This is the view out of the bedroom window on Saalburgstrasse 46, where I’m staying in Frankfurt, Germany, also known as Jutta’s apartment. The last few days, this view has been dark and wet due to the rain, but here we are starting a day in beautiful sunlight. Oh, and it’s Saturday, which in Frankfurt means everyone will be out.

Okay, where is everyone? It’s not like I left a few minutes after I took that previous photo, as I had some writing chores to tend to, namely yesterday’s blog post. While I write here and there over the course of the day, some things aren’t written until I decide what photos will be posted.

Ah, this is where everyone is. Well, not everyone who is someone, but a lot of those who are planning on being part of everyone. Huh? Crowds are lining up for their free COVID tests so they can go shopping, eat at outside tables, and otherwise find their social life. Once they have their results, provided they are negative, they’ll go line up to get in stores. Grocery stores don’t require negative tests, but almost everything else does. These test centers seem to be everywhere, from empty shops to tents, and again, I’d like to reiterate that this version of free is without any cost other than the patience to wait.

Guess what mistake I made while considering Anal Fantasy VII – Remake? I didn’t scan the QR code to see where it takes me, but do I really want to end up with some Goat.se-inspired images? Well, I guess I don’t mind because next time I walk by, I’ll be sure to bring up my phone, and if something gripping is found, I’ll share it.

I suppose this is as good a place to report on the fact that while I’ve spent five days in Frankfurt and a short while in Wiesbaden, I’ve not been able to find a single homeless encampment yet. As I criss-cross the city, I’m always on the lookout for obvious signs of homeless people, and although I’m confronted with beggars every day, I’ve not seen a single shopping cart of belongings, a car stuffed to the roof with what someone has left, a tent or makeshift shelter crafted from whatever trash can be scrounged from the area.

You have to remember that Frankfurt is like America’s New York City and Berlin like San Francisco, and yet, from my trip to Berlin two years ago or this visit to Frankfurt during a pandemic, there are no homeless shelters or, worse, homeless camps. This isn’t to say that I’ve not seen people who appear to be homeless based on certain physical aspects such as hygiene and clothing, but the visual signs planted across a city, such as in the United States, those I’ve not found yet.

This old jail has been abandoned for more than ten years, according to a couple of guys nearby who also told me that new condos are supposed to replace it, but nothing else could be found about its usage or origins. Strange that I only found one other photo on the internet of it.

Back when I was living here in Frankfurt, I felt that the markets were a kind of festive celebration of food and socializing as people came out to celebrate the sun and good weather. These open-air markets are experiential explorations on the way to culinary enlightenment, allowing shoppers to sample things that might not be at their local grocery. While out here at the public square, a glass of wine and some hot food likely help erase the blues that can be a part of a city that is often cold and wet and, in winter, has short days and long evenings. Maybe my relationship with food has an unhealthy, obsessive quality, and I need to idealize life around our gastronomical adventures, but it is such a large part of our existence that I think it deserves a pedestal.

This photo is for Caroline to share with her boss; she’ll understand the humor.

I’m sitting on Töngesgasse while Stephanie talks with Jutta. Prior to this, we were in an amazing vinegar shop called Frankfurter Fass, where at normal times, I’d be able to sample their offerings, but we are not in normal times. This is only a fraction of the vinegar they have on hand and doesn’t include the olive oils and liquors.

It took Stephanie and I a good long while to reach Jutta’s as Stephanie first grabbed some lunch, and we talked for a while. and then we walked on and took another break to talk some more. Finally, we arrived at a happy mother-in-law smiling at the sight of the two of us showing up at her door together. For the next three hours, we talked; well, we did take a few minutes to explain and then showed her some cat videos, you know, those ones with cucumbers, and then we shared Denver The Guilty Dog with her, too. The small egg custard sweet Stephanie gave to Jutta and I, didn’t carry me very long, and shortly before 6:00, I told the ladies I had to go eat because I had found a restaurant on Römer that was not only open but was serving German food. Not just any German food either; I needed Grüne Sosse, and that’s exactly what I had.

I was able to get a table under the awnings on the left at Zum Standesämtchen. I might have to mix things up sooner or later, but right now, I’m far away from growing tired of this Frankfurt special green sauce (Grüne Sosse) and Handkäse mit Musik. While I’ve described it before, I’ll share again: Handkäse (Hand Cheese) is called such because it’s formed by hand as opposed to scraping a cheese-like substance from between people’s fingers.

