Frankfurt am Main / Heidelberg
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“Traveling in Europe? Wow, you must have saved up right?!” Well, it’s true, partly: Everything seems to be outrageously expensive in (western/northern/southern) Europe, but there is one big, happy exception: transport. And then I mean long-distance transport. Don’t even try to take a half-hour train in Holland, it will instantly drain your daily budget. However, long-distance buses and low-cost charter flights can be blindly placed in the how-do-they-even-make-a-profit-category. To get to Rotterdam, a 50-minute train ride, cost me as much as the Eurolines bus ride from Rotterdam all the way to Frankfurt, Germany… That’s quite the budget city trip! As flights to my next destination Argentina were also over €150 cheaper from Germany than from Holland it was an obvious pit stop. I was basically getting paid to visit the fifth-largest city in Germany and Europe’s ‘largest financial centre’ (ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Wikipedia).
Although way longer than necessary, I enjoyed the ride giving me some window-gazes into modern German cities like Duisburg, Düsseldorf and Köln, all smoothly connected by the grey but efficient Deutsche Autobahn. Finally the city names I heard so many times during my previous job as an entertainment tour coordinator took shape.
Although way longer than necessary, I enjoyed the ride giving me some window-gazes into modern German cities like Duisburg, Düsseldorf and Köln, all smoothly connected by the grey but efficient Deutsche Autobahn. Finally the city names I heard so many times during my previous job as an entertainment tour coordinator took shape.
Meanwhile in Germany… extra wide parking spots for the female kind…
As I had Wi-Fi access in the bus, a reality hard to comprehend after a year in third and second world countries, I utilized the opportunity to research the touristic side of Frankfurt am Main. My enthusiasm instantly blazed up seeing the impressive amount of museums this city accommodates, only to disappointedly conclude that with €10-15 entrance prices a museum trip is unsuitable for a budget backpacker like me. But hey, what’s that? Museumsuferticket? “You can use this ticket to visit 34 museums on two consecutive days – blablabla – single ticket €18, concessionary ticket €10…”Ha, I still had my seven-years-old student pass with a photo of nine years ago, I was sure I could get away with it. I was right.
My old dateless student pass from when I studied in Italy… a golden travel tool.
Even though the local Frankfurters… Frankfurtians… Frankführers (?) are known for their air of distance, I had a completely opposite experience after setting foot in this vibrant city.
It only took twenty seconds of struggling with two backpacks and a torturous-wrapped folding bike until a helpful citizen ran towards me to assist me in reaching the next taxi-stop. Even though I got notoriously ripped off by the cab driver, €18 for a walkable distance, a good impression was burned into my memory. From then on it only got better: Dirk, a bold, cheerful, ‘very-Germany’ chap widely opened his doors for me to welcome me into his house. If Couchsurfing had a face, it would definitely be Dirk’s. This man solely hosted more than 200 travellers and could even call himself the proud possessor of his very own guestbook. After a freshly-cooked Thai meal the couch was all mine.
Even though the local Frankfurters… Frankfurtians… Frankführers (?) are known for their air of distance, I had a completely opposite experience after setting foot in this vibrant city.
It only took twenty seconds of struggling with two backpacks and a torturous-wrapped folding bike until a helpful citizen ran towards me to assist me in reaching the next taxi-stop. Even though I got notoriously ripped off by the cab driver, €18 for a walkable distance, a good impression was burned into my memory. From then on it only got better: Dirk, a bold, cheerful, ‘very-Germany’ chap widely opened his doors for me to welcome me into his house. If Couchsurfing had a face, it would definitely be Dirk’s. This man solely hosted more than 200 travellers and could even call himself the proud possessor of his very own guestbook. After a freshly-cooked Thai meal the couch was all mine.
I left something in Dirk’ guestbook too
The next day Frankfurt was laying at my feet. Literally, as the 10th floor provided me a splendid view over Mainhattan.
The next day Frankfurt was laying at my feet. Literally, as the 10th floor provided me a splendid view over Mainhattan.
I rushed myself through breakfast as there was some work to be done: 34 museums, the quantity of choice almost caused some selection-stress. I blasted some Rammstein, Die Apokalyptischen Reiter and Doro Pesch out of my headphones and swiftly marched to the Museumsufer (literally translated as ‘museum-shore’), Museum Giersch being the first one I passed.
Surprised about how eloquent my highschool-German still was I chatted with the supervisor, who introduced me to the grandeur of the collection. The majority of the work belonged to an expressionist artist called Meidner, quite a restless guy if you ask me. The work is a bit too much for the senses, which is probably related to his sentiments as an escaped Nazi Jew. My favourite exposition room, the “Bilder des Schreckens und der Vernichtung” (images of terror and destruction), built further on the dreadfulness of perceptions in times of National Socialism.
The contrast with the peaceful city scenes I encountered right outside the museum was unsettling. After simply crossing a street I found myself among the bikers and joggers, rosy-cheeked breathing in the oxygen of the freshly planted trees and pollard willows decorating the avenues following the river Main, the lifeline of the city. The sun shone away the cold breeze and I felt grateful to be a part of this, if only for a moment.
