The country of precision engineering, verbally-direct people, curry wurst and David Hasselhoff lovin’ came into view from the small oval of a plane window after an interminably long flight that lasted a good 18+ hours. Frankfurt am Main greeted the Travel Companion (TC) and I like a terribly familiar bedfellow (read: a sprawling city) – but the sight of terra firma is always a welcome feel despite its incredible urbanity for those who have been in limbo for too long. The International Airport is a surprisingly short 15 minute ride by S8 or S9 into the main train station and from there, a mere short walk to the Star Inn Frankfurt.
Off we went on a jaunt to the cavernous space of the Schirn Kunsthalle – built like a retrofitted old cinema and conveniently located where the Christmas Market was which is probably why TC was a willing participant – to see Gabríela Friðriksdóttir’s Crepusculum and Edward Kienholz’s The Signs of the Times, all of which I thought were breathtaking installations that we’ve been so lacking thus far.
In the land of meat and potatoes, the temptations of the Christmas Market went so far as a large Bratwurst and a white Gluhwein before we decided more pressing needs (Knoppers, Teekanne teas and fruit) had to be met in the forms of a Drugstore and a Supermarket along the Zeil, Frankfurt’s swanky shopping street.
Jet-lagged and disoriented, I awoke hungry and thirsty at 5.30am and realised that was that for the Frankfurt stopover. A quick breakfast at the cosy Kamps Backstufe next to the Frankfurt Hbf blissfully watching the rush-hour commuters was the only early morning activity that I could stomach before sleepily moving on to the airport.
In a few hours, we’d be on the damned plane again – this time to the far north – and I can’t wait, despite the glum weather reports.