Ort der Stille

Ort der Stille. Literally, "Place of Tranquility". Tucked away in Frankfurt's downtown lies this unique little place. Adjacent to the Liebfrauenkirche sits a Franciscan convent - and between them, amid the "sensory overload" that is Frankfurt, is the small courtyard called the "Place of Tranquility". If you can get over the shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary, it is a nice place to sit and simply breathe, pray, or reflect. It's amazing, once you turn the corner from the cobblestone sidewalk - a mere block from the Hauptwache, one of the busiest train stations in Frankfurt - how the sounds of the city melt away.







(My friend, Thomas, from South Africa. If any of my friends from St. Louis are reading this, he will be studying at the Sem in 2008/09!)

Peace to you.

"Starbucked"

I'm really not that cynical. Really. But, as I sat drinking a humongous cup of coffee at one of the nine Starbucks in Frankfurt – this one across the street from the Frankfurter Paulskirche (where the document creating a unified Germany was signed at the beginning of the 20th century), I started thinking about commercialism. To my credit (or discredit), I’ve visited four of the Starbucks in Frankfurt, one in Nürnberg, a store in Qatar, and at Kuwait City International Airport (KCIA) – not to mention several back home (in the store at Wydown and Hanley in St. Louis, a couple of the baristas who worked in the evening knew me by first name). What I’m trying to articulate is that Starbucks is everywhere (for a treatment on this phenomenon, as well as a great introduction to the history, economics, and social implications of the coffee trade, I recommend reading “Starbucked” by Taylor Clark). We often look for "genuine" experiences when we travel, but so much of America has beaten us abroad (except for the sign in German telling people not to set their drinks on the antique fountain in the corner, it looks like any Starbucks back home - though, occasionally, that's what I'm looking for). It’s not just Starbucks: at the Hauptwache train station in downtown Frankfurt, there’s a McDonalds in the underground station, one across the street and at least one less than three blocks away (further research shows - according to the "McFinder" - there also nine McDonalds restaurants in Frankfurt). And, take one look around at any train station in Germany or a quick glance around your train car and you’ll see numerous sets of the easily identifiable white ear buds attached to an iPod – myself included (I'm a huge Mac fan). Though, of the three – Apple, Starbucks, and McDonalds – “Mickey-D’s” causes me more consternation (is it because fast food’s ironclad relationship to obesity is that much worse than paying way too much for a cup of coffee?). Why does it seem that the worst – and obviously most commercial – aspects of American culture are exported? (And I’ve taken enough economics classes to understand that demand has a lot to do with it.) Such great American verbs as to "google" (man kann etwas googeln) and to "chat" (ich habe mit habe mit eine Freundin gechattet) have also crept into the German language. I’m not even sure if I’ve come to any discernable conclusion, but am I alone here? Though, I think I can, as Donald Miller realized in his book "Blue Like Jazz" - "I am the problem".

Bad Nauheim (Good Friday)

After attending church at my usual congregation, St. John's (Sankt Johannes Gemeinde) in Oberursel, a couple of us hopped the train to Bad Nauheim to hear Roland sing in a Passion Oratorio based on Mark's Gospel. Bad Nauheim is just north of Frankfurt. As the name implies, Bad Nauheim is known for its hot springs. And, as we've learned, any town in Germany with the name "Bad" is fairly well to do - those who can afford it being drawn to the luxurious baths. The church - Dankeskirche (literally, "Thanks Church") was built just over 100 years ago from a dark stone and features a steeple climbing 70 meters into what was for us a beautiful blue sky.






Peace to you.

Oppenheim (Maundy Thursday)

I'm currently sitting at my desk on a cold, wet afternoon, indulging my latest obsession - green tea - and I realize now that I have to run to the store before it closes. Tomorrow is Good Friday, or "Karfreitag." And, as I've learned (the hard way of course), Germans shut everything down for holidays - even church holidays . . . Being on break, this morning Thomas, Matthias, Ryan and I hopped the train to the small town of Oppenheim. Oppenheim sits on a hill between Mainz and Worms on the south bank of the Rhein River. Their Katharinenkirche is known as a prime example of late-Gothic German architecture. On our way up the hill Matthias noted a sign indicating that Martin Luther spent the night here on his way to and from the Diet of Worms in 1521. We also observed their strange fascination with frogs - brass and concrete sculptures of the amphibian on nearly ever corner - though we still don't know the story behind that. But perhaps the most interesting feature in Oppenheim is the "bone house" - a cellar underneath a small chapel just off to the side of Katharinenkirche. The cellar houses the bones - visible through an iron door - of 20,000 people collected between the years 1400 and 1750. Interesting.

