4th Trip to Frankfurt: Becoming a Tour Guide for an Actual German Citizen

It is odd to think that I have been to a foreign city more than once, or twice, or three times. Frankfurt, Germany may not be the ideal vacation spot, however, I have found myself there four times within the past five years.

This time, I was meeting Boyfriend halfway (he lives in eastern Germany, just a few hours from the Czech border, I live in the north west, just an hour drive from the Netherlands border).

We also met up with my dear friend Charlotte, who was my first tie to Germany. She was an exchange student when I was a junior in high school. We developed a fast friendship that has kept going over distance, relationships, going weeks without talking.

The first time I ever visited Germany, I flew into Frankfurt to stay with Charlotte. I was there almost a week then hopped a train to Berlin.

The full name of the city is Frankfurt am Mainz (Frankfurt on Mainz). 

And here is a bridge over the river Mainz.

The second time in Frankfurt, I was there for just over a week, with Whitworth University on a German Language and Culture trip.

Frankfurt Altstadt

The third time was just over 24 hours, the time Amanda and I spent wandering around till she flew back to the US.

Boyfriend, had never been to Frankfurt, other than the airport and train station.
So guess who became the tour guide.

A Berliner buying me Berliners while in Frankfurt. 

Explaining the history of a German city to a native German was interesting, and a ton of fun.
(hmmm, maybe I should become a tour guide).

The weather was cloudy, a bit chilly, with some rain. We went to a wonderful art museum with an exhibit of Van Gogh, Picasso, and others. 

Not part of the museum, but near by, street art. 

We also discovered a "modern art mini golf" place, and took a swing at it. 

Charlotte golfing. 

Boyfriend putting. Yes, you had to stand on the table. 

I also showed Boyfriend one of my favorite buildings in all of Germany. The Mall with a Hole, as I call it. And it is simply that. It also holds one of the longest escalators in the world. 

We wandered along the river, ate pastries, and found a ridiculously dangerous playground for children. 

Even I had trouble with the "slide".

For more Frankfurt fun photos, visit my photo blog.

Bacharach and the Disciples of St. Steve

During spring work and before harvest my father would take a hour lunch break. He would come in and have a sandwich or reheat the tacos from the previous night, and sit down in his work clothes, boots left at the door of course, to watch an hour of TV. As it was also lunch time for us girls, we would watch with him. Thirty minutes of Julia Child followed by thirty minutes of Rick Steves.

My father was always impressed with Rick Steves. He would even drop his Julia Child impression to comment on the canals of Amsterdam or tell a quick memory of his college years in the Alps. Mr. Steves would take us through German castles, point out the best place for authentic Italian pizza, and shoot out random facts of London buildings.

I grew up with Rick Steves.

Yet when I arrived in Bacharach, a small town on the Rhein River in Germany, to meet my dear friends Julia and Max, I was still surprised to see that their travel bible had been written by Rick Steves (or Stevo as the couple called him).

Stevo led us on an informative walking tour that allowed us to see corners and sites of the city we may have overlooked. He suggested our hotel (a small bed and breakfast ran by a lovely elderly German woman. She didn't speak a word of English, and despite the flock of gnats at breakfast, the place was impeccably clean and comfortable), restaurants, and explained that the houses that sat five feet from the train tracks had been given money to sound proof their windows.

 The town from the river. Yes that is a castle on the hill. It is now a hostel. 

Historical post office. The horn is a symbol of post in Germany, and comes from the tradition of the post men blowing a horn as they rode into town to announce the arrival of the post.

Julia and I, with vineyards, an old watch tower, and a crumbling bit of wall from centuries ago.

Bacharach was like a real live Leavenworth. In the off season. We found one pub and one restaurant (Greek) and one cafe that were open. And a few slightly sketchy souvenir shops. We basically had the town to ourselves, which was glorious. A quite weekend off, in the beautiful, and historical Rhein River valley. 

 Standing on the hill that is behind Julia and I in the last photo. 

 Street to our hotel. 

Now you see why fairy tales were based here. 

Bacharach was a fantastic time with great friends. 

We give our thanks to St. Steves

St. Rick Steves

Want to see more fantastic, artsy shots of this lovely weekend getaway? Then click this. 

No Longer Crying. Still Eating Chocolate.

Yes, I know I haven't written in a while. In over a month actually.

I believe I realized the reasons why:

1. I blame an au pair friend who shared with me a website where I  can watch American TV shows, including all 10 seasons of Friends.
2. My inner laziness came out. 
3. The weather changed; warm sun, blue skies, and wildflowers blooming. 
4. The novelty of living in a foreign country has started to wear off. 
5. I realized I am living in the German equivalent of Moses Lake (Washington). 
6. I needed an outlet to write about just life, not just travel life. 

And so I changed the tagline of this blog. No longer is it "the story of my painless addiction to travel."

Because after tonight, which started out perfectly fine with me sitting down with some chocolate to google how to become a substitute teacher, and ended with me near hysterics about the future, making a decision on what career, masters program, and life I should plan; I figured I needed a place to convey the wildly see-sawing frustrations of my quarter life crisis. Instead of blubbering over Facebook messenger to the boyfriend. Who handled it quite well, although he does now know to never really give a Mills woman advice, or if you do, to figure out a way to hide it in off handed comments and chocolates. 

