do we lineup for the bitter. Bitterness introduces a grimace and the consternation that we have to contextualize our experience to find the value; it is not readily apparent. Time for me to go for a walk.

Starting from Nordend, I walked until I reached the Alte Nikolaikirche (Old St. Nicholas Church) on Römerberg. I dipped inside to take a respite from the bustle of the busiest square in the city. There are four of us in the church, which is peculiar when one considers how frequently it’s photographed. Then again, who on a sunny Thursday afternoon is interested in communing with their soul? The house of God is cold and nearly empty, and I suppose rightfully so when cake & coffee or a beer under a warming sun invites indulgence. I wonder if Jesus stands in a corner wondering where his faithful are.

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

Turning from the Lord, whom I do not know, to my mother-in-law, whom I’m quite familiar with, I leave the church for the short walk to Lebenshaus but not before delivering that second promised photo from a different angle of Römerberg.

Jutta Engelhardt and John Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

We must try our best to capture the increasingly rare moments of the few that still exist, with those who have had impactful impressions upon who we’ve become. The math of what remains with a person of 88 years of age under their hat is one of numbers growing smaller. While my mother-in-law had nothing to do with my upbringing or early life impressions, she did have those impacts on the woman with whom I fell head over heels in love, her daughter Caroline. Not only that though, Jutta spent many a vacation with us in the United States, and in every departing, I had to contend with how I saw myself and how I interacted with Caroline’s mother. Her initial visits tended to be marred by my lack of sympathy and understanding of aging people. I struggled with the intransigence of someone habituated to a routine incompatible with my own. Reconciling my belligerence helped me grow and understand where the roots of those poisons were planted and what fed them; if I’m lucky, lessons were pressed right into my heart, and today, I’m a better person for my time shared with this lady.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Shoot, earlier, I went on some made-up tirade about some tryst or something between Caroline and Claudia; yeah, well, I was joking, but I did go have a Spaghetti Eis because every time is a good time for a treat from Eis Christina. Sadly, upon our return to Phoenix, we learned that after 50 years in business, Eis Christina is calling it quits, at least at this location, as they left a hint they could open elsewhere in the future, but that remains uncertain.

What is certain is that Caroline still loves me and will still make socks for me and that she loves her mother. Rarely does a Sunday pass while we are in the States that these two don’t talk on the phone for at least a couple of hours, and while we are in Germany, we try to take every opportunity to say hi, take her out for a sweet, sit with her next to the river, have a coffee, and simply share time with her.

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

So much beauty, potential for happiness, and great moments can be found in a day, though this seems amplified by the fact that we are traveling and only in places momentarily. Stopping to think about it, isn’t that what we have at home, too? What is it about routine that throws a pall over the day? Could it be that while engaged in habit, we forget to look up and see what our reality is? Well, I think it’s that and something else, which is the attitude of those around us. If the outlook of those around us carries an intellectual pallor that is gloomy and full of dark storms, we risk getting pulled into their maelstrom. We can walk across the bridge with someone we love and with whom we enjoy smiling and delight at the opportunity to be taking in life, but we can also fail to see any hope due to depression and gravity that pulls those exposed to negativity and despair into the void.

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

I think of my own days walking through this city, unable to see the brilliance of the day, when everything was cast in shades of gray due to my dejection of not only feeling like an outsider in this foreign land but also because I felt like an outsider of the human race. That version of me, which wasn’t a daily thing but frequent enough that scars remain, is a person I’m happy to have left behind. Hardly a day goes by where I don’t wonder why society cultivates this type of harm against those who are vulnerable and what it is in the human character that desires to hurt those already in pain. While I’m an atheist, I still care for those who are poor, not only financially but poor of confidence and societal acceptance due to some perceived flaws that allow those of privilege to cast aspersions.

I’m not one considering an entry to the idea of heaven, but to too many of those who claim faith, how do you reconcile your blatant ignorance of the book that holds many lessons that are wholesome and good with the harm you inflict on the poor, hurt, and depressed people that are likely suffering due to your lack of concern to repair a society that rewards harm and aggression against those who cannot defend against your systems? Isn’t it your bible where the quote, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God, comes from?

