A whirlwind visit to see friends & family in Germany

Early this year, my cousin, Paddy, had sent me an invitation to attend his 50th birthday party in August, and I had marked the date in my calendar without making any promises. After all, one never knows what races the ITA or USAC might throw my way. Over the months it became clearer that my schedule had a gaping hole between the World Cup in Quebec and the first edition of the UCI Maryland Cycling Classic one-day race, except for my appointment to the Hotter'n Hell in Wichita Falls, which I have worked umpteen times. Then came an email from my brother who told me abut his plans to celebrate his 60th birthday one week after my cousin's party. And so I withdrew my request for the HHH and booked my open-jaw flight for late August.

Various views of Frankfurt

Thanks to my Marriott Bonvoy credit card I had a hotel certificate that was going to expire in September, and so I decided to spend one night in Frankfurt before heading to Cologne, where Paddy lives. I remembered a brief exchange with an old schoolmate of mine, Roland, who earlier in the year had reacted to my blogpost from the Rioja. He had told me about his two residences, one in Andalusia and one in Frankfurt, and so I sent him a message about my being in Frankfurt for the night—would he be in town on Thursday, August 18? 

Travelling along the Rhine river to Cologne

The arrangements up to that point meant that I would have an entire week between the two birthday bashes, and it didn't take long to invite myself for two nights to my old hometown, Schleiden, where I would stay with my old friends Tom and Regine. As it turned out, in July/August of 2002 Judy and I had joined T&R, together with a motley crew of their friends, for our bike tour from Geneva to Nice, and a 20-year anniversary celebration seemed apropos.

Schleiden and the surrounding area

So, that left an extra two nights. If you look at a map of Germany you will see that Dortmund (where Christian, Sabine's brother, lives) lies right on the route of travel from Schleiden to Berlin, where my own brother lives. Especially during the pandemic, Christian and I had been in very frequent WhatsApp contact, and so we decided on my visiting him for a couple of days. The full course of my couch-surfing had taken on a well-planned itinerary.

Around Dortmund

The trip had started in proper style with a Business Extra upgrade on AA's flight from DFW to FRA. I arrived in Frankfurt rather early in the day and proceeded directly to one of Marriott's more boutique-y properties, the Roomers. The (free) €165 room was close to the train station and mere steps from the central part of the city. The ability to buy a custom Roomers-branded Harley, pink flamingoes in the stylish courtyard, a retro Marshall Bluetooth sound system, and a discreet box with condoms and a blindfold (or was it supposed to simply be an eye mask? Nah!) provided a certain flair.

In the morning (my room wasn't quite ready yet) I took the tram to Roland and Liss' place in the north of the city, and we played catch-up after all those years not having seen one another. We had so much fun that Roland and I decided to meet up in the afternoon for a stroll through the city center that was to end up in Sachsenhausen, heart of Frankfurt's traditional gastronomic highlights. On the plan were Äppelwoi (the local cider) and Handkäs mit Musik, a local transparent, low-fat cheese that is served with oil and minced onion, both specialties that I hadn't enjoyed in many years. Added to the meal plan were blood sausage, pork ribs, sauerkraut, and the local green sauce that I had never eaten before. It was well after midnight before Roland and I parted ways. I suppose that's the best way to deal with jet lag, which I've always been fortunate enough to not experience in any serious fashion.

Frankfurt's culinary delights are not limited to just frankfurters

After checking out of the Roomers I took a regional train to Cologne. In light of the economic plight of its citizens, the German government had created the €9 train ticket which allows unlimited travel on all but the fastest trains for an entire month, in all of Germany. What a deal! Admittedly, the regional train took about three hours for the distance that the bullet ICE train covers in less than two, but what the heck? I had already used my nine-dollar ticket for all my tram needs in Frankfurt, and I would continue to use it later to travel to Schleiden and then to Dortmund as well as for the final city train in Berlin.

The rail line from Frankfurt to Cologne runs along the river Rhine, and it was frightening to see in real life how low the water level is. The German news had reported on the dire state of the river because of the ongoing drought, but to see those gravel bars and pointy rocks well above the water line was another thing. Meanwhile, the usually lush vineyards stretching up the slopes of the Rhine valley around Bingen and Loreley looked stressed and brownish. Freight barges were riding high on the water, their loads reduced to the bare minimum to avoid running aground. The TV coverage hadn't lied—climate change is real.