What do potatoes and bread have to do with this photo? Other than everything in Germany being built by people who live on these German staples, it was my consumption of these forbidden food items that, for me, the diabetic, requires immediate exercise to exorcise the demons of carb-rich, sugar-creating molecules that want to kill me. Walking helps keep them at bay, while people-watching has its own benefits, though I can’t make a claim of just how that helps me.

Then there’s the part of Frankfurt I love, the diversity. Sadly, most of the ethnic groups are just that, grouping. Rarely and usually only among young people do I see mixed ethnicities chatting and hanging out. Like America, Germany needs immigrants to fill the jobs that young Germans don’t want, but sadly, these new growing communities among their ranks are viewed with dismay and suspicion.

The cutest women here are experimenting with fashion, trying to find their own style. They are eclectic and often unique in their own way. How that’s squashed out of them is a function of this culture that I don’t understand. Is it their job requirements, their parents, or some genetic programming that quickly kills their curiosity? Of course, I can only compare this with my wife, who has managed to keep alive her sense of not meeting anyone else’s requirements but her own. With clothes from Sweden, Germany, America, Japan, India, and Croatia, she blends things with her old standards that also allow her a laziness that would see her also happy in a Gopnik style: Adidas and sunflower seeds, it’s a Slav thing.

Conformity by playing age roles here in Germany as opposed to America where, as people age, they try their hardest to play the role of appearing perpetually younger. On one side is the tragedy of people giving up the semblance of originality, and on the other are those who appear silly as they give up their middle-aged appearance for a more youthful version. [Photo of Turkish Gopniks]

After just five days back in Germany and for the first time in 26 years, I’m walking around studying Frankfurt with an eye towards examining what life is like here now. I mentioned earlier that older people are playing roles; when I arrived back in 1985, those who are currently 70 were only 34, and I saw them all around me every day. At concerts, restaurants, grocery stores, and generally out and about, they were not wearing such practical clothing. Like all of my generalizations, this is not a rule, but it is a thing. Maybe they are just trying to fit in with their elderly peers.

My day on the streets of Frankfurt is about done with the continuing effects of jet lag still being felt. I need to make a note to myself to return to the end of Zeil, not far from the old jail, as there are three restaurants next to one another that are extremely popular with the Turkish crowd, the wealthy Turks or at least those that appear so on a Saturday night.

This reminds me that I wanted to share one other observation about life in Frankfurt today: there’s nowhere to go out and party. This hasn’t stopped people’s need to socialize and, if lucky, find someone of potential romantic interest to talk with, so to that end, they are out en masse in the main shopping area here known as Zeil. From the packed Turkish restaurants near Konstablerwache to the square at Hauptwache, thousands of mostly young people meandered about. I was wondering if this was normal here every Saturday now or if this is a response to not being able to go clubbing later and staying out all night.

Well, I’m not looking for a club, nor a bar, just a bed and a good night of rest so I can get going in the morning to visit Worms.

Even before leaving Arizona last Monday, I had planned that today (Friday) I’d head out to Wiesbaden and that this is exactly what I’ll do. Since I only slept less than 5 hours last night, I have an abundance of time. I wonder when this all catches up with me. Hopefully, I won’t fall asleep on the train. Time to go.

The rust is showing in my train-catching skills as I walked right up to one leaving for Wiesbaden and failed to pay enough attention to details to get on board. Good thing the next train was only 15 minutes away, and I’m in no hurry. After a short while on the S9 – Richtung Wiesbaden, I was getting quite the shock; the next stop was Gateway Gardens, the old U.S. Military housing area outside the Frankfurt Airport.

My original plan was to spend the entire day out in Wiesbaden, but with the combination of poor weather still threatening rain and how much Jutta appears to enjoy my visits, I’m more than likely going to cut my time short so I can visit my mother-in-law before her dinner time.

While I’m inclined to put on my headphones and listen to music, I’m also enjoying the sound of the train accelerating, the doors beeping when they are about to shut, and the soothing voice of the person announcing stops along the route. Once we leave the airport station it’s nice to see that there are still woods next to the track, at least for a stretch until we reach Kelsterbach. Oh, I almost forgot to mention the sound of backpacks being taken off and set down.