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

Please don’t take this last quote that a rich man is only the person with a lot of money; it pertains to all of us who have a rich life even if we are not financially in the greatest of places. What do we give to others? What do we take away or deny? Are we only rowing forward for our own sake? I supposed I’m okay with that reality, but then let’s put the pretense of some Christian ideology behind us. Let’s do away with the lies and admit that we are selfish, petulant little assholes enjoying the greed bag of stuff we can claw away from others. You, who give back through sharing knowledge, care, art, music, medicine, teaching, and protecting others, are the best part of Team Humanity that society cultivates on the margin.

Olaf and Sylvia with John and Caroline in Frankfurt, Germany

Today feels like a lesson in how to slice time into a hundred pieces. We started with breakfast at Haus Engelhardt, dipped in on Jutta, met up with a distant friend, ate ice cream, wrote, returned to Jutta, thought some more, and wrote, finishing the day with dinner in honor of our friends Olaf and Sylvia and their (by now young adult) children Johnny and Lucy. While this was possibly in recognition of Olaf’s upcoming birthday, I think it was more about friends getting together on one of the rare opportunities we are in proximity to each other’s orbit.

On our way, we stumbled past Dal Bianco Pizza on Darmstädter Landstrasse, which appears to be the long-lost place that I thought had the greatest garlic bread ever back when I lived in Sachsenhausen for some months around 1991, but that’s another story. I’m leaving this note here with the hopes that on a subsequent visit to Germany, we’ll remember that I left his breadcrumb. Closing out the night, Olaf introduced me to a couple of things he’s currently listening to; at the top of the list for me is the psychedelic band Wooden Shjips; he also encouraged me a listen to Little Simz, born to Nigerian parents in London, England. I find her real name, Simbiatu “Simbi” Abisola Abiola Ajikawo, far more interesting than Little Simz.

Moving in Reverse to Find the Exit

Caroline Wise at a tram stop in Frankfurt, Germany

I’ve been here before, meaning almost everywhere in Frankfurt. I feel no urgency to photograph anything because to see things unseen before today will prove difficult. A walk along the Main River, a visit to the cathedral, or any number of points? I no longer feel the pull to reacquaint myself with this city that is incredibly familiar and simultaneously distant. This is likely obvious if you’ve seen yesterday’s post that was a reflection of how unmotivated I was to document anything and only managed to share nine images and barely a thousand words.

Caroline Wise, Jutta Engelhardt, and Katharina Engelhardt in Frankfurt, Germany

Important memories though remain essential, and before leaving Caroline, Jutta, and Katharina to have a lady’s afternoon, I had to grab a group shot to memorialize the generations.

Locks on Eiserner Steg bridge in Frankfurt, Germany

Others are more interested in leaving a love lock on a bridge, which is a way of tagging a space and showing that “Kilroy and his girlfriend were here.” Throwing the keys into the river assures their love cannot be undone which ultimately ends in tragedy because someone must come along and destroy this connection by cutting it off the railing and disposing of it. Then again, all things are temporary, and the sentiment of the moment of leaving this visual sign for others is a romantic notion worth celebrating.

Frankfurt, Germany

If you are a native English speaker and could read this, you might think it’s a joke, but Die Partei is real and holds one seat in the European Parliament. As for the messaging of the sticker, it reads Fuck All of You! As for their name, The Party, yes, it is a satire of fascist parties and is also a backronym meaning Partei für Arbeit, Rechtsstaat, Tierschutz, Elitenförderung und basisdemokratische Initiative (“Party for Labour, Rule of Law, Animal Protection, Promotion of Elites and Grassroot-Democratic Initiative”). In America, we have a rigid two-party system that languishes in a stalemate of lethargy while compromise has been lost to hate and division.

