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.

Late to rise, late breakfast, late shower, late to writing, late to go outside. Try as we might to fill every day with an abundance of activities so we don’t waste a moment in Germany, it’s inevitable that we hit a wall and need a slow day. After 19 days, including our flight here, the day where little happens just shows itself, and in this case, it’s a Sunday just 48 hours before we head back to the United States.

Even sitting down to write something or other feels like a chore I’m not ready to confront. And so I distract myself with a return to my neglected social media, not that I ever really do much posting there but it allows me to catch up with various subjects of interest. While the smell of plum cake that Klaus is baking wafts in from the kitchen, I bring up some newly released music from Andrew Ostler titled “Crossing The Line.” That plum cake will travel with us to be shared between Jutta, Stephanie, Katharina, Klaus, Caroline, and me later today, but for now, I sit here lazily, hoping something will happen without making an effort.

I’m getting hungry, but the effort to go find something feels like a task too big. There’s a pizza place within walking distance, but I have to wonder who offers delivery to this area. After looking at the limited choices and considering that many places close at 2:00 before reopening at 5:00, the window of opportunity is diminishing. With maximum waffle unfolding from my inner-Schweinehund, a savior appears in the form of a loving wife and a caring sister-in-law who are willing to collect whatever it is my heart desires. It’s settled, rigatoni carbonara from that pizza place, and I get to sit in the same chair I’ve been planted in for the better part of 6 hours, aside from shower and toilet obligations to care for my body and the people around me.

Now, with the order in and the ladies out for picking up lunch, I’m again presented with a blank slate of brain. Maybe some other music will help, so I turn to Bandcamp and find Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe’s “Candyman” score, but before things really get underway, food is already here. Sweet relief from a minor hunger and absolving myself of the need to write as my right hand will be busy with a fork and who can type with one hand?

As with all things, this half-day of doing a lot of nothing is about to come to an end. We are all about to head into the center of Frankfurt to meet up with Jutta for a walk over to the river, where we’ll sit down to some plum cake and coffee. This will require a bit of effort on my part as I’ve still not moved from my chair since noon, and we are on the approach of 2:30. So, time to close the tabs to the news stories I was catching up on, finally put on some socks, and maybe (as if there was a choice) grab my camera and join the others to take the U-Bahn into town. Maybe I can have a brief nap on the train to add to my collection of having done little this Sunday? Oh, what is this luxury? Others are running late, giving me another 20 minutes of not doing nothing other than tagging photos here on the blog while maintaining my place on the thrown of the dining table.

It’s already after 3:00 as we move down the train tracks with our basket in tow, heading to Granny’s house. The only thing missing is a wolf who we heard was busy blowing some house down elsewhere.

The rare site of Katharina as with her away at nearby Darmstadt attending university, she’s typically seriously busy, but today with the chance for the entire family to get together, she carved out time. Good thing she did, as seeing her and her dad smile so nicely together is a treat.

And here comes Jutta…

…joining us for Klaus’s homemade Pflaumenkuchen (plum cake) that he made just today.

A rare photo these days. Sadly, we don’t have someone else here on a Sunday afternoon we can ask to take a group image, so the four Engelhardts and one Wise are the best I can do.

Katharina might be grinning as she dragged her aunt Caroline into a 20-minute lesson about Pokemon possibly infecting her with an interest, but knowing my wife, I’d guess she’d never find space to fit it in.

Grandmother and granddaughter obviously share the same height genes.

Our coffee and cake midday get-together is coming to an end. I’m happy we could all be here this afternoon and that this three-week trip to Germany was so focused on family.

Which also included me. By the way, does this photo make my arms appear freakishly long?

Later, Klaus, Stephanie, Caroline, and I walked a mile over to a nearby favorite restaurant that put a blemish on our enthusiasm for the place. I’ll leave it unnamed until we get to visit on a date in the future when we’ll be hoping that they were only having a bad night.

All-in-all this was a day of rest where very little happened.