I recognize nearly nothing at the Wiesbaden main train station. Again, the attempt to return to the familiar and celebrate nostalgia has been foiled. With that realization coming on so fast, the idea jumps into my head that maybe I should jump back on a train and beat a retreat, but I walk on.

I do love the sights here in Germany, and what’s better than red stone contrasting with deep blue skies? This is a corner of Wiesbaden’s main train station.

There’s nothing left in my memory of how I once navigated these streets, so I have to bring up a map and ask for a location that I know still exists, the Wartburg Theater and concert hall. When I see the street name Schwalbachstrasse, a ping of recognition rings loudly. I now try to recollect if there was a particular path I walked to the shops and clubs I’d visit out this way, but nothing looks like it used to. As I walk by this old church, I draw a blank and wonder if I’ve ever seen it before. With plenty of time, I figure I’ll walk back on a different route, and maybe that will kick my memory into recollecting where I’d been.

Now, on Schwalbachstrasse, I’m looking for a hint of an old club I used to love. Its name was Dschungel, a.k.a. the Jungle. A small place that was underground with more progressive/aggressive music compared to the Batschkapp or Cookies over in Frankfurt. I think I found the door with a sign about something to do with music now called The Basement; it kind of fits in the place my memory says it should, just down the street from the Wartburg! It sure seemed further away back then.

A mere few doors down is the Wartburg, where I saw my first two concerts in West Germany, Einsturzende Neubauten and Psychic TV. Those shows were quickly followed by Test Department and Front 242 in the same place. Formative memories for sure, but the experience of seeing the Wartburg again brings me nothing at all.

Seeing that I’m in town, I may as well follow my nose. I’m looking for a Döner shop, and I think I might know where it used to be. The neighborhood it’s in appears to be a kind of Middle East Quarter, and the shop is called Berlin Döner, but is it the one? I talked with the current owner, and he says it’s been here for 50 years, and he’s owned it for the past 13. It’s a good thing he doesn’t open until 10:00, giving me the chance to not ruin what, at one time, I thought was the best Döner I’d ever had. Now, it gets to remain that way.

Since I mentioned that this area had become a predominantly Middle East-influenced neighborhood: I’m reminded why immigration is such a great thing. If it wasn’t for Europe accepting so many immigrants, the diversity of culture here would not be developing the way it is. Yes, there are problems with integrating peoples of other countries, but what it ultimately offers is indispensable. There must be a good dozen small Middle Eastern groceries in the area, while the Harput and Günay families have opened a serious number of businesses along these streets.

What kind of neighborhood has a dozen barbershops? Apparently, this one. My experiences years ago remind me not to be so quick taking photos in places where a bunch of men with black hair and leather jackets are outside smoking and drinking coffee. I had learned pretty quickly after being run off a couple of times by angry people hollering at me. So, I made sure that those around me could see I wasn’t trying to take anyone’s photo. Just what original French tacos are I have no idea, but the logo suggests it’s ice cream. If they were open, I’d walk right in and ask for a carne asada taco and see how far I get.

After a brief couple of hours here, I feel that I’m ready to leave. While the architecture is different than that of Frankfurt, the rest of the businesses are nearly identical. Not much is open and I can’t imagine what else might be found if I continued exploring the city center, which is actually quite small.

By the time I reach the Hauptbahnhof, I’m hungry, but before I find food, I spot a man I’d seen earlier not far from the Wartburg screaming at someone. I figured it was a racial insult at the time, but seeing this guy here, I thought I would get confirmation. Getting his attention, it was apparent he was still a bit agitated, but realizing I had a real question, he asked if he could help me. So I asked him what happened back at the heavy confrontation and he told me that his issue was the man who asked him for money. He also explained that this is one of the young men who are part of the Beggar Mafia that fans out from Frankfurt to beg in the surrounding towns. He sees these people at parties all the time, arriving in expensive Audis doing loads of cocaine. Well, now I know.

Regarding my hunger, a Döner & Pizza shop was close at hand, so I nabbed a chicken Döner as that seems to be the popular choice these days. I’m guessing the meat is cheaper and so they go with that. I should have gone for a traditional Döner while I was in the Middle Eastern Quarter. My stomach is full; I’m on my way to Frankfurt a lot earlier than I could have guessed. The sun is shining, and now I’m overdressed. Here’s to hoping it’s not raining and cold back in Frankfurt.