Frankfurt, Germany

This city remains in constant motion, a stream of things, ideas, architecture, culture, people, and the flow of the river that slices through it. Everything is changing, a perpetual movement that doesn’t stop for people, time, or the stupidity of politics and biases that so often stymie cities and populations in the United States. Frankfurt has a peculiar nature of drawing things in and pushing them right back out, be it capital, music, philosophy, art, trade, or whatever it is that needs to find wider distribution.

Frankfurt, Germany

This constant movement of change doesn’t stop people from trying to hold onto time by entering routines where places and favorite stops along the way are habituated. Jobs and school help lend ideas of permanence, as do the hymns sung at church. There will always be those searching for consistency that assures them that they are living in a kind of eternal moment where their existence might remain until the end of their time on earth.

Begging in Frankfurt, Germany

And then age makes an appearance. Not the common day-to-day, year-to-year kind of stuff but the shuffling, walker, or cane-assisted slow pull into dissonance that will affect us all. Will you schlep your frame with grace or will you deny what everyone else around already knows? Denial among the elderly regarding their situation is as rife as the young are oblivious that they are spending their precious years chasing marketing dreams and fantasies created by capital.

Frankfurt, Germany

Did I see even one Litfaßsäule (advertising column) in Scandinavia or a wall at a train station featuring upcoming events? For all the talking we did with locals, we never asked about the local cultural scene. Reason #39 to return.

Subway stop in Frankfurt, Germany

Heading to Bergerstrasse in Bornheim Mitte, long-time residents will lament perceived gentrification, but the reality is more likely that the elderly of the aging neighborhood will move into assisted living like my mother-in-law did, and the young professionals and foreigners will be seen as interlopers ruining the place, just as Caroline and I get that vibe about Nordend where we used to live.

Subway stop in Frankfurt, Germany

The generation that took up residence here was coming of age and growing up out of the conflict of war. They are rapidly aging out, and as they leave Bornheim, the businesses that catered to them are no longer trendy, and the new residents are demanding services that speak to their dreams. Churn will happen, and businesses will leave, but if this corner of Frankfurt is lucky, laughter will return as many a grumpy old person appears to have lost the ability to laugh. Look at those who remain; there is a weary misery behind their eyes as they grow increasingly isolated.

Writing in Frankfurt, Germany

Of those who are young but in misery, the human necessity to explore waking dreams is largely broken. Maybe someone wasn’t able to identify with their parents or friends who were too focused on their own interests to support the child/teen. Other parents are more interested in pushing their own agenda on the indifferent child. Using children as surrogates of the self and our unrealized dreams, we spurn the mystery of what is sparking the imagination of a youngster. What sparks the curiosity of young people cannot be known or controlled by adults dominating this evolving person. At best, we can take a keen interest in the aspirations of others and allow them to share ideas with us instead of foisting ourselves on them. Isn’t this relationship the basis of a sharing love between people anyway?

Frankfurt, Germany

A mentoring inspirational role is a preferable path compared to the more often employed master/slave dictatorial relationship that brings out resentment or uncertainty. How is love given, and how is it taken or received? What happens when it’s demanded?

Döner Kebab in Frankfurt, Germany

We can recycle many things and will need to dispose of others. We can acquire skills, money, property, and lunch, but we have no means of trading emotions and dreams that can be intrinsically absorbed by others. Maybe stories can offer glimmers of possibilities if the listener is already familiar with what they can feed us.

Frankfurt, Germany

We either define our path in terms that are compatible with the herd, or we suffer being cast down the wrong trail where the chasm of the downtrodden falls into ruin. Once lost in despair, we often perform enough self-abuse to finish the harm our parents and society managed to miss. Deeply confused and wondering if we are the only ones experiencing such uncertainty, we can choose to ignore the nagging thoughts about existence. Are we on the right track, or must we inebriate ourselves, blaming our existential angst on factors perceived to be bigger than ourselves? From here, we can turn to God if we haven’t already, which is likely a valid salve for most people as it offers a quick and absolving message to trust God for all of these issues that are larger than we are.

