What's in a name?

I booked my flight to Ireland out of Frankfurt, Germany. S. was incredibly thoughtful, and booked me a flight from Nuremberg to Frankfurt. She said it would be easier to fly than to catch a train or for her to drive me.

I was looking over the tickets the night before and asked how to get from one Frankfurt terminal to the other. My Dublin flight left out of a Frankfurt 120 km south of the Frankfurt I was flying to from Nuremberg. I was unaware there are three Frankfurts in Germany, all with airports. Are you kidding me? Why on earth would you have three Frankfurts? When someone says they are flying out of Minneapolis, one assumes that it is the twin city, not a small northern suburb of Duluth. Why do they not post that in big flashing letters on websites?

S. was amazing - she scrambled and found me another flight from the second Frankfurt to Dublin. Crisis avoided. She took me to the airport the next morning, checked me in, and talked the attendant into checking my bags through to Dublin.

I had to recheck-in at Frankfurt because I was switching airlines and leaving the country. The new airline didn't open their ticket offices until two hours before boarding, so I waited. I checked in when they opened, but there was a small glitch. Even though I had a confirmation email with the ticket on it, they had no record in their system. I never wanted to speak German more. They told me I could buy another ticket if I wanted, but there was nothing they could do.

I used my last euros to call S. and then Expedia. Expedia told me there was no problem on their end and that the ticket was processed. They reissued me a ticket though in case it was a system glitch. I suspect they forgot to issue the ticket in the first place. Anyway, I went back to the counter in tears and they agreed to let me fly stand-by with my confirmation email. I also suspect they had found the ticket by this point and were covering up.

Still, I made the flight. Auf wiedersehen, Germany. I'll miss you and all your Frankfurters.

Yoga

The next day in Germany was fabulously relaxed. S. invited me to her yoga class. I have been doing yoga for about six years now, so I felt pretty confident that I wouldn't embarrass myself. Pride before a fall and all that.

Until this experience, I never realized how much yoga involves focusing on the directions from the instructor. She tells you when to breathe, where to focus your energy, how to balance your weight, and where your strength should be focused. She was a fantastic instructor - beautiful with a very smooth, soothing voice. Unfortunately for me, I still didn't speak German. I felt like such a novice.  I had to look around to see where we were in the program.  My sun salutations were off, I couldn't center myself, and my breathing exercises were crap.  Completely humiliating.

S. made me an appointment with her stylist for later that afternoon. Eight weeks without a trim and my ends were looking a little rough. We stopped at a nursery first to pick up flowers for her garden. For some reason, I had this notion that Germany was cold like the upper Midwest. Nuremberg, however, is not. It has a very mild climate; they can even grow lemon trees and magnolias in the yards! I am so jealous. I miss warm climates. I have been trying (unsuccessfully) to grow a magnolia for the past four years. They have a variety that does better in cold climates, but I'm not interested in tiny pink flowers. I want the huge white blossoms and the dark glossy leaves. Someday. For now I comfort myself with jasmines and gardenias, much to DH's dismay.

We ran to the grocery store, grabbed goodies for a picnic lunch, and then picked up the girls from school. S.'s stylist was a doll. Thomas (or maybe Tomas) was a flamboyant artist with a closely shaven head and uber stylish glasses. His English was terrible but still far better than my German. I let him have free rein - always the best option when you can't tell someone what you want. Just go with it. Halfway through the cut, he started talking rapidly in German then disappeared around the corner. He came back wearing a wig that made him look far more emo and far less hipster. I want to import him to the States.

We went to dinner at an Italian place with a friend of S.'s that evening, an opera singer. She was also lovely. Really, I've been quite lucky in my travels to meet such fascinating, talented, friendly people.

Modern art and footwear

S. spoiled me terribly. My first night there she made an amazing pasta and incredible dessert. I hadn't eaten that well since I left the States. We stayed up way too late talking and drinking wine. It reminded me of when I stay with her sister. We do the same thing. I'm always tired the next day, but it's worth it.

She had parent-teacher conferences for her son V. the next day, so she arranged for me to tour a modern art exhibit with some friends of hers. The Neues Museum was wonderful - very sleek and minimalistic, and her friends were darling. The exhibit was Marcello Morandini, an immensely talented artist/architect/designer. The tour guide was very thorough; she talked for almost two hours.

Unfortunately, the tour was in German, and I tend to dislike modern art.

S. and V. picked me up from the museum, and we went for a walk in the old town. There's a fountain in the center, Schoner Brunnen, that has a lovely myth associated with it. The Glucksbringer (golden ring) set into the fence is supposed to grant your wishes or bring you love if you turn it 360 degrees. I'm always up for luck and love, so I gave it a spin. Based on the rest of my trip, I think I spun it the wrong direction.



We ate lunch at (I think) Zum Gulden Stern. They have the cutest little sausages with kraut. It's much like Prague in that you share a table with whomever is at the other end. V. had homework to finish, so S. called him a cab and sent him home after lunch. I thought this was fabulous. How fun to have your own driver! I would have pretended to be very famous and important.

S. and I continued the tour of the old town. As most all of you know, I have a distinct weakness for beautiful shoes (and clothes) that often outweighs the practicality issues I might face. I was wearing red crocodile skin open-toe heels. They are fabulous. They are not, however, all that appropriate for walking up a cobblestone path to an ancient castle as noted by the cute road worker as we passed by.

I did look cute though.

Train stations

I am quite behind on my blogs, so forgive them for being out of order. The whole trip will make it up...eventually. Maybe.

Ah, Germany. The country of kraut, sausages, and beer. I never thought much about Germany before I went there on this trip. I now have fabulous memories of it.

I've a friend who lives in Nuremberg who graciously allowed me to stay with her for a few days before my partially ill-fated trip to Ireland. I dropped M. and DH off at the metro and headed to the train station in Prague. The train I was planning on taking left at one p.m. It was about nine a.m., so I thought I could buy my ticket, grab lunch with the sixty crowns I had left, and then catch the train. The ticket man had other ideas. He booked me on the morning departure, so I had just enough time to grab a Coke and jump on the train.

The trains are an interesting ordeal. Some of the seats are reserved. Some are first-come, first-serve. I have yet to figure out how one tells the difference. I chose poorly my first go around. I tucked my bags in the overhead compartment and settled in to listen to "Agreeing to Disagree". About twenty minutes later I was interrupted by a couple who had somehow magically reserved the seat I was occupying. I spent the next five minutes standing in limbo land between the train cars. Scary place, limbo. The old westerns had it wrong. It is not adventurous to jump over the speeding rails. It is idiotic.

Wandered down the aisle in the next car and found an open seat. Hooray! Border patrol came through and checked my passport, but didn't stamp it. I find this curious. I also did not get a stamp when I entered or left Czech. What if I was a spy or a fugitive? I could totally have hidden in Czech.

My Czech is bad. My German/Deutsch is non-existent. This did not stop me from trying. I made friends with the elderly German couple in my car despite the language barrier. Sign language and smiling covers all manner of sins. They took me under their wing and helped me with the transfer in Schwandorf. I'm sure that they announced the transfer, but announcements in German are not very helpful to me.

Arrived at the train station several hours early. No wifi. No cellphone. No Euros. Sigh. I found a bank of payphones with instructions - also in German. I really envied all of my multilingual friends at that moment. An hour or so later, I finally figured out how to work the phone and reached Shara. She picked me up at the train station and my German adventure began.