Paddy picked me up from the nearby train station to where they live northwest of Cologne proper, where he has his law office. With only one day until his big party we immediately set out to a local wine merchant as well as huge supermarket for last-minute supplies. I was put in charge of Friday night's dinner as I had brought along some tortillas and ingredients for Mexican food that one can't find in Germany (think tomatillos). No rest for the weary ... but it is amazing how a few glasses of wine followed by an authentic caipirinha or two will make us (almost) impervious to the stresses of travel.

Meanwhile, Paddy's sister and my cousine, Nicole, and her husband, Marcel, and daughter Chalice had arrived in their Tesla from Switzerland, and thus about half of my remaining family had congregated. More booze, much more. Apparently I fell asleep in the bathroom, or at least I added to the family lore when my personal battery reached the state of Marcel's Tesla, or between 7% to 9%. It became clear that this trip was not going to be without its challenges!

Saturday morning came way too early, and with about 80 guests expected at 19:00 hrs it was time to convert the house into party central. I tried to stay out of the way as much as possible since I could not really make out what the master plan was, and so I walked around the sleepy little town where my relatives live. Once I made it back it was time to pitch in with some of the salads that still had to be prepared; sushi and a huge table of vegetarian appetizers were to be provided by a catering service. The boys, Mauricio and Moreno, set up an elaborate bar, disco lights, and a powerful sound system (with the help of one of their school buddies), while Chalice designed, printed, and laminated a four-page wine list / drink menu. I tell you, lawyers know how to live it up!

In contrast to the German railway, the guests arrived on-time, and the evening unfolded in beautiful fashion. There were some speeches, much laughter, and even more conversation, and old friendships and new ones were reinforced and forged. Another schoolmate of the boys had been instructed in grilling meat, and all evening he was busy adding to the rest of the culinary offerings. Shortly before 10 p.m. somebody remembered that the permit from the local police and fire department allowed the fireworks only by that deadline. Boys wouldn't be boys if they weren't absolutely thrilled planning and executing a fireworks show in the middle of the summer! Truly, it was a spectacular evening, and somehow I managed to hang on—without falling asleep in either a bathroom or otherwise—until 4:30 a.m. Man oh man....

Sunday seemed to be somewhat time-warped, and cleaning up progressed slowly, but somehow it did progress. Toward evening, Paddy and family piled into their car and drove to Amsterdam. Mauricio was going to leave for a South American country the next morning to start the first half of a year abroad as a high school exchange student, and with the recent airport chaos in Schiphol they didn't want to take any chances. Nici, Marcel, Chalice, and I, meanwhile, made sure that there wouldn't be any half-empty wine bottles left to clutter the kitchen, and with the help of the hot tub we made the process rather enjoyable. I thought, will the booze ever stop flowing? Of course I knew the answer.

Second cousin thrice removed, Robbie, getting ready to leave the compound

Monday morning, the Swiss branch of the family transferred me via Tesla back to the train station so I could use my nine-dollar ticket to travel to Kall, where my friend Tom picked me up from the nearest train station to Schleiden. On the way to their beautiful home, Tom showed me some of the remaining traces of last year's devastation wreaked by rain-induced flooding that had made international headlines. Later, on a ride on Regine's mountain bike through the Schleiden valley, I visited some areas that were heavily affected. One year it's too much rain, and the next the grass and trees are parched. It didn't use to be like that.

Evidence of last year's deadly flooding is still evident in many places

My slow 17-mile ride brought back lots of memories of my childhood. Despite all the changes (so many more houses!) there are all those places that evoked emotions. My old school; the first house we lived in; the (still devastated) book store where I picked up every school book of my primary and secondary school years; the now-overgrown field where we played soccer; the now-built-up field where we tobogganed in the winter; the house where the girl lived with whom I was so in love but never dared to tell.

Pension Drilling, where we lived for the first couple of weeks
after our move from Berlin

The bottom right rental apartment where we lived from 1961 to1968

The house my parents built and where I lived the longest in Schleiden

Our house is the top leftmost building

My, how Schleiden has grown!