Frankfurt, Germany

Who among us has time, mentors, or interest to answer big questions when the need for instant gratification looms over us and takes us down the path of consumption? Finding the headspace to explore the voids within can be treacherous going for the intellectually ill-equipped. Even those inclined to delve into the fragile domain of understanding and self-discovery often discover the risks, faltering into a pit of malaise built of their own making.

Frankfurt, Germany

Awareness of pitfalls is only the smallest factor in this equation. How to help one another find love and respect that can buffer a hostile inner and outer world is a dilemma I struggle to document as I go writing. Because I seem to have found my way, I’m desperate to formalize it into a recipe I could share, but meeting with resistance from others who feel that their brand of uncertainty and confusion is unique to them, I must first unravel the threads that separate us.

Grüne Soße in Frankfurt, Germany

Seeds give rise to plants; plants mature and become food that also produces more seeds, which perpetuates the cycle of replenishment. On a farm, weeds invade the cultivated fields, and for a time, our scientists believed that the most poisonous of substances that were prone to unintended side effects were needed to enter into warfare against undesirable growth. This is nearly identical to how we deal with people on the margins of society: we wish they would disappear. We poison them with drugs, alcohol, incarceration, and homelessness, and while some perish and vanish, those that remain inadvertently create consequences that feed a sense of crisis among those of us who wonder why our neighborhoods have taken on apocalyptic appearances.

Frankfurt, Germany

Breaking out new laws to wash the scourge away will never work, nor will militarized police forces but the alternative of trying to bring back a society to a kind of order of the mind and not rotting in mediocrity might be a task too grand for hope. The proverbial saying, “You made your bed, now lie in it,” tells us to face the consequences of our actions and that might be exactly what is facing us. No amount of soap can clean away our self-centered stupidity that puts the accumulation of wealth above all else, including the divine.

Drunk in Frankfurt, Germany

This man is piss-drunk, literally. His pants are wet down to his feet. He is so drunk that he spills most of the beer he has no interest in drinking because he’s consumed by wild gesturing and engaging me in conversation while I can’t make sense of a single slurred word. He had two bottles in his hands but one was flung without him noticing that it left his orbit. It was gladly picked up by another drunkard, surprised as much as I was that the bottle hadn’t shattered. This is how I see my fellow Americans, a ranting mess of piss-drunk nationalists unaware that they are throwing their democracy away like it’s a worthless bottle of beer all because they love reveling in jingoistic bullshit that only makes sense to the other inebriated half-wits, unaware of how stupid and lost they appear.

Writing in Frankfurt, Germany

That’s all I’ve got. I’ve stopped again and again today to write and didn’t go very far walking around Frankfurt. I imagine that Jutta, Caroline, and Katharina were off enjoying themselves, not kvetching about the ills of society. Maybe I absolve them of needing to yammer about such things thus allowing them to enjoy each other company while I work out the gravity of what ails us. This is part of my burden; my Sisyphean struggles with a pen.

Frankfurt, Germany

Enough of that; time for dinner with the Engelhardts in celebration of Stephanie’s birthday. Klaus had gotten a tip that this vegan Vietnamese place was highly recommended, and if getting a reservation on a Wednesday night is as difficult as this was, then it must be the popular place. Well, by the time we were leaving Ong Tao the restaurant was packed. For Germany, I understand why this place is popular, and vegan options are all the rage in many big cities in this part of Europe. They have a good thing going, but those of us who have had the opportunity to eat authentic Vietnamese food likely have a better understanding of just how much serious flavor is missing. All the same, we were not here for our own culinary experience; it was for Stephanie and her 58th Geburtstag.

Caroline Wise at Gluckstrasse 8 in Frankfurt, Germany

For the first time in 28 years, after finding an open door, we stepped into Gluckstrasse 8,  the building in which Caroline and I lived together before moving to the United States. How strange it was to head up to “our” door. Had someone been there, I would have knocked just to have a peek inside. Sure, this is where our love blossomed but not without an amount of tumult that makes the fact that we are still together all the more surprising.

Subway stop in Frankfurt, Germany

Germany is moving closer to disgorging us as we travel almost in reverse compared to the way we came into our vacation.

