Teutonic Twilight Zone – The Façade of Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #67)

Our time in Frankfurt was limited and growing more so by the hour. We would spend just sixteen hours in the city. Over two-thirds of that time was taken up with transiting to and from the airport, checking in and out of the hotel, sleeping, repacking, and then returning to the airport for departure. The six hours we spent trying to discover Frankfurt turned into a blur. A Saturday evening and early Sunday morning were not optimum times for tourism. My friend Steve and I made the best of our limited amount of time. We wandered and window shopped the city. That brought us to the wall outside the Old Jewish Cemetery, not once, but twice. We found darkness and gloom on either side of midnight.

All the king’s men – With Charlamagne in Frankfurt

The Romerberg – Missing Persons Report
Frankfurt is one of the largest and most prosperous cities in Germany. On our final morning it did not feel that way. The lack of noise was unsettling. After Istanbul, which never went to sleep, Frankfurt felt somnolescent. I had never been in a city so quiet. Having the city to ourselves was creepy. Where was everyone at? Over 700,000 people call Frankfurt home. Several million more can be found in the surrounding area. They had all gone into hiding. The sight of a single person in the Altstadt (Old Town) was a notable occurrence. There is very little I remember of our whirlwind walk around the area, but we did take photos. These have helped me recover bits of memory about that silent Sunday morning when the Main River was as gray as the sky. We wandered through the thin mist that filled the air and hoped to see something of interest.

Soon we were standing in the Romerberg, Frankfurt’s town hall square, which has been the setting for numerous historic events, including the coronations of ten Holy Roman Emperors and the annual Frankfurt trade fairs. It was also the scene for one of the Nazi’s book burnings in a city with the world’s most famous book fair. All that was history this morning because the Romerberg was deserted. I found it difficult to imagine anything famous happening. Without people and sunshine, the Romerberg looked forlorn. There was scarcely any activity. I found it impossible to feel inspired or enthusiastic. My first morning in Germany and the only thing to greet me was a statue of Charlemagne. At least, Charlemagne was a stand in for all the missing people. That was except for the one who took a photo of Steve and I standing in front of Charlemagne’s statue.

New age – Romer (City Hall) in Frankfurt

New Age – Not So Old Europe
When I visited Frankfurt, I was living in Wall, South Dakota. A small town of 800 people on the High Plains of America. Wall was founded in 1907 and had recently celebrated its one hundredth anniversary. Europeans sometimes say that the United States does not have much history. This is a reference to its relative youth when compared to Europe. The length of American history pales in comparison to a place like Frankfurt. The city was first mentioned in 794 when Charlemagne held the Council of Frankfurt to decide religious issues of the day. The depth and breadth of history in Frankfurt dwarfed the town where I lived. Twelve hundred years of history versus one hundred years of history does not make for much of a comparison. The same can be said for the rest of America. Frankfurt is eight hundred years older than any other town in the United States. And yet, Frankfurt is also much younger.

I should have been surrounded by medieval buildings while standing in the Romerberg. Instead, the “historic buildings” had been constructed during the last half of the 20^th century. Old Europe hardly existed in the Altstadt, at least not in its original form. Several of the Romerburg’s most historic looking buildings were constructed – or should I say reconstructed – in my own lifetime. That is because the Romerberg had been given the equivalent of a facelift. Between 1942 – 1944, the Allies attacked the city from the air. The Altstadt could not escape the damage. The losses were incalculable. Prior to the war, Frankfurt had the best-preserved medieval core of any German city. Its collection of half-timbered buildings was a famous draw for tourists. Medieval Frankfurt was incinerated after eight Allied bombing raids on the city. Following the war, various reconstructions of the most important buildings took place. Some these were the buildings Steve and I stood gazing at.

While it is important to keep historic buildings in good condition, from an aesthetic point of view that can be problematical. Many of the buildings on the Romerburg were stylistic throwbacks that maintained historical verisimilitude. Their aesthetic qualities were a different matter to me. The buildings made the Middle Ages look like they happened last Monday. The German rage for cleanliness, neatness, and order was on full display. Surely the original building showed some wear and tear. History was never neat or clean, but no one would know that by looking at these buildings. There was a Disney aspect to these new old buildings. An ideal that looked less like reality and more like fantasy. I am always suspicious of anything old in excellent condition. Time weathers buildings. Fresh coats of paint can cover blemishes, but beneath the makeup lies the true character of a building. There was something soulless to the point of surreal in the Romerburg.

Teutonic Twilight Zone – Romer (City Hall) on a sunny day (Credit: Thomas Wolf)

A Greater Truth – Between The Real & Unreal
Despite my misgivings about the Romerburg, I must admit that the buildings were tastefully reconstructed. I am sure they adhered as closely as possible to the originals. The Romerburg is an admirable attempt to overcome the destructive legacy of war. Frankfurt rose from the rubble, not better than ever, but newer. Reconstructions and reproductions cannot bring back the past. All they can really do is represent a semblance of it. The Romerburg was a Teutonic Twilight Zone, a place where the real and unreal were difficult to distinguish from one another. It also revealed a greater truth. The past can be recreated, but it can never be resurrected.

Click here for: Eternal Trip – The Never-ending Journey (Istanbul & Everything After #68)

On The Outside – Frankfurt’s Holocaust (Istanbul & Everything After #66)

A superficial experience can be just as enlightening as a deeper dive. Steve and I only had the evening and next morning to see something of Frankfurt. We decided that almost anything of historical interest would do. There was no time for planning, only spontaneity. We did not have enough time to do much other than have a superficial experience. There was no itinerary to follow. Neither did we have a guidebook. I was fine with that. Reading about all the places we did not have time to visit would have been depressing. It would also have complicated matters. Our only plan was to wander the streets in and around the Altstadt. There would be plenty to see since Frankfurt has been at the heart of Europe for centuries, but we had no idea where to start. That turned out to be the best plan.