Whoa, it’s beautiful in Frankfurt, and it’s drawing people out.

This was my view in the opposite direction.

Needing a coffee and a sweet, I revisited Kleinmarkthalle, picking up a couple of hundred grams of cherries and an oat milk latte. Exiting, I saw the Cuban busker I ran into the other day while it was raining; we nodded hello to each other.  I threw him a few Euros and sat nearby, sipping my coffee and eating cherries. Life is good.

A solar halo touching the cross of the Frankfurt Cathedral; I can’t say I’ve ever seen a solar halo or sun dog in Frankfurt. I’ll take this as being a first and that it portends good things.

I want to photograph everything in the city on my way to Jutta’s, as who knows if I’ll get another sunny day in Frankfurt? Just kidding, as bad as the weather is here, I know there will be many more beautiful days as we move into June.

Half-timbered old buildings, socially distanced people, and blue skies, what more could be wished for?

A photo of two not-socially distanced people enjoying it all is what could be wished for and realized.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Jutta along the Main River. We just finished crossing Eiserner Steg (Iron Bridge), with Jutta telling me it’s been a long time since she had last been on this side of the river. Well, we need proof then that you made it over here. I know; let’s take your photo with those two cherubs so others might know of the day that One-Eyed Jutta crossed the Main River. Why she felt the need to grope its butt is a mystery.

By the way, as my mother-in-law tells it in her thick German pirate accent, “The river was churning dark and cold back during the winter of ’42 when my parrot attempted to pluck my eye from its socket. I pulled that still-connected eye from the beak of what would soon be a dead bird and shoved it back in my skull; I am a doctor, after all, but damned if I’d ever see from it again. That’s how I went blind in my left eye, and it’s the tale as I know it.”

Okay, that’s not what Jutta told me, nor is it how she lost sight in that eye, but so what? We were out here to laugh and have fun.

Buying Jutta an ice cream is a surefire way to have fun. I had a coffee and sparkling water as we just continued to sit in the sun. The day has turned out beautiful but I’m starting to melt. From freezing cold to hot from one day to the next. People watching was working out well with all the Frankfurters needing to leave their caves to soak up all of this vitamin D. After nearly four hours with my mother-in-law, it was time to take her back home and for me to head back to my side of town.

But first, I needed to get food out of the way. Going to dinner proved a bit difficult as I’d originally planned on dropping in on Sachsenhausen for an outdoor seating establishment serving good old traditional German fare, but nope, not tonight; they are all still closed. Back across the river, I was hungry enough not to be too choosy and looked in on a place called Naïv, which has lots of beer, Handkäse, and burgers. Well, at least they have “Hand Cheese”.

Pulling out my computer to write some of this down is super awkward as everyone else here is having beers and meeting with friends, while I’m the single solo visitor and the only one with a giant digital device open. Spoke too soon as another English speaker across from me just opened hers. Then, in a flash, my dinner is delivered, and so it turns out I have no time to write anyway. I’ll definitely feel better putting this thing away.

Returned to Saalburgstrasse early tonight as I’m exhausted. Didn’t sort much other than books, and I spotted Jutta’s driver’s license from 1957. She was only 22 years old in this image and ten years away from giving birth to her second daughter, my wife, Caroline. Jutta had already lived through ten years of war and 12 years of recovery and rebuilding following the conclusion of World War II. Her mom was bitter at her losses, including her cherished son, and marriage to someone she didn’t really love was on the horizon.

On one hand, the woman in the image above is just another random human being, but more importantly, she was becoming the person who would most influence my best friend. Even after ten visits to America and the over 30 years I’ve known Jutta, I can’t ever really know her from the formative years she struggled to try and make sense of a chaotic society that was forced into broad sweeping changes that would alter the culture of Germany and have the Germans looking deep within.

From her books, I found The Book of Mormon, gifted to her by a friend named Marianna back in 1988. An old book about San Francisco and a couple about various Native American tribes were buried in her collection. They all appear to pre-date her trips to America unless she bought yellowed old copies from a used book store at some time, but based on her other books, it looks like Jutta always bought new copies of what she was interested in. Stranger yet is an old “School Atlas” from 1927 with markings on the map of the United States. Notes on the edges of the map point to things about the Ozarks, tides, and islands, things a student might write as reminders from their lessons, but the markings that draw a line between Denver and Phoenix are the most curious.