Going Home, Before Going Home

Flying out of Bergen, Norway

Who needs alarms when flying early in the morning? Not us; we were up about 10 minutes before our wrists were supposed to start vibrating at 4:00 a.m. In quick order, we were dressed and headed downstairs to wait for the taxi we’d arranged for yesterday.

Flying over Europe somewhere

Above it all and mostly distanced after 17 days in Scandinavia, we are still in a relatively safe space but that was coming to an unexpected end.

Flying over Germany

Two hours after leaving Norway, we are on the streets of Frankfurt, dragging our bags along for our first stop. On the train out of the airport, we noticed a marked difference between the polite and trusting Scandinavian culture we had left behind and the brusque and maybe even abrasive Germans. After 17 days of super civility, I wasn’t ready for the rude high school kids on a field trip riding in the same direction as us. Sadly, and yes, I’m aware that this will carry a hint of racism, their ethnicity combined with their aberrant behavior is part of what is likely giving rise to/sustaining the evergrowing nationalism in countries that are trying to integrate a growing immigrant population due to their own shrinking population. If you live in one of Germany’s big cities, you are likely inured to this spectacle of crass antics, but I can see how small towns would feel the sting.

The perspective shift of being enchanted when we land in Germany coming in from the U.S. is lost on entering from Scandinavia. Germany can be a bit cold and distant, but it’s mostly polite, respectful, and rule-driven, in stark contrast to the potential-of-violence-at-any-moment style of American uncertainty. If I’m reluctant about returning to the States after we visited Europe, this will be amplified when we return to Phoenix this coming weekend.

Frankfurt, Germany

Frühstück (breakfast) was at Cafe Liebfrauenberg near Kleinmarkthalle. Not our first choice, but with our bags in tow (including the broken-wheel suitcase), we were more interested in shortening the distance between getting something to eat and visiting with my mother-in-law, Jutta. While still sipping my coffee, Caroline zipped around the corner to a sewing shop, hoping to find a few notions she might be able to use to repair her quickly disintegrating purse strap that, after years of constant use, was about to render the bag useless.

Here I am, no longer just a tourist. I should be able to write something meaningful, but constant distractions drag my eye and mind to watching the goings on around me instead of slipping into exploring the profound. To write, I must drop into a kind of routine where my focus is undisturbed by novelty. When I’m able to look within and between the thoughts that give rise to impressions, my hand feels mysteriously compelled to leave words on the page. I’m aware that the majority of words that fall from my pen can be mundane and mediocre, but on occasion, I find that what has appeared from a recess of my mind exceeds any hopes I might have had to produce such eloquence. That is what I’d like to aim for all the time.

Caroline Wise and Jutta Engelhardt in Frankfurt, Germany

We’ve moved over to Lebenshaus, but Jutta is participating in an exercise program, and while we can see her, she’s not become aware of us yet. As we watch, I see residents I’ve become familiar with over the past couple of years and notice that changes in aging for the elderly can be significant. The process of decay robs people of a lot. This could be a part of our future, yet few of us are prepared for this. Slow death is not a popular entertainment subject nor a part of reality TV. How and why do we choose to hide the elderly or, at best, relegate them to the margin where they need not be acknowledged?

Am I on the spectrum regarding my social tensions? We are at Zum Standesämtchen and I’m starting to seethe at the empty state of these vacuous lower-order excuses for humans on vacation. Dignified people do not stand with mouths agape, we should not get pissy with someone talking in their native tongue to us in their country. They have no obligation to speak your version of one of the 7,117 languages distributed around our earth. We owe it to ourselves to, at a minimum, master our mother tongue, speak clearly with concision, and, when appropriate, slow things down and temper the volume. You are in someone else’s culture, and respect starts with you.

Creampuff in Frankfurt, Germany

When in a public space, I do not care where you’re from or what you like or don’t like about your vacation, life, or job. If it’s hot and humid or raining, nobody needs your pronouncement of the obvious. This is not small talk; it is the inanity of someone who needs to be at the center of attention or is afraid of the quiet. And don’t admonish me to pay attention to my own business as you drag yourself on stage screeching and dressing in ways that say, “LOOK AT ME!” The same goes for those of you sporting face tats and musculature that verges into the spectacle. You need and obviously desire attention and cannot dictate when your clown-ass has others gawking.

