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Travelogue Germany 1993

EPISODE 1

Germany, a place that I had often dreamed of visiting would soon be my destination. Only a month before this weekend, I was sure that the trip was not to be, resigning myself to a summer in the good ol USA.

The call from my friend Martin was not really a surprise, though I was still unprepared for the conversation. I had sent Martin a note, explaining that I was not sure about the proposed trip to visit him in Germany, that maybe I should wait a year. After all, I had purchased both a new car and a computer that year, and was not sure that a trip to Europe would be very sensible. Well, fortunately for me, Martin was not convinced by my reasons and had called to convince me to visit Germany anyway. After fifteen minutes on the phone, Martin had encouraged me to go for it, so I began planning and preparing for the adventure.

Martin is a German friend of mine, whom I met the year before at my church-- he had recently moved into the area and on one particular sunday, dropped in at my church. The pastors wife introduced us, and over the course of time we became good friends.

His reason for visiting the US was to complete a practical term at a company in the field he was planning to enter. As an engineering student, he was required to complete this term as were his classmates, but Martin chose to fulfil his term in America. Through a friend of his father, he had landed a position at Krones USA, a division of the parent company in Germany. Along with an opportunity to work in his future field, he was given a two room apartment near the plant in which to live during his six month encounter.

Departure

The thursday evening before I was to depart, I spent time packing and organizing anything and everything that might be useful for me on the trip. Clothing and toiletries, along with two cameras, a new spiral bound sketchbook and mechanical pencil. I was planning to write this journal as well as sketch the interesting sites I hoped to see. It was late when I finished packing, so I stretched out on my bed, hoping to get some sleep before the long day ahead.

Friday morning seemed to come more quickly than I had expected, but I had no choice but to get moving. I loaded my bags in the car, since I was planning to leave for the trip to OHare airport in Chicago immediately after work. Somehow I managed to get everything into the car in one trip, and that would be good practice for moving my luggage through airports and train stations for the rest of the tour.

My half day at work went smoothly, and I must admit that my mind was already focusing on the trip to the airport and the upcoming flight. Near noon I finished the all of my active jobs and divided the remaining projects were between my co-workers, then said goodbye to everyone at Hare Strigenz. They all wished me a safe and enjoyable trip.

I drove to my parents house where I picked up my father and my brother Peter. They traveled with me to the airport, not only for moral support but to return my car to Milwaukee and store it for the two weeks that I would be away.

The expressway to Chicago was as busy, though traffic heading south moved smoothly to OHare airport. We arrived at the airport in about two hours and spent several minutes of searching for a parking spot. Eventually, we happened on a gap between two cars, somewhere on the upper portion of the parking structure. Dad took a look at the location of the car and then we each took a piece of luggage and started walking towards the terminal.

O'Hare airport was bustling-- travelers scurried past us in all directions looking for departure gates and endeavoring to make it to their flights on time. The signs to the Lufthansa counter were clearly visible as we ascended on the escalator to the third level. I waited in line to be admitted, and when I presented my ticket, I was immediately informed of a two hour delay on that particular flight. One of the planes still in Germany had a fueling problem, which delayed our flight schedule-- the time neccessary to activate another plane from the hangar.

Because of this delay, the ticketing agent offered to reschedule me on Sabena Airlines, with a connection in Belgium. The Sabena flight would have put me at Stuttgart airport, several miles from the train station, where Martin and I had already planned to meet-- so I chose to wait for the delayed Lufthansa flight. I wanted to keep the plans as intact as I could, to avoid any possible complications that might occur. This way, I would at least be in the right place at the wrong time.

After leaving the check-in counter, I located a phone booth and called Germany. After a few odd sounding rings, Rolf, Martin's father answered. I spoke to him in English, since my German was pretty lousy, and I was able to relay to him that my flight would be arriving two hours later than expected. He assured me that Martin would be waiting for me at the train station in Stuttgart, around three instead of one.

My father, Peter and I, followed signs down to my gate, at the end of the long walkway. A group of people were seated in the waiting area, some bound for Germany, like me, and some for other destinations. We watched as the group of travelers dwindled with the ebb and flow of arrivals and departures. The two hour wait went quickly, and soon I was saying goodbye to Dad and Pete and on my way up the long narrow boarding tunnel to the plane.