On the outside – Entrance to the Old Jewish Cemetery in Frankfurt

Jews & Germany – A Sense of Unease
There are two things I always think of when it comes to Germany, World War II, and the Holocaust. This is because they were the first things I ever learned about the country besides that it was filled with stocky men and buxom women wearing suspenders. Aspects of the Third Reich (1933 – 1945) were covered on countless occasions in school, books, and movies. I still recall the first time I became aware of the Holocaust. It was almost my bedtime when the opening of a television movie showed train cars transporting Jews to a concentration camp. I did not need a history lesson to know something was very wrong with that scene. I remember my mother commenting on it and then my memory goes blank. The fact that I still remember that scene shows the powerful impression it made upon me.

Fast forward thirty years later and another memory escapes me. I cannot remember exactly how Steve and I ended up standing outside an entrance to the Old Jewish Cemetery in Frankfurt, but a couple of hours after setting foot in Germany this was where we stood. I still have the pictures to prove it. An eerily incandescent moment with yellow light, a stone wall, and iron gate. The gate was closed so we could not step inside. Neither did we want to on this occasion. It was our first and only in Germany and we had happened upon a Jewish cemetery. Anyone with the slightest historical consciousness would feel the gravity of this location. There was a disconcerting poignancy in coming upon this cemetery and being unable or unwilling to access it.

A lack of access could be a metaphor for what the Holocaust did to the history of Jews in Germany. Accessing Germany’s Jewish history without first passing through the Holocaust is impossible. Anything Jewish in Germany is haunted by it. While I have trouble believing in ghosts, I do believe in history. They might just be the same thing. Standing outside Frankfurt’s Old Jewish cemetery, the Jewish history was so real, you could feel it. Adding to the tension was a frieze that stretched along the cemetery’s outer wall. This would not be the last we visited it.

Shedding light – Börneplatz Memorial Site in Frankfurt

Last Rites – A Vanished Community
The next morning, we returned to view the Neuer Borneplatz Memorial Site. Specifically, we went to see its most arresting aspect. The frieze of 11,908 blocks, each of which contains the name of a Jew associated with Frankfurt and who was murdered or died because of the Holocaust. The blocks are attached to the cemetery’s outer wall along Borneplatz. They are an arresting enumeration of all those who lost their lives. Frankfurt was known for its large, prosperous, and vibrant prewar Jewish community. Ludwig Landmann, the city’s mayor before the Third Reich took power, was Jewish. He ended up fleeing the country for the Netherlands, where friends helped him hide during the war. Tragically, he died afterwards in the “Hunger Winter” of 1945 which was a direct result of the war. After taking power in 1933, the Nazis sought to obliterate every trace of Jewish life in the city. During Kristallnacht (Night of Broken Glass) in 1938, synagogues in the city were destroyed. Street names were changed, Jews were placed in a ghetto, and later deported. Many of Frankfurt’s Jews ended up in the Warsaw and Lodz ghettos in Poland. They would later be sent to extermination camps where they were murdered.

An entire community vanished because of this genocide. The same process was repeated all over Germany and the areas occupied by the German Army during World War II. Looking at the seemingly endless rows of metal blocks in the frieze boggled my mind. They might as well have stretched to infinity. Each block represented one unique individual whose story was much more than what happened to them in the Holocaust. Their lives were taken from them in the most tragic manner possible. No one was spared, whether they were rich or poor, young or elderly, women, children, babies, every one of them died due to the policies promulgated by the Nazi regime. 

Infinite tragedy – Börneplatz Memorial Site in Frankfurt

The Message – A Harsh Reality
The most unfathomable aspect of the memorial was that the 11,908 Frankfurt Jews it represented were a tiny portion of the six million Jews who died in the Holocaust. Even when individual’s names are given such as at this memorial, there is no way for the human mind to comprehend the immense loss. There have been other tragedies in European history that led to massive losses of life, but the Holocaust stands out because it was premeditated, meticulously planned, and carried out with a terrifying thoroughness by a well-educated and cultured society. The result was the destruction of Jewish communities that were an integral part of modern Germany in cities like Frankfurt. The Jews lost everything, and Frankfurt lost part of its soul.

The harsh reality of the Neuer Borneplatz Memorial Site was impossible to ignore. Its message was clear. The Jews of Frankfurt have been lost forever. Nothing can bring them or their communities back. The memorial is not only a commemoration, but also a reminder. One that I will never forget, and neither should the world. If genocide could happen in Frankfurt, it could happen anywhere. 

Click here for: New Age – The Façade of Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #67)

Feeding An Addiction – Fear of Failure In Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #65)

I woke up before dawn in Frankfurt for my final run of this two-week trip. The toughest runs were behind me. The dangers of Istanbul in the dark, the sidewalks of Fethiye, and random roads in Cappadocia were all a thing of the past. Those runs had been emotionally exhausting. The most rewarding part was their completion. I would then feel a sense of momentary relief. This was followed by the dreadful thought that I had to do the same thing again the next morning. My run in Frankfurt felt different. I was one hour away from going fourteen for fourteen on morning runs during this trip. That was my goal. One that if completed I would be rightfully proud of. That was up until the moment I realized the same task awaited me back home.

Path of least resistance – Crossing a bridge in Frankfurt (Credit: Roberto Strauss)

Habitual Misery – A Vicious Cycle
Starting something is much more difficult than finishing it. Follow through is a skill that demands self-discipline. A failure to finish can become habit forming. The fear of falling into this lamentable pattern kept me running day after day for years on end. Taking a day off was too depressing to contemplate. My happiness had come to depend upon accomplishing this goal I had set for myself. A day without a run would be self-defeating. I imagined how awful a single missed day would feel. That thought served as motivation to keep me running throughout my time in Turkey. I was now on the cusp of ending this habitual misery. A single hour stood between me and temporary liberation.

