Fluid Borders

Town Centre: Kehl, Germany
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On one of my Mondays off, I hop across the German border for the first time by way of a short tram ride to Kehl Bahnhof. It’s a nippy, metallic grey late autumn afternoon. At first, under these unflattering conditions Kehl seems like any other non-descript European town. I play with the idea of catching the train to a nearby destination. Not so fast chica. Give it a chance.

I stumble across a shopping precinct and quaint streets with pastel-coloured houses.

Now, I’m a functional as-and-when shopper. I’m no proponent of retail therapy; far too frugal for that. Yet, Strasbourg’s comparatively steep prices have temporarily turned me into an avid bargain hunter. I’ve heard conflicting things about shopping in Kehl. Some say it’s truly bon marché compared to its French neighbour, others (chiefly my colleague Claudia) say the prices have been hiked since the tram route was extended. 

For household goods and cosmetics, Kehl is good value for money. They have a 1 euro store. Poundland, eat your heart out (the only equivalent I’ve seen anywhere in France is the 2 euro shop). The quality of Lidl and Aldi* is more recognisable than the over-priced and understocked French travesties. There's even a Woolworths (sadly sans legendary pic'n'mix). Such silly but familiar pleasures nonetheless gladden my soul. I trust that even the German version of cheap tat is still of sound quality.

*I have since revised this opinion following further visits. It seems nothing equals UK Aldi and Lidl bargains.

It’s to be a short trip this time. I have a couple of important, accommodation-related appointments later that afternoon. I don’t want my first ever Teutonic foray to be spent exclusively in the shops. On the way back to the tram station, as is my habit, I make a detour into an attractive-looking church building I have passed earlier. A large image of Martin Luther’s stern profile hovers overhead, on a banner celebrating the quincentenary of the Reformation. 

The classic facade belies its unexpectedly modern interior.  An organist rehearses appropriately transcendent, contrapuntal pieces. Being more or less a Baroque ignoramus, my guess is Bach; a presumption based as much on my current geography as the composer’s signature sound. In any case it’s one of those blessed and peaceful moments that I couldn’t have planned and for that very reason, I am all the more grateful.