Frankfurt’s subway intimidated me as did the size of the city. Though my home town was not rural (Frankfurt’s urban setup would extend the first of many subtle invitations for me to love the City), I had far to come.
We were learning by trial. Navigating a city with foreign currency would become an art to master. After some wandering, we found shops and a walkway down to the city’s Min River. Exhausted from our travels, we discovered a nice grassy spot on which we enjoyed some snacks. There, in a moment of rest, we took in the sights of dogs and their people. We glimpsed familiar faces going about their busy lives uttering strange words.
After wandering for a time around the river and into a few large churches, we came across a wood ensemble in practice. In another church, we found a small boy coloring while his parents were busy at some task. We sat with him and colored for a while. Mark had the chance to test out his German. I had no idea what they said to one another. We ate some pizza and found our way back to the airport. Our flight for Spain was leaving in the morning, and we chose to sleep the night in the airport, traveling at first as cheap as possible. Mark reflected on the night that would redden both our eyes.“Next time I will be quicker to just pull out the sleeping bag, lay flat, and do it right. The process of leaning back, then to the side, the more to the side, then laying on the seats, then pulling your feet up, then stretching out, and still wanting to cover up, well it is just the long way to get to where you wan to be.”
All I remember is the blinding halogen lights, the constant flipping of the departure signs and an inherited worry about sleeping in public spaces. We would eventually have to enjoy the skin we were in and take our rest among the passers by. We awoke tired and boarded our flight to the western shores of Medieval Christendom.
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