German Excursions

Considering how close I am to France’s Teutonic neighbour, I haven’t yet made as many trips across the border as might be expected. Shopping for household goods in Kehl doesn’t really count.

I admit, I’m not a fan of the language nor the often abrupt mannerisms, neither has Germany previously been high on my travel wish-list. But it would be a waste not to take advantage of Strasbourg’s geographical position as a nexus to other European states.  God knows, for sanity’s sake I need the occasional change of scene.

The picture at work has been less than rosy, particularly as far as senior management is concerned. I’m on edge, making more mistakes than I should which has had a vicious cycle effect. As much as I’m grateful for the opportunity and that the recent increased work load staves off boredom, I find I’m not making the most of my wider skill set.

Thankfully, I can look forward to a day spent in Freiburg with kindred spirit Coral. We’ve stayed in touch since meeting at a writing workshop and her Christmas visit.  It’s nevertheless taken us three months to coordinate diaries for my long overdue trip to her adopted home.  It’s a relatively painless coach journey save for a near-miss with border patrol, after I happen to forget my passport. The skies overhead vary from an inauspicious grey to intermittent bursts of sunshine.  Coral meets me at the station and we head straight to what she tells me is the best vantage point in town; overlooking some of the expanse of the Black Forest.  She points out an arched bridge opposite, explaining the foolhardy Freiburg tradition of clambering on top to enjoy the view in the warmer months. She confesses she’s had a go and the descent was terrifying.  I don’t fancy it. The morbid thought crosses my mind that the potentially suicidal could be mistaken as just another bridge-climbing adventurer. Hmm.

Coral shows me around the student district; architecture old(ish) and new, including the University library which is one of the largest in Europe. She’s not impressed, however, given that the building has had many structural issues in its short existence.  In a student café and then at a Vegan restaurant over delicious falafel dishes, we while away several enjoyable hours encouraging each other’s writing efforts and exchanging doleful pseudo-romance anecdotes. There’s comfort in not being a complete outlier in this regards.  Before I know it, the day has gone. There’s just enough time for Coral to take me to some more of her favourite haunts and city landmarks including the cathedral. Although the exterior has nothing on Strasbourg’s Notre Dame, the interior is more inviting than its French counterpart. Coral adores the Gothic architecture of the region, taking a special interest in the stain-glass windows of these sacred Orthodox Christian spaces. She points out the difference between the attractive mosaic-style glasswork of Freiburg cathedral compared to Strasbourg’s more traditional design. I confess, I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed.  The sun is setting as we approach the coach station. I had concerns that having to entertain me all day would take it out of Coral.  Not so.

Anderson .Paak & The Free Nationals

That Saturday it’s back across the border again to see Anderson.Paak and The Free Nationals in Frankfurt. Not having yet visited this major German city, I decide to make a weekend of it. I opt again for the scenic coach route, arriving with a good few hours to spare despite a 20 minute delay. I lose at least three quarters of an hour trying to get my bearings. Dragging my suitcase around, I pass two men urinating in a doorway in broad daylight. So much for German cleanliness.

I locate the station entrance and the information desk. My Google Maps printout tells me one thing (complicated route to my AirBnb), my host tells me another (hassle-free, direct tram journey).   At the information desk I am informed that what would have been a simple commute has been disrupted by a demonstration and suspended public transport. On the way to purchase a day pass from the ticket machine, I call one of the AirBnb hosts. His English falters on the phone. According to his online searches, normal transport has resumed, contrary to what I've just been told. I am at a loss. Before taking my chances with the rococo Google route, I head back to tourist information figuring their advice would be more trustworthy.  I explain I don’t use a smartphone. I give the rep the details of my accommodation. Despite her previous reluctance, she prints off instructions that seem pretty straightforward. Bloody Google. I knew they couldn’t be trusted.

Neither it turns out, can she. She sends me on a wild goose chase to Offenbach. 

My day ticket doesn’t work here, I learn from a bemused bus driver following a frustrating conversation, neither of us speaking the other’s language.

I pay nearly 3€ for a very short bus ride and arrive in what I think is the locality of my AirBnb. I’m unable to find the building. I ask an elderly man who whips out his phone- apparently to help- but then disappears down the road. I circle a police station before going in and asking for help from a kindly stranger who happens to speak English. Despite being in even more of a pickle (lost wallet) she’s keen to assist.

It’s dusk by the time we locate the block of flats and an hour away from doors-opening.  Unable to find the correct doorbell, I call my host again.  

I’m right outside.

I hear movement on the end of the line; doors opening and steps. It's not corresponding with my visuals.

‘I can’t see you…’

He says something about Offenbach.

Yes, I’m in Offenbach.

‘No. The address is Johannplatz in Frankfurt, not Offenbach’

No!!!

Thank God a bus back to the local station pulls up just in time. On this occasion the driver takes pity on me. It’s a free ride.  After another frenzied call to my host, I make it back to Frankfurt thanks to some helpful English-speaking strangers at the station.  Mercifully, the tram service has resumed. It’s a mad rush back to the Airbnb to dump my small suitcase; back out; another frustratingly long wait for a tram; a journey that doesn’t seem to end; another train and then a 10 minute walk to the venue, 

Jahrhunderthalle. The streets are eerily quiet. I see one other pedestrian, apparently on his way to the same destination. The lack of other revellers is cause for concern. Approaching the venue, I hear music and start running in my heels.  I half-expect to be turned away at the door. It is Germany after all; rivalled perhaps only by Japan for punctuality and efficiency. Maybe 8pm doesn't mean 'doors open' but 'showtime'.

St Bartholomew's Cathedral: Frankfurt, Germany

Half-9 approx. The show is well underway. I sheepishly make my way to my seat, irritated at being an unwitting stereotype.  I ask the gentleman to my right when the show started. 15 minutes ago, thereabouts. That would be roughly three songs. Not terrible, as long as I haven’t missed any favourites. I daren’t ask the set list so far.

My annoyance fades as I’m swept up in the dynamic performance. I don’t care for Paak’s choice of fruity language but he puts on a fantastic show.  I have a very good view of the stage and ample room to manouevre thanks to a few empty seats. We sincerely get our groove on in the stalls. 

I have one full day left in Frankfurt. The City is grimmer than I anticipated but I’ve seen one or two attractive sites en route by tram.  After a rare Sunday lie-in, I take a scenic stroll to and from St. Bartholomew’s cathedral in the town centre. Later that evening, I'll explore some of the City by hopping on random trams before dinner. I’m wearing a red dress and leather jacket, the combination of which emphasise certain assets more than intended. Several men make that known to me. One fellow quizzes me on why I’m on my own.

There’s no good way to answer that. I respond, charily.

He offers to accompany me. When I decline, he tells me to reconsider; three times.

It’s my experience that European men-even those from the more subdued Nordic countries-are more direct, not to mention less conservative, than their Anglo-Saxon cousins.

The interior of the Cathedral is inviting and surprisingly modern. As usual I'm in pursuit of stillness. Slim chance, being a Sunday. It's a busy tourist period. Whilst seeking solace in the vestibule some Oriental tourists start taking pictures as if I’m part of the attraction. When my consternation fails to dissuade them, I make a hasty exit.

Soundtrack: Cover Art, selections from Venice + Malibu by Anderson .Paak.