Travel Man: Three Hours In Frankfurt

There are a million ways to see a city. For some places, it takes living there to get a true sense of their identity. With others, you can simply glide through on a high-speed train and get a decent view of their character.

Last summer, I spent a fabulous week in Berlin visiting a friend. I loved the city and it was great to get a native’s perspective on what to do and where to go. But having naively booked my flights quite late, I was unable to book a direct return from the rather unassuming Berlin Brandenburg airport back to the UK. Scouting possible alternatives, I contemplated a more circuitous trip back home. A chance to take in more of a country I had only cursorily explored.

I would traverse in the morning from north-east to south-west, taking in the central belt of the nation, before returning to Stansted (job done, or so it seemed…).

Dresden was a strong shout, and a popular one with my East German friend, but it felt strange to be journeying even further away from my base. Baden-Baden also appeared on Skyscanner, a modest airport which hugs the border with France. But would it really have occupied me for a few hours? Instead, I settled on Frankfurt. I would traverse in the morning from north-east to south-west, taking in the central belt of the nation, before returning to Stansted (job done, or so it seemed…).

A brief breakfast in the morning was followed by a trip to Berlin Hauptbahnhof, where I had planned to embark on a FlixTrain. But having lugged my bags onboard, I was informed the ticket was not valid. With disdainful English, the customer advice attendant guided me to a Deutsche Bahn alternative (the first lesson of ‘check the terms and conditions’). Once finally seated on this eligible train, I enjoyed the ride and felt a little more assured at my choice to take this zigzag route back home. The gorgeous natural forestry of Jüterbog and Wittenburg gleamed in the late summer sun. We first swung by Halle, a city I was most familiar with for the grass court tennis triumphs of Roger Federer, but at least glad to finally put images to a name. The first change was in Erfurt, the delightful Thuringian capital once home to Martin Luther, Max Weber, and Johann Pachelbel. A cultural touchstone indeed, but barring a brief step outside of the station, there was no time to waste.

An excitement gripped me as the train finally swung into the city. I truly felt like Richard Ayoade on Channel 4’s Travel Man

The next lap of my trip took me from Thuringia to Fulda, where I made the decision to change trains to Frankfurt as by this point I was feeling a little stuffy. An excitement gripped me as the train finally swung into the city. I truly felt like Richard Ayoade on Channel 4’s Travel Man, so much so I was listening to the theme tune as we found a platform. But this was not to be a 72-hour sojourn. I had around only 3 hours. This is where my next admission comes in. I had thought I had booked my return flight from Frankfurt, but I had in fact purchased a ticket from Frankfurt-Hahn Airport, which is some 2 hours from the city it half shares its name from. The move to add Frankfurt to its moniker, driven by Ryanair, was an understandably contentious one for its misleading potential. And it had certainly duped me.

Any time for regrets or a revision of plans had however passed. I first traversed through the station district, an area which a friend would later inform me was notorious for drug use and prostitution. In a strange, modern-day tale of two cities, it backs off onto the huge and glaring European Central Bank building as well as other financial bases. The time by now was already early evening, so little apart from bars and restaurants were open. It seemed like a bit of a wasted trip to merely pass the time in one of those, so I continued to amble through the streets, customarily taking wrong turns here and there. I ventured inside the huge, rusty red Catholic cathedral, where a service was underway, before passing by an ice cream shop, where I picked up a very delicious white chocolate and hazelnut cone.

The experience certainly taught me that holidays don’t have to be linear A-Bs. I don’t think I’ll be back any time soon, but there’s much to be taken from detours.

Time by this point was not really on my side, but I did have time to wander over to the River Main, where I took a few snaps of the domineering iron footbridge. Finding the coach that was to transport me to Hahn Airport proved perhaps the trickiest endeavour, but soon enough I had located it. There were few upsides to my unintended departure spot: there were very few shops and amenities, and my flight ended up being significantly delayed. But security took all of about five minutes. The experience certainly taught me that holidays don’t have to be linear A-Bs. I don’t think I’ll be back any time soon, but there’s much to be taken from detours.