I cannot believe that Jutta would mark up an heirloom that might have belonged to her father in order to remind herself of her last trip to America when she flew into Denver, and I picked her up for the drive to Phoenix. Maybe she did, but I like the mystery of believing that someone out of her past was foreshadowing a page out of Jutta’s future.

No longer able to keep my eyes open and brain reeling from exhaustion I was able to fall asleep at 10:30 and sleep all the way through to morning when I picked up again to finish this post.

Four hours of sleep wasn’t going to be enough, but waking at 2:30 in the morning was when the cock crowed in my head. By 5:30, I started feeling I’d finally be able to snag a couple more hours of shut-eye, but sleeping in until after 10:00 was not my plan. I was now running late and needed to call Jutta to let her know I wasn’t going to be showing up between 9:00 and five minutes ago. She told me not to worry and enjoy a nice breakfast along the way.

I was momentarily distracted by those things that were precisely the reason for my being in Germany, the effects left behind by Jutta as she went into assisted living. Strange how when she lived here, I never really gave a second thought to what she’d amassed over her lifetime, but looking over her artifacts now, I start to see part of her story arch based on literature she’s read, though I have no way of giving it a proper timeline. Already late; I have to save this for later and get going.

I’ll travel this path a few times during my stay, walk down Saalburgstrasse to Bergerstrasse, and get on the U-Bahn to areas further on. The bakery on the corner winked at me, telling me it had quick calories to jump-start my energy supply. Nothing like an Erdbeerplunder (strawberry Danish) to do just that. As I left the shop and noticed that the Wednesday open-air market was taking place, I had to at least check out some small corner of it. Good thing I did so as I was able to alleviate some of my guilt of indulging in those empty diabetic-unfriendly sugars by balancing it with a grilled Thuringer sausage.

Standing there on Bergerstrasse, I got to thinking about how many people were just launching into German conversations with me. Thirty years ago, during the Cold War and with so many Americans in occupied West Germany, I felt that the population had developed a natural sense of who the Americans were, even when bearded with long hair as I had been during much of my time here. Today, that insight has faded and German is once again the only official language of this country.

People are patiently waiting outside shops where signs instruct shoppers that only one customer at a time is allowed in. While in line, they wear their masks. On the street, it’s a mixed bag of some people wearing masks and others not. I cannot find a pattern, as only those who’ve been vaccinated are allowed certain privileges, and  I’m not sure they eschew masks. The reason I’m struggling is that only those over a certain age have been able to get the vaccine, and mask-wearing does not align with people’s ages.

There are a lot of elderly people in this neighborhood which reminds me of the likelihood that someday I’ll need to stop driving a car and that living in Europe would be a possible good solution to that. But then you see these seniors shuffling by slowly with walkers and canes; how they also balance the bags of food, they are out collecting looks challenging. Something else seen but not certain is that they are alone, and my knowledge of Germany suggests they may very well be all living alone. Doubt looks to creep into my thoughts of being anywhere that will be easier on an old person. I’m considering this as I see the old person creeping out of me.

Nobody is making eye contact with me; there are no silent nods acknowledging each other’s existence as in America. The beggars are out, and so are the permanently drunk who, strangely enough, still wear masks over their loud and aggressive conversations with the person walking next to them or simply talking to the universe in their lament about all that’s worthy to broadcast to everyone in earshot.

Not having to translate much of what I hear, I’m just an observer traveling with my own cultural baggage, able to concentrate on the details likely unseen by those living here. We grow a thick skin to filter out the intrusions and construct the life we want to have in an anonymous society while the visitor is often overwhelmed by all that is new to their senses, but this is not new to me. On the contrary, my moments here are quite familiar, though often far from my memories, as they don’t really need revisiting while living in Arizona.

As though I weren’t already late, I’ve been sitting in the U-Bahn station, maybe 15 meters underground writing the above as train after trains come and go. I note this just before hitting save to board the next train so I can finally drop in on Jutta. It’s noon, and the little things keep arriving in my mind.

Maybe it’s because I’m so late getting underway, but I’m not seeing many young people on the train, or maybe they are homeschooling? What I am picking up on is the idea that more people are looking directly at each other. Maybe their masks have them feeling like they are hidden behind a barrier that doesn’t allow others to notice their eyes observing them, but I’m noticing. An older lady with the squintiest of eyes and I are looking directly at each other while I hold her gaze somewhat astonished that a German is making eye contact. Funny how, on one of my last visits to Germany, I noticed how smartphones were used to lock riders’ views to staring at their device, thus easily avoiding finding somewhere else to look while on public transportation. What is it about the noonday crowd that is hardly using phones at all?

