But when the plane was making its descent into Frankfurt, the clouds parted and I looked outside my window to see the neat and tidy dazzling green countryside of Germany in all its glory. My fatigue and hunger began to subside as my adventurous spirit brewed inside me.
"Am I allowed to leave the airport during a layover? I have five hours," I asked a couple of flight attendants as I got off the plane.
"I don't see why not. You're bags are checked. All you would have to do is go through security," one of the men replied enthusiastically. He encouraged me to go explore for a few hours, explaining how to take the 10-minute train ride to the city centre. But I didn't need much encouraging.
I was conflicted about what to do when I got off the plane. I started walking down a corridor, then saw a sign that said "Bahnhof" above a flight of stairs leading down to another level.
"Bahnhof! I know what that means!" I thought, even though it said "train" in brackets underneath. I instantly tingled with excitement and knew exactly what to do.
With a newfound spring in my step, I raced down the stairs, bought my round trip ticket and within 15 minutes, found myself sitting on an empty train to Frankfurt's city centre.
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| Train station in Frankfurt, Germany |
"So, this is the train that goes to the city centre, right?" I said to him.
"I sure hope so," he replied with a smile.
"I've never been to Germany before," I said enthusiastically, telling him a bit about why I was so excited to be there.
I am Canadian, but my heritage is German. My Oma and Opa were forced to flee Germany during the war and come to Canada, eventually settling on a farm with in the Westlock area. My aunt Lottie was born in Germany and so was her husband Gerhard. He came to Canada in his early teens and Lottie was just a little girl.
During holidays and special occasions at my Oma's house, the conversations would be half German, half English. There was always German music playing in the background when we opened gifts on Christmas Day, and we were fed a good, solid German meal with meat and potatoes always a staple.
Everyone on my mom's side of the family has been to Germany, except me. I've always wanted to go and experience the homeland — especially before my Oma passes away, which could be any day now due to her deteriorating health that comes with old age. But other destinations have always taken centre stage, pushing Germany aside for another year.
A woman at the tourist information conveniently located at the city centre train station gave me a map and pointed me in the direction of "old town" Frankfurt, which was about a 15 minute walk.
My smile increased ten folds when I walked out of the train station and headed down a city street, stopping to soak in my surroundings that consisted of Arab restaurants and boutique hotels at the base of antique-looking buildings commonly found throughout Europe.
The streets were quiet at 9:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning, except for a few tourists smoking outside of a hotel and a bum looking for change.
When I arrived in the "old town" I became overwhelmed with where I was and started to cry. I've never had this happen to me on any of my travels.
Images of my childhood danced through my head.
I couldn't resist phoning my mom and dad, even though it was 2 a.m. in Canada. But they didn't answer the phone so I left a voice message instead.
"I'm standing in old town Frankfurt right now and I'm so excited to be here," I said, my voice starting to crack. "I'm not crying because I'm sad or anything is wrong. I'm crying because I'm so happy."
After a hearty breakfast consisting of Bratwurst and potatoes, I purchased a postcard and newspaper for my Oma. I can't wait to give it to her and tell her I was finally in Germany, even if it was only for a few hours.
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| My first glimpse of Romberberg — the central square in Frankfurt's Altstadt (Old Town). |