Cattle Class

After a little hunting, I found my seat and made myself as comfortable as I could, in preparation for the 8 hour flight ahead. My seat happened to be in coach class, which I have affectionately named cattle class due to the narrow aisles I had to negotiate to my generally uncomfortable seating arrangement. Once everyone was seated, the plane taxied to the runway-- moments later we thrusted off into the warm red evening sky.

About half an hour after takeoff, the attendants began serving our dinner.The food was as good as could be expected-- it was after all, airplane food. I decided that the in-flight movie was not worth staying awake for, so I attempted to sleep-- and the key word here is attempted. A few hours later, I woke to a pounding headache somewhere over Greenland.

Touchdown

By the time we had reached German airspace, I had given up any ideas about sleeping, focusing instead on the clouds rolling past my window. Occasionally bits and pieces of green grass and red rooftops appeared as the plane decended through the clouds. As we circled over Frankfurt airport, I could see more detail in the neighborhoods and factories below.

The cabin came to life as we approached the runway. Light streamed through the plane's windows, as shades lifted throughout the plane. I could hear the noise in the cabin increase as passengers began organizing their belongings for departure. With a mild jolt, the plane touched down and rolled to a stop on the tarmac of Frankfurt airport.

I imagined the sun rising in a yellow-orange sky over Milwaukee-- which was especially odd-- since it was nearly noon in Germany. As I would soon find, the shift from Milwaukee to German time would be a little difficult for my first few days in the country.

Three Busses traveled across the airport grounds and rolled up to the exit ladder of our plane. All out of country travelers arrived on the tarmac and were bussed to the customs-- probably for security reasons. We boarded the busses, and when the last passenger was on, began the trip across the airport to the customs area. On the drive toward the airport, I began to get a feeling for how massive the place really was.

Frankfurt Airport

In Chicago, the Lufthansa ticketing agent had marked numbers for the train terminal on my ticket jacket, which I found indespensible in the huge airport. I was waved through the passport check and proceded to follow signs to the opposite side of the complex, where the train terminal was.

In the terminal area, I validated my train ticket and checked my baggage for the train to Stuttgart. Having a little time on my hands before the trains arrival, I took a little stroll to get a better feeling for the interior of the airport. I was a bit thirsty, so I began searching for a place to find something to drink. I wandered into a convenience store and bought an unusual 500ml can of Pepsi, which also turned out to be a nice souvenir for a friend who happened to collect Pepsi cans. The purchase also served as a way to get some loose change for later.

Mistaken Identity

The train to Stuttgart was scheduled to depart at 1:30 that afternoon, so about and hour beforehand, I walked down to the platform to watch trains pass by. I found a good place to sit and relaxed. I must have appeared to be German, because on two separate occasions, German travelers came up to me and asked questions in German, to which I replied Ich Spreche klein Deutsch. Roughly translated it means I cant speak very much German. In both cases, I was given a surprised look followed by Im sorry! in English.

After about an hour, my train rolled up, I boarded it and found a wide leather deat near one of the large windows. I think that the part I enjoyed most about the ride, was being able to watch the landscape of Germany as we rolled by. I especially enjoy traveleing by train, because it gives me the opportunity to see parts of the countryside that I usually miss when driving a car.

I was also able to observe an interesting visual phenomena-- trains traveling in the opposite direction would pass by at nearly one hundred miles per hour, creating a ghostly image of our train in its large, reflective window panes.

My lunch was much better than the dinner on the plane and was most definitelty German. It consisted of bockwurst in a bun, a pickle spear, and a chocolate desert all of which tasted deliciously homemade. It was on the train, that I had my first encounter with rich, German coffee-- I was not disappointed.

All in all, I would have to admit that the train ride from Frankfurt to Stuttgart was one of the more enjoyable parts of my voyage-- especially after the cramped eight hour flight from Chicago.

Forty minutes later, the train rolled into the Stuttgart station, slowly decending below the well-used and worn Hauptbanhof (Main train Station) and rolled to a stop in the shadowy tunnel. I grabbed my carry-on bag and began the short walk into the main hall of the station, to pick up my other bags.

