Suddenly I find myself riffling though dresser drawers, frantically looking for stray US dollars and my Bay Area Rapid Transit card, this after hanging up a very routine call with my mother in San Francisco, in which she said she was having trouble programming her dvd player. One tiny part guilt to nine parts carpe diem mania, and I scarcely had time to realize I had left Greece before I was surrounded by crowds of magnificently attired pilgrims (Ramadan), cradling canteens of such intricate beauty as befits the water of the ZamZam well, the deep cool jade of bottles Tom Ford's Neroli and the plush technicolor of several dozen Hermes scarves, to say nothing of the surreally super-sized Chupa-Chups and Kinder eggs.
In Istanbul's Attaturk airport, that fabulous dreamy everywhere-nowhere vibe that I jadedly thought airports had long ceased to have for me rushed in like high tide. Clearly a day worth grabbing. (I also grabbed some tea glasses from the airport gift shop- I have no idea how I ever did without them).
I had thought trans-Atlantic spontaneity to be the province of the wealthy. Well, it's not- it is simply the province of the impetuous. Click round trip routes between various accessible cities. IST-SFO had good fares. Then just get to that city. (This was at least 300 Euros less expensive than the very least expensive SKG/SFO routing for the next month.)
Thanks to impetuousness, I would be having Szechuan eggplant with my mother in less than 24 hours. (Or so I thought- I would actually be dining on Spargel and Schinken in a Biergarten the following evening).
Given the choice between booking MUC and FRA for a layover, I always pick MUC. With even just 4 hours between flights, Munich supplies a surreal dose of Disneyesque Bavaria: 45 minutes on the S-Bahn, and you're watching the mechanized (faux) Mittlealter minstrels chime in the hour in the Marienplatz and drinking from a heavy beer stein with two hands like a little kid. Blue and white checks smile up from tablecloths and billow on flags. The Viktualienmarkt is right around a corner- get a Broetchen with Wurst (or a tangle of juicy sweet crayfish) to go, and enjoy the lush forests, lusty vamp/camp Dirndl billboards, and adorable Schrebergärten on your way back to the airport.
Today, there was no choice- it would be testing new flavors of Rittersport (salted almond) in the Frankfurt airport, and glad to be there. Scented with Issey Miyake on my left arm and Tom Ford on my right, and pleasingly lightheaded from overnighting at IST (and the rittersports), I went to the check-in. It was jammed- a thunderstorm had grounded one of the previous day's flight to San Francisco, so they asked for volunteers to spend a night in Frankfurt. To be honest I would have paid them for a chance to go to the Staedl, but no need. Suddenly I was at a surprisingly chic airport hotel (The Steigenberger), with generous travel vouchers, meal vouchers, and the salmon-pink FT weekend edition. It was 4 pm and the Monet show at the Staedl would be on for another 3 hours. What I said about Munich being great for a quick fix of Germany- double for Frankfurt. This is a great place to take advantage of even a not long layover- the S8 and S9 take you from FRA to Hauptwache- charming downtown- in just 20 minutes. Another 2 stops on an U-Bahn to Schweizerplatz brings you close to the many museums. Impetuousness was rewarded at every turn- the show was in its last day. Moreover, to accommodate the adoring crowds, the Staedl extended its hours to 9 pm, and that to the substantial permanent collection as well. A perfect classic museum- dark walled galleries of great proportion opening one after the other, a dazzling Vermeer, a melancholic Botticelli, an abundance of lustrous still lifes (and not so many dull bouquets but heavy on my favorites- crustaceans and fish), an extraordinarily disquieting Baselitz, and at last the grand show.
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| Oberon. |
There were some fine pictures, including the most lush and luscious of Monets:
Three drenching hours of the vast museum satisfied, if one could only be sated by eye alone. Sleepy Sunday-night Frankfurt offered nothing to eat. The hotel was kind enough to combine all the meal vouchers to afford a very simple meal at their lovely beer garden. Amid the volatility of Greece and the haste of my departure, I was late to a happy piece of news:
toasted it warmly with a cold local beer, and waited for a plate of the prized and shockingly expensive spears of white asparagus- the very last day of the season (like the show!), with some spectacular thick-cut ham of the region.
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| Yes that is my shower on the left- I watched the news at the same time. Adorable juicy apple green room. |
Sleep would have come swift, but German television proved too tempting. The news was of nothing but Greece, and the German commentary was nothing but love, importantly in the reassurance that capital controls would not apply to foreign atm cards, and that vacationers should proceed with their travel plans without worry. (Also a Wirtschaftswunder era drama was engaging.)
A few hours later, I was having breakfast, watching Bollywood movies on the inflight system and peaking out at what looks like the north pole (Greenland?)
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| A sensible meal, and some nonsense reading- my German is fine, but little lazy. |
It seems that from one moment to the next, you can be somewhere, maybe even someone, you didn't expect.
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