The Road Less Traveled

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July 17

When I arrived at the Hamburg Hauptbahnhof, Pat (fellow conference attendee in Dnipropetrovsk last year) was waiting on the platform.  She walked me to her car and asked what I wanted to do next. We could go to a museum, walk around, whatever suited my fancy. It was over 30 degrees C (close to 90), so I said walking around might be better later in the afternoon. She then said she had an idea—there was an immigration museum in Hamburg a few S-Bahn stops away from the train station that her other American acquaintances seemed to like. Would I be interested? My eyes lit up and my smile grew wide as I explained how I had debated whether to go to the one in Bremerhaven but missed out. I was pleased to have another crack at such a museum.

We took the S-Bahn to Ballinstadt, named after the man who developed the main industry of steamer ships, cruises and the like.  We paid our 12 Euro entrance fee (ouch!) and seemed to be the only ones at the museum. The buildings and artifacts inside all seemed to be reproductions of the original buildings, checkpoints, and beds emigrants had to use. There were a few pictures of how it used to be but very few original artifacts. Thus, it didn’t feel as organic or historic as Ellis Island; to borrow a phrase from Ellis Island itself, I felt no ghosts there. Still, it was interesting to read about the hassles immigrants—especially Russian immigrants—went through to leave Hamburg and to see the continuity between departure there and arrival in Ellis Island so many decades ago.

After Ballinstadt, we took the S-Bahn one stop past the main train station to the Rathaus (city hall).  When we came out, we could see stands and paths set up for the weekend’s triathalon.  We entered the Rathaus and took a brief look around. It was too late to get a tour for the day, but the foyer alone was gorgeous.

From the Rathaus we walked through one of the older streets of the city—one of the few to survive the great fire in the 1800s and the war—to St. Nikolai Church. The church had an elevator that took us to the top of the bell tower and allowed a view of the city.  When we got back down to earth, we started walking towards the Hafen City, an area of newer apartments, offices, and shops.  Along the way, Pat stopped to point out a Breton (northwest France) restaurant, Ti Breizh, that she liked.

Suddenly, I was in a mood to eat. I’d never eaten in a Breton restaurant before. Plus, you could sit outside on a small boat landing with a view of the canal and St. Nikolai church.  I had what I think was a whole- wheat or buckwheat crepe served openface with Elemenntaler cheese and spinach, plus a glass of hard cider from the region. The cider tasted a bit too earthy or fermented, but as Pat predicted it tasted better after the first few sips.

After dinner we headed to the Speicherstadt, the old warehouse district.  I saw endless rows of redbrick buildings with identical facades. Pat said many of the offices in this area are carpet dealers. She also said these buildings are not allowed to be used as residences after a tragic flood killed hundreds of people in the 1970s.

From Speicherstadt we walked to the newest part of the waterfront, Hafen City. We saw a music hall under construction and over budget. They had a statue set up with a listening area where you could hear samples of different music that can be heard at the conference hall. That made me want to hear something at the concert hall. Maybe another time.  We walked past the offices of Unilver (soap and food products conglomerate) and gazed on the boats coming and going in the huge harbor.

After a stop at Hagen-Dazs, we walked back to the car and headed to Klein Flottbek, the neighborhood in the western part of Hamburg where Pat lives. Along the way we passed through the famous St. Pauli neighborhood (Reeperbahn), a street lined with neon signs for bars and girlie shows. I was glad I was in a car.  Paradoxically, it is also where the Beatles started to become famous. Pat pointed out a statue comemmorating an early Beatles performance there, and said there was also a museum in the area.

After 10 p.m. but with the sun not quite down, we arrived at Pat’s flat, the upstairs part of a house with a large plot of land and lots of flowers and trees.  Pat said she would live in Hafen City if she could, but after seeing her flat I don’t see how she could trade one for the other.

June 18

Pat laid out a typical German breakfast: Broetchen (small bread rolls), meat, cheese, butter, fruit, and jam.  After breakfast, we got in her car and braved the Elbtunnel, a tunnel under the Elbe river which can be as busy as any bridge or tunnel in Mannhattan or Boston.  Somehow, it seemed we had it better than the cars on the other side. Pat said they were either Germans or Scandinavians heading to the beach or to the nearby Scandinavian countries for their holiday.

