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| Frankfurt Flughafen, early morning |
Two days before my flight, I had an apartment ready to move into, and to share with an archaeologist of my own age and her cat. On the eve of my departure, I learned from the apologetic and piqued archaeologist that this arrangement had been vetoed by the landlady, who was reclaiming the entire apartment for her own use. I decided to drop off Fulbright paperwork at the university before beginning a round of phone calls, and thus came under the aegis of an avuncular man in the international students' office. He took my paperwork, gave me a Stadtplan, and then, apparently concerned as to my fate, put me into the hands of a younger colleague, who sympathized, told me such things were typical in Mainz (one characteristic local experience I could have done without!) and called a woman who was letting rooms to tell her that the situation had changed, and the university did indeed know of someone who would be interested. The long and indirect way I took to find this woman's house involved much tramping through wooded areas on narrow footpaths. The last one of these was Krähenweg, which inevitably evoked Schubert for me. Now, however, here I am: in a clean, white room with a Picasso print on the wall. I'm still looking for apartments, but a place to sleep, wash, cook, and send e-mails from is a great blessing. (Well, I can't cook until the electrician hooks up the stove and fridge, but there's an electric kettle for tea. Priorities!) I've already gone grocery shopping, and experienced the rush of obtaining a pound of Mehrkornbrot for 50 cents. Next up: exploring Mainz. The fact that my landlady identified the cathedral and the theater as central landmarks is, I feel, a good sign.