In minutes, I’m getting off at Dom/Römer, where it’s now raining. Over at city hall, family and friends of about 15 people are in a celebratory mood as a couple was just married. Signed in at Lebenshaus and given an FFP2 mask this time, I was let into Jutta’s room while she finished lunch. She and I were supposed to go out for coffee today, but with the cold, wet weather, I’m opting to stay in for my two-hour visit. Right now, her room is sparse, though she’s supposed to get a piece of furniture delivered this Friday, where some of her belongings will continue to live with her.

The reason an attendant let me into Jutta’s room while she was at lunch was that I’m not allowed to sit with the other tenants, probably due to pandemic precautions or maybe also trying to get the others to socialize a few times a day, seeing they are all neighbors.

Only about a half-hour after I arrived, a message from Caroline chimed on my phone: what’s she doing up at 4:00 in the morning? She set an alarm so she could go out and see a lunar eclipse. This allowed the three of us to have another video chat and for me to see her beautiful face smiling at me. And while I finally had slept well, I’m yawning now, so Jutta and I are going to head around the corner to a nearby ice cream cafe for a coffee…and maybe a treat.

Nope, that didn’t happen. While there was a break in the poor weather that allowed the thought of going out, from the brief time we decided to go out until we got downstairs, the rain came on a bit heavy again. We dipped back inside, but it wasn’t relenting, so we were postponing until a sunny day came along. After a couple of hours of visiting, I was once again out in the city.

Now in the rain by myself, I needed to find a bite to eat and a coffee. That was easy enough, but as is the case everywhere here, there’s nowhere to sit down, so you pop around the corner, pull your mask down, and eat once you decide just what you want.

Not yet satisfied, I remembered the sausages I’d seen at Kleinmarkthalle yesterday and grabbed one of them; it was a dried pork and paprika shriveled sausage of a thing. With the rain continuing, I lingered here at the market, paying a little more attention to each vendor than I did yesterday. It wasn’t far from there to Konstablerwache, where I knew I could find a seat underground so I could jot these things down and stay dry and warm. How strange this situation of being in Europe without a cafe, wifi, or restaurant to sit down and take a break.

I emphasize being warm as I insisted when leaving Phoenix that it would be warm enough soon enough in the Frankfurt region. I knew that I could deal with a few days of rain and cold, so I could leave my bulky fleece at home. Now comes the mea culpa that Caroline was right; I should have brought it. Also, I brought a rain jacket, but I’m waiting until I really need it. It seems like I’ve really needed it both of these days, so I’m at a loss why it’s not with me. Damn, I hope my wife wasn’t also right about bringing sunblock [or your hat, maybe? – the wife].

In this cavernous underground train station, the subway is yet further below; I’m sitting next to the coming and going S-Bahns. These trains are the much longer ones that travel between regions such as between Frankfurt and Wiesbaden, Darmstadt, and Hanau. Normally, when I’ve been down here, I’m waiting for a specific train so I don’t really pay attention to the ones I’m not going to ride but instead count the minutes until mine shows up. Sitting here at 4:00 p.m., I’m watching trains pass through at a rate of what seems to be one every 60 to 90 seconds. By the way, not all subways of the U-Bahn system perform service strictly below ground but also find themselves out on streets, such as the U5 that used to bring Caroline and me home after visiting the downtown shopping area.

My coffee is not having the desired effect, or jet lag is simply chewing through my waking energy faster than I can muster it. Judging by people’s jackets who are walking past me, it’s still raining up there, and while I have an umbrella, there’s really nowhere else to park myself…unless I catch a train over to Hauptbahnhof that could promise more people watching and maybe somewhere to sit that’s not so far under the surface of the earth.

I’m also likely in danger of dehydrating as, with limited toilet facilities available to the public, I’m reluctant to drink. I’m guessing that for Germans, the idea is to get out to pick up what you need and go right home. I’m not giving in to that, as it’s far more interesting out here where beggars can go by asking for coins or smokes.