About an hour later, Pat parked her car and we walked towards the center of Lueneburg.  Like Bremen and Hamburg, Lueneburg was a member of the Hanseatic League, a group of cities that centuries ago cooperated in trade and business.  Although the city looked small and quaint now, a tour of the Rathaus indicated how powerful the city had been. It also must have had a lot of money to afford the intricate wood carvings and paintings inside.  We also saw three churches in the small town.  One had a wedding in progress so we couldn’t go in. My favorite had, in addition to the traditional decorations, an exhibit of lithographs commemorating the first seven days of the world.  Each was a unique mixture of bright colors, moons or suns, and Hebrew writing.

We had lunch at a cafe Pat knew, a former movie theater converted into a cafe.  It was Pfefferling (wild mushroom) season, so we split a Flammkuchen topped with mushrooms in addition to ham, cheese, and onions.  It was delicious. After lunch we walked and found a coffee roaster, a rarity in Germany according to Pat.  She bought a bag of coffee that smelled great the whole ride home. I saw some petits fours in the window and decided I had to have one. I was unpleasantly surprised when it was rung up to find out that it was 2.40 Euros for one.  I planned to have it then and there, but Pat said she wanted to show me a chocolate place that served chili chocolate. She was stunned to find it closed, even though the sign in the window said it should be open for another hour. On our way out of the city, though, she was able to find another chocolatier that had it. The chocolate chili ice cream was rich, creamy, dark, with a most unusual kick in the throat.

By the time we got back to Klein Flottbek, it was after 5. Pat decided to cook dinner at home (chicken and salad with lettuce from her garden) while I checked my email and did a load of laundry. She served dinner with a white wine from a winery between Frankfurt and Stuttgart that she had visited once and now bought from regularly.  I made a note of the name in case I have a chance to go there myself sometime.

After dinner, Pat took me on a walking tour of the village and along the river. She pointed out the massive hanger of the Airbus factory across the river. We also saw signs for a “Venice in Hamburg” festival at the waterfront, and made a point to go see it the next day.  Back home, we split the petits fours and I concluded it was definitely not worth 2.40 Euros.

June 19

We started our morning by walking through the local park to the waterfront. It turned out the tents for “Venice in Hamburg” were set up very close to the turning point for the cyclists in the triathalon.  The tents themselves were not very impressive—a few food stands, clothing stands, and jewelry. FYI: “Jewelry” in German is called “Schmuck”, a word which still gives me pause because in Yiddish it’s a word for a jerk or an idiot.

Pat had said the ferry we wanted to catch left at :04 and :34 after the hour. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:00.  I suggested we cut our tour of the last stand short to catch the next ferry, because there wasn’t going to be enough to do in the area to kill another half hour. We walked briskly and made it about one minute before the gangplank closed.

We headed upstairs and stood for the two stops to our connection point. We walked back down the stairs, over to the waiting ferry, and up the stairs again. Suddenly, the ferry driver’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker a couple of feet away from us in German: “In oder aus! Ich habe einen Fahrplan!”  (“In or out! I have a timetable.”) Apparently some people downstairs were trying to hold the ferry up to wait for someone.

We rode down the river, past the “museum harbor” of old ships, the fish market where people who have been partying all night go for an early breakfast of “fish broetchen”, and arrived at Landungshafen.  We got off and skirted the road blockcades, people with noisemakers cheering on the triatheletes cycling by, and the debris of broken glass left on the bridge by Saturday night revelers. We ended up in a neighborhood of Portuguese/Spanish restaurants.  Pat identified one that looked divey but good. For 4.90 Euros we each got a plate of diverse tapas:  herring/sardines, zucchini, carrots, eggplant, two sausage dishes, and moist bread.  One of the sausage dishes, in peppers and red sauce, reminded me of the Cajun dish jumbalaya.  There was a lot of oil left on the plate when I was done, but it was olive oil so at least it was healthy. 🙂 For dessert, we had a typical Portuguese tartlet that was like an egg custard in pastry.  Yum!

We walked towards the Rathaus and found out the last tour was leaving in a few minutes. Pat inquired further and found out that there was an English tour leaving in 20 minutes.  Our tour guide, though dressed entirely in black and looking anorexic, did a good job of explaining the history of the city hall and its ornamentation.  Apparently the first city hall had been blown up in order to try to stop the great fire. To quote her, “it was a good idea, but it didn’t work.”  This rebuilt city hall reflected a 19^th century style, and I was glad I had seen both this city hall and the one in Lueneburg to be able to appreciate both more fully.

The added bonus in Hamburg, though, was that we saw city employees setting up for a press conference. There was a big vote in the city that day (German elections are always on Sundays) to determine whether to reform the elementary school system. (I heard the next morning that the measure didn’t pass).

