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Flag of Germany.
Frankfurt Coat of Arms.     

Frankfurt am Main.
Frankfurt in the 1600's.

     The airport (Flughafen Frankfurt am Main) had three unusual runways.  The average international runway length, I was discovering throughout the world, was usually 10,000 to 12,000 feet.  At Frankfurt all three runways were in excess of 13,000 feet.

     Perhaps due to the U.S. Air Force Base (Rhein-Main Air Base) located on the south side of the field; where the monstrous C-5 Galaxies were loaded with troops and supplies for the wars in the Middle East.  Apparently, they needed the extra runway footage when operating at maximum gross weight.

USAF C-5 taking off at Frankfurt.
On Final Approach at Frankfurt.
     In winter Frankfurt was also notorious for its fog with snow.  The exclusive international airport where I was required, upon occasion, to enter a holding pattern from backed up traffic because of the weather.

     As for the city, it once contained a magnificent medieval center; unfortunately our air raids and ground troops totally destroyed it in World War II.  It being replaced with modern, sterile, cold concrete and glass structures that I’ve ever observed.  Clearly this city’s heart and soul were missing.

USAAF B-17s bombing Frankfurt.
1944 Frankfurt bombed – note St. Catherine’s Church in the foreground.

Frankfurt today – note St. Catherine’s Church in the foreground rebuilt in 1954.
WWII Unexploded bombs are still being dug up at Frankfurt and detonated in the river.

     Frankfurt is situated on both sides of the River Main (pronounced “Mine”) south-east of the Taunus mountain range.  

The River Main, and the heart of Frankfurt filled with sterile high-rises.

     In spring I’d take a boat tour on this river (anything to get out of the sterile city) and snap photos of picturesque Seligenstadt and Aschaffenburg along the way.  

               Seligenstadt
               Aschaffenburg

     When mooring at a winery, I’d usually get loaded on the excellent German wines.  That’s the only way I could face going back to the soulless city, and my cramped, miserable room with tiny single bed, on Konrad Adenauer Street; well off the beaten track where a spy could easily hide undetected.  

     And here’s the punch line, dear reader, the name of my 2.5-star digs was the Arabella Grand Hotel.  Don’t tell me the Germans don’t have a sense of humor.

     As for cuisine, I’d go out with the cockpit crew and hunt down one of the local bistros for either a roasted pig knuckle, the size of a basketball, 

or Rippchen mit Kraut.  

     This consists of cured pork cutlets, slowly heated in sauerkraut or meat broth, and usually served with sauerkraut, mashed potatoes and yellow mustard.   

     It was accompanied with a bembel (a glazed, stoneware pitcher) full of apfelwein (hard, sweet and tart cider).  Enough of these bembels would give us all a good buzz; anything to get us through this layover.

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