The Deutsches Film Museum loomed up along the riverbed, a site glorified by the online masses. With favourites like Die Blechtrommel, Lola Rennt and Das Experiment I can honestly say I’m a sucker for German film, even though this institution covers essentially everything across their country’s borders as well. From editing to special effects and make-up masks, they excitingly unravel all secrets of film piece by piece. You can walk through pre-programmed apocalyptic backgrounds and stare into the camera lit up by lighting techniques used in a wide variety of well-known blockbusters… The interactivity is the unique selling point transforming this spot into an unforgettable experience from toddler to senior. Time well spent.
Without a minute to lose I headed to the Kaiserstraβe to catch the Frankfurt Free Alternative Walking Tour. I love free stuff, although free is of course proverbial. It could be loosely translated into ‘free to pay what you want’, which is good enough. We kicked off in the Bahnhofviertel, that used to be the most prestigious area in town… Up until the war, when American soldiers (among whom Mr Presley) arrived, needing entertainment. The area got transformed into a hotspot of gambling and prostitution and quickly turned into a no-go area. Even though in current times the area got rid of all the crime and regained its popularity, prostitution never left. However, as this is a legal branch of labour in Germany (and most neighbouring countries), this is a white, clean business, mainly controlled and protected by the local division of the Hell’s Angels. The high amount of satisfied men walking in and out of the doors next to the red-shining windows proofs the size and importance of this business as part of the local economy.
I spotted some Freemasonry for you
Another aspect which is almost unimaginable for non-Europeans, but has proofed itself in its effectiveness: The legalization and regulation of the national drugs scene. Junkies used to be lying in the park with their limps rotting away, as going to a hospital meant ending up in jail… Until a system of toleration got introduced, offering shelter and protected user-spaces to addicts, limiting deaths and abuse due to the proximity of experts and doctors. It doesn’t make hard drugs legal (only soft drugs are), but it gets a grip on what’s already there.
The walking tour showed more of the less obvious. Subtle details, like a variety of Superman statues scattered on top of the buildings of this tiny metropolis (and only the artist knows where all of them are located), are the little things making this city interesting. My knowledgeable guide also pointed out those tiny episodes in history schoolbooks don’t care about, that however humorously accurate represent the national psyche. For example, Frankfurt doesn’t have a history of violent revolts and uprisings… until someone proposed the reckless idea of raising the beer prices. Work was instantly dropped and the population streamed out of their houses to undo this iniquity. Twenty people died… as martyrs: The beer prices went back to normal, allowing the Frankfurters their good old Prosit der Gemüdlichkeit.
Opposed to the modern skyline of steel and silver one can admire the town’s more traditional centre, (convulsively) keeping intact what every foreign tourist hopes to find back on their holiday pictures. Authentic or absolutely not, the Römer is a place worth visiting, if only to find the memorial of the site were books of our world’s biggest thinkers were once burned by the Nazis.
The Eiserner Steg, a steel bridge aggravated with a high quantity of the in the meantime famous love-locks, easily leads you out of this conglomeration of German folklore.
Just before closing time I tried to get a quick impression of the Museum Für Angewandte Kunst. To summarize that impression: Very few things in a lot of space. Very few weird things, to be more precise. And it takes a lot for me to classify things as plain weird. Not sure if that’s good or bad.
In the cold evening breeze I stumbled back to my temporary home to cook for Dirk, while quieting down my senses with the light-vibed movie he put on: Schlussmacher. As my host starts his working days at 5AM at the aorta of local tourism, Frankfurt Airport, I adopted his rhythm and went for an early night and a subsequent early morning… allowing me enough time for the absolute eye catcher of the town: the Städler.
In the cold evening breeze I stumbled back to my temporary home to cook for Dirk, while quieting down my senses with the light-vibed movie he put on: Schlussmacher. As my host starts his working days at 5AM at the aorta of local tourism, Frankfurt Airport, I adopted his rhythm and went for an early night and a subsequent early morning… allowing me enough time for the absolute eye catcher of the town: the Städler.
Paris has the Louvre, New York has the Guggenheim, Madrid has its Reina Sofía… and Frankfurt has the Städler. Quite content I entered this obvious gem with my €10-pass while the entrance alone would already be €15 in itself. The amount of art is so unimaginably tremendous that it’s basically impossible to stand still at every piece and give it the attention it deserves. For me it came down to a slow stroll through a surrealistic world of perspectives and imagination. According to Mr. Google I passed by 2700 paintings, 100.000 drawings and 600 sculptures that day, spread out over a 4000 m² display. And not the least of artists, it must be said: Where can you find Chagall, Degas, Cézanne, Klee, Ernst, Manet, Monet, Sisley, Munch, Matisse, Macke, Vasari, Raffael, Caravaggio, Van Eyck, Brueghel, Holbein, Rubens, Vermeer, Cuyp, Steen, Bol and Rembrandt all under one roof nowadays? It’s an endless celebration of everything from abstract to impressionist and from surrealist to mannerist. For anyone unable to understand my enthusiasm: It’s like being a soccer fan and having your all-time-heroes like Messi, Beckham and Ronaldo shaking your hand all at the same day.