From the Rathaus we went around the corner to the Bucerius Kunst Forum (Bucerius art museum). Once again, Serendipity was on my side. I had contemplated going to one of the two art museums in Bruges, but I was a bit sleepy and it was too nice out to be in a museum. But here in Hamburg there was a small exhibit of art from Antwerp—Brueghels, Rubens, van Eyck, and Jordaens (a new name for me). The exhibit was very small, but it was a nice treat.  And they had a free Sunday newspaper (Die Welt), something I had just been thinking I’d been missing.

We came out of the art museum just in time to see the first groups of runners crossing the finish line while the crowds in the stands cheered and a man from NDR2 gave commentary. We stayed until we heard him announce in English that an Olympic gold medalist was crossing the finish line. We got on the S-Bahn to Klein Flottbek, surprised that we had spent 5 hours downtown already. When we got back we read the paper and had tea.  Pat called her friend Monica, who met us for dinner at a local pub. Pat had said it was reasonably priced, but I think she must have been referring to her salad. I got what looked like the most bang for the buck, a “pfannfish mit Dijon-senf sauce und Bratkartoffel” (pan-fried fish with a dijon moustard sauce and fried potatoes) for 16.50 Euros.  I was completely and pleasantly surprised to be served a small silver-and-copper, professional grade pan with three pieces of grilled fish on a bed of oily potatoes fried in onions and bacon.  For dessert, Pat and I split an apple streudel with ice cream and raspberry sauce.  An expensive by tasty way to end part one of my Germany journey.

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July 14: Arrival, check-in, and first night’s dinner

When I arrived at the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) at 7:45 pm, I was surprised to see that it was fairly busy.  I walked out of the train station and saw Aldi (the German discount supermarket) and was happy one was nearby.  But the area didn’t look the way I imagined from the city map or the directions given by the hostel. I saw a police officer and asked him where An der Weide street was. He directed me back through the station to the other side; I had gone out the wrong exit.  Once I realized that, I was fine.

I was staying at Hostel Posty, where I got a private room with a shared bath for 28 Euros a night.  It was on the 4^th floor, but they use the British system so by American counts it was on the 5^th floor. There is no elevator, and no air circulation in the stairwell. It reminded me of the 5-floor walkup (plus stoop) the newlyweds in New York in Neil Simon’s play “Barefoot in the Park” lived in. Like the mother in that play, by the time I got to the entrance of Hostel Posty I felt ready to pass out.

On the bright side, the hostel is super clean with all the Ikea furniture comforts of home.  It has a great outdoor patio to get some fresh air and eat or drink. The man who checked me in was very nice, giving me a map marked with all the important places in town—a bakery, an Irish bar, Aldi, and the shortest walking route to the Altstadt (Old Town).

I refreshed myself in the shower—a sandblaster with Navy-style timing–and walked downstairs. I walked on the street past the punks, the casinos, the adult shops, and kebab houses until I saw the first signs of Old Town.  I was tired and hungry, so I stopped at the first outdoor cafe I saw.  I sat for several minutes but no server acknowledged me, even after I said “Entschuldigung” (excuse me).  I felt invisible. I realize I am in a different country with different approaches to service. In fact, I read recently that some countries feel good service is defined by leaving the customer alone to eat in peace. But in that moment I had no desire to be culturally sensitive; I just wanted to eat.

I left the table and walked onto another street with outdoor cafes.  The street seemed almost deserted; the two pasta places I saw had only a few diners each, and no one seemed to be walking around.  I saw a sushi place and realized 1) I’d never eaten sushi outside the U.S. or Asia and 2) it might make a nice light snack.  I walked in and sat on a stool as small plates of sushi whooshed by. I wanted to order one of the combo plates on the menu I’d seen outside, but again it seemed no one could see or hear me. I thought about leaving again, but I was starting to see a pattern and besides, I was determined to eat sushi at that point.  Thankfully, a man next to me called out in English and got someone who also spoke English to help me order. It turned out he and his friend were pilots from California who fly a businessman around the world. The sushi I got wasn’t the best in the world, but it didn’t kill me, either. And the dinner conversation I ended up having was nice.

July 15: Touring Bremen

I slept in until 10:30. I was too tired to walk to Aldi for yogurt to go with the muesli I had bought in Mainz (read: I was too lazy to walk up those stairs again).  Instead I had two cups of instant coffee (free from the hostel) and decided to get ready to head out to the waterfront to have a nice big fish platter for lunch.