Wandering around upstairs, still at Konstablerwache contemplating walking to the Hauptbahnhof, I spotted some open, and importantly, free toilets, which means I now have a goto location for that necessity. With the rain taking a break, I opted for a walk down Zeil and learned about a new way of shopping: scan a QR code to make an appointment to enter the shop at a later time or date. There’s obviously zero tolerance for ambiguity about how many people are in a shop, so a system was created to make shopping a little easier.

The respite from the rain didn’t last long, and my idea that I might walk to the main train station has been dashed so down the stairs I go into the Hauptwache train station.

By and large, I find Germans to be an educated populace with a giant appetite to experience the entire breadth of their freedoms. They love their long vacations, free university system, and rich cultural offerings in nearly all mid to large-sized cities. They know world history, not just their own country’s history, and they are pretty well aware of global politics. Yes, they pay high taxes in order to have a very effective social safety net, but they are of their own mind and demand justice within their borders, and that sense of doing the right thing often extends well into Europe. With that as background, I’ve not seen a single person in the train station not wearing a mask.

Train after train passes me on its way into the station, and everyone I glance at is wearing a prescribed mask. They are not wearing gators or cloth masks; they have KN95 or medical masks on, period. I’m sure if I sit here long enough or maybe if I rode the train multiple times a day, I’d see the occasional offender but not once in the underground area or on the trains themselves. It should go without saying that it’s the exact same in the shops, but on the street, it’s definitely a mixed bag.

Just as I finish writing the above, my observations are proven wrong. A drunk man took up a seat about a dozen seats away from me and has gone to sleep; his mask is down under his chin now. Another guy further down, suffering from Tourettes or schizophrenia, is wildly gesticulating in almost violent movements, but he is quiet. Watching him, I realize there are two pigeons down here at Hauptwache with us, and maybe his head movements are trying to communicate with the birds. While not likely, I’ve got nothing other than my uneducated guesses to explain him. Time to board one of these trains to make my way out to Heddernheim.

What a hodgepodge of weather in such a small region. Emerging from the bowels of the subway system, the sun is out here making me wonder if it had always been shining on this side of Frankfurt.

After arriving at my in-laws, seen above, they assured me that just two hours before my arrival, it was hailing out here and the sky had just recently cleared up. We sat down at the dining room table and started to gab. Along the way, Klaus made dinner. Well, I got leftovers, but let me tell you that these were no ordinary leftovers; this was Grüne Sosse (Green Sauce) which is a famous Frankfurt specialty you will not find anywhere else on earth. With a handful of boiled potatoes and a couple of hard-boiled eggs, this dish of cold ground herbs in yogurt sauce is an absolutely perfect preparation that takes the simple and transforms into wonderful.

The conversation continued as we lost all track of time…

…It was only minutes before 11:00 p.m. as I walked over to pick up the train heading back into the city center.

The trains run late into the night, but they are not as frequent as during the day; this gave me more time to spend looking for things in these tunnels I might have missed on every previous visit I’ve made. Heading to an important meeting for work, and your mask is getting dingy? Just stop at a nearby vending machine, and between the gummy candy and chewing gum, you can buy a fresh FFP2 mask for a couple of Euros.

I’m not alone out here, which makes me feel better as on my way into Germany I wasn’t sure how enforced the curfew is. I should have known that it was a recommendation and not something that turned people into criminals for needing to keep moving between places.

A major source of entertainment for me in the subways has always been the sections of walls dedicated to advertising upcoming cultural events. The industry surrounding the printing and posting of these large, widely distributed missives must have taken a serious hit during the pandemic, as there’s little to read with large parts of the dedicated spaces empty. This poster, at least in my translation, captured this perfectly, “Archive for Nothing.” With nothing going on and nowhere to go, this otherwise white space is offering you a glimpse into nothing.

Seeing how I no longer live off Glauburgstrasse on Gluckstrasse, I won’t be taking the U5 home tonight but instead boarded the next train, the U4, to Jutta’s old apartment. The train cars are quiet, no revelers are partying with open bottles of alcohol, nor have I seen a single homeless person or beggar on the trains yet.

I didn’t shoot very many photos today, and I won’t know for years until I read this on that future date if what I captured and shared achieved something worthwhile, but this was the best I could do. Finally, while this was only my second day in Germany, I feel as though I’ve already been here for many more days. Such is the impact of having our senses moving to fully alert from casually aware.