For lunch I decided to do what the locals do. So I descended to the banks of the river Main, bought myself an Apfelwein and a bezel (pretzel), and sat down along the creek for a shoeless little picnic, optimizing every ray of sunlight granted to the generally frigid city.
As the average German is way more immune against alcohol intake than this wine-sipping snob, a tad too cheerful I wobbled to the next museum on the list: Museum Für Kommunikation, which is exactly what the name describes it to be.
Let me translate that German Jägermeister-ad for you: “I drink Jägermeister while my dealer serves his time in jail”… quoted by a child. This is a weird country.
I opted for a walk, caressing my senses with the discrepancies this city offers. With a trendy coffee-to-go in my hand (city girls don’t have time to sit down for essential matters like caffeine intake) I witnessed how modern streets slowly transformed into wealthy houses of the nouveau riche. At the edge of town I found the last cultural stop my time in Frankfurt allowed me: the Struwwelpetermuseum. Who’s Struwwelpeter? Struwwelpeter is an (apparently German) punk that refused to wash or groom himself up until the point that his nails grew almost a meter long and his hair surpassed the level of a reggae-singer in the 60’ies. Struwwelpeter induces warm memories of my childhood, as I still vaguely remember my grandmother once showing a faded painting of this little boy when I tried to escape bathing time. This fairy-tale-figure, brought into life by Doctor Heinrich Hoffmann, seems intriguing enough to dedicate a whole 3-story house to. After a hearty conversation in German and Spanish with the lovely old lady running the treasury (in the past she also emigrated to Argentina and lived there for almost twenty years), I accepted her best travel wishes and continued my city stroll through the well-of part of town.
I opted for a walk, caressing my senses with the discrepancies this city offers. With a trendy coffee-to-go in my hand (city girls don’t have time to sit down for essential matters like caffeine intake) I witnessed how modern streets slowly transformed into wealthy houses of the nouveau riche. At the edge of town I found the last cultural stop my time in Frankfurt allowed me: the Struwwelpetermuseum. Who’s Struwwelpeter? Struwwelpeter is an (apparently German) punk that refused to wash or groom himself up until the point that his nails grew almost a meter long and his hair surpassed the level of a reggae-singer in the 60’ies. Struwwelpeter induces warm memories of my childhood, as I still vaguely remember my grandmother once showing a faded painting of this little boy when I tried to escape bathing time. This fairy-tale-figure, brought into life by Doctor Heinrich Hoffmann, seems intriguing enough to dedicate a whole 3-story house to. After a hearty conversation in German and Spanish with the lovely old lady running the treasury (in the past she also emigrated to Argentina and lived there for almost twenty years), I accepted her best travel wishes and continued my city stroll through the well-of part of town.
I passed the wunderschöne Alte Oper and took in the lively hustle-bustle around the square.
Over the hipster-coffeeshop-loaded Biebergasse I walked in the direction of the Hauptwache, where distant screaming and chanting enticed me to follow. As the smartest and safest option is always to avoid heated protests, I needless to say walked right into it to see what’s up. Apparently the nationalist Turkish movement marched along the streets promoting the expansion of the Ottoman Empire (Kurdistan-related), causing leftish anti-fascists to hold up there middlefingers while chanting war cries like “Nationalismus raus auf die Köpfen!”. As neutral as Switzerland I followed the marches for about two hours, chatting with both the Turks, anti’s and en masse mobilized police squat. I ended my stroll with a visit to the cathedral, of which the reddish interior looks way smaller than it appears to be from the outside.
I concluded my last day in Frankfurt with a local meal of Kartoffeln and grüne Soβe, traditionally flushed away with an Apfelwein or two. However, as my flight left Frankfurt on Monday evening, Dirk asked me if before my departure I was interested in joining him and his young Brazilian friend-with-benefits to the picturesque Heidelberg. Life is more interesting if you more often say ‘yes’ to open invitations, so before I could think about it I was already sitting in the back of his convertible racing with 150 km/h to the destination mentioned.
Heidelberg is one big get-together of all images popping up in your mind when hearing the word ‘Germany’: castles, long green fields divided by twisting streams, medieval churches, old stone bridges, traditional window-framed log cabins… A setting best celebrated Bridget-Jones-style with sunglasses and a headscarf (to prevent coupe tornado), in the back of a cabriolet in looming spring.
Danke Deutschland, es war mir ein Vergnügen.
Danke Deutschland, es war mir ein Vergnügen.
Fast-forward 4 years... one of my dearest travel friends I met hiking the Camino de Santiago comes from Heidelberg. Spending about 7 months in Switzerland (captured by corona) I kept on passing by Frankfurt and Heidelberg. Did I change much? Not a single bit. Is that a good thing? You bet!
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