Day 4 Frankfurt

Koselstrasse 18a

My old apartment is on Koselstrasse, just off of Friedberger Landstrasse, an old neighborhood close to the middle of the city, now popular with young people and a number of new restaurants. Sandwiched between three or four buildings, the apartment, on the first floor of a three-story building, was then and is now dark and gloomy. I wanted to see what it looked like inside. I rang the outer bell and someone in the apartment buzzed me in. A disheveled middle-aged man came out and squinted at me suspiciously. In the background, a baby was crying and another child screaming, and through the door I could see toys and junk cluttering the floor, and a row of shirts hanging out to dry. "I lived here 35 years ago. May I look at your apartment?" His mouth dropped open in astonishment as he shook his head in disbelief. I retreated without pursuing the issue further.

Biggest mistake I've made so far has been renting car in Ffm. Except to get into the city, I never used it. With the streets turned into pedestrian ways and street parking restricted to residents, except for expensive garages, it's impossible to find a place to park. The underground, which they had only started to build 35 years ago, is extensive, clean, and efficient; however not cheap. A fare that would cost $1.50 in SF costs $3.50. I compounded my mistake of renting a car by going through Hotwire - the actual charge was much higher than what Hotwire had quoted because of the required German insurance and the application of an unfavorable exchange rate. It's a lesson I learned in renting hotels online, which is something I don't do anymore.

My flight to Tallinn was uneventful. Here in Tallinn though it's been raining cats and dogs reminiscent of the warm summer day thunderstorms growing up in Minnesota. Despite the constant downpour, I ventured out into the cobbled streets of Old Town looking for a uniquely Estonian restaurant (I think I'll try the local specialties whenever possible). The waiter at the Olde Hansa on Vana Turg around the corner recommended the brown bear and so I gave it a shot. It came in a rich dark gravy and crunchy cranberry sauce and looked and tasted like beef roast except much tougher. In addition to carrots, an apple pickle salad, and a cake which had a strong thyme taste, the bear was served with spelt, a crunchy grain from the barley family. I learned later that the bear came from Norway and the spelt from Egypt. The Merlot I had was from Chile and tasted of the dregs from the bottom of the barrel.