The only things I was successful at tonight was adverting a potential grave misunderstanding between Boyfriend and I, registering and paying for the GRE, and realizing I need to reorganize my iTunes playlists. 

After registering for the GRE and handing off enough money to finance a weekend trip to Paris, I started questioning my choice on masters degree (those of you that are not updated on my forever changing current area of study, I had decided about a month ago to pursue creative writing). Then I wondered if I just study something similar to creative writing, such as publishing or grant writing.

Or maybe I use the degree I paid an arm, a leg, and a few fingers for (Psychology), and I go into science.

Or maybe I get really good at the 12euro set of pastels I bought and just sell those for a living.

Or I kidnap Anthony Bourdain and force him to give me his job. Even though I know nothing about haggis and good wine, I'm sure I could figure it out.

And so I thought I would write a blog post about my frustrations and annoyances at the American higher education system and how expensive it is, how paying thousands for education just burns holes in the pockets and dreams of young adults. I even brought up the wikipedia page on "quarter life crisis" to reference. (Its a blog, not a doctoral thesis, I can reference wikipedia all I want).

However, something else happened. In the midst of me scrolling the internet for quotes on independence, and jumping back to Facebook to rant to Boyfriend about how my life sucks as I want to study everything but society won't let me, I realized it wasn't about me.

(Well not everything, I mean, goodness, somethings still are.)

Boyfriend had stayed up hours after his bedtime (he wakes up at 4am for work), to read message after message from me ranting about socialism and american politics, about the pros and cons of a MFA in creative writing, of wanting to travel and not having money. He tried to give advice and I told him to stop, I hate making lists and will not make one about my future. He told me he loved me, and I doubted that, covered in snot and tears streaming down my face,  sweating through my baggy T-shirt, and with a new crop of pimples emerging.

But what made me realize it wasn't about me, and it was not something Boyfriend said. It was something I remembered. November before last, I had a similar night (the only difference was a bottle of wine during that night's frustrated tear fest), and I did make a list. The three things I wanted in life, wanted just for me, and for no one else.

1. To Travel.
2. To Write.
3. To Be With Boyfriend (Well, To Tell Him I Loved Him And To See What He Said And To Maybe See Where It Would Go And Then Apparently Reference It On A Public Blog And Embarrass The Crap Out Of Him)

And well, I am with my dear Boyfriend. I am traveling (current Germany residence card anyone?), and I am writing (look at me, writing words, writing writing, words words words).

No, I do not have an acceptance letter into a grad school, let alone a reference letter from a previous professor. I don't have a job that I can pay my bills off of and save money. I do not have organized iTunes playlists (it really is annoying, I try to be introspective and Justin Timberlake starts singing about bringing sexy back).

But I have the things I wanted.
And I asked myself where I think I will be in five years.
I see myself in a small but cozy house, in South Africa (Boyfriend wants to work there), with a masters degree in something I am proud of, but might not be pursuing. I see an easel on the balcony, homemade chocolate chip cookies cooling (the only baking recipe I can do from memory and scratch), books on every surface, and myself curled up on the couch, talking on the phone, to my mother.

I see myself being happy.
And if I am that confident in being happy in five years time, what is the point of worrying now? I may sound overly optimistic and idealistic. But I am 24 years old. I do think its my damn right to be optimistic. I grew up in a country, in a family, that told me I could be, and do, whatever I want as long as I work hard.

I want to travel.
I want to write.
I want to help people.
I want to love and be loved.
I want eat chocolate every day, and never forget the feeling of deep breath relief after a good cry.
I want to one day hold my child in my arms and smell the soft hair.
I want to have downs, just to know I can get back up.
I want to be as happy as I am at this moment, knowing that I know myself (as well as anyone can know themselves), that I know what makes me happy (a glass of cold milk and a good book for starters).

And I may look back at this in five years time and think I was stupid, and blinded. That I should of started studying earlier for the GRE, spent my money more carefully, and eaten less chocolate.

But I don't think I will.
I should "eat less chocolate?"
That doesn't sound like me.


Note:
You may wonder why I am mentioning Boyfriend like Boyfriend and not his name. Well despite the fact that you can search me on Facebook and easily figure out who the hell I am dating, I figured I would protect his privacy a bit.

Note 2:
Yes, father, I will still go to grad school.

Note 3:
Yes, I will catch up on where I left off last in my travel posts.

Note 4:
For all those readers over the age of 30 (or just really dull 20 somethings), if you think I am overly optimistic and idealistic, well, I am sorry. Foxnews is calling your name.

Note 5:
And for a hilarious and true quote I found while surfing that didn't quite fit into this post:

"26 shows up in the middle of coffee one morning and hands you a freshly printed memo that reads: 'You’re going to get old one day and die. You’re cool for now, but it will happen. You’re officially on notice. You won’t be young forever.' And then 26 struts out of your office, like an unconcerned dick, having nonchalantly just changed your entire perspective."

- Jessica Blankenship