On the way I ended up running into the pilots again; this time they were looking for Thai food. I started to help them but we didn’t find anything good, and I decided I should continue on my way.  I saw the Notre Dame (Unsere Liebe Fraue) church and the market square.  Then I saw a sausage place (Martin Kiefert) that seemed to be pretty popular. I had a currywurst (sausage topped with ketchup and curry powder) and an apfelschorle (apple juice diluted with water).  After lunch I visited the St. Peter cathedral and then walked down the incredibly narrow, red-bricked, and cute Boettcherstrasse. I saw restaurants with special “Matjessaison” menus, and made a mental note to try whatever it was for dinner later.

When I got to the Schlachte (waterfront), there was a boat tour leaving in 20 minutes.  It seemed like the thing to do in Bremen, so I forked over 9.80 Euros and climbed on board. It was in the 70s and sunny so it was good weather for sitting outside.  I was surprised how little we saw in 75 minutes for that money. We went up and down the Weser river, and the highlights seemed to be one old church, the Beck’s and Kellogg’s factories, a place where U-Boats were constructed, and pipes for the Gazprom (Russian) pipeline to Greece. If there was more about Bremen sights and history, I didn’t know it because the German used to explain it was over my head.

As soon as I got off the boat, I walked over to the Beck’s Brewery to take a tour.  When I got there, I was disappointed to find out you need to make reservations in advance; the tour for the day was already full. 🙁 If I had known that, I may have pushed myself to go to the Auswanderhaus Museum (Emigration Museum) in Bremerhaven. But I didn’t want to spend all my time on a train, and at least I got to enjoy the smell of beer brewing. Unlike Miller which smells like sweet potatoes, Beck’s smells more like corn. Still, I was reminded of my California home.

I walked away from Beck’s and the nearby Dallmyr coffee factory (which also smelled good) and past two modern art museums towards the Schnoor neighborhood, the oldest neighborhood in the city. Though my first thought at hearing the word “Schnoor” is the Yiddish word “Schnorrer” (beggar), this neighborhood seemed so charming and well-kept I almost couldn’t stand it.  I sat at a cafe and enjoyed a strong latte macchiato and a slice of Apfelquarktorte—a cake with baked apples and soft cheese.

From Schnoor I walked into the Ostertor-Viertel, which was supposed to have some nice bars. But it seemed very sketchy so I started following bike path signs to the train station until I knew where I was again and could find my way back.

After dropping off some groceries, checking email, freshening up, and changing clothes, I headed out again for dinner. Again too lazy to walk all the way to Boettcherstrasse or the waterfront, I ended up at John Benton, a restaurant on the market square. I had their special of Matjes with a baked potato, mainly because there was a third item mentioned I didn’t know in German and I wanted to know what it was.  I was extremely disappointed to find out that Matjes is herring, and the third word was a garnish consisting of a small tomato slice and a small sprig of lettuce.  The herring itself was tasty, but the whole meal was not worth over 8 Euros.  I also had a Beck’s which was just okay.

I walked from there to the waterfront one more time, and this time I understood why the other streets were empty. Everyone was here, enjoying their meal in a cafe or a beer in a beer garden with a view of the river. I had one more beer, a Haake Beck (basically, Beck’s) and a small pretzel while I sat at a bench surrounded by people eating, drinking, chatting.

July 16: Departure

In the morning I had a full breakfast (muesli plus yogurt and coffee). After checking out and dropping of my bags at with the owners, I went to buy my train ticket and lunch. I had seen a Bagel Brothers shop on my walk back home Thursday night, and had decided to treat myself to a sesame-bagel-lox-cream cheese-onion-tomato sandwich for the paltry price of 3.80 Euros. After all, I don’t know how long it will be before I see one of those again!

After lunch I walked back to the hostel. As I got close, I realized I didn’t want to sit for an hour indoors. I wandered and found a lovely residential neighborhood, and an elephant statue that was an anti-colonial memorial.  Finally, I came back to the train station to say goodbye. The desk clerk (possibly a co-owner) asked if I was going to the train or the airport. I said train. She led me through a hallway to an elevator that took me directly onto Platform 1! It was one of the nicest sendoffs I’ve ever had by a hostel.

Around 6:45 p.m., Peter grabbed the Rotkapchen champagne and the giant bag of fireworks and put them in the back of the Mercedes.  20 minutes later, we were in the city center of Heidelberg ... [Continue reading this entry]