I had somehow managed to keep on schedule with my daily runs for two weeks. This cost me a great deal of enjoyment with the trip. I would go to bed much earlier than anyone in their thirties should while vacationing abroad. Rather than knocking back drinks at bars, I fell into bed well before midnight and woke up before sunrise. I followed this self-imposed regime with a degree of seriousness that was ridiculous. Running in a foreign country day after day before dawn was not only unsafe, but never much fun. The only thing I loathed more than these morning runs was the thought of not doing them. The most maddening part was that no one made me do them other than myself. I was caught in a vicious cycle of addiction.

Crossing over – Bridge over the Main River in Frankfurt (Credit: Heinz-Vale)

Equal Measure – Love-Hate Relationship
My morning run in Frankfurt was in many respects no different from the other ones I had recently done in Turkey. My day started around six a.m. The alarm clock sounded until I found the energy to shut it off. This was followed by a minute of pure bliss while lying in bed. During that time, I thought to myself how wonderful it would be if I went back to sleep. I stubbornly resisted the opportunity to take the easy way out by motivating myself with the fear of failure. Once my feet found the floor, the decision was made. A few minutes later I was stumbling out of the hotel room, through the lobby, and into the crisp morning air of Frankfurt. Most first-time travelers to Germany spent their time cruising the Rhine, drinking beer in Munich, or learning about the fascinating and horrifying history that happened in Berlin. Not me. I would rather make my way through the streets of Frankfurt while the city was still asleep.

I loved and hated my commitment to running in equal measure. I loved it because the experience was unique. Who else on vacation would spend part of their time and energy running through low lit streets to an undecided destination? I would see a side of Frankfurt that other travelers would rather dream about. I hated these runs because the first fifteen minutes were grueling. I was barely awake, and my mind was as clouded as my judgment. I knew those first fifteen minutes were critical. The urge to stop was overwhelming. I had to summon the energy and enthusiasm to continue putting one foot in front of another. If I did not, a years’ long streak of consecutive daily runs would suddenly end because I lacked self-discipline and willpower. I was not so much running towards any goal, as I was running away from fear. There was a war within me that I had to win every day, the idea of losing it terrified me.

Addiction and obsession were the forces I allowed to control me. They worked in tandem to impose pressure on me. I carried the burden of them everywhere I went. The only thing that could lighten my load was doing a daily run. While my running might have started as a healthy addiction, somewhere along that endless road, it reached the point of obsession. When that happened, the daily runs became part of me. I could not imagine my life without them. This led me down roads I never traveled before and will never travel again. Some of these roads were amazing, but most were forgettable. In Frankfurt, I did not have any great expectation of this morning run as anything other than a task to be completed. This was about checking a box. If I could check out part of the city while doing it, then all the better.

Blinded by the light – Beneath a bridge in Frankfurt (Credit: A. Kohler)

Dark Obsession – Running Towards Daylight
I set out from the hotel with one goal in mind, run for an hour. It did not matter how fast or slow I ran. The sixty-minute mark had to be achieved or else. I would like to tell you I saw some amazing sites during this run. In truth, what I saw was darkness in a booming metropolis silent and still just before the sun came up. The only memorable part of my run was the Main River, inky black except for the lights reflecting off it. No one had ever mentioned the Main River to me. It does not have the cachet of the Rhine and Danube, those most famous of German rivers. I doubt anyone would ever be impressed if I told them I crossed the Main and ran along its banks at six in the morning. They would probably wonder what I was doing. My only answer would be that I was feeding an addiction.

Click here for: On The Outside – Frankfurt’s Holocaust (Istanbul & Everything After #66)

Going Both Ways – A Hypocrite In Frankfurt (Istanbul & Every After #64)

As I got older, I came to the realization that we are all hypocrites. Every single one of us at some time in our lives has said one thing and then done the opposite. Our actions do not match our avowed principles. We like to think of ourselves as principled, but many of our principles do not hold true in difficult circumstances. As circumstances change, so do we. Some call that hypocrisy, others might call it politics. The older I get; the less hypocrisy bothers me. I have discovered that hypocrisy is as much a part of life as death and taxes. Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or being hypocritical. Because hypocrisy is such a common part of the human experience, I barely notice it most of the time. Only in the most egregious cases does an act of hypocrisy catch my attention. In Frankfurt, such a case did. I will never forget it. 

Sailing through darkness – The Main River in Frankfurt (Credit: Leonhard Lenz)

Checking In – Spend A Night, Not A Fortune
The taxi from Frankfurt Airport dropped Steve and I off in front of our hotel. Less than an hour after landing, we entered the hotel’s lobby. It was a small space with dated décor. The phrase “you get what you pay for” came to mind. This hardly mattered because a one-night layover called for simplicity rather than style. The hotel’s interior reminded me of those mom-and-pop establishments found in American towns along obscure highways. The difference here was that the hotel happened to be located near the epicenter of Europe’s financial hub. As such, the owners were always going to have clientele if they kept the place looking half-decent. There was no reason to do major upgrades with occupancy rates already high. This hotel was no one’s idea of the Ritz-Carlton. Neither did we want it to be.

We had selected the hotel based upon its location and affordability. A bare bones room would work for a single night. The hotel met our needs because it was a short walk from the reconstructed core of Frankfurt’s old city center. Eighty percent of the city had been destroyed by Allied bombing during World War II. We were keen on visiting it this evening, and once again in the morning. The hotel would nicely meet these needs. Check-in took only a few minutes, but a conversation we had with the owner had a more lasting effect, but first we filled out the required forms. We were then given a key that looked just as archaic as the hotel’s décor. I had flashbacks to Holiday Inns in the 1980’s. When the owner took down details from our passports, he noticed that we were from America. Making light conversation, I asked him if he had ever visited. His reply was negative. followed by some disparaging remarks about America. This was not the first time Steve and I had heard criticism of America on this trip. It was usually the direct result of America’s War in Iraq which had gone horribly wrong, I did not find anti-American sentiment all that surprising, but I also did not expect it in western Germany.

