I’d like to blame the following on jetlag, but the truth might be darker, that being that I’m growing older. But here I was, it’s midday, and I have no interest in taking notes about our travels, nor was I inclined to snap photos. Lethargy was my middle name. Without journal entries, many of the details of our travels would be lost, and that might be okay, possibly, for the family moments, because the truth is, maybe such encounters have largely been written about previously.  On the other hand, I wasn’t just an observer in these moments but also participated, which could be another good excuse for the lack of notes.

We have gathered in celebration of Katharina’s birthday. Aside from the gifts, we celebrated with Klaus’ homemade green sauce with boiled eggs and potatoes, the most traditional preparation of this Frankfurt staple. As you might have gleaned from the first photo, a strawberry tort was the stand-in for the birthday cake.

After spending all morning and afternoon with the Engelhardts, Caroline and I made our way across town for a late-day appointment we’d scheduled with some good friends.

Kaiserstraße in front of the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof (Main Train Station) was quite the seedy place decades ago. Today, it’s pleasantly cleaned up. There are still pockets of sketchy types who are milling here and there, but what big city doesn’t suffer such indignities? A notorious red light district once existed mostly to the left side of Kaiserstraße, while every flavor of addict and thug clogged the spaces between, but that was then, and now, after years of gentrification, you may never guess the darker past that was thriving here back in the mid-1980s when I arrived ready to party.

No visit to Frankfurt would be complete without touching base with the person who holds the distinction of being the longest-standing friend I’ve had in life, besides Caroline. This is Olaf Finkbeiner, one of the most curious, ambitious people I’ve known, also one of the humblest.

We met up in the garden for a barbecue and, sadly, not for weed, seeing that only on the rarest of occasions might I imbibe. This bud is a sample of what he’s been cultivating in a modified fridge that will also be the focus of the book he’s currently authoring. Not seeing each other but every other year leaves a lot of ground to cover, and while I’d love to share an entire day with Olaf and his family, we have to make the difficult decision to keep our time with friends brief, hoping they’ll be around for many more years, while we split our time between family pressing into their 90s, our need for novelty found in vacation to new locales, and meeting with those who affirm we are not lost in a world of idiots.

While Olaf and I catch up, Sylvia and Caroline do the same. Before we know it, hours have passed, and it being Sunday, work schedules for those not on vacation demand that evening encounters do not stretch into the wee hours of the morning. Already at this time, I can’t believe that we landed in Germany just the day before. Please keep in mind that the details, or general lack of them, are caused by the delay in recording anything meaningful as we moved through the fog of exhaustion combined with overstimulation brought on by teleporting ourselves from the Arizona desert to a European capital. This situation was being exacerbated by the intense anticipation of what was to come on Thursday after we were scheduled to leave Germany, while remaining in Europe.