Just an aside, the dates and times are when I was writing, not when things were actually happening, so it seems, sometimes, to not make a lot of sense.
Saturday, February 12, 2005, 1:40am
We arrived in Frankfurt on time, but unfortunately Katharina was out of town, and is not due back until tomorrow. That left me with 2 and a half hours before my rendezvous with Jordan. I walked around the area I came to know a year ago when I had something like 8 and a half hours to kill, for about half of that, then headed back to the station to avoid the pending dark, and give my back a break from my bag. I forced myself to look through the shops first, then took a seat at the track where we were to meet an hour later.
After reading for a while, I was interrupted by a “do you speak English?” A creepy-looking guy, probably late-teens, early-twenties, sat down beside me and started telling me about his “big f’ing problem” (“sorry for the swearing, but I hate these people”). He *apparently* had been pick-pocketed at the McDonald’s at the station, and his passport, credit cards, phone… were all taken. Even the British Embassy wouldn’t help him, and now he was just 9 euros short. Short of what, exactly, we never actually established, but last I checked, asking for money in the train station won’t get your passport back. When I told him that I had no cash, and that I was waiting for a friend to come meet me, he left (although I’m sure he didn’t believe me).
Later, as I was walking around to warm up a bit, another guy came up asking for a euro. I told him (in German) that I didn’t speak German, so he tried English. I shook my head and said “non” for effect. He nonetheless tried to explain in English, with as many gestures as possible, including the arm thing accompanied by a “choo-choo” (or I suppose tschou, tschou!) to show that the euro he needed was for the train. I guess his attempts at English made my brain switch gears though, and as I shook my head one last time, an “I’m sorry” slipped out. Oops. He didn’t seem to catch it though, or else he assumed that I was making an attempt at English too.
The third person to ask for money only wanted 10 cents. This one was particularly creepy in the smooth and subtle way he went about it. Since I had told him that I didn’t speak German (or English – man, EVERYone speaks some English here) he proceeded to show me one of the 10-cent pieces in his handful of change to explain what he wanted. He was much more subtle than the other two; probably did better at it too. People passing by would barely have noticed that he stopped in front of me, much less that he was asking for money. Plus, he was asking for less. Anyway, who knows.
February 12, 2005, 7:30pm
6:30 finally came, and Jordan showed up right on time. After taking pictures of a somewhat freaky billboard at the end of the track (the actual reason he wanted to meet there; not because he was coming from there), we headed to the American restaurant I went to the last time I was stuck in the vicinity of the train station, actually very close to a year ago. After dinner, we headed to Jordan’s in Offenbach, met up with his roommate, Iva, another Canadian, and decided to find a bar nearby instead of going back into Frankfurt. We found a pretty cool one “Weiss” (“white”) which seemed both intimate and trendy. It may have been pricey, but certainly not relative to France, so I’m not sure. I tried a local specialty; apple wine, which was not bad; very light, although served in a normal glass which, as Iva pointed out, did sort of take away from the class of it. We were all pretty tired, but still stayed up relatively late. I figured I would still be up before the two of them, so they left me a set of keys so that I could go for a walk in the morning.
I, surprisingly, slept until 11:00, which was nice. By the time I was showered, they were both up. I still went for a walk, though, so that they could get ready. As is my habit, I went into the first store I passed, a drug store (more in the North American sense than the French sense), to see what candy / chocolate I could find that I couldn’t get in France. I settled on chocolate-covered raisins (although I’ve never looked for them in France, so they may exist). At the cash, the lady said something more than “89 cents please,” so my phrase of choice came out again. She left the cash register to get me the store’s free magazine, pulled a coupon off the front, and gave me a sample of Nivea cream from under the counter. Fortunately, “many thanks” is also one of the phrases I know, so I put that one to use too. My walk ended up being short, because the weather didn’t really inspire a long exploration, so I went back to Jordan’s.
(to be cont’d)