The straight and narrow – Frankfurt in the early evening (Credit: adirricor)

Two-Faced – User Fees
Love it or loathe it, there is no denying the American military’s presence helped secure West Germany’s freedom and prosperity during the Cold War. The American presence guaranteed German security and came at very little cost to the hosts. American military bases are still located in reunified Germany. This is one of the main reasons that Germany has repeatedly failed to allocate two percent of its GDP on military expenditures. This has been a long-standing requirement for all NATO members. One that Germany has conveniently ignored. From a military perspective, Germany cannot defend itself without American support. This seemed to be lost on our hotel’s owner. According to him, Germany did not need American military support. They were also allies of Russia. He told us that Germany could purchase large quantities of oil and gas from Russia. This would keep Germany-Russia relations good.

In effect, Germany was playing both sides of the fence. America funded its security and cheap oil and gas from Russia powered German industry. To hear the hotel owner tell it, Germany would be fine without American military support. Its partnership with Russia was stable and mutually beneficial to both countries. In other words, Germany had nothing to worry about. On the other hand, American support was not really that useful to German interests. At this point, the hotel owner shocked us by defeating his own argument.  He told us his daughter had moved to America and now lived in California.  For a man with such an obvious distaste for America, it was strange to learn his daughter lived there. His hypocrisy was astonishing. The nation he dismissed had welcomed his daughter with open arms. Our conversation with the hotel owner soon came to a merciful end. There was nothing left to say. We went to our room, unpacked a few belongings, and headed out into the city.

Neither East Nor West – Euro symbol in Frankfurt (Credit: Nikolai Karaneschev)

Incoherent Ideals – Taken For Granted
While everyone is entitled to their opinion, the hotel owner lost credibility with us when he said his daughter lived in America, His views of America were incoherent. He loathed it, but his daughter found it appealing. In my mind, this was just another example of Germany taking for granted American military support. At the time (2008), Germany was moving closer to Russia due to economic interests. Cheap hydrocarbons from Russia fueled the German economy. At the same time, Germany was saving a fortune by having America provide for its defense. This was a case of Germany playing both sides of the fence.

Fourteen years after our conversation with the hotel owner, Russia invaded Ukraine. This changed everything in Germany-Russia relations. When Russia cut off the flow of gas, Germany was exposed. They had come to rely on Russia as their main source of energy. This hurt the German economy and people. Germany was left scrambling to find more reliable energy providers. I wonder what the hotel owner would have said about this. Russia turned out to be no friend of Germany, but I imagine the hotel owner would adhere to his stance. When faced with uncomfortable facts many people would rather engage in hypocrisy, rather than admit fallibility.  Whatever the case, the hotel owner’s hypocrisy was breathtaking. I was surprised, but I should not have been. Hypocrisy is rampant. It is also dangerous.

Click here for: Feeding An Addiction – Fear of Failure In Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #65)

Our Worst Nightmare – Flight to Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #62)

We made it past the sub-machine guns and metal detectors, past the paranoia of passport control and penetrating stares of security officers, past three checkpoints and through the throngs of departing passengers. My friend Steve and I had taken the first step on our long journey home. We had two days of travel ahead of us. We would fly first from Istanbul to Frankfurt for an overnight interlude. Then it would be on to Denver, followed by a five-hour drive home. The thought of this was exhausting. Fortunately, our focus was on Frankfurt. Everything else could wait.

Hazy landing – Lufthansa flight at Frankfurt Airport (Credit: Emran Kassim)

Star of the Show – An Unwanted Guest
My Turkish dream was fading. I had long since grown weary of the frenetic activity and noise of Turkey. The western world with its greater personal space and solitude was a mere three-hour flight to Frankfurt. Compared to the forthcoming trans-Atlantic flight, this one should have been a lark. A time for relaxation and reflection while settling in for an uneventful journey back home. That was the ideal. Steve and I had been anticipating this flight as an opportunity to ease back into the western world. A stress-free sojourn. Compared to what we had endured on the endless bus rides in Turkey, a Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt would be blissful. Especially now that there was no tour group by our side. The shadow that stalked us for nearly two weeks had vanished. Well, not quite.

While at the gate waiting to board our plane, we were suddenly reacquainted with a nightmare. The one member of our tour we had loathed more than any other was taking the same flight to Frankfurt. It was Andrew, the Australian who had joined our Turkish tour a couple of days after it started. We rued his appearance from the first moment we met him. To recap, Andrew was a self-anointed, secondary leader of our group. His narcissism was only equaled by his arrogance. Andrew came across as a been there-done that-know it all. He sought attention from the younger women in the group by trying to impress them with tales of his travels across Europe and the near East. Andrew was full of himself. His lack of self-awareness was startling. Andrew needed to be the star of the show. He was vain, condescending, and deeply insecure. The first time I talked with Andrew I wanted to punch him. That urge kept coming back to me anytime I heard his voice or caught a glance of him.

Ready for departure – Planes at the International Terminal of Ataturk Airport
(Credit: Mertborak)

Small Talk – A Turn For The Worse
A week into our tour of Turkey, Steve began to speak openly about his distaste for Andrew within earshot of others. In all the years I had known him, Steve had never done anything like this. I did not know whether to be worried or impressed. His attitude took a turn for the worse when Steve discovered that Andrew had abandoned his wife and kids back in Australia to “go find himself.” That Andrew would admit such a thing demonstrated his lack of self-awareness. Steve and I were disgusted, as were several other members of the group. From that point onward, Steve would seethe any time he caught sight of Andrew. One of our South African friends expressed his contempt for Andrew.  Norm, an Australian who was one of the most likable and affable people I have ever met, confessed that he had no respect for Andrew.

