It feels like I’m juggling too many balls at the moment – somehow managing to keep them all in the air, but expecting to drop them all.
I travel to Germany again on Monday morning. Another early morning taxi ride to the airport, ahead of another week holed up in a hotel. It’s all becoming strangely routine. I need to get clothes washed and dried over the weekend, and shirts ironed before folding them back into the travel bag they came out of two weeks ago.
During this visit I’m going to try and find some new places to eat – places that serve basic food – meat, potatoes, vegatables – that kind of thing. You might not think finding something to eat would be a problem in a huge international city such as Frankfurt, but strangely it is – the most obvious restaurants in the heart of the city cater for just about every cuisine in the world – but if you just want a basic home cooked meal you have to explore. I think Google Maps may become my friend. I have yet to explore the south side of the river, so that may be the most obvious destination. It will mean a pretty lengthy walk, but that’s probably a good thing after sitting at a desk all day long.
During my last visit to Frankfurt I got up early each morning, and went for walks along the river. There’s something magical about watching a city come to life early in the morning – seeing the beer, newspapers, and milk getting delivered. I still remember visiting Paris years ago, and being fascinated by water running through the gutters early each morning, and a small army of city workers sweeping and cleaning the pavements and roads.
At some point over the weekend I need to start putting things in my backpack too. I try not to take too many things, and yet almost always reach the end of a week away thinking “I really didn’t need that, or that”. Perhaps the first thing to find it’s way into the bag will be the book I have (not) been reading – the one I mentioned in the blog during my last visit to Germany. It seems I only really make time to read when I’m away from home – when I have nothing else to do.
Living in a hotel while travelling with work is a strange experience. I’ve written at length in the past about it – the loneliness – but never really about how disconnected your life becomes. It’s almost like splitting yourself in half – the family guy that washes up, plays video games with the kids, and cuts the grass stays at home, and the career guy that works relentlessly gets on the train, or plane to the destination. Switching from one to the other is jarring. My other half often complains that everything is calm while I’m away, and then when I return it’s like there’s this maniac in the house, smashing through chores one after another without stopping.
Maybe I just need to learn how to relax into life a bit more.