Perhaps Spring must wait...

I awoke this morning startled by the brightness of the world outside my door. It reminded me of being a kid and knowing the forecast the night before called for snow, and when you awoke, you could tell by the light coming in through the shades that there was snow on the ground reflecting the pale morning light. Though, being completely unaware of the forecast, this morning was a pleasant surprise.




It is late in an afternoon
More grey with snow to fall
Than white with fallen snow
When it is blue jay and crow
Or no bird at all.

(Robert Frost, from "War Thoughts at Home")

Peace to you.

Ishmael Beah

Last night I had the pleasure of attending a book reading by Ishmael Beah in Frankfurt. Ishmael's book is called, "A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier." [Reflection to follow.]

Kleinostheim

I looked for Kleinostheim on my map of Germany - couldn't find it. But I spent just over two hours there this morning. I can tell you it's somewhere between Hanau and Wurzburg, but nowhere near Amberg (my intended destination). I left Oberursel at 6:30 this morning, intending to take the train to Amberg to visit my sister-in-law, Michelle. It's about a five-hour trip, one-way. Before I even got out of Oberursel, I had that sinking feeling you get when you fear you may have left the coffee pot on. (For good reason; more than once I've left the coffee pot on all day, only to return home to the smell of burning coffee - including the last time I saw Michelle.) My trip was downhill from there. I tried to suppress images of my apartment building burning down and decided I'd try to call my friends (and authorize a break-in) when I got to the train station in Frankfurt. Of course, then the phone there wouldn't accept coins; "no problem," I thought, "I'll call when I get to Wurzburg, since I have a 35-minute wait for the train to Nürnberg." When I got into Frankfurt Südbahnhof shortly after 7:00, a freak thunderstorm blew through Frankfurt (apparently it hit England pretty hard yesterday). When I boarded my train, we were informed that a tree had blown down over the tracks, but that it didn't sound like it would be a problem. Well, apparently it was. By the time we stopped in Kleinostheim at 8:19, they realized we weren't going to make it to Wurzburg that way. Let me rephrase that - after sitting in Kleinostheim for two hours, they realized they weren't going to make it that way and turned the train around. This drove four strangely costumed German girls to hysterics, as they weren't going to make it to München that afternoon. (One girl was wearing a bathrobe and had strange eye makeup; another was wearing a homemade cheerleading outfit and platform shoes with a pink wig; the others were also strangely attired, with unnaturally colored hair, but not quite as unusual as the other two.) The attitudes of the rest of my fellow passengers ranged from apathy to anger. As the conductor worked his way through the train, he instructed us that the train was going back to Frankfurt, but that we couldn't sit on the train while he turned it around. There was a Japanese couple in my car who apparently didn't speak German. But they did speak enough English that I was able to (clumsily) translate for them. The conductor didn't speak English, but asked if I could help them off the train. I was reasonably sure I was able to tell them what was going on, so I stepped off the train and waited for them. They had a lot of luggage and were able to gather all their belongings just in time to see the doors close before they could climb off the train. As the train pulled away from the platform while the Japanese couple now trapped inside unsuccessfully pressed the button to open the door, I could only whisper to myself that I hoped the train didn't have far to go to turn around. Thankfully, less than five minutes later the train was back and my new Japanese friends were still there. When we got back to the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof, I was able to direct them to the travel office - where I learned that I couldn't get a refund, but the next train to Amberg was leaving in ten minutes. I quickly did the math and decided that 15 hours on trains (with about 10 connections for the day) was not worth the 45 minutes I'd get to see Michelle (five hours after we were supposed to meet) (and, I was still worried about my coffee pot). Yet even then, as I took the S-Bahn back to Oberursel, I thought, what else am I going to do today? But by then it was too late. I consoled myself with the knowledge that I might make it back in time to prevent my building from becoming a raging inferno. Almost exactly six hours after I left, I was back in my apartment. The coffee pot was, in fact, safely unplugged. And, in case you were wondering, "Kleinostheim" means, appropriately enough, "Little East Place."