To be fair, none of us knew the backstory on Andrew’s family life, but judging by his self-centered, me-first attitude he was most likely the problem. Andrew did not help his cause by talking down to everyone to boost his ego. I will have to give him credit for one thing. Andrew had the remarkable quality of managing to unite people against him. I was surprised that someone did not tell Andrew to stop talking about himself. Then again, why bother. He was already too far gone for constructive criticism. When the tour ended, Steve and I were elated to finally rid ourselves of Andrew. Now here we were at the boarding gate with Andrew.

Andrew came up and tried to make a bit of small talk. Since I loathe public displays of rudeness, I did my best to stick with the basics of the flight to Frankfurt. Steve ignored Andrew. While boarding the plane, I was suddenly struck by the fear that Andrew would be seated with us. He was not. I did make a mental note of Andrew’s location. The flight was uneventful though the presence Andrew hung like a dark cloud over the journey. I began to wonder if we would ever get away from him. Upon our arrival in Frankfurt, we were less worried about getting through passport control, to a taxi, and onward to our hotel, then avoiding Andrew.

Arrivals & Departure – Frankfurt Airport (Credit: Robot8A)

Tempting Fate – An Obligatory Act of Insincerity
After the arrival process, I thought we were finally free of Andrew. Once again, I was wrong. Coming out of the bathroom we ran into Andrew. By this point, I would not have been surprised if Andrew wanted to go have a beer together. Instead, he offered a farewell handshake. I felt like breaking his hand, but I managed to maintain self-control. Andrew then turned to Steve. For a moment my heart stopped. If the obligatory act of insincerity was completed with an open hand rather than a clenched fist, we could escape from what had turned into our worst nightmare. We were on the verge of being done with Andrew, but he kept tempting fate.

I have never seen Steve give a more half-hearted handshake in his life. He barely acknowledged Andrew. For a moment, I thought he was going to take a swing at him. The most amazing part was that Andrew scarcely noticed this. He was too wrapped up in himself. We immediately headed for the airport exit, relieved that the Andrew ordeal was over. I could not help but wonder if he might pop up behind us and want to share a taxi ride into Frankfurt. Thankfully, this did not happen. We had arrived in Frankfurt and so had Andrew. We would never see him again.

Click here for: Taking A Travel Valium – Welcome To Frankfurt (Istanbul & Everything After #63)

A Sense of Closure – Zeppelinheim: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #4)

I pushed my way through branches and undergrowth in the pursuit of Zeppelinheim. Just two hours before. I had no idea the town existed. Now this was my mission made possible by the fear of wasting a final afternoon in Europe watching German daytime television in a lackluster hotel. My walk towards Zeppelinheim had been frightening and awe-inspiring owing to the German affinity for speed and power. That was made clear to me while watching the autobahn from above and a train at ground level. I could only hope. that Zeppelinheim would be just as exciting. My hopes were not high mainly because I did not have the time nor the inclination to learn anything about Zeppelinheim before my spontaneous search for it began. The name was intriguing enough to pique my interest. Zeppelins are one of the icons of German innovation and for those who interested in the history of flight, a source of fascination. I could only hope the town that shared the airship’s name was worth the trouble it would take to get there.

Taking flight – Exhibits at the Zeppelin Museum in Zeppelinheim

Soaring Prospects – The Zeppelin Takes Flight
Berlin and Munich, Lederhosen and Oktoberfest have nothing in common with bushwhacking through a forest. My idea of Germany was changing as I made my way through the woods in search of Zeppelinheim. When I stumbled into the modest-sized community, I found it quiet and dull, a suburban afterthought. I would later learn that Zeppelinheim was not a separate town as I assumed, instead it had been incorporated into the city of Neu-Isenburg in 1977. There was no hint of being part of anything larger in Zeppelinheim. I did not see a tram or bus and only a handful of cars. It became clear to me that Zeppelinheim was a place where people lived, slept, and commuted to work somewhere else. In other words, it was an ordinary place in the middle of Germany, just like thousands of other such places that no one other than their inhabitants know they exist.

The streets of Zeppelinheim were virtually silent on this day. I imagined that everyone must have been at work. Either that or they were mesmerized by those same German daytime television shows that I fled. The place left me at a loss. I did not find a grocery store, gas station or corner shop to pick up some snacks. From the limited time I spent in Zeppelinheim, I found it to be unmemorable with a single exception. The town owed its existence to the Zeppelin, that iconic airship invented by Ferdinand von Zeppelin that was one of the greatest flight innovations of the 20^th century. The first successful Zeppelin flight took place in 1900. There were plenty of abortive attempts after that first successful one. The Zeppelin captured the public’s imagination, but the rigid airships were constantly crashing in the years prior to World War I. During the war, Zeppelins were famously utilized for reconnaissance and bombing raids. After the conflict ended, their prospects soared once again as the age of commercial air travel began.

The Golden Age – Zeppelin over Manhattan in 1930 (CreditL US Naval Historical Center)

Crash Landing – The Heights of Despair
By the 1930’s, Zeppelins were making trans-Atlantic flights to North and South America. It was during this period that Zeppelinheim was constructed by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei as a residential community for Zeppelin flight and ground crews. The personnel worked at the nearby Airport Rhein-Main which had been opened in 1936 and became the base for trans-Atlantic flights. With the coming of World War II, Zeppelins passed into history as powerful fixed wing aircraft made them obsolete for both military and commercial air travel purposes. The Zeppelin’s legacy lives on, commemorated at Zeppelinheim and many other air museums.

