There’s something unacceptable about February. It’s dismal and cold and the drudge of normalcy and winter rolled into one just makes me decide that it’s the worst month ever.
Don’t even get me started on that St. Valentine fiasco.
Anyway, feeling the weight of the the winter, I slipped away for a few days to rendezvous with my parents, who are in Germany for a few weeks, renewing their visas for South Africa.
Mom was MIA, shopping for pottery in Poland with her besties, so dad and I caught up over some tourism and shopping.
In Wiesbaden we roamed tiny old streets and wondered why we were seeing so many people adorned in fancy dress. Rosenmontag is a big holiday in Germany, preceding what we can Shrove Tuesday, which itself precedes Ash Wednesday. I don’t know, it’s all very catholic. Wiesbaden and I have fond memories. Six years ago I found a beautiful dove-grey handbag in a small shop tucked in a narrow alleyway. It had a high ceiling but you can basically touch both sides of the room with outstretched arms. The floor was stacked high to the ceiling with unique leather bags. Hollie’s heaven. Here’s more Wiesbaden:
When you’re not craning your neck looking a) up at red brick churches and b)into old but vibrant junk shops, you could easily spend longer than necessary at the Auschwitz Memorial, which lists the names of local victims of the tragic Auschwitz concentration camp. Seeing so many names and families on the wall made me feel a little sick to realise that this was such a recent injustice. Even sicker, that events just as socking and appalling happen today, without the reverent remembrance of sounder minds.
We froze every time we stepped into the quiet streets of Bad Homburg, where my parents were staying. Luckily a little currywurst was on hand to warm the cockles of my heart (not a good enough reason to use the word “cockles”).
We shopped until we dropped in Frankfurt, where I remembered with fondness places I would frequent on various lunch breaks during my internship in 2012. I got a lot done in those lunch breaks. Including finding this picture spot:
By far my favourite place in Germany is Heidelberg. You already know this though (see here). During the war, feuding powers independently decided to bomb around the city of Heidelberg, noting its undeniable beauty and vowing to one day occupy the country from within its historical borders. Connor and I crawled behind Grandad as we hiked up the mountainside to this beautiful lookout point:
Seriously, congrats on the new spine, Dad.
Schneeballen. Couldn’t tell you how they taste because I refuse to allow anyone to pay upwards of 10 Euros for a ball of nougat. They look pretty though.