Away from Römer at Cafe Einstein with the throngs on the otherside of the threshold, I’m able to enjoy the moment with Jutta, sharing our experiences and a few photos from our vacation within a vacation. We spent a couple of hours at lunch and then another couple here chatting over coffee and sweets, which is not known as fika here in Germany.

Frankfurt, Germany

The plaque here at Römer reads:

On this site, on 10 May 1933, national socialist students burned the books of authors, scientists, publicists, and philosophers.

The outer ring reads:

That was only a prelude. Wherever they burn books, in the end, will also burn human beings. 1820 Heinrich Heine

Frankfurt, Germany

The sign says Construction Site Entry and I believe you should heed this as an admonition pertaining to your life; you are under construction and need to recognize that the work upon yourself is a never-ending project.

Frankfurt, Germany

Over the course of the last weeks in Scandinavia, embedded among the more than 67,000 words I’ve penned were near-daily laments of the behaviors of those I could only wish were not on vacation at the same time we were. If I were as smart as I’d like to aspire to you, I should have encapsulated it all into this succinct poster we saw towards the end of the day, “You are not a tourist. You are an ambassador.” Come to think about it, doesn’t this apply to the very person we’d like others to perceive?

Deutsche Familie

Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof Germany

Against a backdrop of thunder, our day began with a short walk over to Café Dillenburg, formerly Brot & Freunde, to fetch our daily bread. After breakfast, with no time to dawdle, we were just as quick about catching the subway to Hauptwache and then another to the Hauptbahnhof, where we boarded yet another train to Geisenheim. Along the way, we passed Königin Viktoriaberg (Queen Victoria) Vineyard in Hochheim, named after a mid-19th century visit of the queen, but we are not out for sightseeing today; that begins tomorrow. Today, we are spending more time with family.

At our train stop in Mainz-Kastel, our train was joined by a couple of young Ukrainians carrying a wine bottle and apparently already drunk here at 9:30 in the morning. Their boisterous voices weren’t going to be tempered, regardless of the amount of stinkeye the people sitting around them were sending their way. No matter the difficulty in being away from home due to your country being at war, you are ambassadors of Ukraine, leaving impressions on the people helping fund your efforts and offering you refuge.

John Wise and Hanns Engelhardt in Geisenheim, Germany

Pulling into the station at Geisenheim, we’d chosen precisely the right car to sit in and the right doors to exit because right there before us was Father Hanns, happy to greet us. Caroline’s father is working on closing out his 90th year so he can lay claim to having reached that rarified age that is the decade before one might see 100 years of life. While Hanns offers up a few anecdotal issues about having reached this point in his life, it is not easy to see age overtaking him yet. Sure, he struggles with his eyes, and a cane is part of his outfit. Still, his mind remains deeply curious, though momentarily troubled by his ongoing struggle to part with books that have been constant companions for the majority of his life.

Vevie Engelhardt in Germany

Father Hanns is giving up many of his books because he is moving to Geisenheim full-time after maintaining a small apartment/bungalow in Karlsruhe for decades and commuting between the two locations. Vevie (or Maria, as Hanns affectionately calls her) has been living on her own in Geisenheim for much of that time, but it has become apparent that she needs more care. Remembering how difficult it was to shed a majority of our books when we moved from Germany to the United States in the 1990s, I can hardly imagine how hard it must be for him to have to part with so many beloved books, many of which are family heirlooms.

Caroline Wise, Hanns Engelhardt, and Vevie Engelhardt in Geisenheim, Germany

Over a bottle of sparkling wine, the four of us sat on the terrace to talk while the skies were clearing. For the better part of 90 minutes, I tried pushing the conversation back to German as Vevie’s frustration at not understanding the English we were speaking was bedeviling her. This wasn’t quite so dramatic on previous visits. For Father Hanns, exercising his wit and humor in English allows his inner rascal to make an appearance as he so enjoys jokes and wordplay and, these days, probably does not often have the opportunity for banter.