While Zeppelinheim’s golden age only lasted a few years, the community has never forgotten its one claim to fame. The memory of that age is alive at the Zeppelin Museum in Zeppelinheim, the same year (1977) that the community became part of Neu-Isenburg. Creating a museum was the one way to distinguish Zeppelinheim. I saw that myself. While wandering along a street, I came upon the museum. I was thrilled. This could be just what I needed to brighten up what had been a frustrating day full of flight inspired failures. What better way to overcome a missed connecting flight, then to take a flight back in time to a golden age when the wonders of air travel captivated the public.

Standing outside the museum entrance, I was disheartened to see a lack of activity inside of it. Was the museum open or closed? There was no telling from what I could see. Surprisingly, I tried the door and it easily opened. No staff were anywhere around. I assumed that whoever covered the front desk had walked away for a few minutes. Until they came back, I might as well take the opportunity to learn about the intertwined history of Zeppelins and Zeppelinheim. While viewing the exhibits, I noticed a group of Germans in one of the rooms engaged by a man leading a talk. I continued to mind my own business. It felt a bit odd to still not have seen any museum staff. After a couple of minutes someone who must have been in charge realized I was not with the group of Germans. They politely informed me that the museum was closed. My hopes of making something of this lost day, crashed at that moment.

Sense of closure – Zeppelin Museum in Zeppelinheim (Credit: Andy Dingley)

Closing Time – A Forgettable Odyssey  
I really wanted to ask why I could not still look at the exhibits. It would have been harmless, but I was in a foreign country where I figured it was best to play by the rules, whether they made any sense or not. I kept my mouth shut, smiled, and exited the building. I was soon making my way back through the woods, across the railway tracks, and along the road, dodging danger the entire time. Soon, I was back at the hotel having killed a couple of hours on a bemusing adventure. This day of travel was not meant to be anything other than a series of irritating incidents. All I could do was sit in the hotel room, read guidebooks, and stare at the wall. I could not wait to leave the next morning. My day had been knocked off-course because of two tires with low air pressure in Prague. That sent me on an unsatisfying odyssey ending at a dreary hotel near Frankfurt Airport. This is what can happen when you get lost in transit. 

Childlike Impulses – Watching A Train In Germany: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #3)

I once had an acquaintance who was a brilliant and difficult person. These two contradictory traits were aligned with one another. He drove me, as well as many other people, mad. The guy was a perfectionist to the extreme and at the same time, oddly pragmatic. He was full of common sense and maddening neurosis. If there was a problem, he would be sure to raise it. Nothing escaped his notice. As irritating as this man could be, he had a clever saving grace. He often said, “I never bring up a problem without offering a solution.” Whether or not his solution was feasible hardly mattered, it was the fact that he offered one that made me attentive to his ideas.

I often like to think of this when reflecting on times I have been upset with a situation. I ask myself, “Did I offer a solution.” That was the case when I was stranded at an airport hotel in Frankfurt. I could hardly stand the hotel but refused to pay for a night somewhere else. When the best thing you can say about a place is that it is completely awful, then you have a big problem. The hotel was one of those places where everything is below average. I had an entire afternoon on my hands with nothing to do. Restless and impatient, I began to spiral. Then I decided to act.

On time arrival – Train along a stretch of track in the woods near Zeppelinheim

Speed Of Fright – Setting The Pace
I had a couple of options to mitigate the mind-numbing mediocrity of hotel oblivion. I could have gone into the city center of Frankfurt. I had been there before and found it unimpressive. Instead, I decided to have a look around the immediate area surrounding the hotel. I soon realized that walking anywhere other than around the parking lot would be difficult. Cars and trucks raced along the nearby roads. There was nothing near the hotel except for the airport. That was one place I did not want to go since I would be there again the next morning.  Instead, I decided to walk to the nearest village in the hopes of finding a grocery store that might have some decent food. Almost anything would be better than the food soon to be served up at the hotel buffet.

I was ready for an adventure, especially one that did not involve flight delays or drab hotel rooms. This was not going to be easy. The first thing I had to do was walk along the road whether I wanted to or not. That was the only way of getting to an overpass that crossed the nearby autobahn. There were few sidewalks and no paths that might provide a respite from walking next to the road. I had always heard that Germans liked to drive fast, at least by American standards. I soon realized just how fast. Every time a truck drove past I was buffeted by its draft. The sound of the nearby autobahn was terrifying. When I got to the overpass, I looked down at the vehicles roaring below at a frightening pace.

The scene was more like a heavily trafficked racetrack than a highway. The sheer force from the vehicles shook the overpass I was standing on. Or maybe I was just imagining this. The ear-splitting sound of engines was so forceful as to be overwhelming. I have seen many impressive things in my life, but that autobahn packed with afternoon traffic was among the most powerful. I was grateful that I did not have to attempt a crossing of the autobahn on foot. I would never have been able to take a single step forward due to fear.

Bushwhacking – Frankfurt Airport (Credit: Epizentrum)

Trainspotting – Off-Road Rally
Once I crossed over the autobahn, I was relieved to head off-road into the nearby woods. There was no path to follow so I bushwhacked my way in the direction of where I believed the town of Zeppelinheim was located. This was my preferred destination because it was closest to the hotel. Plus, it had a catchy name, one resonant of those great air ships that once menaced skylines. This walk in the woods soon became more exciting than I could have imagined when I came to a clearing with railway tracks. I looked up and down the line for a station. If I had found one, I just might have skipped Zeppelinheim and taken a train. The direction would have hardly mattered.

Railways are magnetic for me. There is something intensely romantic about trains that I have never quite been able to understand. They always seem mysterious and enchanting, portals of passion filled with passengers hurtling into the unknown. This has always been my idealized frame of reference for railways. I had never really thought about the power of trains in a mechanical sense until I came upon the tracks in this otherwise undistinguished patch of woods. In either direction, I could see the railway line stretching far into the distance. Here was an opportunity to see a train somewhere other than a station. This was a childlike impulse, much like waiting beside a road for a parade to pass. In this case, my mom was not here to hold my hand. Instead, I gripped my phone ready to take a picture.  