Back at the house I was told that we were expected at a 50th birthday party for somebody I surely knew. No, I didn't but that shouldn't have come as a surprise since Tom is a few years younger and his friends, my brother's friends, and my friends didn't really overlap. Still, at the party the conversation soon turned to this person and that, teacher such-and-such, the prank that so-and-so had played, and the haystack that my brother and his best buddy, Hansi (present at the party), had put on fire while smoking when they were barely in the first grade. More wine. More beer. But at least we were in bed before midnight.

The pool where I learned to swim

Tuesday—another brilliantly sunny day—brought a long walk through town, to reinforce those memories. Schleiden has suffered mightily from the flooding. It seemed that of every ten stores seven were closed, and there can't be more than maybe thirty stores altogether. Show windows are still boarded up, and here and there structural damage is evident. There weren't the usual tourists that populate the town center, and only one or two locals were having a cup of coffee in the only place that was open. There was an eerie silence all over town, a lack of the gentle sounds of conversation and industry. Only the chirping of the birds indicated that some things were as they had always been.

That evening our crew from the Trans Alpes bike trip assembled. Urban, Tom's brother, was one of the first to arrive, carrying two 2-liter growlers of the local brew, Gemünder Naturtrüb. Ede brought three more of them. Salvatore and his wife brought another two, and when Thomas and Ulle appeared somebody opined that we might run out of beer and that somebody—while still sober—should drive to the gas station where one can replenish growlers. That happened as soon as Gregor showed up..... OK, I may have mixed up the timelines of arrival a little bit but that doesn't matter. It sure was a wonderful evening, almost as if none of us had changed at all, despite the grey hair (of course, Tom and Urban seem to be genetic mutants—they definitely are from a physiological standpoint—as their hair is still free of salt and pepper) and the protruding bellies that some of us sport. Tom and I stayed up for quite a while after everyone had left, talking in soft tones about our lives and challenges that all of us face.

Next stop was Dortmund (again via Köln HBF), where Sabine's brother, Christian, picked me up from the train station after Tom had shuttled me to Kall in the morning. Being the perfect host, Christian suggested an excursion to the Schiffshebewerk Henrichenburg, one of only about one hundred ship lifts in the world. I had never seen one before, and visiting the museum of the century old iron structure was extremely interesting. Unfortunately, this ship lift is no longer in service and only one more operational lock remains in the immediate area, but regardless, this was a nice cultural break.

That evening, Christian proved his skills as chef extraordinaire when he grilled a rack of lam to perfection. Actually, during my entire stay Christian puttered around the kitchen so that we had fabulous meals and snacks in his beautiful garden. It was quite a treat to visit the family home in the summer instead of the various times I had been there during the dark winter months. The following day we took the bikes for a 30-mile spin—he on his eBike, I on his old "trekking" bike. I was thankful to get to go on a ride, and it was beautiful to boot, with a nice beer stop in a small castle with a moat. It is amazing how the erstwhile industrial and filthy Ruhrgebiet has become a green oasis that offers cycling and hiking amid diverse cultural opportunities. Maybe those boneheads in West Virginia who believe that the future lies in coal should learn a lesson from the transformation of the Ruhrgebiet.

Friday morning at 9:48 a.m. I entered car #27 of the ICE bullet train from Dortmund to Berlin. The nine-euro ticket had been more than sufficient for all those relatively short hops, but using regional trains to Germany's capital would have taken between eight and nine hours, depending on how many delays there might be. I had booked my ticket early on to get a super-low price of about € 70, and that was in First Class and included a reserved seat. The journey, on a dreary day, took a little more than four hours after we had to stay stationary for 45 minutes somewhere along the way because of a "defect."

Eventually we arrived at Berlin Ostbahnhof and I covered the final 30 minutes to Wilhelmshagen in another 30 minutes by means of the GDR-era S-Bahn. I had texted my brother, and he was waiting for me at the station, which is just a kilometer away from his summer cabin on the river Spree. Normally, Burkhard (or, as everybody calls him, Bux) lives smack dab in the middle of the city, but with the recent hot weather he has been spending much more time working remotely and enjoying at least some relief from the heat. I got to meet his friend Petra who had arrived from Bavaria for his 60th birthday the next day, and together we spent an evening grilling fish and catching up over an assortment of different beers and wines. As an appetizer fixed another one of my favorite German dishes, Matjes Herring.