I’d imagine that for an intellectual with German as their mother tongue, proficiency and control of linguistic complexity in German are taken for granted. In English or Hungarian, Hanns has the opportunity to spin tales with a flare that exemplifies his love of a broad body of knowledge that likely surprises and delights those he enters conversations with.

By noon, it’s lunchtime for Caroline, Hanns, and me, as Vevie prefers to stay in. Leaving the apartment, I spot the collected works of Arthur Schopenhauer, which is one of the authors Hanns cannot part with. At the nearby restaurant with an odd mix of German and Indian food along with a fairly extensive pizza menu, Hanns is able to open the throttle in English. The conversation turns to the social side of politics and after a blindingly fast 2.5 hour spent at our midday meal, it’s nearly time for Caroline and I to catch our train back to Frankfurt. In a parting thought, I offer to return to Germany later this year or early next to spend a couple of weeks talking philosophy, religion, and social responsibility with my father-in-law.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise in Frankfurt, Germany

Back in Frankfurt, we visit Jutta once more before taking off to other lands tomorrow. While Caroline and her mom were chatting, I sat out on the balcony catching up on my note-taking when one of the orderlies named Rouven Dorn, whom I’d met a couple of years earlier, came out for a smoke, and we got to talking. Turns out that he, too, is a fan of Schopenhauer, and upon hearing we are heading to Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, he shared that his favorite Swedish metal band is called Sabaton and that I should take a listen to No Bullets Fly and Lifetime of War. There was more to the conversation, as there always is, but those details are lost in the ether as nothing more was shared with my notebook.

Demonstration in Frankfurt, Germany

Another day, another demonstration.

Demonstration in Frankfurt, Germany

I believe this is an anti-Taliban and consequently an anti-Pakistan demonstration as from my reading of their call to free Ali Wazir, they are voicing their displeasure with Pakistan’s support of the Taliban and that Ali Wazir was arrested in retaliation for his anti-Taliban stance. But I didn’t stop and talk with these young men since my German is not good enough to have a discussion about politics and how they relate to Afghanistan and its neighbor to the south. I do, though, respect that this kind of public conversation and display of concern is alive and well in Germany, even if it pales in comparison to the determination of the French to raise their voice.

Döner kebab in Frankfurt, Germany

There will be no burning of the proverbial midnight oil, no sit-down dinner, and no wandering in nostalgia as we have an early flight in the morning and need to be packed and ready to go this evening. With that in mind, dinner for the second night in a row will be Döner and while the place is called Döneria, it’s different enough to not be as amazing as the one in Bornheim. Funny that I can try being picky while I’m here when it’s been two years since my last Döner, but with the limited number I can possibly eat while in Germany, I need to make the best of these opportunities.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s a strange side to what I find so familiar. I know that within some number of years, I will never gaze upon any of the sights that were so common to my senses at the times I was present. I will have passed away. Those who are but teenagers on that day I die will be traveling in their own routines past the familiar and won’t have considered yet how anything changed over the course of years others were familiarizing themselves with corners of a city. Nor will they be entertaining ideas that their time to be witness of the places they may be taking for granted will pass out of their view as yet another person picks up another new relationship of seeing a place as part of their unique life. This though is the nature of life; we all pass in and out of the places we’d love to fondly remember forever.

Déjà Vu in Frankfurt, Germany

Nidda River in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Litfaßsäule in Heddernheim, Germany

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.

Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Cafe in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Hauptwache in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Hauptwache in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Caroline Wise with drawing she made as little girl in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Katharina Engelhardt, Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Döner kebab in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Hare Krishna members in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Frankfurt, Germany

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

Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Caroline Wise in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Shopping center on Zeil in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Frankfurt Skyline, Germany

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.

Caroline Wise in Frankfurt, Germany

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.

Sachsenhausen, Germany

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.

Vending machine in Sachsenhausen, Germany

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).