Esslingen am Neckar

July 9, 2017. Esslingen am Neckar.

    In Hamburg the last few days, Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin have been making news in the G-20 summit, with Rex Tillerson narrating what the cameras were not allowed to record. Meanwhile, Maisie and I have joined our president here in Germany, though a safe distance away from his shenanigans.

    I am currently writing from the Esslingen track number five. We’re going to go to Munich today, where we will reunite with Stephanie. Stephanie! We’re coming for you! The train will come soon enough.

    Maisie was not impressed when we first arrived. Train station, sidewalk paralleling rail line and busy road. This was no Strasbourg. But it turned out we were only two blocks from where we were staying and two blocks from a park where two separate bands were playing American rock tunes and kids were in a bouncy house bouncing and adults were drinking noontime beer in tented pavilions. And two blocks back, towards the rail station but up, the old town, with its own timber-framed, multi-colored houses and beautiful narrow streets. You can’t really judge a town by the neighborhood of its train depot.

    Esslingen is charming indeed. I knew I must have chosen this spot for some reason! Just like books appear on hold for me at the library and I check them out and they’re great even though I have no memory of why I placed them on hold or anything about them, we are arriving to an itinerary that seems to have been arranged by someone else. Someone thoughtful and savvy, fortunately.

    What I’m quite sure I didn’t know when I made reservations from this town, though, was that it would be hosting a festival today, which accounts for the bands and the bouncy house (but not the beer). Once in town, crowds swarmed the old streets, listening to the many bands and watching the dances and eating what every vendor seemed to have on offer: gyros. Do you want a gyro, Maisie? Not really. Um. I was very excited about the giant party we’d stumbled into. Maisie was less sanguine about it, because it was also very hot, and all those gyros generate a lot of meat-smoke, too.

    So we left town, in pursuit of a big gothic church nearby--Maisie wasn’t surprised by nor resistant to my interest--though I walked right by it when we got there, into the neighborhoods, and then towards stairway roofed in wood shingles that ascended up and up the vineyard-covered hill rolling over the town and its river Neckar.

    We encountered a bride and her photographer (and incidentally, her groom) on the way up the stairs. It was an understandable location. The sweep of green and peaceful town below us were certainly romantic. And then we walked into the park at the top of the hill, where there was another bride and her photographer (and incidentally, her groom), and some other photographers responsible for lighting (in the middle of the day?) and her long, flowing train.

    We sat by a fountain for a while. I counted brides.

    In the evening, Maisie stayed in our lovely apartment--a room in a beautiful couple’s excellent, well-appointed flat--the kind of place beautiful people would live--and I returned to town to listen to music and hopefully to finally get some dancing on.

    At night, the streets were even more crowded and smoky, and the bands were louder. I walked by a few, stopped for a moment by a group just playing American fifties standards, like “In the Jungle” and “Barbara Ann.” But some people were dancing. One couple was swinging. If other people started to swing, maybe I could go join them. That didn’t happen, but I did get closer until I was dancing, too. The piano man was hopping on his seat, lifting his legs, banging like he was Buddy Holly. The singer knew his business, was very dynamic, high stepping and pulling the crowd in. The bass player occasionally would turn his big blue bass and play it like a guitar (don’t know how), and at some point, the sax climbed up the bass and played with one foot on the--I don’t know what you call it--the inlet and one foot on the top of the--I don’t know what you call it--the top, and the bass player popped his head through the sax player’s legs to see. They were really juicing it, and I was having a great time. When they took a break, I went and found music I probably preferred, but I returned for the energy and for dancing and was happy to be a part of it, in Esslingen.

    We’re on the train now. It disappeared from the board and so I was super nervous, but it turned out to be five minutes late. We have a 12 minute connection in Ulm and we have Stephanie but no way to reach her waiting for us on the other side in Munich, so those five late minutes are itchy. The conductor says the other train is running 20 minutes late. Let it be so! And I hope Stephanie doesn’t catch what I’ve got during those 20 minutes we don’t arrive.

      Stephanie! We're coming for you!