¡Hot Dog!

We get it, Pil,  You're in Frankfurt.  Sheesh!

You don't get it.  Hot dog--it's what's for dinner.  Yes.  I am having a frankfurter in Frankfurt!  How cool is that?  But don't go thinking this is anything like Oscar Meyer or what you get at the ballpark. This is the Real Deal.

But first.  I had a smooth trip over.  Normally I get some three hours of (bad) sleep on the plane, but this time I got none.  I tried, but I was in a noisy cabin and there were active and loud kids in the row behind me.  Kids kick seat backs.  I did when I was a kid.  So karma.

But I arrived all right.  At passport control the nice German policewoman asked me where I was going. "Frankfurt," I replied, puzzled.  Why was she asking me where I had arrived?  Then it occurred to me.  Frankfurt Airport is a major transfer point--I've gone through myself.  She was screening passengers for those who needed to go to a gate rather than out to baggage retrieval.

I obtained my bag and then went looking for a Frankfurt Card.

Oh no, another of those cards!

Yes.  Deals aren't exactly thick on the ground in Frankfurt, but even if you are only taking the S Bahn to transfer to the train to elsewhere in the Hauptbahn Hof.  The card gets you into town for less than the normal ticket, and if you have time to spare you get public transportation and reduced admission to a lot of museums.

The ride into town is fairly short, and I fetched up at the previously mentioned Hauptbahnhof and set out for Citadines.  I found it easily enough although I took the long way around.  My room was not ready, but I expected that.  I put on my contact lenses and smeared myself with sun screen and took off.  I went back to the train station and picked up the U Bahn or subway for the historic center.  I got out at Romer and was almost immediately accosted by a beggar.  My total of beggars for the day was three.
The Romer is so called because this was once a Roman Camp and the market town grew up around that site.  It's beautiful and charmingly touristy!  I had a nice walk around and ended up by the banks of the Main.  But my brain had begun to buzz alarmingly, so I cut my visit short and took the U Bahn back to the train station where I had ascertained I could obtain Frankfurter. Then I went home. . . to find my room not ready.  Fortunately cold water is available in the guests lounge, so I sipped and watched the BBC.  And then the receptionist told me there was a problem, and it would be even longer.  I went across the street to the fancy, modern shopping mall to the grocery store.  I only had my small shopping bag with me, so I could not get much--just providing for breakfast tomorrow mostly, but I did get a bottle of Apfelwein to go with my frankfurters.  So let's talk food.

Finally!

Apfelwein is ok.  I have had it before, and I was hoping it would be better on its home ground.  If you are a cider drinker--it doesn't taste like cider.  It does not have much of an applely or any taste, but if you come to Frankfurt you need to try it anyway.  But the wurst is the best!  One gets Frankfurter in pairs, and at an imbiss you get a German bun with it, but to be really authentic the bun gets left on the side and one eats the frankfurter with a knife and fork, dipping the pieces in mustard as one goes. This is what I am doing.  The "dogs" are longer and thinner than the U.S. version and the skin is snappy, and the flavor is superb.  It's very satisfying after a long, long day.