Two Thousand Frankfurt Four

You would think it is pretty straightforward: The language spoken by Germans in Germany is German. Yet I still can't get past the "All foreign languages are created equal" mental block. "Mmm, I speak a little French, but would it be not so much of a problem if you would kindly speak English?"

Through the magic of Babelfish and a very patient waitress who helped me with pronunciation, I was able to master such useful phrases as "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" and "Halten Sie meinen Freund, bitte fest!" Rather than evoking the chuckles I had expected, the usual response to the latter was a puzzled but stern look accompanied by a pensive "Why?" It was as if to say, "I will do so, if only you provide me with sufficient justification." Either the Germans take themselves way too seriously, or it isn't appropriate to provoke frivolous detainment by the polizei. Probably both.

One things Germans take very seriously, much to their credit, is driving. Compared to driving in America, driving in Germany is an absolute pleasure. Germans are the only people in the world except driving instructors that obey the pass left, drive right rule. Road signs are obeyed with religiosity. Is traffic stopped ahead? Is there an accident? No worried: You will be kindly notified by the driver in front of you who will put on their emergency flashers. As for turn signals, we might need a short refresher course: These are flashing yellowing lights equipped on most modern automobiles used to indicate one's intention to change the direction of one's vehicle by 90 degrees or more. The Germans distinguish themselves by not only employing these signals, but by giving them credence. Once upon a time in Mannheim, I was caught in the far left lane of a 4-lane boulevard when I realized I needed to turn right. I turned on my right turn signal and cringed at the prospect of having to battle my way through. When I turned my head to see what I was up against, I was astounded to find that the good people of Mannheim created a path for me to get through. Anyone who thinks Germans are bad drivers is either criminally insane or an American.

We'd received a few suggestions of towns to visit, so when we had some free time Scott posed the following question: "What is the name of that one town with the church in the middle with an old town around it and shops and a castle?" The answer, of course, is EVERY SINGLE TOWN IN GERMANY. But never fear, my spidey-sense knew how to get to the Parking Haus 13 in Heidelberg and to that old standby of Americans longing for an understandable menu, the Beer Brezel. (The town he was thinking of was actually Rothenburg ob der Tauber). Come to think of it, I've never actually eaten dinner in Mannheim, or, or that matter, anywhere in Heidelberg other than the Beer Brezel. However, Heidelberg Schloss (Castle) was uncharted territory for both of us, and we took a very informative guided tour. ("This is the last tour of the day, and the doors lock automatically, so be careful. People have gotten stuck from time to time.")

After the tour, we went to the German Apothecary museum which is located at the Schloss. We scooted in before closing and found a nice lady giving a presentation in English. Afterwards, she came up to us and proceeded to give us a very stern talking-to--in German. I caught "this is a private service provided to those that paid" but our verbal protests, wild gesticulations, and, well, the fact we'd been listen to the English version of her presentation didn't clue her in to the fact that she was telling us off in the wrong language. This was a common occurrence, actually. I seemed to have keyed in to precise German pronunciation for the 2 phrases I knew, so no matter how many times I said "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" no one ever seemed to take me seriously. The airport screener who wanted to check my carry-on bag went on for a full 45 seconds despite my repeated entreaties. Have you ever met those people who think that foreigners will spontaneously start comprehending IF ONLY YOU SPEAK LOUDLY? It was kind of like that, except that once I started actually speaking in my native tongue she blushed and gave her spiel in perfect Queen's English ("Dear sir, I am going to swab your camera flash for residue, would you mind stepping aside for a minute?")

The last stop in Heiedelberg was the Heidelberg Starbucks. I asked the cashier for "ein venti kaffe mit espresso, bitte". She promptly turned to the barista and barked, "Ein venti 'Red-Eye'!" So much for doing as the Romans do. I told the barista that the Starbucks in Seattle don't even recognize what a Red-Eye is. "Oh, they really should get with it," he opined.

After loading my coffee up with the pink stuff (Splenda apparently being unknown in Germany), I heard some folks conversing in English. It turned out to be a teacher from Florida and a college student from California with distinctly caucasian features named Mae-ling ("My father is Chinese" she explained). I told her I was from Monterey, and she was beside herself. "Really??? I am from Salinas! I always say I am from Monterey though, because no one knows where Salinas is." "Actually, I am really from Salinas, too..." And so there we were, at the Heidelberg Starbucks, discussing the outcome of the Salinas mayoral election and our exciting new lettuce museum. Serendipity, as they say, is inexorable.

Frankfurt was also an experience, if only because it seems that Americans never want to go there. "It is just like any other big city." Yes, but I want to see how real Germans live. American tourists want castles, lederhosen, and bratwurst. Real Germans apparently want Starbucks, McDonald's, and Levis. No wonder Americans never want to visit. The biggest difference I noticed was the European fashion sense. I noticed that a number of German men were dressed with a certain... urban flair. It made me wonder how deeply the stylistic differences ran. The H&P featured one particularly frilly orange shirt in the men's section. I finally broke down and told the salesperson "In America, such a shirt would be for a man who likes other men." "Oh, it is the same way here!" So there.

Americans may never want to visit Frankfurt, but it is incredibly popular with the Japanese. Downtown Frankfurt even features a JCB (Japan Credit Bureau) Plaza. Being a JCB cardholder, and never having utilized a JCB Plaza, I thought I'd pop in. What followed was a grand example of collective confusion. The Japanese ladies at the plaza were very earnest, but they spoke exactly two languages: Japanese and German. Even after I handed them my JCB card, there was 5 minutes of excited conversation, the end result of which was a free set of moist toweletes and a Japanese-language guide to shopping in Frankfurt.

A fine Thanksgiving goose and a glass of Riesling marked the holiday and our last day in Germany. After a brief panic when we'd forgotten the GPS was still reporting arrival times based on walking (rather than driving) time, we arrived safely at the airport. 13 hours later, it back in San Francisco with only US Customs to answer to.

"Do you have anything to declare?"
"Ich sprechen kein Deutsch."

Here are some of the pictures.