Lost

After leaving Karl at Fifth Corps Headquarters, I drove our tiny rental car all over Frankfurt, Germany, looking for signs that said, “bahnhof”. David and I saw lots of signs with arrows and incomprehensible long German words.

“David, I have to watch traffic,” I said. “Do you see the word ‘bahnhof’ on any of these signs?”
“No,” said David, a tired 13-year-old, who always spoke quietly to calm his excitable mother.
“Are you looking carefully on both sides of the street?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, “I don’t see anything that says ‘bahnhof”.

I drove for over an hour around busy downtown streets and wide avenues. I saw lots of cars, big and little; buses, always big, with two cars in tandem like a train on wheels. Many traffic lights, typical of cities everywhere. Few advertising signs but many signs marking one way streets and arrows indicating the way to places with long German names. No arrows to “bahnhof”.

As I drove down an avenue with little traffic, on the sidewalk I spotted coming towards us a young woman carrying a parcel. I pulled to the curb. I told David, “Roll down the window and ask that young woman if she speaks English.”

As the young woman came abreast of the car David stuck his head out the window and said, “Pardon me, miss, we need help. Do you speak English?”

The young woman laughed.
“Sure,” she said. Her voice was American. She was from New Jersey and, like Karl,was a member of the U.S. Army stationed in Frankfurt.

“What you want,” she said, “is the hauptbahnhof.”
“What’s that?”
“Hauptbahnhof. All one word: Hauptbahnhof or ‘high station’ – the main railroad station here in Frankfurt with a tourist office to help people who come here from all over the World.”

We thanked her. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes we found an arrow pointing to the hauptbahnhof. It was a simple. I followed the “hauptbahnhof” signs to the station, only to find the street in front of the station all torn up. Frankfurt was repaving the street for a couple of blocks. It took an hour to find a way around the construction by back streets and allies. Inside the terminal a gracious young lady, who spoke excellent English with a German accent, called a hotel and made a reservation for me and David. She gave me directions and a map. It still took another hour of driving up and down one of the main avenues before I found the little side street where the hotel was located.

In this small hotel hidden away on a quiet cul-de-sac David and I slept for several nights in a room which was clean, comfortable, and cheap. A real jewel, even if no one in that hotel spoke English.

Lesson of the day: If directions are wrong, don’t keep following the false path. Go in a different direction. (I wish Congressmen would learn they are all going in the wrong direction to end this recession.)