Bux' place is not the most spectacular dacha, being somewhat dated and having been built for summer use only, but it made for a cozy glamping site for the next few nights. The forecast had been downright dismal and I gently inquired how waterproof the roof might be ("there are just one or two spots that get pretty wet"), but as it turned out the really bad thunderstorms stayed away and both the roof as well as the three pop-up "pavilions" that Bux had put up in his yard for Saturday's party kept us dry. With the last preparations completed the first guests arrived, and from there the afternoon just kept rolling smoothly. Eventually the sun unexpectedly poked through.

Jannick and GF

Dennis and Jana

I got to see both of my nephews, Dennis and Jannick, with their respective girlfriends, as well as Bux' two ex-wives, our mother's half-sister and her daughter, as well as a few friends I hadn't met before. The food was catered by a restaurant just around the corner and featured typically Berlin fare that I simply love: a five-pound blob of Hackepeter (ground pork mixed with pepper, salt, and lots of onion—and definitely not heart healthy!), a huge mound of at least 100 Rollmöpse (pickled herring that has been rolled up around a spear of pickle and is garnished with pickled onions), and even authentic Kasseler, a salted pork roast that is served with mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. I was in heaven!

With all the celebrations finally out of the way it was time to start thinking about my trip back home. We spent Sunday and Monday in Wilhelmshagen, allowing the fog to lift while trying to eat (and drink) down the leftovers. When Bux took Petra to the train station on Monday I had a chance to go for a ride on his very, very beater bike. With just a few miles left to go I stopped in a tiny restaurant for one of my all-time favorites, a Turkish Döner Kebap. Now I was ready to leave for the US.

Passing by the huge Tesla production facility in Grünheide just a few miles from Bux' place we drove to Berlin's new airport, the much maligned and often-boondoggled BER. Quite frankly, apart from the lousy signage inside of the terminal I thought that it was an attractive facility, even if the architects somehow had never registered the invention of the walking sideway to help travelers travers long hallways more efficiently. Oh well. Nothing is perfect.

Check-in was fast, security was efficient, and the Tempelhof business lounge was pleasant enough (even if some parents can't control their screaming children or have the courtesy to leave the lounge). My BA flight to London actually was early, and since my AA flight to DFW was almost two hours late I had ample time to do some lounge hopping at LHR. If you're a OneWorld member flying out of T3 and either have status or have booked an eligible fare, do yourself a favor and visit the Cathay Pacific lounge. It offers à la carte dining all day, something that the Qantas lounge doesn't start until late afternoon. The so-called International First Class Lounge that AA offers may be modern looking, but its food and beverage options are laughable in comparison.

Instead of playing the upgrade game I had opted to spend an extra $250 or so on a confirmed Business Class seat on the way home (which also included the BER to LHR portion on BA, with brilliant catering and service); on the way out I had paid for Premium Economy and lucked out that I had been able to use one of my Business Extra certificates to snag one of the two remaining seats up front. When one actually pays the additional dollars one is even more sensitive to all the things that go wrong on a plane, and as has become almost normal, AA delivered in a negative way. An inedible steak, second choice of wine not catered, the bottle of port not being found until late in the flight, and only one of four lavatories up front operable because somebody had forgotten to add water so the toilets could be flushed. The purser was extremely apologetic and had nothing good to say about American (she used to work for Thai Airways) or her job. Would you go to a restaurant and be presented a multi-hundred dollar bill for a crap steak and a few glasses from a $12 bottle Trader Joe's wine? I know, First World problems but I needed to vent.

Brilliant catering on the short hop on British Airways from BER to LHR

We arrived almost two hours behind schedule in Dallas, but being at the front of the aircraft and having traveled with carry-on only I quickly cleared immigration and customs (Global Entry of course helps) and then I was on my way to Terminal B and my final flight, to Lubbock, where I arrived a few minutes before midnight. Another memorable trip in the bag!

Jürgen