Down the line – Railway tracks in Germany (Credit: Steffen Schmitz)

Natural Acts – An Odd Pursuit
The oncoming train looked insignificant as it first appeared in the distance. The train only grew larger, louder, and more ominous as it approached. Then with a blinding swiftness the sound of wheels screaming across steel at breakneck speed filled the air. The train was much faster than I imagined. A whoosh of air flowed in its wake. For a second, I felt an intense stress as though my life hung in the balance. The train sped past in a matter of seconds. I stood in awe. The area soon returned to silence, much more ominous considering the force which repeatedly passed through these woods. I continued through another stretch of mild bushwhacking. This was such an odd pursuit. These woods looked the same as those surrounding my home where I played as a child. There was nothing to the naked eye that distinguished them as German. This was just nature, something the entire world has in common if we only took the time to notice.  

Click here for: A Sense of Closure – Zeppelinheim: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #4)

Crazed Apathy – Terminal Decline: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #2)

Have you ever had a sense that something bad was only going to get worse? That happened to me in Prague Airport as my flight on Lufthansa was preparing for on-time departure. The plane was being pushed back from the gate when it suddenly came to a halt. This was the first sign that trouble lay ahead. The plane did not move forward or back, it just sat there. As time passed without an update there was no doubt in my mind that the flight was not going to Frankfurt. I am pretty sure that I was not the only one having those same thoughts when the pilot announced that two of the wheels had low tire pressure. This was not going to be a quick fix.

Any malfunction on such a large piece of crucial equipment that must transport passengers safely at altitudes higher than Everest, cannot be utilized until the deficiency is corrected, checked, and double checked. Too many lives are at stake for an airline to take any chances. The easiest thing for Lufthansa to do was put everyone on another plane. Easier said than done. The upshot was that my stay in Prague would be extended by several hours. It also meant a missed connection. I would be forced into an overnight stay in Frankfurt courtesy of Lufthansa.  

Watching & waiting – Frankfurt Airport (Credit: David Wong)

Money Talks – A Sterile Environment
Any malfunction on such a large piece of crucial equipment that must transport passengers safely at altitudes higher than Everest, cannot be utilized until the deficiency is corrected, checked, and double checked. Too many lives are at stake for an airline to take any chances. The easiest thing for Lufthansa to do was put everyone on another plane. Easier said than done. The upshot was that my stay in Prague would be extended by several hours. This also meant a missed connection. I would be forced into an overnight stay in Frankfurt courtesy of Lufthansa.  An extra day in Europe did not seem so bad. I would have preferred Prague over Frankfurt, but I did not want to risk another missed connection again the next day. Flying to Frankfurt would get me one step closer to home.

I had been to Frankfurt before. Spending a Saturday night in the city and then enjoying an early morning walk around one of the older parts of the city down by the Main River. My impression of Frankfurt was of a prosperous, but rather dull city. Frankfurt is Germany’s financial capital and like so many places built on wealth, the city felt sterile. Its inner workings hidden behind tinted windows in tall glass buildings where men in suits line their pockets with Euros. A friend and I wandered into the city center on that Saturday evening. We found a city that strangely reminded us of home. American city centers are not exactly known to be hubs of pedestrians enjoying the night life. The opposite is true in Europe. Well except for Frankfurt in my limited experience. Besides a restaurant packed with couples and friends imbibing copious amounts of beer, there was not much nightlife in the center of Frankfurt that evening. I did observe some wayward youth in Goth attire taking nips from a bottle in public. This was the only real color in Frankfurt, other than the color of money.

That first visit to Frankfurt reminded me of what I had always imagined that Switzerland must be like. Everything clean swept and filled with inhabitants whose main hobby is making money. Because of my lukewarm opinion of the city, I was not especially looking forward to having another go at it.  Since I had little choice in the matter, I would have to make the best of an unexpected visit. Perhaps I could find something of greater interest this time around. The problem was that I would once again have a limited amount of time. My rebooked flight left Prague several hours later than originally scheduled. Not only was I missing a connection, I was also going to miss an opportunity to do something worthwhile on what was fast becoming a wasted day.

Nightscape -First time in Frankfurt

Free of Charge – Complementary Indifference
There are few things more maddening than spending half a day standing in an airport. The Prague Airport is nice, in the way that anonymous, spotlessly clean environments full of people either irritated, angry or half-asleep are nice. The airport was harmless to everything except my mental health. This was not how I wanted to spend my final hours in Prague. And yet, this experience was as much a part of my trip as anything else. It would certainly turn out to be more memorable than I had expected. The sheer banality was unforgettable.
Little did I realize when I landed in Frankfurt that my idea of the city was about to change. Rather than staying somewhere near the city as I had naïvely imagined, the hotel paid for by Lufthansa was close to the airport.

I was relegated to a netherworld with other stranded passengers who were weary from stressing over missed connections. It is astonishing just how tired one can get from sitting for hours in a climate-controlled environment and staring longingly at a departure board. The cure for this could have been a peaceful respite at the hotel. That would not happen at this one. It was functional to the point of mediocre. The hotel felt like a three-star refugee camp for orphaned travelers. A place where the lost congregated together, clutching complementary tickets for a buffet of mystery meat and greasy potatoes. This was all that the hotel had going for it. Of course, there was a hot shower, a semi-comfortable bed, and television channels with a range of ghastly daytime options. Besides this, everything was fine.

Beyond reach – Frankfurt Airport with the city in the distance
(Credit: Konstantin von Wedelstaedt)

Mediocrity & Madness – The Meaning of Nowhere
The travel writer Jan Morris once wrote a book called, Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere. I enjoyed the book immensely. Morris set forth Trieste’s place in the world as quixotic in the extreme. The city was not quite Italian, sort of Mitteleuropean, and strangely sedate for a place that was forever finding itself on a frontier. Trieste was the type of place that could never be pigeonholed. It had multiple identities and no single set identity. Trieste was pliable and unfathomable.

