First stop is Freiburg. Rolled my bag over winding cobblestone streets to the hostel which created a clacking echo off the closed storefronts. A enchanting city of about 300,000 that seems much smaller. Capital of the Black Forest and located in the far southwest of the country, it's supposed to get more sun than anywhere in Germany. But today it's cold. Snow falls between brightly colored buildings in damp flakes on to narrow streets filled with scurrying residents and visitors. I discover a great micro brewery and order two "grosse" beers.
While trying to pay for them, the waiter mistakes my efforts for another order and serves me a third. Very good thing the hostel is close by. Upon returning, I step into a shower resembling a time-travel device from the 1950's with a small window on the door. Within minutes of entering and turning on the blessed hot water, a woman enters the bathroom and disrobes. This is a problem. Now my mind is racing. Have I entered the women's bathroom in a three-beer stupor? Did I misread the very vague nymph-like illustrations gracing the doors of entry? The woman enters the cylinder next to me. But before doing so, I am convinced she glances in the mirror before her which reveals an image of a bearded man in the other cylinder trying to curl back from the not-yet-steamed window portal. It's only 3 minutes before she hurriedly gathers her things and leaves in a rush. My underwear is hanging outside. Now I run the risk of being seen exiting from the steel chamber in the raw and banished from the hostel for perversion. No one comes in. I exit the bathroom. Turns out the nymph on the door was a male after all; she had entered the wrong bathroom. Poor girl.
While trying to pay for them, the waiter mistakes my efforts for another order and serves me a third. Very good thing the hostel is close by. Upon returning, I step into a shower resembling a time-travel device from the 1950's with a small window on the door. Within minutes of entering and turning on the blessed hot water, a woman enters the bathroom and disrobes. This is a problem. Now my mind is racing. Have I entered the women's bathroom in a three-beer stupor? Did I misread the very vague nymph-like illustrations gracing the doors of entry? The woman enters the cylinder next to me. But before doing so, I am convinced she glances in the mirror before her which reveals an image of a bearded man in the other cylinder trying to curl back from the not-yet-steamed window portal. It's only 3 minutes before she hurriedly gathers her things and leaves in a rush. My underwear is hanging outside. Now I run the risk of being seen exiting from the steel chamber in the raw and banished from the hostel for perversion. No one comes in. I exit the bathroom. Turns out the nymph on the door was a male after all; she had entered the wrong bathroom. Poor girl.
I head out the next day in the snow to explore.
I stumble upon this wonderful little painting by Lyonel Feininger at the Freiburg Museum of Modern Art.
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