I found the Lufthansa baggage area, which was in a small white building in the main hall. Before I walked in the from door, I was greeted by Martin, who had been waiting there for me to arrive. I was happy to see him again and he looked the same as when he left for Germany, in 1992. We spent a few minutes talking about the trip and what was new before entering the baggage center.

initially we had a little trouble finding both of my suitcases, but the attendant located them both and soon we were on our way. Martin directed me to one of the doors, so that I could catch a glimpse of Stuttgart before we left for his apartment in Esslingen.

After a few moments outside, we made out way down one level to the city train platform, to catch the line to Esslingen, a city southeast of Stuttgart. Martin bought tickets from a machine and gave one to me, and we waited a few minutes for the train to arrive. We boarded our train and I found it interesting that there was no one to check tickets and there were no turnstyles to get to the train level. Unlike the EL in Chicago that I was familiar with, the German train system appeared to work on the honor system-- everyone just bought a ticket!

In Esslingen

The ride to Esslingen went quickly and as we left the cover of our train car, we dodged raindrops into to the terminal. By the time we were ready to leave the terminal for the bus shelter, the light showers had escalated into a downpour and we had several hundred feet between the terminal and the shelter that we had to negotiate. We got a bit wet.

We made our way by bus to the top of the ridge that overlooked the city. Martin's apartment faced east with a beautiful panoramic view of the city below. Inside we rested and talked about the year that had passed since we had been together. It was good to finally be someplace-- and not somewhere inbetween. After an hour of visiting, and waiting for the showers to subside, we set out to explore the city and the ancient fortress of Esslingen.

Our first stop on the way down to the city was the fortress. It was a large stone and wood structure built around the thirteenth century. The structure was still in good shape for the most part, due to the efforts of local historical restorations. It had recently been converted into two restaurants, both popular for fancy dinners and wedding receptions.

From this vantage point, I could see both the city lights twinkling in the valley below and the misty hills of the Black Forest on the horizon. Behind the castle, a long stone stairway with a wooden roof led down the hill to the city.

Esslingen, like many German cities, is centered around the original town square, or altstadt (old city) where narrow cobblestone streets lead past old buildings. The zentrum (or center) is designed as a place to meet friends and spend time walking, shopping-- or just enjoying a coffee or a bite to eat at small street cafe. Many cities designate the center of town auto free, so access to the shops is limited to walking, biking or sometimes by city bus.

We wandered around the small town, looking in shop windows and talking about the city. At the center of town we stopped for a while to look at the city hall building. At the top of the structure, a Glockenspiel was built into the face of the city hall. A glockenspiel is based on the same concept as a cuckoo clock, except that its much larger and built right into the face of a building. On this particular device, at the top of the hour, small wooden images of men and women came out of miniature doors to perform in front of the clock face, then returned through the little doors of the clock until the following hour.

After an hour of wandering, we began the climb up the quiet, tree-lined side street that led back to Martin's apartment. By now the sky had grown dark and streetlights were glowing above us. The curving street was dimly lit because of trees that blocked the glow of the streetlights, casting swaying shadows on the street below.

Near the top of the hill at Martin's apartment building, Martin unlocked the heavy, black cast-iron gate and we entered the spacious concrete courtyard. Several feet from the gate was the front door of his apartment, which he opened and we walked up the two flights of stairs to his small room.

Sausage, Sauerkraut and Smashed Potatoes

For dinner, Martin made the Nuremburg sausages, sauerkraut and what he termed as smashed potatoes, which brought a smile to my face. I joked with Martin about his smashed adjective (which was entirely logical) and that we normally call them mashed potatoes in the States. While he cooked, I relaxed and watched a German TV game show that resembled Jeopardy. Dinner was very tasty and quite filling.

After eating, we talked for nearly 2 hours, until Milwaukee time finally caught up with me. I had the odd impression of being in Germany physically yet not feeling entirely there yet mentally -- which Im sure is why its called Jet-lag. I think my mind was still somewhere over the Atlantic.

Sketches from 1993


© 1993-2006 Mike Rohde. Some Rights Reserved.