A similar, though much duller book could be written called the Frankfort Airport Hotel and the Meaning of Nowhere*. The hotel was a temporary home for strangers that made them feel unwelcome without really trying. This was not done with inconsideration or rudeness. Instead, it was done with indifference and mediocrity that could drive anyone to madness. If the hotel’s walls could talk, they would speak of the fitful naps, restless impulses, and crazed apathy suffered by guests. The art of heartlessness had been perfected here. And somehow, I had to figure out a way to make the most out of what was becoming a mid-afternoon malaise. There was only one thing to do, start walking.

* This is not the hotel’s actual name. The name has been changed to protect the guilty

Click here for: Childlike Impulses – Watching A Train In Germany: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #3)

The Twilight Zone of Travel – Missed Connections: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #1)

I have a proposal for a travel book that someone should write, the only requirement is that it not be me. Writing this book would mean spending time in some of the most mind-numbing places in the world. Places that are the very definition of neither here nor there. Places that help travelers understand the meaning of lost in transit. As I write this, there are thousands of people all over the world suffering from the experience. This happens every day, but I have yet to see a single book written on the topic. Maybe that is because missing a flight connection and being put up at a hotel close to the airport is an experience most travelers would rather forget. Or maybe because the airline covers the bill, stranded passengers feel they should be grateful for spending a night on someone else’s dime. Whatever the case, the experience is one of the strangest imaginable. If there is a twilight zone of travel, then this is it.

On the ground – Lufthansa aircraft at Prague Airport

Grounded – An Excursion In Futility
There could be worse things than an environment covered in concrete. One where delivery trucks and aircraft equipment emit piercing levels of industrial noise. There could be worse things than getting stuck in a hotel filled with legions of irritated passengers silently hoping that their rebooked flight leaves the next day. Another twenty-four hours of this accommodation is a fate too horrible to contemplate. Yes, a book really should be written about this experience, how to endure and overcome it, but that book will not be written by me. I do not have more than a handful of these travel traumas under my money belt. They weigh heavily on my memory. The most memorable of these unsatisfying experiences I try to forget. That is a conscious decision. Dredging up the details tends to leave me depressed. Nevertheless, I shall try to relate in detail the specifics of this excursion in futility. This will likely be the first and last time I put it into writing mainly this is an experience I do not care to repeat.

The whole thing started with a flat tire. In my experience, this is rather common. AAA, tow trucks, and tire tools are the usual remedy. That is unless you are pulling away from the gate on an aircraft operated by Lufthansa at Vaclav Havel Airport in Prague on an otherwise blissful morning in mid-April. I was at the end of a two-week trip that had taken me to Prague, Bratislava, Ljubljana, and several other cities over a just as spring was beginning to blossom across East-Central Europe. For two weeks I had overcome an abscessed tooth, noisy neighbors at hotels and hostels, logistical issues, and any number of minor inconveniences to have a highly successful trip. This already had me planning future adventures abroad. I was self-satisfied because everything had gone according to plan. The only parts of the trip left were two flights, a short hop from Prague to Frankfurt and then a trans-Atlantic journey from Frankfurt to Chicago. I had a couple of hours in Frankfurt to make my connection. That should have easily been enough time if nothing went wrong. At least, that was what I wanted to believe. The reality would be very different.

All lined up – Prague Airport departures terminal (Credit: Felix Riehle)

Flight Risks – Going Into A Tailspin
I was getting ahead of myself before I even left the ground in Prague by wrongly assuming the flight would go off without a hitch. This had a great deal to do with my very high opinion of Lufthansa. The few times I had flown with them, the service was fast and efficient. The conditions in coach class were much better than on other popular commercial airlines. The process from boarding to disembarking was organized with Teutonic efficiency. This engendered in me a blind belief that Lufthansa could do no wrong. I thought that everything they did, from aircraft maintenance to food service, put other airlines to shame. Based on prior experience with airlines and flights I should have known better. Lufthansa is prone to the same problems as other airlines.

And how could they not be? As demanding as I can be about problem-free flights, I do understand that every flight that goes off without a hitch is a minor miracle. There are hundreds of passengers and thousands of moving parts. Teutonic efficiency only goes so far when up against the odds that eventually something is bound to go wrong. The best any passenger can hope for is that it turns out not to be life threatening. Arriving on time and making connections is not a matter of life and death. That is a fact that many who fly, including myself, tend to lose sight of.

Making multiple connections in a single day while flying from East-Central Europe to the heartland of America is all too often a recipe for problems. I know from experience. For instance, one time on a trip back from Berlin, the plane was moments away from touching down in Rapid City, South Dakota. I could see the runway despite a snow shower. The wheels were out and then suddenly the pilot turned the plane upward. There would be no landing on this evening due to poor visibility. That sent me on a wayward journey that included spending part of the night in a field outside the airport terminal in Bismarck, North Dakota. Getting back from Berlin turned into a multi-day odyssey. The domino effect from the abortive landing sent everything into a tailspin, but at least I arrived alive.

Missed connections – Aircraft as seen from Terminal 1 at Prague Airport (Credit: Mtaylor848)

Second Guesses – Feeling The Inevitable
Experiences like that one stayed with me. They made me second guess air travel. I wondered if the same things happened to others. Of course, they did, but I wanted to believe they only happened to me. Little did I know at the time that the Berlin to Rapid City odyssey would be one of many more flight problems in my future. This was something that lurked in the back of my mind. I would try to never acknowledge it for fear that doing so would make another occurrence possible. This was foolishness, but the “once bitten, twice shy” syndrome would stay with me. When a problem arose in Prague, all I could think of was here we go again.

Click here for: Crazed Apathy – Terminal Decline: Prague to Frankfurt (Lost In Transit #2)