My companion for this part of the journey was Jorge, returning from the reconstruction program in Aceh. He made me a detailed map of central Frankfurt fanning out from the Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof (Railway Station) and showing all the best walks to get a good understanding of the city. As it was 2' in Frankfurt when we landed, and about 5' by the time we reached the empty City center (8:00 a.m) I could only dream of the casual stroll across the Main River he had envisaged. My Laplander's woolly hat , cast aside at the last minute, beckoned like a mirage from the top of a cupboard in Wilson Street. Every visible part of my body went bright red with cold.
In the end the best option was to get into the Underground and stay there for an hour or so, which I did. But in passing I did observe some interesting street-theatre in the freezing morning air of the Red Light district, a group of 'slow movement' players creating some bit of impromptu theatre around a brazier. Perhaps they were just a gang of menacing young drunks; I didn't take any pix as I didn't want to find out. But I did capture this poor creature:
The Stadel museum on the banks of the Main is one of the great German art museums and once boasted a huge collection of early 20th century German Expressionists. The Hitler regime purged much of this work; I think I read somewhere that the Stadel lost over 700 paintings during the Nazi era. It still has some impressive Max Beckmann, George Grosz and Ernst Kirchner works. Reminders of the Nazi past arose even in quite small ways. This year's fashion for young men in the shop windows had echoes of storm trooper chic and was strangely sexy (rather like the late Jorge Heider).
At 4:00 p.m. the train to Zurich pulled out and I fell asleep with minutes. By the time I woke up it was dark enough to photograph myself travelling through Switzerland but not the scenery outside and my reason for making the journey by train.
We had a 90 minute wait at Zurich station during which I learned then promptly forgot the German word for pumpkin.
In the end the best option was to get into the Underground and stay there for an hour or so, which I did. But in passing I did observe some interesting street-theatre in the freezing morning air of the Red Light district, a group of 'slow movement' players creating some bit of impromptu theatre around a brazier. Perhaps they were just a gang of menacing young drunks; I didn't take any pix as I didn't want to find out. But I did capture this poor creature:
The Stadel museum on the banks of the Main is one of the great German art museums and once boasted a huge collection of early 20th century German Expressionists. The Hitler regime purged much of this work; I think I read somewhere that the Stadel lost over 700 paintings during the Nazi era. It still has some impressive Max Beckmann, George Grosz and Ernst Kirchner works. Reminders of the Nazi past arose even in quite small ways. This year's fashion for young men in the shop windows had echoes of storm trooper chic and was strangely sexy (rather like the late Jorge Heider).
At 4:00 p.m. the train to Zurich pulled out and I fell asleep with minutes. By the time I woke up it was dark enough to photograph myself travelling through Switzerland but not the scenery outside and my reason for making the journey by train.
We had a 90 minute wait at Zurich station during which I learned then promptly forgot the German word for pumpkin.
On the other side of the glass waiting room a man in a face mask made out of a magazine cover strummed a single string banjo and pretended to sing. We made a captive audience for him and his group of local Clockwork Orange boys. The whole station teemed with weird Swiss sub-cultures, and the beggars were as podgy as the pigeons.
The first-class sleeping compartment of my imaginings was a bit of a shock in reality. Even Queensland Rail in the 50s offered a more elegant experience. And I was apparently to share the tiny cramped cabin with another 'lady' who would arrive to join me through the night. I pointed out that my luggage was pretty much sharing the available cubic metres of space already and after a bit of negotiation it seemed that E25 might go towards changing the bedroom arrangements. This was a good investment. I had an excellent sleep in spite of the train pulling up all night and collecting ever more passengers. By 6:40 we were in Campo de Marte in Florence and a whole new set of train timetabling to consider.
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